Dead Moons Rising: First in the Honest Scrolls series

by Jack Whitney

  Rhaif rubbed his throat and turned towards Aydra. “He is—”

  “You dare come in here as though you are concerned for my safety after what you did to me?” Aydra cut him off. “I told you when I left that I needed time. Alone. Away from you.”

  Rhaif’s jaw clenched, and he swallowed hard as he stared at her. “Yes, with your Second and your sister, neither of which is here in this Forest. You are injured. You should have sent for me as soon as it happened.”

  “Why? So you could come in here and act as though you are some great hero?” She crossed an arm over her chest and shook her head. “Leave. Now. Take your men before they find themselves at the end of a canopy ambush.”

  “Drae, you are hurt,” he argued. “Let me help—”

  He began to reach for her again, but she flinched backwards so quickly, she fell onto the bed.

  “You do not get to call me that,” Aydra managed, her body shaking. “And do not touch me.”

  She saw the flash of fire blink in his eyes. “You will refuse my touching you and yet you allowed the Venari to escort you up the stairs.”

  “The Venari has never put his hands on me with intentions to punish me simply because I wore a revealing dress to banquet,” she spat. “I will send word to Lex for her to meet me in the Preymoor in the morning.”

  He paused and stared down at her, fists clenching and unclenching at his side. He looked as though he would say something, but she shook her head.

  “Get. Out.”

  His black riding cape billowed in the wind as he left down the steps.

  Aydra forced her body to slow its shake. The memory of his fire flooded her core, and the pain of it pushed itself to the surface. Simply seeing him there again after this week of what felt like being in another universe caused her core to shatter. The wet of a tear dripped down her face, and she pulled her knees into her chest, allowing the pillows on the head of the bed to wrap around her as she willed her hyper breaths to even, forcing air into her lungs upon her body threatening to lapse.

  She heard his voice shouting, and then the unmistakeable noise of the slew of horses they’d brought in started, and after a few moments, she could hear nothing more than the noise of the wind through the trees.

  They are gone, the raven told her upon its flying in. The Venari King is coming.

  Aydra wiped her face fast and sat up on the edge of the bed as Draven’s feet hit the top deck. He slowed upon seeing her, and she pushed the encounter with her brother to the back of her mind.

  He paused in the door and wrapped his arms around his chest, leaning against the door frame. “Did you call for him?” he asked.

  Her eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “Excuse me?” she managed.

  “I asked… if you called for him,” he repeated.

  She almost laughed sadistically at his words, and she shook her head, unable to even comprehend what he was accusing her of. “You men in power… you’re all the same. Always thinking someone is after your throne. Believe me when I say this, Venari, no one wants your crown nor do they want your realm. And if you still think I am the kind of person that would want your people harmed, then you have learned nothing about me this past week.”

  “I don’t,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. “But I had to ask.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “You’re crying,” he noticed.

  Her teeth clenched, and she stared past him at the trees. “I am fine.”

  He didn’t push her. Instead, he simply went over to the dresser and pulled a couple of shirts from the top drawer. Aydra watched helplessly from the bed. Her thoughts kept flickering to the forest, to the brief moment of happiness she’d felt for the first time in years.

  “I expect you’re leaving soon?” he asked.

  “I have to send word to Lex to meet me at the edge of the Forest in the morning.”

  “Your horse is not healed,” he told her. “You can take one of ours. I’ll bring yours to the next meeting.”

  “Thank you,” she managed. “For everything.”

  “It’s what any decent person would do,” he replied without looking at her.

  “Somehow I doubt you would have been treated the same had we found you wounded,” she said.

  “I said decent person,” he countered, now meeting her gaze.

  She gave him a slow nod. “Right.”

  He fumbled with the shirt in his hands. “Here,” he said, handing her the long tunic. “Your clothes are filthy. You can wear one of mine. Do you need help to the bath?”

  She took it from his hands and shook her head. “I can manage,” she assured him.

  He gave her a nod then and ran his hand through his hair, giving it a fluff. “I’ll escort you in the morning,” he told her. “To the Preymoor. It’s much too late for you to set off now, especially after our being gone most of the day.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I know my way through. Your people need you here, not looking after me.” She swallowed hard and hugged her chest once more. “I think… I think I’m just going to bathe and get some rest.”

  He nodded, and she watched as he ran a hand through his hair again, pushing it over to one side. “I’ll bring food up later in case you’re hungry.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SHE DREAMED OF running. Of the fire licking at her heels. But halfway through her nap, the most soothing touch she’d ever felt came over her, and she found herself wrapped in the grass beneath the stars in her dreams.

  There were arms wrapped around her, one over her waist that would occasionally squeeze her elbow or grip the long of the tunic she wore, the other entwined beneath the space between her neck and her pillow. Not arms of fire or territorial ones. Arms of comfort that made her breath even and her heart settle. Arms that her body fit into and not upon. Arms that she nuzzled and sank herself into without opening her eyes for fear of it just being a blanket around her.

