The Dawn of the End (The Rising Book 3)

by Kristen Ashley

“It is not.”

  “I have used my shadow many times in my life, my king, many.” She put great stress on her last word. “No one can see it, save you. It is a gift. A gift from the gods to me. There is a reason I have it. There is a reason you can see through it, and only you. But I will repeat, there is a reason I have it. And although I will admit that you were right, the barons said naught that you might need to hear while I was there, it was not foolish or stupid that I did what I did.”

  She took a breath, but he had no chance to get words in, for she quickly recommenced in returning to hers.

  “I know this, for I did it because I love you. I did it because I believe in you and your vision for your realm. I did it because I would have you face no adversity or even uncertainty as you carry it forward, but since I cannot make that happen, I would do what I could. I did it safe in doing it because I have long since learned how to be unseen not only using my shadow. But in this instance, I was using my shadow.”

  “You must understand how I would worry for you and our realm should you have been discovered,” he retorted.

  “What I understand is that you look upon my practice with my daggers and my scrapping with Kyril and Basil with amused condescension. I understand that you shouted at me like a misbehaving child earlier and shared with me what you would permit, no…what you would not, again, as if you were speaking to a misbehaving child.”

  “And you also must understand, for I spoke the words not minutes ago, that I realize I did not communicate well with you earlier.”

  “You said perhaps,” she returned.

  His hands held hers tighter.

  “Silence, I cannot believe you do not understand the insult you leveled upon me by comparing me to your father.”

  “Then perhaps you should cease behaving like I am a belonging and instead behave like I am a being, I am your wife, and I have your regard.”

  Mars released his hold on her hands, his chest no longer tight, his gut on fire with his fury.

  “Truly, my king,” she said in an even voice, clearly not noticing the change in him, “it was also you who decided when I would have the knowledge the father I had always known was not my own. It was also you who decided to seek my true father and shared with me you would let me know him if you decided he was worthy of me.”

  She took a startled step back as he stood.

  He took an unhurried step away from her and their bed.

  She turned to continue facing him as he did.

  “You sleep alone tonight, my queen.”

  Pink hit her cheeks, and it was the first time he did not like it.

  “Mars—”

  Now he was Mars.

  But now it was too late.

  “And I bid you to do it well,” he said before he turned his back to his wife and strode directly from the room.

  100

  The Message

  Queen Ophelia

  On Approach to Kilcree Break, at the Fork of the Dunleth Abhainn and the Westfork River

  AIREN

  Ophelia did not like the mood of the moors as she, with her warriors at her back, slowly made their way toward Kilcree Break, where they had been told Fern was being held in the stronghold there.

  And it was not only the gray and dreary skies that shrouded their approach that affected the mood.

  Throughout their journey, she had had spies move ahead to ascertain the lay of the land.

  But until they approached the Break, she had not credited their reports, which had been that the place was deserted.

  However, it appeared just this.

  Eerily so.

  The pennants of the Lord of Kilcree slapped above the keep that rose high from the center of the fortified town.

  And as they approached, her archers with arrows set to pulled bows fanning out, Ophelia saw the gate to the walls around the town was open.

  “Halt,” she called, and they halted.

  She then opened her senses, feeling the tingle at her back, casting out.

  Nothing.

  She turned her head right, toward Lucinda.

  “Take a team, go,” she murmured.

  Lucinda nodded and rounded her steed, gathering her team.

  She turned her head left, toward Agnes.

  “Ride the perimeter.”

  Agnes lifted her chin and turned her mount, calling quietly to her squadron.

  With her eyes, her senses still opened, Ophelia scanned the ramparts of the wall surrounding the city, and then the pinnacle of the keep.

  She had not felt the tremor of the veil. She had not felt Fern’s loss.

  She must be alive, somewhere.

  But they had to have moved her from this barren place for she was not here.

  She watched Lucinda ride cautiously forward with her team as Agnes’s warriors struck out, side to side.

  There was something not right here.

  She did not sense it as wrong.

  But it was not right.

  She felt worry dog her mind as her lieutenant, her friend, Lucinda, and the twenty-five Nadirii who went with her disappeared behind the open gate, and she did as she’d trained herself to do over the years.

  She set aside that worry.

  And she waited.

  But as she did, something else that she had trained herself to keep close about her over the years escaped her.

  Patience.

  “Keep bows up and stay alert,” she called and clicked her teeth for her mount, Midsummer, to move forward.

  “My queen,” a warrior said in warning behind her.

  She put her heels to her steed and the mare went from a walk to a canter.

  “Remain behind,” she ordered as she trotted toward the gate.

  She’d barely cleared it before the pall settled on her.

  This was a place of death.

  She swallowed the saliva that filled her mouth and met the eyes of two warriors who exited a dwelling to her right that they were working as a team to clear.

  “Aught?” she asked.

  Both shook their heads and moved swiftly to the next dwelling, easily breaching it, for its door was ajar.

  She turned her head left and watched another crew of Nadirii creep down an alley.

  Slowly, she walked Midsummer forward toward the small castle in the middle of the town.

