Whenever-kobo by Emily Evans Page A

I could refrain from being taken hostage. It didn’t appear as if I’d need it though.
    Despite the betrayers’ advantage in numbers, the remaining three fell fast; their moans echoing through the church. The remaining men stared at Callum as if he had supernatural powers. The speed and efficiency with which he’d dispatched the first guys had been as astonishing as the violence. Their expressions held shock and resentment but their shoulders drooped and they laid their swords in front of them.
    More men poured through the doorway. They carried the cold with them, along with weapons. Axes, maces, knives. More men than we could begin to fight. My hands shook under the weight of the jug, and I let it rest on the floor of the chapel. “Callum, come back to me,” I said. “Bring the sword.” The phrase used to time travel rolled through my mind. We had to get out. “Hurry.”
    The first newcomer took a knee and held out his weapon on open palms. He lowered his head. “King Mael. I pledge my fealty. My allegiance. My all.” One by one, the newcomers kneeled and repeated a version of the words in a kind of verbal loyalty wave.
    The late-arriving supporters had ensured King Mael’s ascent to the high throne of Ireland. My shoulders sagged and I put my hand on my heart. We were safe for now.
    The semicircle of warlords bowed their heads to King Mael, continuing the wave of allegiance though they spoke their support with bitter reluctance.
    The priest came forward, his body shaking hard enough that the fabric on his robes wavered, casting candlelit shadows on the floor. He made the sign of the cross, gave a blessing to the room and thanked God. Next, he lifted a gold bejeweled circle high. His wrinkled hands steadied.
    King Mael dropped to his knees. He kneeled on a marble stone, facing the priest.
    The priest lowered the crown until it rested on the King’s fair head. “God save the King.”
    The men repeated, “God save the King.”
     
    ***
     
    The late-arriving soldiers escorted the warlords outside. Two had to be carried. The priest trailed after them, chanting prayers in Latin. I easily translated the words, though the only languages I’d taken at Trallwyn had been Spanish and French. And while those were romance languages derived from Latin, my ease of understanding these guys was something else, something magical.
    Their departure left the newly crowned king, Callum, and me alone inside the church.
    Callum motioned from the King’s sword to the altar. He bowed his head. “We’d return now.”
    I nodded and moved on wobbly legs to the center of the pulpit. I held out my hand to Callum, too freaked to think beyond this moment. He placed his palm on mine. Warm. Secure.
    Callum tilted his head to me. “What were you going to do with the jug?”
    “Don’t worry about it.” King Mael made no ceremonial gesture, no move to the altar. I touched the vein on the inside of Callum’s wrist and whispered, “Does it have to be the current heir for this century or can you send us home?”
    King Mael heard me. He raised his fair eyebrows and assessed us with his gaze. “’Tis the King’s right. I know of travelers but I’ve not seen them. I’d have you stay and apprise me of your world. That will end your debt and allow you to travel.” He glanced over our hands, and then tilted his head at me. “You’re a warrior?”
    Callum snorted. “She’s a girl. She grabbed a jug as if we needed a drink.”
    I shook my hand free and put my hands on my hips. I met Callum’s dark blue gaze. Because I was staring at him so intently, I saw the almost imperceptible shake of his head.
    I turned to King Mael, “I delayed things until Callum, the male warrior, acted.” I let my gaze flick to the door, thinking of the men leaving and wondered why the priest had gone with them. I feared he was now giving out more group last rites.
    “Your family sent you to learn from me?” King Mael asked.
    Callum shook his head.