The Broken Realm

by Sarah M. Cradit

  “He reminded me that we were allies, not prisoners, and that we deserved to know. That you deserved to know.”

  “Then why are you only telling me this now?”

  “Because I knew you would want to go to him, and taking you there was not safe.” He bowed his head. “Perhaps it should be Darrick who decides. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you or Stefan under my watch.”

  Anabella wanted to reassure him, to remind him that no one had been more loyal to her husband, that Wyat was her brother in all ways that mattered, that they would make it, safely, and all would be well. But the words felt too heavy on the tongue, and so they died there.

  “Get as much rest as you can. We’ll leave tomorrow,” he said and left.

  * * *

  “Do they all live in the trees like this?” Drystan asked as they moved through the woods at the edge of Bythesea. Ash had steered them farther off course to avoid detection, but even this deep in the forest they encountered the scattered home or two.

  “Only those with great wealth,” Ash explained. “The higher in the trees, the more sprawl, the more money a family possesses. Their castles in the trees are the biggest display of wealth they know, and this is where their gold goes. Bythesea is known especially for such wealth, as the most prominent port town in all the Easterlands.”

  “I thought that was Briarhaven?”

  “They’ve slowed commerce through Briarhaven in recent years, as the Magi complained about the sorts that would come to port. Harassing their Adherents and Magi and worse. These days, the taxes to trade through Briarhaven are prohibitive for all but reputable traders.”

  Drystan waved his hand around, gesturing at the sporadic homes in the branches. “Seems odd to want to live so far from the town, out here.”

  “Does it? I’ve never considered it before, I suppose. Isn’t that the way of things? What is ordinary to you is unusual to another.”

  Drystan pulled to a stop. “You must know. I’m certain of my purpose, Ash. I won’t change my mind. Nothing will stop me from killing the sorcerer and freeing the Medvedev. Even if it costs me my own life.”

  Ash shook his head. “It won’t. I’ll be there, with you.”

  “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. You seem to want to protect me. But if you cannot stop that instinct in Whitechurch, then you should turn around now.”

  “Drystan—”

  “I’m serious, Ash. If I survive this, and the task is not done, it will be as good as death for me.”

  “Son, why does this matter so much to you?” Ash asked. “Where does this passion come from, for a cause that has nothing to do with you?”

  “Have you ever been called to purpose?”

  “I believe so.”

  “No,” Drystan said. “You would know so. You would be so utterly certain that everything else you ever held dear as a truth would be called into question.”

  Ash slowly nodded. “Very well. I promise not to intervene, if the task is not yet complete.”

  “Or to do it for me.”

  “Does it matter, who slays the dragon, if the dragon is felled?”

  “Dragons are not real,” Drystan said and spurred himself back into action. “But sorcerers are.”

  * * *

  “We don’t even know the way!” Ravenna yelled.

  “I didn’t ask you to come with me,” Esmerelda called back, breathless, as she rode hard through the forest. She wanted to ride harder, but she had to think of her child. Riding at all right now was a risk, but she couldn’t stay any longer or she’d not be able to travel until after her child was born. Ryan needed her. He was waiting for her. If the Guardians punished her for answering this call, then all hope truly was lost.

  Ravenna struggled to keep pace with her. She supposed those northern sorcerers didn’t have much use for horses, flying about the mountains as they did. “I won’t let you do this alone!”

  “You won’t let me?” Esmerelda laughed, hair flying behind her. She no longer bothered to cover it. Whatever happened, happened. “Seems you couldn’t keep up to stop me if you tried.”

  “I am trying. But not to stop you.”

  “Then what, Ravenna?”

  “I’m trying to help you!”

  “Like you helped me in Greystone Abbey?”

  “I’ve already apologized for that, Esmerelda. I’ll keep apologizing if there’s forgiveness at the end of it.”

