Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  Otho let out a gruff sigh. He stood with his back propped against the wall and arms folded over his stout chest. The faded grey tunic he wore did his complexion no favors, though Kirk imagined that, dressed in the same ragged clothing, his own face looked equally washed out.

  “This looks like a kitchen to me,” Otho finally replied. He motioned sourly toward the towering shelf of pots on the opposite side of the room. “Spending all your time in that comfy Imperial palace, you may not know.”

  Kirk rolled his eyes and went from playing with his sleeve to rubbing the back of his neck. The coarse wool of the servant’s garb irritated his skin and brought back memories of the days when he’d lived on the streets of Teivel, unaware of such luxuries as the silk robes he frequently wore now.

  Pursing his lips, Kirk fought the urge to tell Otho exactly how inaccurate his preconceived notions really were.

  It’s a waste of breath. His opinion won’t change. I’ll always be the deceitful, pampered foreigner to him.

  “Marc said someone would meet us. Where are they?”

  “They’ll be here,” Otho sneered. “Stop fidgeting.”

  Kirk dropped his hands like a scolded child and forced them to stay idle at his sides. “I’m sorry. It’s just—we’ve been standing here for a quarter-mark already. My nerves are through the roof.”

  Otho seemed content to scowl at the floor and pretend Kirk wasn’t there at all, so with a grudging sigh, Kirk let the conversation fade. As predicted, unpleasant silence rose to fill the void. Kirk wished Joel were here instead. He missed his friend terribly. Really though, anyone other than Otho would do right about now. Why Marc had ever thought it was a good idea for the two of them to work together was beyond Kirk’s comprehension.

  The mid-morning sun shone down through a single window. The shutters were drawn back, letting in the scent of blooming flowers. A melodious birdsong tickled Kirk’s ears, and he was almost certain he heard the swish of horsetails, drifting in from the stables on a light breeze.

  The palace kitchen lay abandoned at this hour. Breakfast had long since been served and cleaned up, and it was too early yet for the cooks to begin preparations for dinner. Even so, the aroma of baked bread and cod chowder lingered in the air. Kirk’s stomach gurgled in protest. He’d been too worked up to eat a proper meal earlier, and now he was facing the consequences.

  Otho scraped a boot across the planked floor. If the apprentice was nervous, he certainly didn’t act it. If anything, he appeared bored. “You still have the key?”

  With a curt nod, Kirk touched the outside of his pocket where the key was safely tucked away. Marc had passed it off earlier, along with the pair of servant uniforms. The garb had been used to infiltrate the palace. The key was to unlock Neetra’s door.

  The High Council would be meeting any moment now. Marc had promised it would be a long session. Today was the day Kirk and Otho planned to sneak inside Neetra’s chambers. It was as good an opportunity as they were ever going to get.

  Kirk squirmed, unable to stay still. I must be completely out of my mind. We’re going to get caught. Or lost. I’m not sure which is worse. He cast a sideways glance at Otho, wishing that—for once—the apprentice might offer encouragement. Ha. Fish will sooner learn how to walk on land! Why couldn’t Joel have stayed behind instead? He and I work so well together. And he’s kind and generous—not to mention better to look at.

  Bristling, Kirk tried to clear his mind. It wasn’t typically in his nature to be so vindictive. He supposed stress could turn even the most level-headed person hostile.

  The patter of clogs against the floor caught Kirk’s attention. He sucked in a deep breath and raised his face in time to see a middle-aged woman slip into the room. She wore her silver-flecked ruby hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck and a soiled apron around her trim waist.

  The woman spoke before Kirk could even open his mouth. “Are you Marc’s boys?”

  Otho answered with a firm nod. “Yes.”

  “Come on then.” She motioned for them to follow. “I’ll show you where to go.”

  She led the way through the kitchen and into a smaller area Kirk imagined must be a storage room. Shelves packed tight with jars of herbs and spices lined one wall, and on the other hung ladles, carving knives, and other cooking utensils Kirk couldn’t put a name to.

  The red-headed woman crossed to the far side of the chamber and kicked aside a tattered rug that covered one section of the floor. Kirk stared for a moment before he realized a trapdoor was hidden beneath.

