Page 49 of The Prince's Fealty

“Understood. The High Prince totally does not mind that you were not sneaking into his tent.”

Ondun smiled a little uncertainly at him, but he seemed reassured by Tor’s amusement, and he gave up trying to talk in the negative.

“I saw the letter on the desk when I grabbed the paper. We were gathering to head out, so there was no time, so I dashed off a few lines to my sister, and I couldn’t help but compare my handwriting to your letter writer, and then I realized it was theHigh King, so of course he had nice handwriting, and then I realized it was the order to go after the exiles—at which point I realized just how foolish what I was doing was, and how much trouble I could get into, and I got out of there as fast as I could. But itdefinitelyordered you to send guards after the exiles. A decisive victory that would prevent further calamities, I think it said.”

Tor’s knees went weak, and Pel’s arm around him tightened even further, like he was actually trying to hold Tor up now. He let out a shaky breath. Tor had still messed up. He should have been sober enough to question that order.

But it had been two years of everyone telling him he was wrong. Not even Pel had suggested he’d read the letter right—not that Tor was blaming him for that, since it would mean…

Since it would mean that Tor had been deliberately set up, and up until recently, the idea hadn’t so much as crossed any of their minds. Now it seemed all too plausible that he’d been sent a false letter that had then been replaced with the real one. How many people were involved in this? Of course, if it was Yomil or Fernila, they’d both have relatively easy access to… everything, really. Someone had to be bribed heavily to swap letters like that, probably, but Tor supposed that if you believed you were able to remake the world order, someone could be convinced to join your side for promises of wealth or power. Or maybe they just hadn’t liked Tor or hadn’t realized what was planned or what it would cost.

He’d probably never be certain. But thanks to Ondun, Tor knew that he hadn’t imagined things. He’d always maintained that he’d seen that original letter, but there had been days where he’d doubted everything, including himself.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“Thank you. I, uh, I was really starting to think I must have made it up, despite what I remembered.” He cleared his throat. “But I should still have been more discerning when it came to what you were being asked to do, and I’m sorry I put you in this position.”

Ondun hesitated for a moment. “Do you think I might be able to contact my family now?”

Desperate hope swelled through Tor like a tide. Goddess, he hoped so. Ondun’s mention of his sister had made Tor remember. She’d been so young when Tor had gone to tell them that Ondun had been killed. Maybe only seven or eight. There had been so many tears.

The idea that Torhadn’tbeen responsible for the death of her big brother was almost too much to wrap his brain around.

“I will do my utmost to make that possible,” Tor promised Ondun solemnly. “I’m not sure how my brother is going to take any of this, but I like to hope that even if he’s not all right with me taking the Fealty, he’d let all of you return home. None of this was your fault.”

Of course, citizens were forbidden from pledging their Fealty to someone who wasn’t the ruler of what had become the United Realms, so it was also possible that Varex would take a dim view ofeverything.

But Tor really,reallyhoped not. He was willing to be the scapegoat and take on all of the guilt if it meant that everyone else was spared—as long as it didn’t hurt Pel and the baby, of course.

Tor swallowed again. “I’m so glad that you’re all right. I’d like to talk to you and the others properly, I’m just not totally sure when that will be possible.”

“I understand,” Ondun told him, though he looked a little disappointed, which Tor couldn’t blame him for. “I know there’s a lot going on right now.”

So much more than Ondun knew.

“Would you still like to pledge your Fealty?” Tor asked. “Zero hard feelings if you’ve had enough of me.”

Honestly, after everything Tor had put them through, avoiding him would make perfect sense.

Ondun met his eyes squarely. “Maybe you didn’t make the best decision back then, but you were following orders just like we were. We could all have made different choices, but we didn’t. And I think we both learned a lot over the last two years. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to pledge my Fealty to you.”

Could lumps in the throat get stuck there permanently?

“Thank you,” Tor croaked. “I’ll do everything I can to live up to that trust, I promise.”

Ondun nodded solemnly and reached out with his clasped hands. Tor settled his on top, and a moment later, the Fealty had been pledged.

It felt a little more like stealing a citizen from his brother than it had before this moment, except that Ondun’s Fealty had already been renounced. And itdidhappen, people deciding to move between realms for whatever reason, though it wasn’t common. If they made the move permanent, they were meant to change their Fealty.

Tor had never really thought about how many might just… slip over a border and not say anything. It was technically possible, at least. Did that feeling of home being home compel people to be accurate with their Fealty? Or did the overarching Fealty from the rulers of the United Realms to Varex as the High King smooth the way? Tor had certainly felt at home the months he’d been in Tond—though he assumed that had more to do with his single-minded attention to Pel than anything else.

The next person came, and then the next, and the next, and Tor tried to concentrate on the present. Pel found him more food and drink. As the night wore on, all nine of the guards who’d gone over the mountain pledged their Fealty to Tor, and he apologized to each of them. If they were angrier than Ondun, they didn’t let on now. And he supposed that if they were really angry, they probably wouldn’t have pledged to him.

He didn’t see Lemila, so she must have been the one Ondun had mentioned who’d died at some point after the mountain raid. He would have to get more details later. Three people were still dead, and that was three people too many. Nine people were separated from their families, and even if Tor sorted things out with Varex, there would be no getting back the last two years and the pain caused to them and their families. But knowing that those nine had survived and there really had been a letter felt like a crushing weight had been lifted from Tor’s soul.

He’d still messed up. He shouldn’t have been drinking so much. He should have been more critical of his orders. But the consequences weren’t quite so black as they had been, and he had an opportunity now to try to make the situation better for the nine survivors. He’d been set up. He wasn’t blameless, but it wasn’t all on him, either.

Tor drew a deep breath and blew it out, unable to express his gratitude for Ondun and his need to write to his sister. (Should he buy them gifts? He should definitely buy them gifts.) How close had Tor come to never finding out the truth? Instead, he’d chosen this path with the exiles, and look what he’d learned. Maybe the goddess really was looking out for him, even if it felt like he’d been through a lot recently.