Once a King Read online

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Maps of Celize

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Sample Chapter from EVER THE HUNTED

  Buy the Book

  More Books from HMH Teen

  About the Author

  Connect with HMH on Social Media

  Copyright © 2018 by Erin Summerill

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  hmhbooks.com

  Cover illustration © 2018 by Martin Schmetzer

  Cover design by Lisa Vega

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Names: Summerill, Erin, 1978- author.

  Title: Once a king / Erin Summerill.

  Description: Boston ; New York : HMH Books for Young Readers, 2018 . |

  Summary: Told in two voices, young King Aodren works with Lirra, a Channeler, to dismantle his father’s dark legacy and end the divide between Channelers—women with a magical ability—and people without magic.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018034237 | ISBN 9781328949974 (hardback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. | Magic—Fiction. | Fantasy.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S853 On 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018034237

  eISBN 978-1-328-52688-5

  v1.1118

  For Ma,

  who showed me that the best partner of creativity is perseverance

  Hullo Beetle,

  I’ll not be returning in time for the summit.

  Chapter

  1

  Lirra

  I LEAN AGAINST THE DUSTY ELEMENTIARY SHELF crammed with books and jars of animal bits, and stare at my father’s letter. His nearly indecipherable scratch strikes me with swift disappointment. Gods, the All Kingdoms’ Summit happens only every five years. It’s not as if Da hasn’t had time enough to arrange his schedule. The remainder of Da’s message is blocked by another letter. It’s sealed in my father’s wax and addressed to someone named AC.

  My heartbeat slogs through my ears, muting the chatter of mismatched accents and clatter of carriage wheels outside the Elementiary. What a fool I am for thinking this time Da’s priorities would include something other than business. Having worked for my father for five years, I know better than to be hurt by this news. Just as I know, without reading further, Da needs me to deliver the letter to AC.

  I suppose it also shouldn’t be surprising that there’s no note here for the littleuns or Eugenia, my stepmother and worrier extraordinaire. Overwhelmed by black-market trade and valuable secrets, Da tends to forget all else.

  “Lirra, you done?” Orli’s clipped tone echoes from the other side of the shelf.

  I fold Da’s letter, intending to finish it later, and squeeze my fingers along the parchment seam. One, two, three sharp slides.

  “Almost,” I call out, and shove the now-empty box back into concealment behind a jar of rat tails. To maintain our family’s anonymity and safety, Da sends correspondences here for me to retrieve in secret. He trusts few people more than Astoria, the Elementiary owner and my former magic teacher.

  “What’d he write?” Orli asks when I come into view.

  My best friend is standing by the door, trapped in a stream of dusty light, right hand strangling the doorknob, the usual tawny tone leached from her knuckles. Despite her unease with Channeler magic, she’s accompanied me here every week since Da left.

  “He won’t be returning for a while.” I pick at the broken seal.

  “You mean he’ll miss the start of the tournament, right? He’ll return for the jubilee and the other summit festivities.”

  I shake my head.

  Raven brows shoot up. “He’s going to miss your jubilee performance?”

  My nail wedges under the last bit of red wax and frees it from the parchment. “Aye.”

  Astoria has one hand on her cane and the other clutching a pile of books, going about business as she usually does whenever I slip inside the Elementiary to pick up Da’s mail. She ambles out of the backroom to her desk, where she deposits the stack. I’m not entirely sure she’s noticed me until she lifts an age-spotted finger to shove her spectacles higher and then points to the letter in my hand. “Not what you were hoping?”

  I slip it into my satchel and force a smile. “That’s the way it is with Da’s business.”

  “Oh, dear girl.” She frowns. “And it’s your first year entering the jubilee.”

  The sadness magnified in her watery blue eyes sours my mood.

  My gaze drops to the ring of dirt darkening the hem of my day dress.

  There’s a shuffle thump of steps on the wood floors, and then Astoria’s arms come around me, squeezing me to her wonderfully round body.

  “Your da knows it’s important to you.” The love she radiates makes me feel like a cat basking in the sun. “He’d be there if he could.”

  Astoria has been Da’s friend and closest confidant since before my birth. She offered us a safe place to hide at her home in Shaerdan after we escaped Malam’s Purge—the Channeler eradication that would have seen me killed for my magic ability. We have lived near her ever since. She understands Da better than anyone, but I don’t want to hear her talk him up right now.

  “She knows,” Orli says. “All set to go, Lirra?” Her desperation to leave the Channeler school is as potent as the scent of lavender here.

  “You don’t have to leave so soon.” Astoria returns to her desk. “Come away from that door and sit down.”