  “Here’s the way in then,” the woman said. She leaned down, clutching a small, rusted metal lever. When she yanked on it, the wooden hatch lifted away from the surrounding floor. Darkness seeped out through an ominous hole below.

  Kirk swallowed the lump in his throat. “We’re supposed to go down there?”

  “It’s perfectly safe. Only dark. I trust you know where to go from here?”

  Maybe. That depends on how reliable Prince Didier’s directions end up being.

  “We’ll be all right.” Kirk bowed his head. “Thank you, lady.”

  He approached the trapdoor like a skittish horse. Every corner of his sane mind screamed against going down there, but it was far too late to turn back. Gripping the edges of the opening, he lowered one leg into the dark, floundering until his boot met solid grounding. He shifted his foot around, testing the surface. A ladder rung.

  Carefully, slowly, Kirk lowered himself into the hole. Water squished beneath his boots as he passed the final rung and stepped onto solid ground. He couldn’t see a damned thing. Afraid to move, he shuffled aside only because Otho was already halfway down the ladder.

  Light from above filtered down, the only source of illumination to be had. And then Kirk heard the woman whisper a hasty “good luck” and the trapdoor snapped shut. There came a strange, sweeping sound—perhaps the woman smoothing the rug back into its proper place—and then brisk footfalls as she retreated from the room. Kirk and Otho were left in silence nearly as thick as the dark.

  “A light, mage-boy,” Otho said at last.

  Right. Of course. Kirk turned his palm upright and called energy to his fingertips. Magic pooled in his hand, swirling, solidifying, and finally taking form as a glowing cerulean sphere. Kirk released the orb into the air, where it hovered above his shoulder.

  Kirk blinked, getting his first decent look around. They appeared to be in some kind of cellar. Cobwebs spanned the ceiling, draped like silk nets, and water trickled down cold stone walls. A moldy, stale odor filled the space. The smell, combined with the narrow space, made Kirk’s skin crawl. His mind immediately jumped to horrid thoughts of the ceiling suddenly collapsing, leaving him to suffocate and die beneath a pile of rubble.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Kirk tried to calm his labored breaths. “Sorry. This brings back memories of the night I escaped Teivel. My sister led us—Joel, Seneschal Koal, and the others—through the catacombs. Part of the ceiling caved. We almost lost our lives in there.”

  The light of the mage-orb reflected off Otho’s amber eyes. For once, they weren’t criticizing. “Come on. The sooner we get there, the sooner we get out.”

  They made their way along the narrow path, the mage-orb fluttering above and chasing away the shadows. This passage was one of many that, together, formed a sprawling network of hidden corridors within the royal palace. Centuries before, such paths had been used by the servants as a means to get to and fro swiftly. Time caused memory to fade, however, and now very few people knew of the network at all. Prince Didier knew only because King Rishi had once shown the passages to all the royal children, should the need to escape undetected ever arise. In dark times like these, Kirk imagined it was a good bit of wisdom to keep tucked away, just in case.

  A crumbling stairwell loomed ahead. Kirk kept his footfalls light as he hurried to the top. “It’s hard to imagine this passageway was once used daily by the servants. How long do you think i
t’s been since anyone’s been through here?”

  Otho shrugged, keeping several paces ahead. “Don’t know.”

  Kirk resigned himself to bitter silence and focused on the sound of his boots slapping against the stone pavers. Prince Didier had described the way they needed to go in as much detail as he could recall. It was now up to Kirk and Otho to make it there. Many of the corridors were in crumbles, some even impassable. But the route that would lead them straight to Neetra’s suite was open, at least to Prince Didier’s knowledge.

  I guess we’ll find out soon.

  They went down one corridor after another. Kirk recited the directions over and over in his mind as he followed behind Otho.

  A right turn here. Then there should be a stairwell. Ah, there it is. Now left. Take the second doorway, not the first. Or was it the first?

  Otho seemed to remember, so Kirk let the apprentice lead. They entered a corridor that must have been positioned against the outer face of the palace, for traces of light filtered in through crevasses in the stonework. Kirk went over to the wall and peeked through one of the cracks.

