“I’d have come—” he releases me, laughing, “—eventually.”
There are few in the hall. I raise my hand to greet the men who hardly leave Kipp’s side, a group of twelve fellow Voyagers as loyal to Kipp as if he were their lord.
They say Nord Manor is akin to a monastery for the abundance of unmarried men and lack of women. With two very obvious differences . . . they’re neither religious or celibate.
“Not soon enough.” I nod away from the hall. “I’d speak to you privately.”
The words have barely left my mouth before Kipp starts striding toward the entranceway whence I just emerged.
A small solar just up the stairs is by far the most spectacular chamber in the entire manor. It boasts large windows open to the sea beyond.
“Something’s troubling you?” he asks as he settles into his chair.
I sit across from him in a high back, velvet-lined chair. The upholstery is brightly colored, much like the tapestries that hang on the walls—Kipp’s mother’s attempt to lighten the long, dark days here in the north.
“Have you spoken to anyone since returning?”
“Last eve when we made port, aye.”
“Then you’ve heard we have visitors?”
A visit by the king’s men would likely be one of the first pieces of news Kipp learned of upon his return. Not because everyone knows his secret, for they don’t, but because it is the most significant thing to have happened in Murwood End of late.
“Aye.”
Suspicious now, Kipp’s jaw ticks as it is wont to do.
“What were you told of them?”
Crossing his arms, Kipp leans back in his chair, legs outstretched. I will not tell him, for his sorrow at his adoptive father’s passing has not yet abated, but Kipp reminds me very much of him at this moment. In this position.
“There are four of them. Their leader is King Galfrid’s commander.”
I nod.
“The commander has bested many men, including Agnar, since he arrived less than a sennight ago.”
“You are well-informed.”
He frowns. “Though not as well-informed as you, I presume?”
If only Kipp knew the whole truth. I debate telling him, as I usually share everything with him, more so even than Amma. But this feels . . . different.
Something in my expression must put him on alert, for he leans forward, no longer relaxed at all. Knowing Kipp as I do, I blurt out the news so as not to delay the inevitable.
“The prince is dead. Drowned in a shipwreck. They’re here to convince you to return with them.”
I wait for him to grasp the full import of my words.
“Return with them . . .”
Bracing for his reaction, I say, “To be named as King Galfrid’s successor.”
Eyes wide, Kipp jumps from his seat, curses tumbling from his mouth.
I stand, look out to the sea, and wait for him to calm.
“Whoreson. He thinks I would do such a thing?” I do not answer, knowing he is speaking to himself. “After all these years . . . he only cares to remember who I am now that his precious son is dead. God rest his soul.”
Kipp is not a cruel man, so I’m thankful he added the last bit, though the sentiment surprises me too. He has never been a religious man.
He turns to me. “No,” he says adamantly. “Never.”
Sighing, I push the shutters open wider. From up here, we can hear the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below. Who could live apart from the sea? I could not dream of it.
“There is more I should tell you.”
Kipp’s shoulders rise and fall, his anger understandable. If Prince Matteo had not died in that shipwreck, Kipp would not be in the line of succession at all. And I know he’s never gotten over his anger at his true father—the man who seduced his mother, then exiled her from court.
Still . . .
“I have gotten to know the commander.”
Kipp turns to me, eyes narrowed.
“I told him I would gain an audience with you.”
Kipp is already shaking his head.
“Please, ’tis just an audience. I already warned him you will not go back to Castle d’Almerita. For me?”
Covering his face with his hands, Kipp rubs his eyes in annoyance.
“I’m sorry, Kipp. Please do this. I promised him.”
He folds his hands together, aggrieved, and asks the one question I cannot answer. Not unless I plan to tell him all.
“Why would you promise such a thing?”
Kipp is angry with me, something that has only happened once before. I snuck onto his ship once as a young girl of ten and two, Kipp being five years older. He found me after less than a half day at sea and promptly turned back to the shore, refusing to speak to me until we spotted land. We laugh at the incident now, yet it is still a matter of debate between us. Young boys voyaged, and yet I was not allowed. He argued it was my father’s wish, but even so, the inequality rankled.
“I . . .”
Part of me wishes to lie. But despite that one occasion when he sided with his father over me, Kipp has always been my staunch defender. And I know down to my bones he would never, ever lie to me.
So neither can I lie to him.
How do I say this? Or, more precisely, what do I say? That Vanni has already launched over the walls I spent years putting up?
“Aedre?”
I swallow.
“If he has dishonored you . . .”
“Nay, he has not. Do you think so little of me that you’d believe I would beg a favor for a man who has done me wrong? Vanni is all you’ve been told, and more. He’s honorable and kind, and has done nothing to incur your wrath.” I add quickly, “Certainly nothing involving me.”
For he is, after all, King Galfrid’s man. And that ensures Kipp will never call him a friend.
“Tell me.”
We’ve discussed plenty of sensitive topics before—the sort of things some people dare never speak of aloud. My training as a Garra ensures I’m not overly sensitive. And yet, I feel my cheeks warm.
“He