  “We need to run by the docks. Getting through all the visitors’ carriages will take time.” Orli points to the blown-glass windows. Outside, a rainbow of fabric has assaulted Shaerdan’s capital city of Celize. Passersby wear their kingdoms’ colors like a shield. Usually, the northern edge of town, where the cliffs climb up from the docks, sees little traffic. Travelers have invaded all of my hometown, even the quiet roads stretching east into farmlands and forests. Scores of people from the four neighboring kingdoms have been arriving for days in anticipation of the All Kingdoms’ Summit and festivities—the Channeler Jubilee, the Tournament of Champions, and the Kingdoms’ Market.

  “Orli is right,” I say. “We need extra time to look at the crowds.” I have things to pick up for my jubilee exhibit that can’t wait until tomorrow.

  Astoria fiddles with the wrist button of her dress
sleeve. “See you next week?”

  I nod, even though it’s uncertain if she’s referring to the jubilee showcase or my next mail visit. My head is stuck on a memory from five years ago. At the last jubilee, Da and I watched from the sidelines. Channelers from across the kingdoms showed displays of magic. Breathless and awed, I confessed my dream to perform at the next jubilee.

  Next week’s jubilee.

  Da said he wouldn’t miss it for all the world.

  * * *

  Silence is the sweetest sound in the Barrett home, and such a rare thing to be had. It’s alarming how loud the boards creak underfoot as Orli and I sneak inside the back door, both of us carrying packages from the dock market. Packages that could be easily snapped in half by my younger brothers’ grubby fingers.

  “Where is everyone?” Orli mouths.

  I shake my head. The kitchen is filled with the usual mess, minus my family. Dirty dishrags lie heaped in a pile on Grandmother’s table beside a discarded, half-finished drawing of a pig—or an owl. I cannot tell. A stale odor lingers in the air like a haunt of last night’s leek-and-carrot soup. And then there’s the crock of Eugenia’s morning pottage, still sitting on the sooty hearth.

  “Eugenia?” Never one to miss a Monday service, my stepmother drags the littleuns to the cathedral on the cliff each week as penance for Da’s profession.

  No one answers.

  I abandon my protective crouch around the wrapped wooden dowels. “The carriages on the road must’ve slowed her travel.”

  “Do you think it’s odd that Eugenia will make peace over Millner’s sins and then spend his earnings the next day?” Orli asks as we head down the hall toward the attic ladder that hangs in a permanent lowered position.

  “When you talk about my da’s business like that, it sounds wicked.”

  “It’s not exactly saintly. Your father sells secrets to the highest bidder. Not produce or pelts.”

  “He’s an information trader.” I shrug off her comment, not eager to discuss my father.

  Orli’s head falls back, and she explodes with laughter. “That’s a new one. Though a bit much for Millner Barrett. Maybe something like high ruler of the black market would be more accurate.”

  I laugh. At least she didn’t call him Archtraitor, the infamous title he earned for defying the Malamian regent, evading capture, and building a secretive life in Shaerdan. It gets under my skin.

  “My point is, she repents one day and spends his money the next.” Orli follows me up to the attic room. She flops on my bed while I sit on the floor and arrange the dowels from largest to smallest. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  Was that a note of irritation? I leave the packages lined up like soldiers before their captain. “What’s this about?”

  Gone is the easy smile she wore after leaving the Elementiary. Was today too much for her? Were the crowds overwhelming?

  “I know what you’re thinking, and that’s not it.” Orli slides her dark braids out of her face. “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  “Nothing is nothing.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  I pinch her toe. “It means if something’s important to you, it’s important to me. No secrets.”

  She points to the packages. “Don’t you want to finish unwrapping those before your brothers get home?”

  I don’t even glance down. “Subject change? Beginner’s move. You know I have more self-control than that.”

  She guffaws. “A fox in a henhouse has more self-control than you.”

  “Exaggeration.”

  “Is it?” A little light brightens her stormy eyes. “I’m sore over Eugenia’s soil order, is all. Satisfied?”

  “The one for cabbage?” Wasn’t that weeks ago?

  “You know how the growing season is. Mum hasn’t been able to enhance the soil.” Late spring to summer means increased hours on Orli’s family farm. Especially for her mum, who earns extra money by selling magic-infused soil for growing vibrant, pest-resistant plants. Altering the soil drains her energy, a cost all Channelers pay, which slows production.

  “Has Eugenia been pestering her?” Even though Eugenia isn’t a Channeler, she knows Channelers need time to restore energy.

  I tear the packaging off the dowels to feel their notched ends, all sanded to a silken texture. The largest dowel, balanced on my open palm, is impossibly light. Almost weightless. The wood’s scent is balsa and musk. A humid summer day and freedom.

  “It’s my mum.” Orli’s tiptoe-quiet response brings me back to the room. “She wants me to fill Eugenia’s order. She thinks I’m ready.”

  “What do you think?”

