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“Love’s prince,” Ogden boomed for the benefit of the crowd. “Back at my door again.”
Arin bowed his head. “My king.”
If Arin misspoke, Ogden would lock me up and throw away the key—if he was feeling kind. If the king were feeling unkind, he’d give me to the sands. And Arin had a history of never knowing when to remain quiet.
“Trouble follows you, Arin.” Ogden dragged his heated, scornful glare over me, folded his muscular arms, and rumbled out a pensive sigh. “First Love falls, then Justice. Tell me, Arin, why does devastation follow in your wake? Perhaps, is it the company you keep?”
“May I remind you, Zayan saved your people from a grisly death by poisoning? At the potential cost of his own life? How many self-sacrifices have you made for your people?”
And there we had it. I was never getting out of these cuffs.
The king laughed. “Yes, but he didn’t die, did he? There he stands.” He swept a hand up and down. “And here you all are. Love, Justice, Pain, and War.” His gaze snagged on Draven and narrowed. Draven knew enough about the missing crown to bring Ogden down. A few words from him in public, in front of War’s warriors, and Ogden’s reign would crumble.
A moment of understanding flickered between the warlord and king.
“My son is alive,” Draven said, raising his voice so the court heard, and when he next spoke, he addressed everyone. “He was given to the sands, and he survived. He is a warrior by nature and worthy of War, but we cast him out. Pain took him in, and others we cast out. Razak has his strings in all of us, and we gave him those strings to pull.” Discontented murmurs sailed through the crowd. Ogden’s right eyebrow twitched. He glanced at the people, listening to their growing dissent.
“We are War,” Draven bellowed. “And Pain is a threat! It’s time we proved worthy of our name.”
The winds carried his voice away, the flags went on fluttering, and nobody moved. Perhaps I imagined the change in the air and War’s people. But if I did, then so did Ogden. The king bristled and unfolded his arms; he rolled his shoulders, making his huge axe shift against his back. “Come with me. Not that one—” He pointed at me. “Put that leech in a cell.”
The guards came for me and grabbed my arms. My chains rattled. Freedom had been nice while I’d had it. But I never had possessed anything nice for long.
“Wait.” The man who stepped from the crowd wore similar warlord clothes as Draven. “Ogden, my king.” He knelt. “I was a guest that night, when the Prince of Pain attempted to assault our great court. If it were not for Zayan’s sacrifice, I’d have been poisoned. I would not have seen my daughter’s birth. I owe Zayan my voice. Whether it is heard or not, I must speak it.”
“Aye,” another man cried. “Let him go.”
“Aye,” a woman called.
“Silence!” Ogden boomed.
Remembering Noemi’s words, I kept my chin up and fixed the king in my glare. His choices were limited. Go against his people and his instincts, or appear weak by keeping me chained? I was just a man, after all. What threat could a fool be to the King of War? He snatched the key from Draven, stomped over, and unlocked the cuffs. “Wrong me, boy, and I’ll throw your bones to the sandworms.”
“No fear,” I said. “I have no designs on the Court of War. Your crown was a terrible fit.”
He sneered and stomped away. “Bring them.”
Whoever the man was who had petitioned for my freedom, I mouthed a thanks to him as we trailed by. He nodded. Strange, that feeling in my chest—a small tug of… pride? I’d done something good. I’d made a difference. And these people had noticed, they’d seen me. Not the fool, the magician, the entertainer—they’d seenme.
A stranger had cared enough to speakfor me.And their voice had been heard.
CHAPTER40
Lark
Sittingat a council table as Zayan instead of providing the entertainment as Lark was a new experience.
Ogden had gathered his advisors—five of War’s most respected men and women—and thrown us straight into the wolf’s den without so much as time to clean up. I knew little of his council—nothing of who they were or where they came from—and I knew even less of the room we’d gathered in, with its vast arched windows, weapons on the walls, and bloodred banners.
Warlord Draven conducted official introductions, and then Arin took over, explaining everything that had happened since our quick exit that last time we’d been War’s “guests”—leaving out the part where Draven had shipped War’s crown to the enemy.
I watched, and I listened. This was not my place, nor were these my people. I wasn’t sure I had a people. But Iknewpeople. I knew their tells, their twitches, their little gestures—and we were not trusted, nor were we welcome. Ogden’s council had no idea why their king had granted us his time and leniency.
At least we were alive.
“I fail to see what any of this has to do with my court,” Ogden declared, the moment Arin was done.
Arin’s golden eyebrows pinched together in frustration. “Really? After everything I’ve just laid before you? You don’t see Razak as a threat?”
