Lonen's War Read Online Free PDF Page A

brother, Yar, across from her. Her mother linked
hands with her, but Ben hovered his palm over hers, symbolically
sparing her the stress of skin-to-skin contact. It impacted her
less from her siblings, but they were different enough from her not
to be in as perfect harmony as her parents.
    “We give thanks for the gift of hwil ,” the king intoned. “Which both protects us from the
power of grien and sgath and allows us to draw from their
blessings, to share with all the world. Here, in this safe place,
we remove our masks and take the sustenance of food and drink with
those we love best.”
    Oria folded her hands in her lap while
servants stepped forward with dainty silver knives, one for each
royal, and cut the knotted ribbons of their masks. Her family held
the masks in place, then removed them as one, setting them
reverently on the mats to their left, placed there for that express
purpose. They accepted damp cloths, perfumed with menthol herbs, to
cool their flushed faces. Alva gave a cloth to Oria also, a
long-established courtesy to include the royal children who’d not
yet taken their masks.
    They meant well, but the rest of her family
actually needed the cloths. So instead of playing the game
of wiping away nonexistent sweat in exaggerated gestures as she had
growing up, Oria set hers aside, making a deliberate effort to let
go of the feeling of being excluded. Chuffta sent her an
affectionate thought. Giving back the cloths, her family relaxed
and smiled at one another, her favorite part of the ritual. Though
she knew their faces well, it warmed her heart to see them again.
The king accepted a flask of wine and poured for them all, the
servants bringing them first to the queen, then to Oria, and then
to her brothers in reverse age order.
    She held her glass until her father raised
his. “To my beautiful family.”
    Not to victory, as she’d anticipated. The
wine, kept chilled on ice in the cellars even through the hottest
season, tasted lightly sweet as the fragrance of day-blooming
flowers, but the faint scent of roasting meat drifted through her
head nonetheless. Her father and brothers all smelled on the
surface like the honeyed soap the men preferred, and yet it seemed
the smell of carnage clung to them, tingeing the flavor of the wine
with the bitterness of char. Oria swallowed back against it.
    “What news of the battle then?” she asked as
the servants brought out the first course, a cold berry cream
soup.
    Her brothers all glanced at their father,
though Yar gave her a cheeky grin first, clearly pleased with
himself. King Tav’s expression remained calm, revealing nothing.
“Always so impatient, my gifted daughter.”
    A mild reproof, but one that stung. Yes,
yes—if she had hwil , she wouldn’t have prompted them for
information. Still, they all knew she struggled with impatience, so
it didn’t need reiterating. Oria blew out a retort without speaking
it and focused on her soup. Delicious, a perfect complement to the
wine. But not enough to distract her from the undercurrents beneath
the apparently peaceful meal. Her brothers might have silenced
their voices, but their emotions ran high. Their bright energy
tugged at her, eroding her hard-won calm like a receding tide
dragging at the sandy shore.
    Her father let the silence stretch out and
finally Oria set down her glass spoon so carefully that it made no
sound. “I can feel that things aren’t right and it’s getting to me.
Would you please tell me what happened before I have to excuse
myself?”
    Her mother gave her an approving smile. Much
as Oria hated confessing to crumbling control, she’d finally agreed
that was better than melting down because she wouldn’t admit to
it.
    “Tav,” Rhianna said, “there’s no need to
push her. Not today.”
    Her father’s eyes rested on his wife with
burning warmth, a slight smile breaking the calm of his visage. He
gestured to his man to remove the soup. “As always, you are wise.
This, then, is