He could. And he often did.
“He knows your secrets . . . do you know his?” This time Boojohni wasn’t smiling, and I remembered how the conversation began. I nodded slowly.
Yes. I know his secrets.
“Ye know where he goes?”
Yes. Do you?
“He is very careful. But I am very quiet. And curious.”
And protective.
Boojohni nodded, admitting as much. “That I am.”
Why do you ask if you already know?
“Because ye love him. And I needed to know if ye understand who . . . and what he is.”
I didn’t bother to argue with him. Boojohni was as stubborn as I, and he had convinced himself of my feelings.
“Are ye afraid of him, Bird?”
No.
It was Boojohni’s turn to nod, and he began to walk again, as if the matter was settled. I urged Shindoh forward.
I agreed to be his queen, Boojohni.
“Of course ye did! He’s a fine bit o’ man flesh.”
If I was capable of snorting, I would have done so, but Boojohni snorted enough for the both of us.
We traveled back from Kilmorda the way we’d come, moving quickly, Tiras disappearing one full day and two of the four nights, only to ride through the next day like nothing was amiss. Though I hadn’t admitted it to Boojohni, I worried at the amount of time he spent as a bird, the tale from my childhood seeping into my thoughts. The very first Changer had eventually become what he’d surrounded himself by; the more time spent as a beast, the harder it was to become a man again.
I tried to imagine how it would feel to be a bird, to fly above the ground, to surround myself with peace and air and freedom. I imagined it was particularly alluring to Tiras, who had so many people depending on him and looking to him for everything. Still, on the third day of our journey back to Jeru, I sought out Kjell, who stepped into Tiras’s shoes whenever the king disappeared. I was riding Shindoh, my stamina increasing every day, my body adjusting to the rigors of riding for long hours at a time. Kjell saw me coming, and his face tightened even as he slowed and waited for Shindoh to move into step beside his mount.
He is gone so much.
“Yes, he is,” Kjell said sharply, and anger curled around him. I ignored it, as always. I had never been particularly good at making people like me.
Has it always been like this?
“It is far worse.” He looked at me with such loathing that I gasped.
Why do you hate me?
“I hate what you are.”
And what am I?
“You are Gifted.” He said the words quietly, but he spat them out, the way he always did when he said “Gifted.”
But you don’t hate Tiras.
“Tiras isn’t Gifted,” he said simply.
I stared at him in stupefaction, and he shook his head in disgust, as if I were incredibly slow.
“It’s not a gift. It’s a bloody curse.”
What’s the difference?
“He was not born this way.”
I wasn’t sure what Kjell was trying to communicate. I was guessing most Gifted didn’t fully-realize their abilities until they were older, though a few, like me, who had guidance from my mother, recognized their gifts earlier. Gifted or cursed, the result was exactly the same. Kjell seemed adamant about the distinction, as if one was internal and the other external.
“I was there the day your mother died. Do you know that?” Kjell said quietly, pulling me from my own thoughts.
I shook my head, stunned.
“I heard your mother curse King Zoltev. I saw him kill her.”
My throat was so tight I couldn’t swallow, and I stared ahead, unable to fathom why he would want to hurt me this way.
My mother did nothing wrong. She did not deserve to die.
“She damned an innocent boy! Tiras does not deserve to die either, but he is losing his life little by little.”
King Zoltev damned himself and everything he touched. Fear is his legacy.
“My father was trying to protect his kingdom.”
I looked at him sharply, and he scoffed.
Your father?
“Don’t worry, Milady. I have no claim to the throne. I am a bastard son. You and your father can fight over it. I don’t want it. But Tiras is still my brother, and I will do everything in my power to protect him. Even from you.”
Tiras had not explained the relationship, but now that it had been pointed out, it was easy to see. Tiras and Kjell were each striking, though Tiras was darker skinned. Once his hair had been as black as Kjell’s, making me wonder if his gift had been the cause of the whitening of his hair.
We rode in silence for several minutes, the anger between us zinging in a hot arc. I had asked for none of this, but Kjell had already made up his mind about me. It would do no good to attempt to change it.
“He told me he is going to make you queen. Queen Lark of Jeru. It’s fitting really, isn’t it? Tiras has always kept his friends close, and I see now he is keeping his enemies closer.”
I didn’t respond.
“Now your father will never be king. If something happens to Tiras, you will rule the remainder of your life. As long as you are living, you will be queen. If your father were to have you killed . . .”
He would die.
“Yes. Tiras told me that as well. He has outflanked your father, hasn’t he?”
Again I was silent. When I pulled up, reining Shindoh around, Kjell met my gaze with a smirk. He was confident he had bested me.
Don’t worry, Kjell. I will keep your secret.
His brow lowered and his mouth tightened. “And what secret would that be, Milady? My paternity is known by most.”