  “To offer you that I would first need to care,” Esmerelda snapped. She realized, though, that she didn’t mean the words anymore. She did care. She didn’t hate Ravenna. She envied her, for her freedom, for her confidence, and the easiness in which she wrapped Jesse, and probably all men, around her finger. Esmerelda had been told her whole life she was beautiful, but had rarely been given compliments about anything beyond the surface of who she was. She was useful, that’s all. A pawn for a good marriage and more money for her father.

  Or, had been.

  “We don’t have to be friends,” Ravenna called, narrowing the gap between them. “But I will see you aimed true. Let that resolve matters between us, once and for all, so when we part, we can do so with no further enmity between us.”

  Esmerelda pulled to a sudden stop. Ravenna kept on with her prattling, but Esmerelda raised a hand, cutting her words to a halt. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

  Ravenna started to say no, but then her head cocked to the side. Listening. She reached behind her, for her bow. Esmerelda touched the dagger strapped against her thigh.

  “Horses. A dozen, or more,” she responded, dropping her voice so low Esmerelda had to read her lips. “They’ve stopped.”

  A meaningful look passed between the two women. There was little chance they could win a fight against men. But they could run.

  Esmerelda nodded. Ravenna returned it.

  Esmerelda was the first to spring into action. Her horse launched forward, Ravenna’s right behind. The horses lying in wait in the forest came to life, a cacophony of powerful thuds against dirt and brush as they quickly closed in on them.

  “Harder!” Ravenna cried. “Harder than you’ve ever ridden in your life!”

  “They’re right on us!”

  “Go! Ride!”

  Esmerelda was several paces ahead when she realized Ravenna was no longer behind her. She tried to look over her shoulder, to spot her, but there was nothing. Some of the horses giving chase had also fallen off.

  She quickly turned to look and saw that Ravenna had surrendered herself to the assailants. Her panicked, resigned face nodded feverishly at Esmerelda to go, keep riding, go on. Panting, Esmerelda kept her grueling pace, but she couldn’t get the image of Ravenna’s strange expression out of her head. It slowed her, and she eventually stopped.

  Before she could turn, strong arms looped around hers and she was pulled from atop her horse with a rush so hard she saw stars.

  “No!” Ravenna cried out.

  Esmerelda’s feet dragged the ground as she wrestled for footing. She grunted and thrashed in their arms, but these men were strong. She struggled for breath through their rough handling. “You... are... hurting me!”

  “Struggle and you’ll really know pain,” a deep, hard voice responded. To someone else, he called, “Pass the rope!”

  “Let her go!” Ravenna cried. “I’ll go with you willingly!”

  The soldier jostled Esmerelda over his shoulder. “You’ll come, willingly or not. We’re taking you both.”

  “I am with child, you oaf!” Esmerelda grunted as the air was knocked from her chest.

  “Our orders were to bring you in alive. As long as you can still be properly plucked and fucked, I imagine he won’t care about the condition of your arrival.”

  Orders. They’d been hunted.

  At last she caught the standard etched upon their armor.

  The crossed swords.

  Duncarrow.

  The king.

  * * *

  Emb
erley assembled scraps from the armory. There wasn’t much left. All the men, and even many young boys, had taken everything crafted. She found some cuffs and a slink of mail that was only slightly too large. The last helmet, lying bereft in a corner, was made for a man even larger than her father. It fell off her head before she could adjust it.

  She’d had to sneak past Ransom to do it. He was furious with Gretchen for ordering him to stay behind with the women. Ember understood his anger. Her cousin was the heir apparent of the Southerlands, and after all that had happened across the Reaches, this seemed important in ways that had been purely theoretical before. But the reasons he should go were the same reasons he should stay.

  Why are you siding with Lady Dereham? Father would want me there, Ember!

  Ransom. Your father has lost his daughter and brother, all so quickly he hasn’t properly mourned either. He would not do well to lose you, too.

  Your mother has lost a spouse and child, and yet your brother leads his army to war.

