Page 85 of The Twisted Throne

Maybe you should rekindle it so you stop thinking about a woman you can never have. Lose yourself in Elsie for a night or two so that you remember your purpose. Remember who you are.

Except Elsie wasn’t the woman he wanted, and one night with his ex-lover or a hundred, James knew that at the end of it, he’d still be haunted by hazel eyes, long legs, and the scent of the sea. By stubbornness that vexed him as much as it fascinated him, for he’dmet few people in life with the tenacity of Ahnna Kertell. And none who’d captivated him like she did.

Put her out of your head,he instructed himself.Set your mind to Cardiff. To negotiations. To finding peace so you’ll never be too late to prevent a woman from being burned alive again.

The scent of smoke abruptly filled his nose. Smoke, and burning hair.

Maven snorted, tossing her head, but he didn’t need his horse’s reaction to know what he was smelling.

Not again.

He dug in his heels, riding at reckless speed down the trails. He crossed the bridge, feeling no comfort that Thistleford stood untouched, laughter coming from the inn, because in the distance, he spotted the glow of flames. Heard the shouts.

Then, through the trees, he saw a wagon aflame, dozens of figures with shovels and pitchforks surrounding it. Tied to what had been the buckboard was a figure, mercifully still.

Maven slid to a stop, the farmers and villagers surrounding the wagon turning, immediately recognizing him.

“A witch, my lord!” one of them said. “She was telling fortunes to the women. We searched their wagon and found signs of astromancy.”

The man gestured to the ground where a pile of items that were undeniably Cardiffian lay. Next to a dead man.

“He fought back, but we put him down and then burned the witch,” the farmer said proudly. As though James couldn’t tell exactly what had happened to the old man, who was punctured through a dozen times, his skull caved in from far more blows by a shovel than had been necessary to kill him. An all-too-common occurrence, for Cardiffians often sneaked across the border in search of an easier life. A life away from the cold. Most were wiseenough to keep their beliefs hidden, but some caved to the easy money of telling fortunes to bored farm wives or lovesick schoolgirls who often turned petty if they didn’t like what they heard.

And the king’s laws were on their side if they decided to take vengeance.

James had begged his father a thousand times to change the law to demand a fair trial, but he’d always refused.To take this right away from the people, I have to give them something commensurate in return,his father always said.And until Ronan bends, I have nothing to give.

“Put it out,” he snapped, wanting to draw his sword and enact his own brand of vengeance on these murderers. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk lashing out now when negotiations were ongoing and everything stood in the balance. Could only cling to the comfort that when he succeeded in allying Harendell and Cardiff, what these men had done would be a crime, and his blade would be justice. “Bury the bodies.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said, more subdued, and James felt the tension rising. Knew that he’d reminded them of his blood, exactly as his father had warned him never to do.

Digging in his heels, James rode back past Thistleford, having no desire to speak to his uncle tonight. But as he crossed the bridge, Maven stumbled, and he heard the clatter of metal. Cursing under his breath, James slid off her side, and then lifted his mare’s hoof. As expected, her shoe was missing.

“Not a good night,” he said softly, resting his forehead against Maven’s sweaty neck for a moment before leading her down the trail.

They hadn’t gone more than a dozen paces when her ears perked and James’s instincts flared. He tilted his head, listening until he picked up a faintly wheezing breath, then said, “What do you want, Uncle?”

“Your mother’s blood runs strong,” Cormac said, stepping out. “But you stifle it. Smother it when it screams for vengeance for the murder of your people.”

“What would you have me do?” James snapped, because they’d had this conversation so many times before. “Kill them all and then hang for it? Because that’s what would happen, Uncle. Is that what you want?”

His uncle snorted in disgust, prowling closer, and James tensed.

“What I want is for every breath you take to be focused on making your father sign the treaty,” he growled. “Instead you shadow the Ithicanian woman’s footsteps and give her riding lessons.” Cormac’s head tilted. “Perhaps there is another sort of riding happening in the Sky Palace and that is the cause of your reticence.”

“Ahnna is a lady, and you will not speak of her so in my presence.”

“A lady.” Cormac’s laugh was cruel. “I once saw a circus in Amarid. They had a lioness that they’d taught to perform tricks, and she wore a ruffled skirt. A predator capable of killing all who watched, and yet they laughed and laughed. That is Ahnna Kertell. A lioness in a dress.”

A metaphor that put into words exactly how James had felt seeing Ahnna in that foolish pink gown, but hearing his uncle say it only made him angrier.

“Set her free, nephew,” Cormac said. “Send her home.”

“She doesn’t want to leave.”

“Why? Because of you?”

“Not me,” James snapped, unnerved that his uncle suspected his real feelings for Ahnna because it made him wonder who else had seen through to his heart. “I don’t know the reason. Only that she’s terrified to return to Ithicana. She won’t do it by choice.”

---