  She stopped when she saw two of her women come out of an abode.

  One nodded to the other, the other remained where she was as the first strode toward Ophelia.

  The Nadirii queen looked down at her warrior when she stopped beside Midsummer.

  “There is blood, my queen, everywhere. A good amount of it,” she reported.

  Ophelia felt her lips tighten.

  And the nagging fatigue that the draughts she had been taking had held at bay, as it had these last few days they had rode through Airen, threatened to overwhelm her.

  She set that aside as well.

  “Bodies?” she asked.

  “None so far,” the Nadirii answered.

  Ophelia nodded. “Keep clearing.”

  After issuing her order, she turned her mount and trotted back to the gate, where she stopped and whistled, lifting a hand with one finger extended.

  Another team of twenty-five broke ranks and rode forward, leaving the remaining three hundred Nadirii fanned out on the moor.

  The rest of their contingent, numbering one hundred and twenty-five, had earlier taken posts through the Argyll Forest to their back and along the Westfork and Dunleth, to the south, north and east, in order to act as scouts for danger that might threaten the whole regiment approaching Kilcree.

  Ophelia again whirled Midsummer and made her cautious way through the town toward the castle.

  She had reined in at the end of the footbridge over the moat when she saw Lucinda on horseback enter the drawbridge riding at some speed toward the barbican.

  Lucinda pulled back so quickly, her steed reeled, but her lieutenant only jerked up her chin toward her qu
een.

  Thus, Ophelia rode on, over the footbridge, through the arch at the barbican, over the lowered drawbridge and through the opening under the guardhouse, following Lucinda and rounding the guardhouse once she cleared it, walking Midsummer across the bailey toward the opened door to the keep.

  But Ophelia smelled it before she stopped where Lucinda was still astride her horse at the door to the tall building.

  “What has happened here?” Ophelia asked.

  “I would have to examine the bodies,” Lucinda answered in her taciturn lieutenant’s usual manner, that being emotionlessly, but with these opening words, Ophelia braced. “And there are two sets. One of men, shrouded carefully, respectfully, though from the little I saw under the dressings of the one I examined, their corpses were not always treated with such deference. They are laid out in an upper room in the keep and they have been dead for some time. The others, many of them, tossed unceremoniously in a large room below the earth. This closed off in order not to be ravaged as carrion, as it is clear they were meant to be found as they are. They have been dead for a while, but not nearly as long as the others.”

  Ophelia did not understand what she was hearing.

  “Does Cassius have allies he does not know?” she inquired.

  “You would need to ask him, though I will say it is not known widely the Zees are his friends.”

  Ophelia, not often taken aback, was just thus.

  “Zees?” she queried.

  “Zees gather weapons where they can steal them, but in hand-to-hand combat, they utilize them in a rather distinct way.”

  “By the goddess,” Ophelia murmured.

  “The decay has long set in.” Lucinda’s voice now held a slight tone of regard. “But I would hazard to guess the shrouded men are Otho and his squad. And I will note, Ophelia, that I mentioned the others piled below, and we have not sorted through them, but I did not see a single woman amongst them.”

  “Dear goddess,” Ophelia breathed before she gathered her wits and proclaimed, “It would not be good for peace in this land if the women rise up peremptorily. And I cannot credit it, for they never get involved in politics. Zees?”

  Lucinda did not have a chance to reply, one of her team moved out of the keep.

  She nodded to Lucinda as she halted by their horses.

  But she looked to her queen.

  “Fern was held here. And she is here no longer. But we were left a message,” the warrior reported.

  “And that is?” Ophelia asked.

  “I would magic a mask for the smell, and then it’s best you are shown,” the Nadirii replied.

  Ophelia dismounted immediately, saying words to Midsummer that would keep her horse where she was, and she, with Lucinda coming off her steed to follow, moved into the keep.

  The smell was such she had to cover her mouth with her hand while casting a quick spell so she would scent lilies, not the ugly stench of death, as the warrior guided them to the stairs.

  They went nearly to the top before Ophelia and Lucinda followed her through a door.

  All of the women stopped.

  The room was part circle, and dead center from its ceiling hung the rotting corpse of a man of means. His rich clothing was in tatters, however, not due to use but abuse. And his pants were about his knees, hanging from his decomposing limbs precariously. Fortunately, his genitals had not been mutilated, but there were drawings in charcoal with arrows pointing to them on the flesh of his thighs and stomach that Ophelia could not decipher due to the level of decay.

  The Lord of Kilcree, humiliated, then hung where he had imprisoned a witch.

  And along the rounded wall, in large words, also scrawled in charcoal, it said…

  We will bear no more your burden.

  And it was signed…

  Fern’s Army.

  And off from that, in smaller words…

  What they said.

  And that was signed…

  The Patra.

  And just beyond that…

  Extend our greetings to Cass and Ellie.

  “Bloody hell,” Ophelia muttered.

  Then she closed her eyes.

  And heaved a mighty sigh.

