The Broken Realm

by Sarah M. Cradit

  “The one who saved you.”

  “Yes. But what Khallum didn’t tell the men about was Ryan’s sacrifice. He has yet to wake up since our rescue.” Darrick looked off to the side. “Even all the way across the kingdom, his wisdom lives in me.” He raised his head. “You see, when Ryan found me at the camp, I was a man broken. All I had been, all I had known, had been reduced to the sand under my tired, blistered feet. He pushed me. He wanted to know me. Wanted to know what I had buried deep within, what I no longer felt was worth giving voice to. But though I didn’t know it until later, I was wrong. Ryan was right. If you have something to say, say it. If you have something that can help another, you don’t hold it in, where it’s no good to anyone. This may be why your mother trusted Joran so. He shares when he needs to.”

  Brandyn twisted his mouth. “Sometimes. He’s a cagey old thing.”

  “I’m going to tell you what I know about the sorcerer, Mortain. And you can use this information however you choose, Brandyn, but I give it to you knowing it should be part of what you use to make your decision, about how to lead your men.”

  “You know him? Mortain?”

  “I remember him,” Darrick said. “I can’t say I ever knew him. My entire life at Duncarrow, he and another sorcerer, Oldwin, were imprisoned in the sky dungeon, by my father. When I was about fifteen, I learned why.

  “Oldwin was the first to be thrown into the prison. There was some bond that had been broken between him and my father when he failed to see something very important. Something that drove my father to madness. But, you see, my father knew something about these sorcerers. He had always known, but as long as they were of use to him, he chose to ignore these warnings. The lure of such power is strong, as you might imagine, and the Rhiagain sorcerers, as most call them, have powers beyond anything you’ve ever seen or known in this kingdom, even at the Sepulchre. To have two at your side... well...”

  “Joran says the sorcerers aren’t Rhiagains at all, but something else,” Brandyn said.

  Darrick nodded. “Joran is right. Did he also tell you they were immortal?”

  “Yeah, but that’s impossible.”

  “Here, in the kingdom, it is. Where they come from, it’s a way of life. You may have heard the term, the four sorcerers.”

  Brandyn nodded.

  “There are four here, in the kingdom. But there were more than that, where they come from. Ilynglass.”

  “Ilynglass. That’s Beyond?”

  “It’s one Beyond.”

  “What happened to the others?”

  “No one knows. But they say only four made the journey with Carrow Rhiagain, hundreds of years ago. All four survived, but as the Rhiagains who journeyed with them died off, and time passed, the truth of the sorcerers remained within their ranks alone. What lingered in my ancestors were whispers, tales passed down, the kind that usually take different shape and form the more they are repeated. But the one thing my father did know was that they were exceedingly dangerous. That they serve us now, but the time will come when they no longer have to, and when it does, all as we know it will end.”

  “What does that even mean?” Brandyn asked. “All as we know it will end? There are four of them, and many thousands of us.”

  “I know his fear was real. And I know he failed Eoghan by never telling him these things. How do I know he failed? Because Eoghan, though cruel, would not have been foolish enough to free one and give it to a man like Aiden Quinlanden. I suspect he’s freed Oldwin as well, seeing the opportunity to have such a creature at his side.”

  Brandyn traced his finger along the grooves of the wooden table. “Why tell me this?”

  “Because all of this, all your troubles, began when Mortain arrived in Whitechurch in ‘service’ to Aiden Quinlanden. But have you asked yourself why Aiden is not the one directing these men? Why he has gone conspicuously absent?” Darrick leaned in. “I don’t know what Mortain’s aim is, what motivations lie at the core of his desire to see this kingdom at war. But I know it begins with him. And if it begins with him...”

  Brandyn’s fingers stopped moving. He looked up. “It ends with him.”

  “For now, anyway,” Darrick said, nodding. “For there are still three others out there, biding their time.”

  * * *

  “Esme, wake up. We need to talk.”

