Page 112 of Rook of Ruin
“It’s what a good leader does,” Isle murmurs as she declines to hold a baby, her hands covered in black blood.
“It’s what Simon would do,” I answer truthfully.
She nods in agreement.
“Don’t wipe the blood from your face.” My brother-in-law swipes the wet cloth from my fingers as he walks by, hauling himself up onto his horse. “Show everyone at the castle what our Ruin has done.”
Simon tilts his head in agreement before emptying water from a bucket on a smoldering pile of wood. I leave the blood. With the village burning and the Bethalians in need of guidance, we’ve had little time to clean ourselves off. We all smell of blood, sweat, and smoke. Simon speaks quietly to a village elder before heaving his large body on top of Artho as I mount Sal.
Glancing between Simon and his brother, I notice how Simon clenches his jaw and Callan sits rigid in his saddle. Trying to garner Simon’s attention, my hand lifts into a little wave, but he nods slightly instead of waving back or smiling, keeping his eyes on Callan. I’m increasingly ill-at-ease with what is happening between these two. I am unsure how to behave, and worse, I feel completely unprepared for what I’m about to stumble into at thecastle. Maneuvering Sal over to Dove, we ride silently towards the castle until we pass Simon and Callan speaking to a scout.
“Simon didn’t tell you then?” Dove asks quietly. She sighs when I don’t answer and waves at Isle, who moves to my other side. “Simon is the firstborn but born out of wedlock. Queen Ffion was pregnant with Callan when Simon was born. Technically, Simon is the future king, but . . . King Caddel gave the crown to Callan for his indiscretion. Queen Ffion—”
“Does not like Simon. I think we should leave it at that, Dove.” I follow Isle’s eyes as Simon and Callan begin shouting at one another.
I maneuver Sal and ride up to them. I narrow my eyes, watching Simon ride off as our warriors pass us.
Callan laughs and shakes his head. “Your husband is as stubborn as you.”
“Thank you.”
He laughs harder, then follows me back to the front. “I’m glad you took it as a compliment. It was meant as one.”
I remain silent, waiting for him to speak, unwilling to begin a conversation.
Callan’s wide, toothy grin is bright in the low light of the evening. “I can see why Simon is taken with you. Your silence says a lot. When he is assessing the worth of someone, he also becomes quiet. Interesting that he chose someone so similar to himself.”
Curiosity rears her head. “Do you have a Warrior’s Name, Callan?”
His eyes snap to mine. “I do not. I am the heir.”Do Bethalian heirs not fight?Sensing my confusion, he continues, “My mother—she decided when I was young that I would not go into battle . . . That, back in the village, that was my first.”
I try not to judge, but I think of all the scars on Simon’s body, how he is a true warrior. “But since you are the heir, shouldn’t you have your own opinion?”
Surprisingly, Callan laughs. “Wait till you meet my mother. She isn’t sugar and spice and everything nice like you, O. She is an angry, hard woman.” His voice becomes bitter. “If I rode out into battle, she would murder every warrior who went with me and their families to spite me.”
“Oh.” My eyes go wide, and suddenly I understand Simon’s command. He is concerned that there will be repercussions for our warriors, or for me. “I didn’t know, Callan. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Why would you know? It isn’t something we speak of outside of the family. My own wife hates me for it, embarrassed that I don’t have a Warrior’s Name. It was an arranged marriage, unlike yours.” He shrugs, but I can easily see he is miserable.
“Shall I name you?” I ask cautiously. Shock fills his face, but he says nothing. “After all, you went into battle with me. That is the rule, is it not?” A slow smile creeps onto my face. “Grip. For the way you hold on—the way you gripped a hold of me on the horse.”
“Grip?” he repeats. I watch as he tries it on his tongue, unsure.
I murmur, “It could be worse, it could be Bucket, Pinhole, or even Prick.” I laugh, forgetting that I’m speaking to the future king of Bethal and not another warrior.
Callan tips his head and laughs. “Prick huh? No, I’ll take Grip.” He smiles brightly. “Thank you, O. That is the kindest—it is something I have wanted my whole life.” We ride in comfortable silence for a while, Callan grinning ear to ear. He glances at me. “I know Prince Lewis and your sister quite well. I don’t believe we met at their wedding.”
“I was young when Ralin married the future king of Acros.”
Callan clears his throat. “Ah. But even then, I’ve visited a few times, and I did not see you with all the other ladies of Acros.”
“I was busy. I stayed away from many social obligations, spending most of my time either training or working hard to protect Acros.”
“Busy?” he responds in surprise. “I know it’s required in Acros for everyone to serve, but I didn’t think that . . . What did you do?”
“I was a Rook.” I slide my eyes over to Callan, waiting.
“A Rook,” he repeats and shifts in his seat. “Simon didn’t care?”