  If she were here, she’d be leading it herself, and Brandyn would be safely tucked away with the other magic dealers of the realm.

  I donnae expect a girl to understand.

  Then perhaps don’t whine to me about it.

  That had been enough to get him to leave her alone.

  She’d always preferred being alone. It was a part of her she tried to hide, for most around her believed it to be unnatural to spend so much time with one’s own thoughts. Her mother understood this about her and never made her feel badly for it. She accepted that it wasn’t that Ember didn’t wish to share her time and space with others, but that she felt others would not want to share that same time or space if they understood her, truly. She could not say the things that came to her mind aloud. She could not express them with words even if she tried. It was easier to live with the inexplicable feelings and sensations that were a part of her than to attempt to put voice to them and be judged.

  And now, her mother was gone. Emberley had held fast to her hope that her mother would return, but the search of the pass had dulled everyone’s spirits. She was almost grateful they were all gone to war now, for she was weary of all the talk. All the speculation. No one knew anything, but they had no shortage of opinions on the matter.

  Emberley knew one thing. If her mother was not returning, then she must go and fight for their Reach in her name.

  “You aren’t really considering going to war in that?”

  Ember jumped back, tripping over scraps of metal. “Alasyr!”

  “You are? You’re going?”

  “Why haven’t you come?”

  “You really intend to do it, don’t you? You little fool.”

  Ember flushed, straightening what little she managed to assemble for herself with a small measure of pride. “The Westerlands is my home. Marsh was right, though not for the reasons he meant. I must defend her. My mother would not want me sulking in the snowy shadows.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you here, anyway? I called for you. You didn’t answer.”

  “I’m here about your mother.”

  “My mother?’

  Alasyr’s steps crunched and then softened as he stepped from the snow into the dirt and hay. “Yes, Emberley, your mother. Lady Asherley.”

  Ember’s breath caught. Her mouth parted. “You found her? You went to look for her, after all?”

  “I didn’t need to look for her,” Alasyr said slowly, carefully. He stepped closer. As he did, a paralyzing nervousness traveled through Ember. Something was wrong.

  Ember took a step back, but she did not drop her eyes. “Where is she?”

  Alasyr smiled bitterly. “Secrets will kill a man, he holds them within him too long. I watched a man die a few days ago. He was fit, healthy, and then he wasn’t, and it was the secrets, his truths, that got him.”

  “Alasyr, you’re not making any sense. What does this have to do with my mother?”

  “I have a secret. And, as your mother so wisely said, if I share it, my life is forfeit.”

  “My mother? You talked to her?”

  “Oh, yes. Because your mother didn’t die against the cliffs like the Rhiagain princess. She was unharmed in the fight, and was taken, by my father, to Midnight Crest, where she has been his prisoner ever since.”

  Ember gasped. “No. You lie.”

  Alasyr lifted his hands. “I have everything to lose with the truth, and nothing to gain in deception.” He laughed. “What does it even matter? What does any of it matter? Do you think Ravenna asked herself this very same question when she ran off with the Dereham boy?”

  “I... I don’t know,” Ember managed. Her mother. At Midnight Crest. It wasn’t possible, was it? She saw no lie in Alasyr, despite her desperate accusation. And how she wanted to believe it... how she needed to. Her mother was alive! “I knew she didn’t die on that mountain.”

  “She’ll die on another mountain if you don’t save her.”

  “What does your father want with her?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. And you’re asking the wrong question, Emberley Blackwood.”

  “What question should I be asking then?”

  “Ask me how. How you will get to the top of a mountain that cannot be scaled by man or horse.”

  Ember shook her head. “All right. How?”

  Alasyr leaned in and whispered next to her ear, “You fly.”

  * * *

  Jesse had been following their trail for hours. Neither Esmerelda nor Ravenna had bothered to cover it, and he only lost it once, after crossing a stream and finding they’d changed paths. He shook his head as he navigated the alteration. They were so off course they’d be dipping into the Easterlands in a day if they didn’t correct.

