Page 175 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
I endured years of her throwing females on the cusp of fever at me, and foolishly assumed that her quest for an heir would stop because I was Rose’s mate. Now Bree is suffering as a result of my oversight, and Rose was almost thrust into another fever, which would’ve wasted days of precious time and possibly brought an innocent child into the mix.
“The Nicnevin is helping him through the aftereffects of your mother’s potion,” Kitarni says quietly, coming to stand at my side before raising her voice and addressing the room. “I’ve heard nothing from the Temple of Elfhame, either, and that worries me. We have many channels they could’ve tried.”
“Suggests to me that they didn’t have the time to counter whatever the Fomorians threw at them,” says a rotund general leaning on a huge war axe at the other side of the table. “Which means there could be some unknown threat that our forces are ill-prepared to face.”
“Send Lore to find Florian,” Jaro orders a squire, who nods and immediately takes off to relay the order. “If the Knight Commander is in Orvendel, the redcap will find him. We need more information before we send our troops into a death trap.”
General Elvira frowns. “And if Orvendel is lost? It was always a risk having an escape route so close to the water.”
“Then we take it back,” I state. “It borders winter. A sneak attack from the mountains?—”
General Kildare shakes his head stiffly. “You’re not the King of Winter to make that decision. Unless you plan on challenging him for the position…”
My eyes flick to Ashton, still sitting silently on the icebound throne. “I have never wanted to be king. As a member of the Guard, I am sworn to my Nicnevin first and foremost. King Ashton is the only rightful ruler of this court, and the one I support wholeheartedly.”
There it is, the thing that makes the stoic fae all breathe a sigh of relief, and perhaps a few of disappointment. Did anyone honestly believe I’d want to be trapped in this frozen tomb when I could be with my mate?
Then again, some fae would do anything for that crown, Hawkith included. I was never one of them, but that didn’t stopCedwyn from treating me like a usurper, or my mother from trying to force me into becoming one.
“Are you willing to vow it before Danu?” Elvira presses.
“Unnecessary.” Ashton speaks for the first time, standing. “Our troops are at the Nicnevin’s disposal.”
“You’ve not even been crowned yet,” one of the soldiers in the back points out, and Ashton grins.
“If I wanted the opinion of an asskisser like you, I’d have asked. Get out of here, Lendry. We don’t need your piss-poor excuse for military experience cluttering up the room.” From his robe, he pulls a familiar circlet, then pops it over his brow with a flourish. “Good enough for the rest of you? Or do we need to ask the Fomorians nicely for a little break so we can plan a party?”
There are bristles from the crowd, but General Elvira is one of the first to bow. “All hail King Ashton, second of his name.”
The oldest warrior in Calimnel bowing kicks the rest of them into action, because soon the rest fall to their knees as well.
“Yes, yes. Whatever.” Ashton sweeps a hand at the map. “Get on with figuring out our next move. And someone needs to take my brother’s and his mate’s bodies to our family vault until their funeral can be arranged.”
He steps away from his throne, crooking two fingers at me. “This way, lad. High priestess, you, too.” I’m just close enough to hear him mutter, “There are some wrongs I should like to atone for before you leave.”
There’s a small privy chamber towards the back of the throne room, one that Cedwyn was once fond of using to entertain whores in front of my mother. Apparently, they stopped that since my self-imposed exile. The bed that used to be here is gone, replaced with a cluster of chairs around a low pit of flickering blue flames.
I wave Kitarni in first, meeting Jaro’s eyes for a second to check that he’s got things handled with the generals beforeclosing the heavy slab of ice behind us. I shouldn’t worry. He’s a military man in his element. For all that the loss of the outer wall shook him; he knows what he’s doing.
“There’s so much to do…” Ashton paces the far wall, blue flames casting odd highlights over his navy leathers. “I… I didn’t want this.”
Kitarni straightens, inclining her head to show she’s listening. “I offer my counsel, should you need it, Your Highness. But I regret to say, after so many years without your name, you don’t have much time for self-rediscovery.”
Ashton raises a hand to pinch his brow, then stops mid-motion, staring at his left hand like it’s a stranger.
“I… I was never right-handed.”
“What?” All of my disbelief is layered in the one-word question.
“Cedwyn hated that he was the only right-handed Froshtyn. One of his first orders was to make me use my right hand as my dominant one. I can… fuck. I can wipe my ass with my left hand.”
Oh Goddess, he’s losing it.
This is equal parts pitiable and frustrating. We don’t need a broken king. Not now. The realm won’t survive the infighting that will cause.
Ashton pulls himself straighter, then looks at Kitarni, who seems to have gravitated closer to him while I wasn’t looking.
“I’d like you to ask the Temple to oversee the reconsecration of the Iceblyd tomb in Mirrwyl,” he begins. “I suppose they’ll need their remains re-interred. Cedwyn had me toss them from the cliffs of Saradil’s plateau, but I managed to go back afterwards and hide them in a cave to the south. I’ll show the scouts where.” His head falls. “And Lord Drystan should carry his family name, with access to all the fortunes his mother owned, as the last of her line.”