  Esmerelda hadn’t been sleeping at all. She slept much less than they assumed she did, likely because she spent a fair amount of time in bed. But lying wasn’t sleeping. For her, it was the only time she could be sure to be alone, where she could think without disturbance.

  She turned to see Jesse’s troubled expression. He sat on the side of the bed, keeping the same odd distance he always strived for between them, while also looking as if he might take her in his arms if the wind blew the wrong way. She was as confused by this, she thought, as he was.

  “Jesse.” She yawned, because it seemed like the next fair thing to do, keeping up with his belief that she was always tired. It wasn’t that she wanted to lie to him. But he fussed after her so much that it kept some of that, at least, at bay, which also gave her some needed peace.

  She finished rolling around, and now she could see it wasn’t only his face, but all of him, in distress. He was truly agitated, wringing his hands, hardly able to stay still. She almost reached for him, to ease him, but then thought better of it.

  “There are things I need to tell you,” he said. “I should have told you before, but—”

  “My father is here,” Esmerelda said. Watching him like this made her tired. Physically. Mentally. More than she had been, and that was something. “I already know.”

  Jesse stopped tapping his foot. “You know? How?”

  “I heard you talking to Ravenna.”

  “But you were sleeping.”

  “I wasn’t,” Esmerelda said. “And I heard you. It’s fine, Jesse. I know already.”

  “But...” He had a question, he just didn’t know what it was.

  She tried to smile. For him. “Ravenna was right. You misjudge me and what I can handle. Being with child doesn’t make me weak. I’ve never been so strong.”

  Jesse touched her arm. “I didn’t think you were weak, Esmerelda.”

  “You did,” she said, now smiling fully. “But I know it was a misunderstanding born of love for Ryan.”

  He looked down. His hand remained, though he couldn’t quite decide what to do with it.

  “And I don’t care, about you and Ravenna. It’s a waste to trouble yourself over it so.”

  “If you heard us, then you know what she...” He shook his head. “I will own my own part in it all, but I was relieved to hear her confess about the magic.”

  “Your protection of me does not prohibit you from being a man,” Esmerelda replied. “Or from having a man’s desires. I saw how you looked upon her from the very first time, in the Hinterlands. Magic or no. You only deny yourself for my sake, and I’ve no concern on the matter at all, beyond wanting you to be happy, as my brother.”

  Jesse flushed a dark red. “It doesnae matter. I’ve other priorities, and my desires are not one of them.” He seemed to realize his hand still grazed her skin and he pulled it back, nearly recoiling at his oversight. “But there’s something else I have to tell you, and I donnae know how.”

  “Is it Ryan?”

  “How did you know?”

  “What else would have you so troubled?” Esmerelda pulled herself up, so she could meet his eyes.

  “When you heard Ravenna and me talking, you didn’t hear what I told her about Ryan, then?”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Jesse took a sharp intake of breath. “Even to hear those words aloud, I... no, he’s not dead. But he isnae well. He has yet to wake, and Lord Warwick, your father, thinks perhaps he will not. You remember what I told you? About why your father sent him to prison?”

  Esmerelda laughed. “How could I ever forget such a thing?”

  Jesse didn’
t join her laughter. “Darrick Rhiagain is here, in Greystone Abbey. He came with your father. I talked to him... last night, though I didnae know who he was, not then. He said the most curious thing, about Ryan, but now his words make sense.” He aimed an even more concerned look upon her than the earlier one. “Did you hear me, about Ryan? That he hasn’t awakened?”

  “Yes. I heard you.”

  Jesse reached for one of her hands. He folded it into both of his. “Perhaps you’re in shock.”

  “No.” She released her hand, patting his before pulling it back to her lap. “I’ve been preparing for worse. If he sleeps, there is yet hope.”

  “You were right before, when you wanted to leave. We cannae stay here.”

  “I know.”

  “Give me time. A week. A fortnight at most. I’ll have a plan for us.”

  “Okay, Jesse.”

  “We will go to Ryan. Darrick will tell me where he is, if I ask. He knows about you. And he cares for Ryan. They became friends in there.”