  He’d never understood the point in reliving past moments or conversations, but he could not help wondering if there was some word, some turn of phrase he could have used to prevent Esmerelda from leaving without him. He’d done all he could to convince her that she was family now, no longer a burden. Whatever other purpose his life would serve, for now the one that involved protecting her was all that mattered. He wasn’t done, even if she’d decided he was.

  Fresh horse dung told him he was narrowing the gap. But what concerned him were the new tracks he saw, coming from the south. Six, perhaps seven horses in all, and his apprehension deepened when he saw them merge with the tracks from Esmerelda’s and Ravenna’s horses.

  Jesse’s own horse drew up in fear. He saw it, too. Two horses, not tethered, but not running, either. They shifted about, afraid, listless, as if they’d seen something terrible and could not decide what to do. Jesse clicked his tongue to ease his mare and slowly approached the scene.

  He recognized Esmerelda’s pack in a bush, the contents spilled. To the left, Ravenna’s was in a similar state.

  “Guardians,” Jesse whispered, scanning, searching, for any other signs; anything at all that might prove out another outcome than the one that seemed most obvious.

  But there was no denying it. The women had been taken. Whoever had taken them had been hunting them, perhaps for some time.

  The trail was not yet cold. He could still catch them.

  Jesse quickly dismounted to collect the packs when a curious sensation filled his chest. It was as if air was being pumped into him, and as he looked down, to examine the cause, he found his feet had left the ground and he was suspended in the air, looking down at the remains of the Esmerelda and Ravenna’s fate.

  “What foul nonsense is this?” he hissed, flailing his arms, willing himself back to the ground. This was not like the other strangeness surrounding him of late. He didn’t need this, or ask for it. He desperately wanted it to go away, and that should have been enough to end it, but it wasn’t.

  Two figures stepped into his view from behind the trees. A man and a woman. Deep within him, he knew those words did not describe these creatures, though. They might appear as such, but they were more. They were—

  �
�Jamesan Strong. We’ve come a long way for you,” the woman said. Her smile terrified him.

  “Are you doing this? Let me down!”

  “You can let yourself down,” the man said. “There is nothing I have done to you that you are incapable of doing yourself.”

  “That’s horseshit.” Jesse grunted, trying again. “Release me!”

  The woman raised a hand and Jesse fell to the ground. He rolled toward the bush, reaching for his sword as he came back up.

  But it would not release from the hilt. He struggled, yanking, as he hobbled to his feet.

  “I told you, Lysanor. I told you we should subdue him.”

  “No,” Lysanor said, stepping closer to Jesse, still desperately working to free his sword. “I will not harm him. Nor will you. If you did, you’d be sore about it later, I know you, Isdemus.”

  Isdemus sighed. “Yes, yes. But look at him. He will never come willingly.”

  “Was it you? Was it you and your friend who took the women?”

  “No,” Lysanor said, smiling sadly. “But we know who did.”

  “Yes, we know who did, and you’ll be very angry with us, but we will not be following them.”

  “Are ye feckin’ mad?” Jesse demanded, incredulous. It was as if he was in the throes of a fever dream from which he could not wake. “Who are you, anyway? I’ve heard tales about the disgraced Magi. Is that it, are you on banishment?”

  Lysanor laughed. Isdemus joined in.

  “Banishment, yes, of a sort,” Isdemus said. “But the Magi of the Sepulchre are babes in the woods. They know nothing.”

  “Not nothing, Isdemus, we’ve been over this. Their magic is different, that’s all.”

  “It’s inferior.”

  “Different.”

  “If ye two are quite done, you can tell me who has my friends. I donnae need your aid, just aim me true,” Jesse said. He’d given up on the sword and made for his horse. If only he could get some distance, he could be free of this profane magic and the peculiar creatures wielding it.

  Lysanor sighed. “I hate when you are right. Catch him, will you?”