  “See anything?”

  “Daylight,” Kirk replied. “And blue sky.”

  “We must be on the third floor by now. Getting close.”

  “Do you think we’ll actually find anything inside Neetra’s chambers?” Kirk hated the idea of risking his life for naught. And besides that, Marc, Joel, and the entire royal family were counting on them. They couldn’t come up empty-handed.

  Otho merely shrugged, his disposition unreadable. “Let’s keep moving.”

  They walked in silence after that. Otho made damn certain to stay three strides ahead, and Kirk didn’t have the heart to make another attempt at conversation anyway.

  It doesn’t matter. We don’t have to like each other. When this mission is over, I’ll never have to see him again. And once Joel is back, I’ll have someone to talk to. I just need to get through this.

  Otho stopped abruptly in front of a wooden door, and Kirk hurried the last few paces to catch up with the apprentice. “Is this the door that we’re—”

  “Quiet,” Otho hissed. He tugged on the rusted iron handle, and with a light creak, the door glided open. Leaning through the opening, he peered from side to side before turning back to Kirk. “Looks clear in there. But there’ll be sentries in the hall.”

  Kirk nodded, apprehension twirling in his gut, and followed Otho through the door. Both men had to duck as they passed beneath the low frame. When Kirk reached back to close the door, he was surprised to see that on this side, limestone had been cleverly placed to cover the wooden planks. Only the keenest eye would ever be able to tell the door wasn’t just part of the surrounding wall.

  Kirk glanced around the tiny, windowless room. They appeared to be in some kind of storage closet. Shelves with linen sheets and towels lined the walls, and a musty scent lingered in the air.

  Otho crossed to the opposite end of the closet. He set one ear against the door there, listening, and silently mouthed the word “guards.”

  Kirk tiptoed closer. The space was cramped; he would have preferred not to stand so close to Otho, and Otho likely felt the same way, but there was little to be done about it. Kirk ignored the urge to curl his nose.

  “In the corridor?” he whispered.

  Otho shook his head like he might be unsure, so Kirk closed his eyes, centered himself, and invoked mage-sight.

  He Saw the life forces around him—the frightened scarlet flicker of a mouse as it scurried along the baseboards, the serene azure of a spider, slumbering upon its web in the rafters. He could even See his own yellow energy, blazing and apprehensive, and Otho’s, a poised, collected deep green.

  Kirk didn’t linger there but moved his attention beyond the door. Tendrils of his consciousness spread out in every direction, probing the surrounding corridors. There, two halls over, ambled a pair of royal sentinels. His magic brushed over them, searching for any signs of suspicion or alarm. They were alert, but Kirk could detect nothing that would suggest they thought anything was amiss.

  Kirk’s eyes fluttered open as he withdrew his magic. “The hall is clear, but we have to be quick. There’s a patrol nearby. I’m sure they keep a close eye on Neetra’s door—”

  “The key.” Otho’s hand went around the brass door handle. “Have it ready.”

  Fumbling with fingers that suddenly didn’t wish to cooperate, Kirk reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. He dangled it beneath Otho’s nose, just to prove the object hadn’t been lost. The gesture was met with an icy glare.

  Kirk braced himself as Otho tugged on the handle, easing the door open. The apprentice stuck his head into the hall, looking right and then left. And then he slipped silently through the doorway, motioning with one hand for Kirk to follow.

  This is it. No turning back now.

  Kirk held his breath and stepped beyond the safety of the closet. The gloomy hall outside lay empty. The lack of sunlight and general coldness of the space seemed a suitable domain for someone as unpleasant as Neetra Adelwijn. Candelabras lined both sides of the carpeted marble floor and cast faint illumination onto the golden trim of a grand, embellished door, not even fifteen paces from where Kirk and Otho stood. It was one of the only other doors in this hall and the most extravagant. It had to belong to the steward.

  Kirk turned back long enough to ensure the storage room door was shut. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the muted voices of the royal guardsmen, conversing with each other. Were they headed this way? Kirk had half a mind to whisk back into the closet. No. He couldn’t do that. Not with so many people counting on him.