  Esmerelda nodded. “I would like that.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right? Can I get you something? To drink, to break your fast?”

  She shook her head. “You can stop fussing over me.”

  Jesse smiled, shaking his head as he looked away, around, anywhere but at her. “Aye. Right. I’ll go talk to Darrick, then, and I’ll make peace with Easlan. We’ll be on our way before you know it.”

  It made her happy to see him with purpose once more. He’d been so dark, so aimless and unhappy, since his quarrel with Easlan. And though it was hard for her to think on this for too long, looking after her had also become a darkness in his life. No longer for being a burden, but because of the confusion she stirred in him. It wasn’t unlike the confusion Ravenna had caused in him, but it was worse, for this one had no magic to blame.

  She knew this confusion, because it lived in her, too.

  When he was gone, Esmerelda slipped from the bed. She checked her knapsack, making sure once more that she hadn’t forgotten anything.

  Not tonight, but soon.

  26

  The Search

  The snow was blinding. A fresh storm had rolled off the mountains the night before they departed Wulfsgate. It would have passed over the town by now, but it lingered in Torrin’s Pass, where the cold air trapped it and bade it stay longer. These were not the conditions in which anyone would be easily found, but every day Pieter and Asherley spent here brought them further from safe recovery.

  Christian kept Ransom close to his side. It wasn’t anything clear, but he’d had a sense about the boy, a sense that stopped just short of a vision. Even all these years later, with all his training, Christian sometimes struggled to parse a feeling from a sense. Whether he was experiencing the protectiveness common to all men, or if it was something more.

  Christian wanted to leave Ransom behind, but Holden insisted he come. He’d nearly bullied Aylen into declaring him fit for travel. Ransom was the last person to see Pieter and Asherley both, Holden said. His sparse memory might bloom in returning him to where it all happened.

  The boy rode solemnly at Christian’s side, having both receded and aged overnight. Nineteen years, Gretchen had said. He could have been nine or ninety now, and both would have been believable, but a young man on the verge of having his own family, old enough to step up and be the lord of his own land, this seemed out of reach for the boy riding beside him.

  “We’re close.” Ransom muttered the words. Measured against the wind, only Christian heard them. The wulves they’d brought to aid with the search howled behind them, sounding their cries into the gusts.

  “Bannermen! We’re close!” Christian called ahead to the men. Fifteen of Holden’s most trusted. Not one had balked at the orders when they went to round them up for the call to arms. More had volunteered, but Christian gently refused their aid. The pass was not big enough for more, and they wanted to find Pieter and Asherley, not bury their trail underfoot.

  Holden pulled up beside him. “Pieter first.”

  Christian nodded. “I’m sending two men ahead to scout the mountainside near the cave. Once we find Pieter, we will join them.”

  Holden reached a hand across the space between them and proffered a quick squeeze to Christian’s arm. “Good.”

  Christian heard Alric several paces behind him. He knew it was him because the pony had a different gait, and a soft snuff he sounded every few steps. The beast was old, but it was determined to serve until its legs caved atop its hooves. Likely it had served beyond its capability already and existed now on devotion alone.

  He’d shared the Alric conversation with no one. He didn’t know what he believed, but he was certain Alric believed what he was saying. Whether it had happened as he remembered, only the Guardians knew, but Christian felt bad for his uncle. He wasn’t a liar, or an idiot. Only changed by what he believed had happened to him, and the subsequent loss of respect from his family and peers.

  “Be wary of indulging your uncle,” Holden said. “His intentions are good, but his words will drive you to madness with him.”

  Christian wondered if his father knew he’d talked to Alric about the veil, or was only heading off the possibility. “I can discern the difference, Father.”

  “He thought he could as well. You see him now, what he’s become.”

  “I see a man who feels shunned by his own family, for something beyond his control.”

  “Then you believe him.”

  The outline of the pearapple tree broke through the fog of snow. Ransom instinctively picked up pace, pulling ahead.

