A Flight of Ravens by John Conroe (thriller books to read TXT) 📗

and she doesn’t want to become or be seen as bad or evil.  Thus, I am ever her stormglass.

“Do you already miss him?” she asked, as if reading my thoughts, the way Oscar might.

“It’s too new.  I haven’t truly processed that he won’t be at the Knife and Needle tomorrow.  It’ll be when his absence is obvious that I will likely feel the pain,” I said.  “When do you miss your mother?”

She rolled to her back and looked up at the canopy.  “At odd times.  Like when I am uncertain of my appearance or when I’m working in her gardens.  Is that… right?”

“Yes, very much so. Are you worried about your father?”

“No,” she said, puzzled.

“If he doesn’t recover, if he… passes, will you miss him?”

“No.  I will hear his voice in my head, as I already do, when I am working through a problem.  But I have not been able to approach him for help for several years, so that will not change.  I just won’t see him anymore,” she said with a shrug.  “And he won’t recover.”

“What?  How do you know?”

She rolled back to me, a tiny furrow between her bright eyes.  “Because he has become what Warcans must guard against.”

I took a second to process that.  “He’s become too self-centered?”

“Yes.  He has made an increasing number of very bad mistakes lately, all of which were directly connected to his own desires rather than what was good for the kingdom.”

I thought about that some more, a tiny tickle of doubt forming at the back of my mind.  “He was under the influence of sand striker venom and Slinch’s whispers.”

“Just recently.  Dr. Eltienne believes it was only within the last month or so.  He was already making very poor choices before that.  Trusting his Ravens, getting jealous of my Shadows, ignoring the threat of the Paul, trusting Mandrigo and Berkette too much.  And Savid, he thoroughly mistreated you,” she said.

“But Slinch’s attack came before you could do anything, right?”

“Not exactly,” she said, very matter-of-fact.  “Which reminds me, thank you for all of the new prisoners you brought me.”

“Ah, you are welcome, but how does that remind you?”

“Because of Mr. Kazilionum.  I asked him to Impress a quill pen of mine with a feeling of complete, intense panic.  Then I left it on the corner of my desk.  Neil has always stolen my quills.  Thinks I don’t realize that it was him.  Some sort of Raven game.  He stole it, about the time I had the doctor examine Father.  So Slinch’s panic and his attacks were partially tripped by the quill.  I knew he was up to something, and when he convinced Father to imprison you, that was the last draw.  Or perhaps I should say, the last feather,” she said with a little laugh.  “Anyway, I sent Welton to Hemppe and called my Shadows to the castle.  Oh, and don’t think you’re getting Rose back, either.  She’s a delight.  Smart, quiet, observes everything, memory like a hunter’s trap, and deadly fierce with those blades.”

“So… you deliberately triggered Slinch?”

“Absolutely.  I wasn’t sure of what he would do, but I wasn’t completely surprised when he attacked us.”

“But your father was vulnerable?”

“Yes.  By his own hand and word. He imprisoned Brent, reduced his guards, turned his back to Slinch.  Poor decisions, every one of them.”

“And he won’t recover?”

“Of course not.  We have a major security breach by Berkette, our single seaport was in serious jeopardy till you fixed it and also removed the corruption that Father overlooked—another error on his part.  We have both a threat and opportunity with the Nuks up north and he would definitely botch that, and there is still the matter of Sylvania and the Paul looming over our heads.  Savid, think if the Paul infects more of our citizens with the same strain of Taint he used on Ash.”

“But how do you know… for sure… that your father wouldn’t make good decisions?” I asked, watching her carefully.

“You are worried?” she asked, recognizing my body language.

“You’ve taken rather drastic steps and you are contemplating additional, extremely drastic ones.”

“Ah.  Well good.  Thank you for being honest, Savid,” she said with a smile.  She meant it.

“Am I missing anything?”

“You’ve been away.  On missions.  Father has lost every game of Rik that we’ve played in the last two months.  He stopped playing me because he got so mad. He claimed I was cheating.”

I thought about that before choosing my response.  Their father-daughter games were legendary, at least among the castle staff and closest council members.  Their skill levels were very close.  These last few years, Brona maybe won a few more games than her father, but not by a large number.  And it is very, very hard to cheat at Rik if both players pay attention.

“Every game?”

“He started to make mistakes, then accused me of cheating.  I gave him back his own line that if you’re not cheating, you’re not trying to win.  He didn’t like it.  Then he started to suggest that I should go easy on him.”

Her father had never, ever shied away from beating Brona at any endeavor, but he had also never before been such a bad loser to his daughter. Others—yes. Brona—no.

“So therefore, he cannot recover?”

“Correct.  Not if Montshire is to survive.  Believe me, I wondered if I was just falling prey to my own nature, but after a very careful, very thorough analysis, I concluded I wasn’t.  And you weren’t here to double-check me.  Which, by the way, is changing immediately.  I need you by my side.  There are threats to my rule; I’m considered too young, too progressive, too whatever.  I can’t have my best defense and best offense out in the field.”

“My field work is over?” I asked, shocked at how suddenly threatened I felt.

“Not all field work, my Savid.  Just any that takes you out of Haven or away from me.  Now that I am queen, I cannot trust anyone but you, not fully.  And I must hold you up to the kingdom