  101

  The Readings

  Princess Elena

  Bedchamber of the Prince Regent, Sky Citadel, Sky Bay

  AIREN

  Wearing naught but one of Cass’s undershirts that was fashioned in a thin knit of cotton and had four buttons at the collar that I assumed were there so he could loosen them and get his head through, after procuring my cards, I approached the bed where my prince slept.

  Once there, I studied his face in repose and wondered first, if he knew how handsome he was. Second, I wondered what all his beautiful markings meant. And last, if I would ever get him to the point where he did not appear somehow anguished, even in sleep.

  On this final thought, I carefully braced a foot on the side slat of the bed, swung my leg around, and landed quite firmly astride his gut.

  His eyes shot open, his lips emitted a strained “oof,” and his hands clamped on my hips as his stomach muscles tensed in a divine way in preparation for him to knife up.

  “Good morning, my warrior,” I greeted on a huge smile.

  “Woman.” He settled back into bed, the deep definition of the boxes at his stomach going away, but some definition remained as it always did, so I did not complain. “What the hell?”

  I lifted my hand in which I held my cards and shook it side to side.

  And when his beautiful blue eyes slid to them, I announced, “Time for a reading.”

  His gaze returned to mine.

  “I don’t want a reading.”

  “You’re going to get a reading.”

  “Elena, I don’t want a reading.”

  I scanned the heavily curtained canopy over his bed and told it, “He repeatedly asks me for a reading, but when I want to give him a reading? Nooooo. He suddenly doesn’t want a reading.”

  “Stop being endearing.”

  The despondent tone to his deep voice had my eyes jumping back to his.

  “I don’t want a reading for I don’t need a reading, my darling. I know what today will bring,” he informed me.

  I leaned to him, reaching out a hand to tug the beard at his chin affectionately, and suggested softly, “How about we let the cards tell us?”

  “Elena—”

  “Five,” I whispered. “Just five. Not a full reading.” I pressed the cards to his chest. “Just five.”

  “Have you turned your card today?” he whispered back, knowing I did just this every day if I had even the slightest amount of time.

  “Yes,” I shared.

  “And will you tell me what it was?”

  “It was the Lovers,” I told him unreservedly. “Union. Balance. Harmony.”

  He stared into my eyes, and I could see the flash of hope in his as given to him by my card.

  And I seized on that.

  “Please, Cass?” I cajoled.

  He let out a heavy breath before he pushed up. I then allowed him to manhandle me until I was arse to his lap with his arms around me.

  “What do you wear?” he asked, noticing his shirt of a sudden.

  “Your shirt.”

  “Why?” he pressed.

  “Because it smells of you.”

  His head was turned to me, and at my words, his eyes veritably drank in my features.

  All right.

  Er…

  It had to be said (though not out loud), I loved, adored, and maybe even worshipped this man.

  And not simply because he could look at me in that manner.

  “You can smell me, my princess, for I am right here,” he noted quietly, but his words nor tone did aught to hide how much it meant to him the reason I wore his shirt.

  “Well, I wanted to smell you everywhere I went this morning, which was not all right here, so I made it so I could do that,” I stated, trying to hide my fluster.

&n
bsp; I then jerked the cards to him.

  “Shuffle and cut, set aside the bottom cut, shuffle again, then cut, set aside the bottom, shuffle again and hand me the top five cards,” I commanded.

  “As you wish,” he murmured and took the deck from me.

  He did this decisively, handed me five cards without looking at them, and all this lasted perhaps twenty seconds.

  “Most people spend time with the cards,” I educated him.

  “I do not need to spend time with the cards for I know what they’ll say,” he retorted. “Now turn my first, Ellie.”

  “Are you certain you don’t wish to reshuffle?” I offered.

  “Yes.”

  “Positive?”

  It was then I received what I was working for.

  His full lips framed by that dense, dark beard I liked so much hitched into a grin.

  “Just turn the first card, woman.”

  “Happy to oblige,” I stated, nestling my ass more firmly in his lap, feeling his body tense about mine, which I was also working for, and I turned the first card, letting it fall to the velvet-covered duvet in front of us.

  Drat.

  It was the Earth

  A high card.

  Sometimes not bad.

  This time, maybe not good.

  “And that is?” Cass prompted.

  “Earth,” I told him. “Training. Study.”

  “Mm?”

  He knew I was holding back mostly because neither he nor I in this time of our lives needed either training or study.

  “Work,” I pushed out. “Toil.”

  “Ah,” he murmured.

  I quickly tossed down the next one.

  Shite.

  The Crow.

  “That does not look like it bodes well,” he noted, staring at the inauspicious black bird sitting on its black perch, the background a foreboding mix of blues, purples and grays.

  “The Crow.” And before he could ask, I quickly shared, “It is not bad. It is a middling card. It means second sight. Reflection. Magic. Mystery.”

  “And you read that as…?”

  I turned my head to look at him. “Perhaps, after the toil we both know today will bring, you need to take some time to center yourself.”

  “Center myself?”

  “Think. Meditate. Recognize you’re on the right path but ascertain if the way you intend to move down it is correct.”