  “I believe he believes,” Christian said. “And that is enough for me to treat him with kindness.”

  “Kindness can be a cruelty when administered to those requiring a firmer hand.”

  “There.” Ransom dropped down from his horse. He approached the tree. “He was there, he was... he came around the backside, here.” Ransom danced under the overhead branches, darting here, there, in erratic fits and starts. “He looked at me, and I looked back, to see if we’d been followed, and when I returned to him, he was gone.”

  Christian paused his horse near where Ransoms crouched. “Here?”

  “Aye.”

  Christian shot a look at Alric, to search his face for even a flicker of recognition, but a daze had passed over him.

  “Right,” he said. “Bannermen! Fan out, using this tree as the center of your efforts!” To his father, he said, “We’ll take a couple of wulves. You and I can search for signs of him here, see if he can find where his trail went cold.”

  “And me.” Alric dropped from his mule. “I know this tree well.”

  Holden grunted into his cloak, but the sound stayed trapped in the dark fur.

  “All hands are welcome,” Christian said and clapped his uncle on the back.

  * * *

  Ember found Aylen in the infirmary, a small building to the back of the keep, near the medicinal rows of the Wintergarden. The silver-haired woman was checking inventories of cloths and medicines, scribbling her results in a tattered notebook. Ember liked her already, and this seemed another reason to. There were others who could and should do these things for her, but Aylen would do them anyway.

  “What are you doing?”

  Aylen turned. “Oh, Ember. I didn’t see you there. It’s high time someone did an inventory here. I don’t think they know what they have anymore.”

  “You’d rather be with Lord Christian.”

  “I suppose I would, yes. I know he promised you a trip over the pass. You’ve likely deduced that won’t be possible now.”

  “I no longer need to go over the pass if my mother will be returning here.”

  Aylen dropped her eyes. “Guardians willing.”

  “I knew you were ordered to stay back with the women, but I thought it was to tend to Ransom,” Ember remarked.

  Aylen flashed a quick smile as she jotted her note. “Lord Dereham felt he was well enough to trav
el and more useful there besides.”

  “What did you feel?”

  Aylen set her notebook aside. “Physically, he’s well enough now.”

  “Because you healed him.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you cannot heal the mind.”

  “Healing the mind is beyond the power of any healer.” Aylen dusted her hands on her gown. “Is there something I can help you with, Ember?”

  “I hope so.” Ember stepped farther into the small room. The sharp scent of tinctures and herbs overwhelmed her senses, but Aylen didn’t seem to notice. “My mother isn’t dead, Aylen. I know what others think, but I know, just as you knew you could heal Ransom.”

  Aylen studied her. “You mean you can sense her with magic?”

  “All Ravenwoods are connected,” Ember said, and though this was supposition, a guess, it felt right and true. “It’s how Alasyr knows his sister still lives. Why he won’t give up on her, though others have.”

  “If he knows because of this connection, then so would his parents. But haven’t they given up their search for her?”

  Ember shook her head. “They know she’s alive, and they don’t want her back. She’s a traitor to them now, and they’d rather she die than return. Alasyr is different. He cares more for his sister than for their traditions, and he’ll never give up searching for her.”

  “Wow. I see.” Aylen leaned back into the table. “And for this reason, you believe your mother still lives?”

  “I didn’t expect you to believe me. Only to help me.”

  Aylen sighed into a smile. “I never said I didn’t believe you, Emberley. Much of mastering magic lies in trusting instinct. There’s no place for doubt in magic, only the lingering question of what’s yet unknown.”

  “It’s stronger for me now that I’m here,” Emberley went on. “It’s as if being closer to Midnight Crest, or even other Ravenwoods, intensifies what I had before, makes it bolder, but also more... more volatile. I shouldn’t even be telling you this. No one is supposed to know about Blackwood magic, or we’d be executed for practicing it outside the Sepulchre’s purview.” Ember laughed. “And you, from the Consortium. I must be a fool, but you can see how desperate I am.”