Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  Liro can think what he wants, but I’m innocent. And so is Kirk.

  At least for now. That could change after they met with Marc later. Joel didn’t know the full extent of the dean’s plan, but it was safe to assume they’d be privy to information that could threaten their very lives if the wrong people found out what was going on.

  Joel hesitated when he saw a very wide-eyed Kirk shaking his head, silently imploring Joel to let the issue rest. Kirk didn’t want to be brought into this—and with good reason. Under King Rishi’s rule, he’d been allowed to live in Arden, but if Liro or any of his cronies really wanted to, they could have Kirk exiled. Technically, he was still a foreigner. Joel swallowed, pushing down the fear in his chest.

  No one is safe anymore, whether they’re innocent or not. Kirk will help us, even with the risks involved.

  “Is there something I can help you with, Liro?” Joel asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Or did you come here only to belittle me? Surely that wouldn’t be worth walking all the way from the palace.”

  Liro’s face drew into a haughty smile. “I’m here on business—though I do, as always, enjoy exchanging pleasantries with you. I have orders from Arden’s acting ruler.”

  Joel bit his tongue to keep from saying something he’d no doubt regret later. King Rishi would have rolled over in his grave if he knew Joel’s tyrant uncle sat upon the throne, running Arden into the ground.

  Not awaiting a response, Liro gestured toward Inan. “Your father is pulling you from Academy.”

  Inan grew pale. “Wh–what? W–why?”

  Joel placed a hand on his young cousin’s shoulder. “On what grounds?”

  Liro’s eyes possessed not a trace of warmth as they focused on his younger brother. “Security precautions. The councilors agree it’s inappropriate and potentially hazardous for the son of the steward to continue taking lessons with—commoners. I’m here to escort Lordling Inan back to the palace.”

  An exasperated squeak freed itself from inside Joel’s throat as he floundered for something to say. “You can’t just barge in and take one of my students in the middle of a lesson! Just because you’re on the High Council now doesn’t give you the authority.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t?” Liro cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps you’d like to bring your complaint before our uncle. I’m sure Lord Neetra Adelwijn, steward and ruler of Arden, would be happy to remind you how little your opinion really matters.”

  “And what of Inan’s schooling? He’s a mage! He needs to be properly trained.”

  “And he will be. By the finest private tutors in the country—the way all royalty and young lords should be educated.” Liro jeered at Inan. “Worry not, cousin. After today, you’ll never again be subjected to taking classes with vagrants and women.”

  Inan sputtered incoherently. “B–but I don’t—I—”

  It was his sister who found her voice first. Inez’s narrowed, smoldering eyes speared Liro. “This isn’t fair. Inan should be the one to decide where he takes classes, not Neetra and certainly not the High Council.”

  Liro curled his nose. “It’s already been decided.”

  “Like hell it has! Inan, just say no—”

  A vicious snarl leapt from Liro’s mouth. “Shut your despicable mouth or I’ll force it shut!” He lunged forward a pace, and for just a moment, Joel feared he might have to jump between his brother and young cousin. Liro stopped short, however, pointing a finger at Inez. “Trust me when I say that your father would hold no remorse should I show his foolish daughter to her rightful place.”

  Inez opened her mouth in retort but was interrupted when Inan set a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he gasped. “If this is Father’s wish, I’ll go.”

  Inez’s eyes widened. “Inan, no—”

  “I don’t want any trouble. It’s all right. I’ll go.”

  Joel clamped his mouth shut as he watched Inan shuffle toward the door. He wished he could think of something to say—anything to help the boy—but his mind had gone blank. Likewise, Inez remained silent, though Joel could see the hatred burning in her glare. Inan was right. Defying Neetra would only cause more grief for everyone.

  Inan kept his eyes on the stone floor as he departed, but Liro lingered in the doorway a moment longer before following. The councilor flashed a dark smile, for a moment looking like an eerie caricature of Koal. It often astonished Joel how his brother and father could look so alike yet be such different people.

