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Lachlan tossed the used skewer into the fire. “Are you trying to wheedle information out of me, Tarley?” He smiled at her, then sobered. “Yes. It was.” He paused, then asked, “Why doesn’t the queen do anything to stop it? Surely, she has the power to change things.”
Tarley snorted. “When her father died, she was the default heir. If the rumors and gossip brought to Sevens is true, then the royal council wants to oust her because she’s a woman.”
“What?” Lachlan’s heart stalled and hung there, realizing that Keyanna reaching out after all this time might be more about survival than just repairing familial ties.
Tarley’s eyes narrowed. “What? No news in the north?”
“So this treaty with Jast?”
“What about it?”
“Is the royal council in favor?”
“I would venture to guess that she’s facing opposition. Gan’s in the majority here. The laws are set up to make sure it stays that way, and those who make them—the traditionalists—have opposed every change the queen has attempted to make.”
“I see.”
“The Archpriest—if the rumors are true—is running things. I’ve heard whispered theories that her reaching out to Jast is a last-ditch effort to maintain her tenuous hold on her power.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
She shrugged. “I don’t want to think about how it could get worse in Kaloma if she’s deposed—”
Lachlan swallowed, grappling with this new information, considering what he’d just experienced with Tarley. “A mass exodus to the borders,” he predicted. It wouldn’t be one or two crossing, but a flood of people over the Jast border. And while he thought the kingdom could accommodate a surge of people, he could imagine the political ramifications with the nobles, how it might impact the economy, their resources. If they didn’t open new trade routes, it could massively impact Jast’s financial well-being, the food supply. “How do you know so much about it?”
“Why? Because I shouldn’t?”
Lachlan shook his head. “No. Please don’t mistake me–”
“–but because I’m a woman wearing peasant’s clothes in the middle of the woods, why would I know?”
Shame hit Lachlan, because he had jumped to those conclusions in a myriad of ways since meeting her. Perhaps not about this issue, but about many others. “I have judged you, yes. As you have me.” He lifted a boot.
One side of her face quirked up, and she huffed her amusement. “If you’re a Northman, I’m the queen of Kaloma.”
Lachlan chuckled.
When the amusement faded, Lachlan sat side by side with Tarley, silent for some time, watching and listening to the fire. Usually this was when one of them made up a story about the creatures in the Whitling Woods. The night before, Tarley had told the story of the Witch of the Woods, but the fun of those last few nights seemed so distant. His thoughts felt heavy with what had happened with Gan and with the kiss they weren’t talking about.
Tarley broke the silence. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she said and began breaking apart the coals inside the firepit in preparation for bed. “I didn’t mean to insinuate I didn’t want you here. I… I didn’t mean that.”
“Tarley–”
“No.” She turned and looked at him. “Please forgive me.”
That apology meant something, especially from her. He could see the earnestness with which she offered it, her need for absolution, and he would give it, of course. He nodded. “Forgiven. I’m sorry for being so useless.”
The last words dropped from his mouth like boulders. He hadn’t intended them, and there they were, so ugly and vicious. And he understood, then, that was how what had happened with his father and how it had made him feel. Useless. And Tarley maybe hadn’t intended it, but that insecurity had risen anyway.
“Stop–” she said, tossing the stick into the fire and grabbing hold of him. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked.
After standing on the shore of the river stabbing fish, ripping out their guts, and throwing the entrails into the water, his insecurities tied with anger at his father, but the hurt festered in how Tarley saw him. He could understand now. It was that kiss. He’d developed a layer of feelings for Tarley rooted in something other than attraction. Attraction to be sure. But friendship, too. Challenge. Fun. Respect.
“Ollie. Please don’t think that’s what I think–”
Her earlier words had thrown fuel on the insecurities his father had already stoked when he’d tried to broker a marriage deal without consulting Lachlan. He’d felt useless, worthless, little more than something to be traded away. And now, with Tarley, he wanted to be something more, only he didn’t know how. He’d never had to be more than a title before.