  But she could feel the chest rising and falling at her back, the soft lips that pressed to the back of her neck and then her shoulder, causing a deliberate chill to run down her spine… And as much as she wanted to turn around and see his face, she fell deeply back asleep before she could.

  The most peaceful slumber she’d ever experienced wrapped around her consciousness, and she fell into a darkness she didn’t want to pull herself out of.

  He was not in her bed when she woke up.

  The sun had not yet risen.

  But she smelled the smoke of his herb in the air.

  She pulled herself out of bed and grasped one of the crutches in her hand. Draven was sitting on the lounge chair on the deck, one leg bent into his chest, the other laying lazily flopped down at the side. His back was leaned against the wood of it, pipe between his fingers as he exhaled the smoke into the air.

  She sat herself down on the floor of the deck and leaned her back against the doorframe. The noises of crickets filled her ears along with the final noises of the Noctuans as they relished their final night of hunting. She sighed, feeling a smile rise on her lips, as she heard the sound of the Wyverdraki song echoing in the still air.

  “You should come back during another,” Draven said without looking to her.

  She watched him puff on the pipe and exhale again. “I think it’d be hard to keep me away,” she heard herself say.

  The look he gave her beneath his brows made her heart warm in her chest. “The sun will rise soon. We should get you packed.”

  He rose from the chair and tucked his pipe on the table by the chair.

  He helped her pack her things with few words, making sure she had all her dresses and shirts, making fun of the smell of her dirty clothes upon gathering them from the floor.

  “I didn’t realize queens were capable of smelling so… ripe,” he mocked, picking up one of her dresses.

  She resisted the urge to throw something at his face. “The stench, if there is one, is your fault—”

  “You were crippled. Did you think
I would have my people wash your pretty dresses for you?” he asked, brow raised at her. “What if they’d ruined the lace on one?”

  She felt a smile on her face at his banter, and she shook her head. “You could have shown me where the wash was. I would have washed them.”

  A great laugh left him. “That I should have liked to see. A Promised Queen doing her own laundry. Next time you’re here, I’ll show you.”

  The smile spread full across her lips then, and she folded the shirt neatly in her hands. “I’d like that.”

  It wasn’t long before she was all packed, and Draven sat her bags on the lounge chair outside, before he turned to face her. His hands were shoved in his pockets, hair falling over his arms as his shoulders rounded at her.

  She watched him as he rubbed his neck, words sitting on his tongue but not flowing out his mouth. Her heart was in her throat. She didn’t know what to say, how to act...

  “You’ll let me know if something arrives on the shores, not my brother. I am in charge of security of our kingdom. Not him,” she finally decided to say.

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  She swallowed hard as she stared at him. “Draven, I—”

  He started to lean down, and she knew he meant to kiss her, but she pushed on his chest, pulling back before he could reach her. His eyes narrowed slightly, and she shook her head at him as an emptiness filled her core.

  “I’m not sure we should… whatever this is… I don’t know that it’s a good idea,” she managed.

  “Since when do you care what others think?” he asked in a low voice.

  She felt her jaw clench. “Since it is you and I’d rather you not be beheaded by someone that isn’t me.”

  His eyes flickered something she didn’t expect - a sadness she did not ever think she would see expressed on him. But it was gone within the second that he blinked, and the stern, arrogant stare she was accustomed to covered his features once more. His nostrils flared, and he avoided her eyes.

  “Your brother will be expecting you with your Second before lunch,” he said coldly. “Keep him waiting and he’ll think I’ve kidnapped you again.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. She paused at the rope, her hand resting on the threads as she faced him again. “Goodbye, Draven.”

  He met her gaze once more, and the look in his eyes made her stomach knot.

  “Aydra.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  AYDRA AND LEX were welcomed back to Magnice with a doting party that Aydra had not expected. Her ankles were not fully healed, and so she allowed Lex to help her through the halls to her room.

  She was interrupted through most of the day with people going in and out, bringing her gifts, wishing her well. Nyssa stayed at her side most of the day. Dorian brought the pair food twice. She was happy to see their faces and hear their voices, but she missed the independence of being in the forest.

  At least there, no one treated her as though she were broken.

  The one person who didn’t come to see her was Rhaif.

  After Nyssa and Dorian left her side, Aydra made herself get out of bed, using the crutch she’d been made to make her way through the halls and up to her brother’s study. She didn’t know if he was in there, but she knew she needed to find out what had happened with the boats. Not only had the thoughts of Draven’s lips kept her awake in the days they’d traveled, but the letter her brother had written the Venari refusing to help them dug a hole in her core. She felt betrayed, as though Rhaif did not trust her, which she reminded herself he didn’t, but… Enemy or not, the Venari and Honest were Haerland’s people. And Haerland was their home.

  They should have sent aid.

  She made a promise to herself upon reaching his door that if he came at her with fire, she would be ready.

  The fireplace was blazing upon her entering, but Rhaif was not there. Her raven squawked in through the open window and landed on the edge of his desk. Aydra hobbled to his new leather chair and sank herself inside it, propping her feet up onto the desk.

