Page 41 of The Bone King and the Starling

“Of course she’s not alright,” Hilde grunts. “I told you last night, your queen has a soft heart. This violence is too much for her. She should not be required to watch the games if this is how you plan to conduct them.”

“I am doing this for her,” the king argues as I finally find my feet.

I tilt my head back and look up at him, all the way up, admiring the way the light silhouettes his massive shoulders in glory. And then a thimble of confidence drags itself up my throat and makes itself known on my lips.

“No, you aren’t,” I whisper. “I did not ask for this and I do not want it. You do this for yourself.”

The king glares down at me, his expression stony and severe. And I know, as Hilde wheels me around and escorts me back to the village, two things with absolute clarity:

I cannot be King Calai’s wife.

And I absolutely cannot stay here.

THE LITTLE BIRD

Iam displeased. After my wife fell ill, Fuzier came to me and provided me with advice that I did not like.

“Let the boy go and kill Olec. Be done with this now. Show your wife that she is more important to you than your rage.”

It was…advice that I knew in my heart was the correct advice to take…yet it still pained me to take it. Releasing Tori to the healers was the most difficult thing I’ve done in my long years as king. Killing Olec in a ritual sacrifice right there on the training fields is easier and helps appease some of my displeasure, as I know that his blood will appease the gods of war and mischief.

I finish marking myself with his blood, painting it across my pectorals. I mark my cheeks. And then, I mark each of the men who will advance to training tomorrow. I choose eight of them, Vale and Elia among them. Tomorrow I will narrow it down to six. The next day, I will finish sorting the affairs of this town. The following day I will appoint Viccra as chief and exile any who dare dissent, including his father. The final day, I will be off, my lady at my side.

But before any of these things can happen, I need to return to my chambers here in this small village. I need to see to my queen’s wellbeing, ensure that she’s alright and reassure her that she is my priority. As much as it pains me to admit, it would seem that yesterday, Hilde was right. My little bird is not a little violent thing. She is not the shield maiden to sever heads at my side, but the strong planks of a house to ward away the rain. She is my shelter, as I wish to be hers. She is not my blade.

I am displeased as I return to the village, the villagers all gossiping like children around me. My own warriors are no better — I hear the way they speak in hushed whispers of my failings. Of how I frightened my precious Starling. I am a fool for not realizing it earlier. And I am twice the fool for daring to think, for even a single moment, that Starling wanted to stop the violence because she favored Tori. Because she does not want to see him bleed does not mean that she likes him. But does seeing him bleed mean that she likes me less?

I frown, stopping before the hall without entering it. People pour around me, but I turn to Fuzier and shout at him above all of it. “Will my queen be upset to see me in such a state?”

Fuzier smirks. “That you ask should be indication enough, my king.”

Grumpily, I make my way to Rosalind and Olec’s last quarters — where they have been hoarding and guarding their precious commodities — and command a bath brought to me. I soak myself thoroughly, making sure to wash away the blood. I don’t want to mess up my hair, but that can’t be helped at this point. I have to pull out the braids she gave me. As I rise from the steaming waters, I hope only that I have not ruined things so irreparably that she will not braid my hair once more. Every day for the rest of our short lifetimes in this world, and then every day for the rest of eternity in the world that comes after.

Hair long and unkempt, I don a simple tunic and trousers and return to the great hall where the day’s final feast is underway. Feeling strangely nervous, I round the throne and enter the chamber where my wife rested for the rest of the day. I rehearsed several times what I intend to say, but now that I am here, I suddenly can remember none of it.

My wife is not in bed.

The pit that takes up residence in my stomach starts small, but widens as I move from room to room and find traces of her — my tunic neatly folded, a tray of food entirely empty, a flagon of water missing, a single bejeweled dagger of mine gone — but not my wife.

No.

Horror and rage flood my bones.

My little bird has flown.

I immediately shed my clothing and opt for armor. I dress my belt with axe and sword. I hail six warriors to ride with me, sending the entire hall into a stir, and then we mount our horses and take to the road. We hunt.

THE WARRIOR

It took me all afternoon to reach the woods. A risky path, I know, but I have no doubt I’d be caught on the road by Calai’s men…or worse. I took none of the riches I found in Calai’s chamber with me, opting instead to only bring Calai’s dagger to defend myself with, and my mother’s dress to trade. I didn’t want to steal from him…at least, more than I had to. And I know neither dagger nor dress will get me very far, but my hope is that I might be able to reach the inn outside of Winterbren and barter passage beyond Wrath.

I don’t know what I’ll find. Ebanora told me stories of stone cities built like staircases to reach the gods, but that seems too unbelievable. I suppose I’ll have to see them with my own eyes. I do not feel as excited as I thought I would, though. Instead, I feel only frightened.

As the woods close in around me and I step through thick patches of mud that soak my new boots up to the ankle, I wonder — not for the first time — if this was, perhaps, an impulsive choice. Too impulsive.

The king frightens me more than the unknown. But the unknown cannot be reasoned with. Could Calai have been brought to reason if I’d merely stayed and had the courage to try to talk to him? At least…told him the reason for my malcontent and hoped — prayed to the gods — that he didn’t carve my tongue out for it?

I shiver at the thought. I’m shivering in my boots, a gift from Calai. The cloak I stole from his chests along with the dagger. I am ashamed to have taken anything at all. I left his furs. That…fills me with sadness. The first furs I ever wore, given to me in one of my very first, unexpected kindnesses. The only kindness I ever saw before was from Ebanora and her family. But they are too fine to wear for a thrall on the run and would arouse suspicion. So I left them behind. I hoped they would serve as a message to the king, because I left him no note. Coward, that I am. Yet, what was my other choice? Live the rest of my life tongueless for daring to suggest that he stay the blade of his sword and deliver those who have wronged me more merciful punishments? I like my tongue where it is.

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