  “I’m sure I won’t see you again before you depart,” Liro sneered. “Be safe, brother. If you’re to meet your end at war, there’s no guarantee for your soul. Best you stay alive and well, rather than risk eternal damnation.”

  Joel blinked, feeling oddly numb inside. Perhaps he’d grown accustomed to Liro’s constant resentment, or the sting of his words had merely dulled after so many years. Whatever the reason, Joel had no desire to fight back. Not this time.

  He couldn’t help but recall a time, so many years ago, when the two brothers had loved each other. So much time had passed that Joel could no longer remember what had driven them apart. When had things changed? When had Liro become such a monster? Would their relationship ever recover or were they destined to forever be divided?

  “I’ll send Father your regards,” Joel replied in a muted voice. “I’ll even be careful to soften the blow. He needn’t ride into battle with a heart broken from disappointment.”

  Liro raised his chin and some fleeting emotion—Pain? Jealousy? It was hard to judge—passed behind his brooding gaze. A moment later, he turned on his heels, saying not a single word more, and stormed from the room. The slam of the door made Joel wince, and the silence that followed was nearly unbearable.

  Goddesses know, I’ve tried to win back his approval, but I can’t change who I am. Not for him or anyone else. Is there nothing I can do? Will he never accept me? What if I march to my doom tomorrow? What if this was my last chance to make things right and I failed?

  “I loathe him,” Inez spat, breaking the silence. “Someday he’ll get what he deserves. Neetra too.”

  Her hiss was almost lost beneath the ringing in Joel’s ears, and it wasn’t until Kirk set a timid hand on the mage’s shoulder that he was able to pull himself from his abysmal thoughts. Somber but caring eyes attempted to make contact, but he couldn’t muster the courage to meet them.

  “Are you okay?” Kirk asked.

  Shaking his head, Joel turned his back on Kirk and the remaining students, opting to stare out the window instead. Fear seized his body, tightening around his throat like a noose. Suddenly the idea of the impending war was an overwhelming terror in the forefront of his mind.

  Chhaya’s bane, is this really happening?

  A half wheelturn ago, he’d barely escaped the Northern Empire alive, and even then, not everyone had survived the mission. Joel’s dear friend and mentor, Ambassador Cenric Leal, had lost his life that day, leaving a wife and two daughters to pick up the pieces of a broken life without him.

  How many Ardenian soldiers would die this time? When the dust cleared, would Joel and countless others become fallen heroes, the subject of tragic tavern stories about the brave soldiers who gave their lives for their country? When the battle ended, would Joel’s own mother and siblings be among those left to mourn, to deal with the loss, to endure the pain as Cenric’s family had?

  Joel could feel the eyes of the students on his back, but he couldn’t face them right now. He couldn’t face anyone. Surely no one in the world could ever understand what he was going through—save one.

  Gib.

  A pang of longing rose to mingle with the fear in Joel’s stomach.

  Gib would understand. If only I could talk to—No, he reminded himself. Gib’s moved on. And I need to do the same. I can’t run to him every time I have a problem. I pushed him away, and now I have only myself. Alone forever.

  Kirk cleared his throat. “Joel?”

  Refusing to take his blur
ry, wet eyes from the window, Joel sighed and offered a simple but terse reply. “Sorry, everyone. Class is dismissed for the day.”

  The breeze blew unseasonably cool against Kezra Malin-Rai’s scalp. She ran a hand through her freshly shorn locks, momentarily stunned by the lack of long tresses. Her sister, Tamil, was still staring with a disapproving look. She’d agreed to cut Kezra’s unruly hair, but only after three days of coercion and an entire night of blatant threats.

  “It suits you.” Their elder brother, Zandi, barely glanced up from his saddlebag as he spoke, but Kezra knew his words were for her. Personally she didn’t care if the haircut suited her or not, as long as she could see when she met the Shirites in battle.

  Tamil sighed. “Mother will have a fit.”

  “Then don’t tell her.” Kezra lifted her bag over her shoulder and trudged over to Epona, her golden palfrey. “By the time I get back, it’ll have grown past my ears at least. She’ll never have to know how short it is now.”