  She doesn’t answer. A year ago, Orli was kidnapped as part of an attempted coup in Malam. The former regent was intent on siphoning magic from Channelers and combining the stolen energy into the ultimate weapon to use against the young king. I was part of the effort to rescue her, and ever since, Orli has been plagued with nightmarish memories and constant fears. It took months before she was able to leave her farm and venture into public. But she has yet to use her Channeler magic.

  “I would help, but all I’m good for is blowing dirt around your farm.” I nudge her knee.

  Channelers have influence over one energy—land, air, fire, water, or spirit. Orli and her mother have the ability to manipulate the land, while I can harness the wind.

  “That’s all you’re good for?” Orli rolls her eyes.

  “It’d have to be a small pile. Dirt’s heavy.”

  “You’re full of hot air, you know that?”

  “Better than dirt in the ears.”

  We both laugh, never too old for Channeler puns.

  “Truthfully,” Orli says, more serious. “All you’ve done this year is impressive.”

  Does she realize she’s come far this year too? I open my mouth to tell her as much, but she cuts me off. “Don’t be modest. I wasn’t even referring to what you did for me.” Her voice cracks with emotion.

  My throat burns too. Dammit.

  “I’d do it again,” I whisper, knowing exactly how hard it was to find her. To free her.

  Orli rubs her eyes, and then shoves me in the leg and adds an annoyed look. “Don’t make me teary. I’d do the same for you, fool.”

  I know she would.

  She scoots off the bed and sits cross-legged on the floor. “What I’m trying to say is what you’ve done with your gliders is a big deal. You use your magic in a different way than we grew up learning. Everything we created was from our energy. Like my mum and the soil. She has to sacrifice herself for every batch of stupid dirt. But your gliders are different.”

  “I use my magic to make them,” I say, confused.

  “No, you use magic to test them. To see if they’ll fly.”

  This much is true. I wanted to build a contraption that would allow my brothers to glide in the sky without me having to conjure wind.

  “Anyone, Channeler or giftless, can follow your pattern and make their own glider. You’re going to show people a new way of looking at Channelers. Maybe they’ll even see that we shouldn’t be feared.”

  She’s exaggerating. But . . .

  “Maybe, hopefully, it’ll inspire a few people,” I say, though the possibility makes me feel like I’ve ingested a swarm of lightning bugs.

  A door slams in the house, and a herd of elk rumbles through the hallway below. Eugenia shouts, “Not inside!”

  “Sorry, Mum!” I hear my brothers say before the stampede alters course.

  I rush to rewrap the dowels and hide them under my bed. “Do you want me to talk to her about the soil? Or are you ready?” I hate pressuring Orli, but she has to use her magic again one day. May as well be helping her mum and Eugenia.

  “I’ll figure something out. I’ll be fine.” Her expression shutters closed.

  She thinks my winged inventions will change how people see Channelers. Maybe she’s right. But what will it take to inspire her? To prove that her magic isn’
t to be feared?

  I go downstairs to greet Eugenia in the kitchen and find her plucking dirty rags off the table.

  “Any word from your da?” she asks.

  “No.” It’s better not to mention he wrote me about business. When Da is working, Eugenia likes to pretend he’s just taking a trip to visit friends. She won’t acknowledge his methods of collecting and profiting off secrets if she can help it.

  “Do you think he’s all right?”

  “He’s been gone for longer stretches, and he always returns safely.” I’ve become adept at managing Eugenia’s worry.

  Her hands knot in a dishrag. “Right. Of course. I’m sure he’ll return for the festiv—”

  The rear door smacks against the wall, startling us both. The twins race inside, skidding into their mother’s feet.

  Eugenia drops the rag, and screeches. “Boys!”

  Despite her runny emotions, she lunges for them as they try to scramble away. Loren bangs into the table and upends a chair. Kiefer hunkers beside the hutch.

  “What has gotten into you two?”

  “Sorry, Mum,” the boys chant.

  “We don’t run in the home. Look at this dirt. I just swept the floor, and now I’ll have to do it again.”

  Loren rubs his hip. “Wasn’t running, Mum. Just some quick moving.”

  “Save your quick movement for outdoors. Hear me?”

  “But what of Lirra?”

  “What about me?” I ask.

  Loren’s smile switches into something sly, like a youthful image of Da, all dimpled tanned cheeks, stocky frame, and windblown curls the color of wet driftwood. I’ve always longed to look more like them instead of a reminder of my mum, with nearly black hair so thick it could be roof thatching.

  “Lirra does whatever she pleases.” Loren turns pathetic cow eyes on Eugenia. “She don’t follow rules.”

  If only that were true.

  “And I’ve seen her run in the house.”

  Little toad. “You have not.”

  “Have too.”

  I turn to Eugenia for support. Working for Da requires living by another set of rules, something Eugenia knows even if she doesn’t like it.

  “You don’t go to church.” Loren points at me. “You sneak out at night. And sometimes you go around with mud on your face. Mum always makes us wash our faces. Doesn’t she, Kief?”