Realm Breaker

by Aveyard, Victoria

  “I thought it fitting I make another, to His Royal Highness, the prince consort,” Konegin continued, his hand extended. A servant in reversed livery, green lion on gold, pressed an ornate chalice into his hand, the brim spilling with deep, red wine.

  The servant then offered the same to Taristan, who took it with an obliging scowl, his lips curled over his teeth in a frightful attempt at a smile. A woman with less restraint would have howled with laughter, but Erida contained herself.

  “To Prince Taristan of Old Cor, husband to our beloved queen, father to the future of Galland. The son and sire of empires!” Konegin shouted, raising his cup to the room. Then, with a leering grin, he looked back at Erida’s consort, blue eyes sparkling. Like a man dying of thirst, he gulped at his wine.

  “To Taristan!” rippled out among the crowd, Ronin still livid among them.

  Erida reached for her own glass, tipping it to her husband in amusement. “To Taristan,” she echoed, drinking deeply.

  The Corborn man kept his grasp tight on the chalice, his fingers working up the stem of the intricate metalwork.

  Erida’s smile weakened, her delight dulled by exasperation. Is he really going to embarrass us both? Now? Over nothing? She almost kicked him under the table. Drink, you fool.

  To her relief, Taristan relented, as if this were some battle to be sacrificed.

  Lord Konegin beamed, showing wine-stained teeth, the liquid still dripping in his mustache.

  Taristan forced down a healthy swallow and pushed back his chair, rising to his full height. They were nearly the same size, though Konegin was older, gone to fat around his middle. They glared at each other, like a pair of archers trading arrows.

  Her instincts flared. Something was not right.

  In the crowd, Ronin shoved his way forward, knocking noblemen aside. A few balked while the rest watched the scene at the high table, their voices falling into silence.

  “Taristan?” the Queen said, putting down her glass. It echoed too loudly for a feasting hall.

  Her husband didn’t react. Instead he put out his hand, the chalice gripped in his fingers. “Share in this with me, my lord,” he said. Torchlight gleamed on the cup and in the wine, shining a dim and syrupy red.

  Konegin snorted, shoving his own cup back to his servant. The one in the reversed livery. His own man, Erida knew, feeling a wave of cold settle over her limbs.

  “I’ve had my fill, Taristan,” he answered, still smiling with red teeth. “So have you.”

  “Very well,” Taristan answered, knocking back the rest of the chalice, the wine running over his chin and chest, never blinking, never breaking his gaze on Konegin’s face.

  Beneath his mustache, her cousin’s smile fell.

  “What are you?” hissed from his mouth.

  Erida leapt to her feet, the pieces snapping together in her head. Treason. Betrayal. Poison. She knocked the cup from her husband’s hands and pointed to her royal cousin, her fingers shaking. “Arrest him,” she blurted out, nearly a scream. “Take Lord Konegin into custody—put him in chains.”

  The lord quivered, still watching Taristan, his face torn between confusion and dread. “What are you?” he said again, stepping off the dais.

  “Arrest him!” Erida shouted, and the hall exploded into noise. “He has tried to poison the prince!”

  Her knights surged, eager to obey, even if the orders bewildered them. Konegin was beloved by many, a potential king to a young, untested queen. He had supporters among the nobles, many in the hall. Many in the army. Erida felt her knees tremble as he plunged into the crowd, his own entourage following him quickly. Even his idiot son managed to flee, scurrying after his father as quickly as his legs would carry him.

  Poison, she thought again, coming back to herself.

  There was a warmth beneath her hand, another around her back. She tore herself from the disarray of the feasting hall to look down, to her own fingers flush against Taristan’s coat, pressing firmly into his chest. She blinked, dumbfounded. It was his arm around her waist, keeping her close.

  He looked down at her, his lips and chin red. She imagined him like a beast, a predator feasting on prey.

  “Poison,” she said aloud, raising a shaking finger.

  He caught it before she could touch his lips, pushing her away.

  “I am immune,” he ground out. “You are not.”

  The Lionguard moved in pursuit, most of them charging after Konegin and his men. They disappeared through the doors at the far end of the hall, streaking for the courtyard and the gates of Castle Lotha. Erida wanted to gather her skirts and follow. To pin Konegin down herself and cut his throat for his treachery.

  Instead she remained at the high table, a statue to all who saw her, though her bones were shaking.

  I’ll need to explain, she thought idly, eyeing the room. Her loyal subjects were in a frenzy, too drunk to understand or too confused to do anything more than shout. Her remaining knights bristled at the base of the dais, pushing back any who attempted to pass.

  All but Ronin.

  They knew better than to cross the wizard.

  He glowered, his body twitching in an odd manner, his face whiter than Erida could ever remember it being. Like fresh snow, like a corpse drained of blood. The whites of his eyes were lined with blood vessels, some broken.

  Taristan wiped at his face with his sleeve, scrubbing the poison away. “What is it?” he snarled, looking down on his wizard.

  Ronin dropped his head, his hands raised like a priest begging forgiveness. “We’ve lost Meer,” he murmured. “We’ve lost a Spindle.”

  The chalice, made of pure silver, cracked apart in Taristan’s hands.

  Erida felt his rage. It mirrored her own.