  “You should go see her one more time before you leave.”

  Kezra shook her head. Tamil meant well, but another visit to their mother would only bring more tears and fretting. “She doesn’t need the heartache.”

  For a time, no one said anything, and the only sounds were of horses shifting their weight and saddlebags being secured. Kezra bit her lip against the urge to fill the quiet. Perhaps it was cruel not to go see her mother again, but really, what good would it do? Kezra wasn’t going to allow Odessa to talk her out of going, and likewise, Zandi wasn’t going to be convinced to stay behind—whether his title would allow it or not. A wry smile threatened to spread across Kezra’s mouth.

  Though I suspect Zandi wouldn’t be quite so adamant about going to war if Gib wasn’t also making the journey.

  “Try to see it through Mother’s eyes, Kezra.” It seemed Tamil wasn’t quite ready to give up. “How hard must it be to watch her eldest son and daughter ride to war? Think of her. Maybe you shouldn’t go. The women soldiers have been given the option to stay.”

  “But that’s not what being a soldier’s about, love!” Lord Tular Galloway, Tamil’s husband, bounded down the front steps with a bag slung over one shoulder. The sun caught his copper hair and fire shone behind dark eyes when they landed on Kezra, imploring her not to grow frustrated with Tamil yet again. “And Kezra’s one hell of a soldier.”

  Tamil reached for him, and Tular closed his larger hands over hers. Kezra found herself turning away from the pair, both for the sake of privacy and so she didn’t have to think of the one she wasn’t saying such goodbyes to.

  Nawaz Arrio’s terrible blue eyes flashed in her memory, but Kezra immediately struck the image down. She didn’t have time to long for him or indulge in sorrow. What good would it do anyway? She’d chosen her path, and he’d followed the one set before him. He’d keep his title and privilege so long as he did what was expected of him. Hell, his wife was already pregnant with their first child!

  Kezra bit her lip. Enough of this. She couldn’t afford to think of Nawaz today. Today she had to walk the lonely way she’d chosen. It might not have been the easiest or most popular path, but she’d be damned to turn back now just to make others happy.

  Her blood boiled to think of how carelessly the other women soldiers had been dismissed. Just that morning, General Morathi Adeben had pled his case to Neetra and won the approval of the High Council. The female soldiers had been granted “mercy” in this difficult time. Any of them who wished to stay behind only needed say as much and the general would allow it. In return, they’d relinquish their positions as sentinels and find jobs “more suitable” for them. The High Council touted this pardon as an extreme act of kindness on the parts of both Neetra and Morathi, but Kezra knew better. Women soldiers still weren’t being taken seriously. They were seen as disposable. A liability.

  Lies!

  With a drawn face, Kezra tightened the straps, securing her bag to Epona’s saddle. Zandi met her eyes briefly, and she could tell he wanted to say something but refrained. Just behind them, their sister and her husband were still saying their farewells.

  Tamil’s voice trembled, but all things considered, she was doing a remarkable job keeping her emotions in check. “When you come back, we’re going to start a family, right? No more getting around it.”

  Tular remained as collected as ever. Nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers—a drastic difference from his elder half-brother, Hasain Radek. “I’ll be back. And when I am, we’ll buy a whole damned orphanage if you want.”

  “We’ll need at least four children. Maybe five or six even. My mother had seven.”

  Tular raised an eyebrow. “We’ll need a maid. And a bigger house.”

  “I miss you already.” Tamil laughed, her fragile voice finally cracking.

  Kezra didn’t want to watch their exchange but found herself glancing over anyway. Strange warmth blossomed in her chest. She hadn’t really gotten to know Tular before he’d married Tamil, and it would be a lie to say Kezra hadn’t had some misgivings at first. Tular’s aloof manner and the knowledge that he was Hasain’s half-brother had made it difficult for Kezra to trust him.

  But then, when things went wrong between her and Nawaz, Tular had offered Kezra residence at his estate. And when Zandi hadn’t been able to bear their father’s drunken tyranny for another moment, Tular granted sanctuary a second time without one word of dissent. How could Kezra not accept Tular as family after he’d bestowed such generosity?