  Otho’s footfalls were silent as he made his way to Neetra’s door. Kirk followed, his heart thumping so persistently within his chest he felt like he might keel over dead at any moment. He handed the key to Otho. At this point, Kirk questioned whether he would have been able to still his trembling hands long enough to get the blasted thing into the keyhole anyway.

  For a few, agonizing moments, Otho turned the key, wiggling it one way and then the other. Kirk bit his lip. What if it was the wrong key? Or what if Neetra had suspected the key had been stolen and he’d replaced the lock? What if this entire mission was all in vain? What if—

  The lock clicked, like wonderful music ringing in Kirk’s ears, and then the door glided open. Otho pushed it just wide enough for both men to slip inside. The voices in the adjacent corridor were growing louder. Kirk could now hear the telltale sound of heavy boots scraping against the floor, closer and closer. The guards were coming.

  Without risking a glance over his shoulder, Kirk dove into the suite, hoping beyond hope he hadn’t been spotted. Otho eased the door shut and then quickly locked it from the inside. They both stepped away, listening, waiting. Kirk didn’t even dare breathe.

  Seconds passed. Then moments. And finally, after what felt like an eternity, Otho’s rigid shoulders deflated. “They’ve passed by.”

  Kirk reached out with his magic, just to be sure. The sentinels had indeed moved on. Delicately, he probed their minds for any trace of alarm but found no evidence of it. He sighed with relief. “They didn’t see us. We’re okay.”

  “For now. Don’t get too comfortable.”

  Turning around, Kirk got his first real look at the suite. The drawn curtains allowed little sunlight to come inside, though there was enough light to see. Tapestries and paintings depicting extravagant feasts and Ardenian high society hung from the walls, alongside beautiful dishes that had probably never been used. Decorative vases and other splendid trinkets lined a shelf in the far corner, and every piece of cherrywood furniture was draped with such lavish fabrics Kirk would have been scared to sit upon any of it.

  But for all the luxury the suite offered, it didn’t feel like a home. There were no family portraits or sentimental treasures, nothing to personalize the space. Just the same, cold overindulgence was everywhere Kirk looked: a fancy dollhouse, but not a place to liv
e.

  “There’s nothing here,” Otho sneered. “Just all of Neetra’s useless shit.”

  Kirk motioned toward a doorway that must have led deeper into the suite. “Let’s check in there. He must have some place he keeps personal belongings.”

  The inner room was much like the first: more fine furniture, more trinkets, more luxury, more, more, more. Kirk curled his nose. The contents of this one chamber could garner enough gold to feed a small country. Why did Neetra insist on keeping so many things? And why were there so many paintings of great ballroom dances yet not a single portrait of his family? Of his children?

  “Check there,” Otho said, jabbing a finger in the direction of a bulky writing desk that sat beneath the window. “I’ll look in the bedchamber.”

  Otho disappeared into the darker recesses of the suite, leaving Kirk to inspect the desk alone. A scant amount of parchment paper was stacked on top. He took up the top sheet, being careful not to accidentally knock over a nearby inkwell. They couldn’t leave any evidence they’d been here.

  The first document was a wedding invitation from one Lord Diedrick Lyle, celebrating the marriage of his daughter. Kirk quickly skimmed the page and set it aside. The second document he tried was a petition for a wage increase from Neetra’s estate staff, which the steward had denied. Kirk read through that one in more detail, but while Neetra’s injustice toward the servants was unsavory, it wasn’t illegal. Kirk moved onto the third and final document, which appeared to be some kind of progress report from Inan’s private tutor. Kirk rolled his eyes as he read it, recalling the day when Liro Adelwijn had barged into the magery lesson and pulled Inan from Academy against the lordling’s will.

  With a sigh, Kirk set the report with the other documents he’d already perused. Nothing. There was nothing here to use against Neetra.

  Otho’s stealthy footsteps announced his return from the bedchamber. “Didn’t find anything. You?”

  Kirk shook his head as he organized the documents sitting atop the desk in the exact way he’d found them. “Nothing yet.”