  “Lost,” she breathed. As if someone has simply misplaced it. Blood roared in her ears and she met Taristan’s eye, catching his wrists before he could tear the table into pieces. “Lost,” she said again, snarling.

  He glared, the fire burning in his eyes, a dull red edged in gold. Somewhere, Erida smelled smoke. “I’ll kill her,” he hissed.

  “I’ll help you,” she answered.

  If you loved Realm Breaker, don’t miss the first breath-taking instalment in Mare’s story, Red Queen.

  Click here to read now!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing this novel has been a cathartic experience. It was a welcome escape from increasingly frustrating times, and I hope to pass that on to readers. But what became an escape began as a step backward, to the girl I was at thirteen, searching for myself in stories but never finding her. Everything I loved didn’t seem to love me back. I hope, as the years roll on, that sentiment becomes more and more rare, for all children.

  As always, I must thank my parents first, who continue to love and support me through life. I would never be here without them, and they are the foundation everything I make is built on. My brother will recognize many things in this book and probably pick out their exact inspirations better than anyone else. I look forward to your thoughts, Andy. I hope to hear them in person. To Granddad George, I love you and I’ll see you soon. To my extended family of cousins, aunts, and uncles, too many to name, thank you for your continued support and constant love.

  I’m lucky to have another family out here in California, comprised of many, many friends who have stuck together through the strange decade after college. I am so grateful for this circle. And while many things change, we haven’t, for better or worse.

  I never imagined having friends like Morgan, Tori, and Jen, my dearest girls, who build me up and break me down in every way I need. I feel truly lucky to have all three of you and don’t know what I did to deserve your love. As Morgan read the first draft of Red Queen, Tori was the first to finish Realm Breaker. Her immediate response was my first breath of relief. Someone liked this book. I did my job. I can’t wait to be under the same moon with you all again.

  My love and thanks to Jordan, for seeing me through this. I’m glad
I share the moon with you.

  Once again, I have to write a quick thank-you to my sunbeam of a puppy, Indy. I carry no shame for writing my dog into my acknowledgments and never will. We almost lost her during the course of this book, and every second more is a gift.

  Few people get to have colleagues like mine, who not only became valued friends, but are incredibly talented role models to look up to and poorly emulate. I will not list them all, because it feels like bragging. But I must thank my Patties—Susan, Alex, and Leigh—for their friendship, advice, humor, and commiseration. Soman, whose shadow I am overjoyed to live in. Jenny and Morgan, I’ll meet you in Paris. Emma, we’re in the trenches together and I hope we always will be. And Sabaa, my constant through this strange journey.

  I’m glad to have many swords and shields in this industry, because you need many. Sharpest of all is Suzie Townsend, who continues to cut through the world so I can forge my path. All my love and thanks to her and the rest of the New Leaf team, who somehow manage to be both the best and kindest people in the business. To Pouya, Jo, Meredith, Hilary, Veronica—I hope I never get to stop thanking you all. An extra thank-you to Dani, without whom we would all be headless chickens. I could never forget my shield, also known as my lawyer, Steve Younger.

  Once again, my name is on a book published by HarperCollins, and I could not be prouder of what we’ve made together. I’m so privileged to be able to work with Alice Jerman and Erica Sussman and hope for many more collaborations. Thank you for giving me the room to bring this story to life. And thank you to the countless, tireless, incredible copy edit team who somehow managed to keep track of everything when I couldn’t. Alexandra and Karen, thank you. I always look forward to your style sheets, but this one most of all. Thank you to the Harper marketing magicians, the Epic Reads mavens, the publicity artists—Ebony, Sabrina, Michael, Tyler, Shannon, Jennifer, Anna, and so many more who somehow manage to make something a cave person scratched up into a shiny thing people want in their homes. A special thank-you goes out to my cover designers, who have done so well by me all these years and continue to knock it out of the park. Thank you to Alison, Catherine, and Jenna for making Realm Breaker so stunning.

  Another thank-you to my sensitivity readers, who were so thoughtful and encouraging, and deepened this new world in ways I could not fathom.

  My deepest thanks goes to you readers and bloggers and teachers and librarians and booksellers, to anyone who holds a book and passes it on, or eats it up. Stories cannot live without you. Thank you for giving life to anything I might briefly carry.

  This is the part where I should list my inspirations, but there are far too many watersheds for this river. I will only thank J. R. R. Tolkien here, for throwing me into Middle-earth, for giving me so much—and yet so little. For making me want. For making me hungry.

  I’m grateful my grandmothers were able to see me published, and while they aren’t with me anymore, I hope this story is with them, somehow.

  My love to you all,

  Victoria

  Also by Victoria Aveyard

  Novels

  Red Queen

  Glass Sword

  King’s Cage

  War Storm

  Novella Collection

  Cruel Crown

  Broken Throne

  Copyright

  First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Orion Fiction,

  an imprint of The Orion Publishing Group Ltd.,

  Carmelite House, 50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK Company

  Copyright © Victoria Aveyard 2021

  Map art by Francesca Baraldi

  Map © & ™ 2021 Victoria Aveyard. All rights reserved.

  The moral right of Victoria Aveyard to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is

  available from the British Library.

  ISBN (eBook) 9781409193968

  www.orionbooks.co.uk