  “Harper will be here to keep you company. Make sure to get her moved into the estate as soon as we’re gone.”

  And there he was, at it again. Tular had consented to allow the youngest Malin-Rai sister, Harper, to come live with Tamil in his absence. The formal story was that Tular didn’t want his new wife to have to be alone for the duration of war, but Kezra understood the full extent of his generosity. Their father, High Councilor Anders, had been even more insufferable since his promotion. His drinking had gotten worse, and the more he drank, the more handsy he became. Harper needed to get out of that house.

  Kezra’s skin crawled as she fought to suppress memories suitable only for the darkest of nightmares. She refused to think about the past or the horrors inflicted upon her. Not now. Not when she needed to be strong. Shaking her head, Kezra refocused her attention onto her sister.

  “Yes, I know.” Tamil wiped away a tear. “Harper has promised to help me keep house while I finish the last of my training.”

  Tular smiled, a rare gesture, and took his wife by the shoulders. “You’ll be a midwife when I return. No more understudy lessons for you. That’s something to look forward to, isn’t it?”

  Kezra hated witnessing her sister’s tears. War was an ugly thing, ripping families apart, forcing them to lose precious time with one another. If all worked out well, however, and Tular did return safely, Tamil would be able to start the next part of her journey in exactly the way she wanted. She’d be a midwife, have a blossoming family, and have bright prospects all around. Kezra wasn’t much for prayers or faith, but if indeed The Two were watching over them, a prayer for Tamil’s happiness seemed appropriate.

  Zandi cleared his throat softly as he settled into his saddle. “We should be on our way. We don’t want the army to leave without us.”

  “Or do we?” Kezra huffed back at him. Taking hold of her own saddle, she swung onto Epona’s back. It was time to go. Past time. Lingering here would only cause more anguish, more pain.

  Tular joined them, mounting the third and final horse in the courtyard. Tears streamed down Tamil’s face as she returned to the steps of the estate. Raising her emerald eyes, Kezra took a moment to study the vine-encrusted stone walls and tall panes of painted glass, dedicating each detail of the mansion to memory. Only The Two knew when and if she’d ever see it again.

  Kezra’s gaze fell upon her comrades. Though the weight of the world surely pressed down on them, both sat tall in their saddles—Zandi in his flowing mage robes
and Tular in sentinel garb. Neither man offered words, but their eyes sought out Kezra’s, and a mutual understanding passed between them. They weren’t just leaving Tamil and the estate today. They were leaving their youth and any remaining illusions of innocence. Once they passed through the rusted iron gate, there would be no turning back.

  With grim resignation, they departed.

  Chapter Two

  Prince Didier Adelwijn stared into the empty courtyard below. From his vantage point so high above the ground, he could see tufts of green peeking above the previous year’s turf. It seemed impossible that new life was able to find its way through the shriveled grass, yet—against all odds—it somehow had.

  The sun was out today, but no warmth reached him up here, locked away in the royal suite. Even as he squinted against the harsh light, Didier felt cold. He always felt cold of late.

  “Diddy, it’s your move.”

  Diddy blinked, and at once, his attention returned to the board game set before him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m a bit distracted.”

  His younger brother, Deegan, cocked one brow as he observed Diddy. The Crown Prince’s shrewd, brown eyes were hauntingly reminiscent of Rishi Radek’s, despite the fact that Deegan’s soft facial features and straight umber hair had clearly been inherited from their mother’s side of the family.

  “I can tell,” Deegan replied. “Normally you’re bad at Senet. Today you’re downright terrible.”

  Despite his sour mood, Diddy smiled and countered his brother’s latest move. “See if I ever go easy on you again.”

  From across the sitting room, Princess Gudrin shifted in her seat with an impatient sigh. Their mother, Queen Mother Dahlia, was braiding the little girl’s hair. Gudrin, however, had never been one to sit still for long and already seemed to be growing restless.