  It was an hour before the door opened. Aydra placed the papers she’d been reading back onto the desk and waited for him to see her sitting in his chair.

  He jumped backwards upon seeing her.

  “Curses of our mother, Aydra—” his hand clutched to his chest, and he gathered his balance. “What are you—”

  “We have to talk,” Aydra interjected.

  He did a double-take at her sitting in his chair, and he straightened his shirt. “What about?”

  “When were you going to tell me about the ship?”

  Rhaif’s eyes narrowed. “What ship?”

  A brow raised on her face. “What…. What ship?“ She repeated incredulously. “Do you think me stupid? That I wouldn’t find out about it? I am in charge of the safety of this kingdom. I should have been told first about them.”

  He shook his head and started towards her calmly. “Sister, you don’t understand—”

  “What don’t I understand?” she balked, rising from the chair and balancing herself against it. “The fact that you allowed two Haerlandian races to go into battle alone when they so very clearly asked for our aid? The fact that you basically spat in their faces when they even offered for you lead the charge, even take one of the strangers back to get information from where they hailed? Tell me, brother. What do I not understand?”

  “That Hunter is a liar,” Rhaif spat. “He has filled your head with lies this last fortnight. You know you cannot trust him or any of his kind.”

  “I saw your letter.”

  He looked as though he would laugh. “What letter?”

  “The letter you wrote back to Draven—”

  “Oh, so he is Draven now? Not Venari scum—”

  “What I call him makes no difference,” Aydra nearly screeched. “How dare you not tell me about it. How dare you deprive me of my own duties—”

  Rhaif gave her a deliberate once over then, and his nostrils flared. “Have you gone soft on me, sister? What other lies did he tell you?”

  Aydra was so frustrated, she felt herself on the verge of tears. “He told me no lies,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Rhaif huffed impatiently. “Look at you,” he snarled. “Weeping over the fate of a few deceased men not of your own kingdom.” He paused crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you see this said boat?”

  She almost balked at his question. Her weight shifted and she blinked twice. “No,” she managed.

  “Did he show you the graves of the men he lost?”

  “No.”

  “Did he have any evidence of such a ship? Prisoners? Information? Perhaps even… oh, a boat?” he mocked.

  Her fists tightened at the edge of the desk as she stared at him.

  “That’s because there was no such ship,” he said, now walking around her. “The Venari lie, my sister. Had I sent aid, had I told you about it, we would have walked into an ambush. The Honest and Venari have been after this kingdom for a century. He told you of this boat so that he could get you on his side, turn you against your own kingdom. The Venari are relentless. They are poison. Cursed. The only reason he is invited to any banquet or Council meeting is because they are born of the Sun as we are. We merely keep them here so that they continue thinking they are in charge of the southern realm.”

  “Are they not?”

  Her brother let loose a loud cackle, one that would have rivaled their own mother’s had he been in competition with her. “My dear, sweet, sweet, sister,” he mocked, cupping her face in his hands. Her jaw clenched. “So naive to the darkness you spent so much time in this last fortnight…Tell me…”

  —He seized her throat in his fingers.

  “Did you fuck him, too?”

  Her breath arrested in her throat. Her hand shot to his wrist, widened eyes pleading.

  “Rhaif—” she nearly choked on his name “--put me down,” she managed as she felt her feet leave the ground.

  “Did you
wrap your legs around him as you do every other man to walk our halls?”

  Aydra stopped fighting him, and allowed her eyes to roll in the back of her head.

  “Did you let the wolf taste you—”

  She felt for the creatures out his open window.

  “—Allow him to fill your mind with his lies—”

  Help, she called out.

  “—fall submissively into his trap—”

  The noise of wings filled her ears.

  “—live up to the stupid girl you’ve been your entire life—”

  Squawks of crows pierced her hearing.

  “You are—Ah!”

  Aydra’s knees hit the ground.

  Rhaif screamed out, his arms flailing wildly in the air, and he stumbled backwards. The air filled with black wings, diving and pecking at his figure. Aydra coughed and rubbed her throat. Her nostrils flared at the sight of her brother being attacked, swatting away at the birds he’d not thought she would call. He fell to the floor, hands thrown up over his face, blood pouring from the slashes on his hands. Aydra grabbed the corner of the desk and pulled herself up to lean on its surface. Her own raven paused on her shoulder, and they stared at the scene before them.

  Wait, she told them.

  The birds ceased and came to a rest on perches around the room.

  Shall we kill him? her raven asked.

  Rhaif removed his hands from in front of him, revealing the slashes he’d received on his face. One had slashed across his brow and cheekbone, barely missing his eye.

  “You’ll pay for this,” he hissed.

  “Do you think that frightens me any longer?” she hissed. “Threats of fire and rape? You have done what you will to me to the point I am numb of it. You cannot hurt me.”

  He managed to pick himself up to his knees then, wiping his face of the blood trickling down his cheek. “No. But I can sedate you.”