The Broken Realm

by Sarah M. Cradit

  Esmerelda spat on the floor. “I died once to keep myself from the hands of the craven ratsbane. Donnae think I won’t do it again.”

  “Esme,” Ravenna cautioned. “I’m afraid your king will be disappointed. Esmerelda is already married, and I am forbidden from marrying outside my blood.”

  Oldwin laughed. He clutched his chest. “For Esmerelda, I believe the word you seek is widow, that is, if you were even wed at all, and I say you were not. Ryan Strong belongs to the Wastelands. To the king. His life is forfeit.”

  Ravenna squeezed Esmerelda’s hand in warning.

  “Will the king pretend this child is his, then?” Esmerelda demanded. “The rumor in the kingdom is he cannot function to create his own.”

  Oldwin’s grin faded from his lined face. He blinked, regarding Esmerelda with a strange look. “Your child has no place in this kingdom. Your child will be cast into the sea, like Darrick Rhiagain, or perhaps smashed upon the rocks, depending on my spirits the day of its unfortunate birth.”

  This time Esmerelda spat upon the sorcerer’s face. “Touch me or mine and die.”

  Oldwin calmly wiped the spittle from his eye and turned to Ravenna. “As for you,” Oldwin said, stepping closer. As he did, his full height became more clear. He towered over them, casting a shadow in body and deed. But he knelt so that their faces nearly touched. “I see no other Ravenwood here to enforce your meaningless laws. Your marriage to the king begins a new era in the kingdom, one long overdue, would you not say?”

  “Is the king so desperate for brides you must kidnap them now?” Esmerelda quipped.

  Oldwin slapped her so hard she flew back, stumbling against the deck chair. When Ravenna went to reach for her, Oldwin snapped her back, gripping her forearm in his bony hand. “But don’t think, Ravenna, that I’ve completely disregarded your concern for the Ravenwood traditions. You missed out on the most important one of all, did you not? The Langenacht.”

  Ravenna swallowed hard. “I chose another life.”

  Oldwin tilted his head to the side. “But, according to tradition, you cannot simply choose not to! So, do not trouble yourself. When your brethren hear of this wedding, they will know we did not throw aside all the Ravenwoods hold dear.”

  Oldwin cupped her face in his hands. They were clammy, cold. “Every male Rhiagain, boy or man, will have their chance to compete against the king for the right to your hand.”

  35

  Clever, Slippery

  Varinya knew as well as anyone, and better than some, how ephemeral a secret was. Their very existence as Ravenwoods in a foreign kingdom had been woven around the protection of secrecy, and yet as individuals it was unthinkable to keep their own.

  It was not her own secret that plagued her today, but Argentyn’s. Clever, slippery Argentyn, who thought so highly of his abilities that he’d never considered his behavior might have been discerned by others. It grated on her that he was partly right; he’d carried on for some time before she picked up on it. And it wasn’t even her, but her mother, Adynora, which so finely underscored Varinya’s own failure on the matter that it nearly cut her open.

  I trust you’ll deal with the matter, Daughter.

  Yes, Mother.

  Is that a tear? Put it away. Save it, for if you cannot tidy this mess Argentyn has created, you’ll be spending it on him.

  Had anyone else discovered what he’d been up to, he’d be dead already.

  He was not the only Ravenwood man to think his skills superior to the women. Many of them were this way, accepting their place in the hierarchy while harboring the private belief that the females were no more than figureheads needing to be guided by the more knowledgeable and competent.

  Varinya had stopped giving care to Argentyn’s opinions of her when she took the veil of High Priestess. He could no longer lay his hands on her in violence, and he’d been forced into more caution with his words. Tradition didn’t change feelings, but she was safer married to him than she’d been as his sister.

  His behavior now, however, had left them all vulnerable. Varinya. Her children. The entire Rookery, if word spread and a discussion was had about the half-blood being kept prisoner within their walls.

  Nor was Lady Blackwood the first half-blood to live amongst the stone and cold of Midnight Crest, but that was a secret she no longer felt the same urgency to protect. It was history now, like a passing storm.

  She sat upon the throne in the Courtyard Regents. He’d kept her waiting, and he would pay for that as well, for the pain building in her neck from sitting so erect for so long only incensed her further. Even the midnight goats cooing as they passed by the fabric of her gown couldn’t soften her heart today.

  At last Argentyn stepped upon the ice. His hands were laced behind his back and he wore a casual look, as if he’d been summoned to help her find her missing slipper. “You called for me?”

  “You called for me, High Priestess,” she corrected.

  The lazy grin faded away. “Really, Varinya?”

  “Really, High Priestess.”

  He shook his head. “Very well. You called for me, High Priestess, and I am here. Have we an audience?”

  “You better pray not, or even I cannot save you from the fate awaiting you.”

  Argentyn wore his concern in the lines of his brow. “Has something happened?”

  “Only that which you have designed and driven into existence yourself, you foolish man.” She kept her head held high, offering not a whisper of the familiarity he was so used to with her. “I should ask you why you’ve done it, but your answer would make me complicit.”

  “I’m quite lost, Varinya—”

  “High Priestess! And you are not lost, Argentyn Ravenwood, you know very well why you are here, what you have done, and what I know. It will not be long before the entire Rookery knows!”

  His breath swirled in the frigid air. He looked behind him, shifting, then gave a short laugh. “I saved her life.”

  Varinya was incredulous. “I’ll need a better explanation than that. What is her life to you? To me? To any of us?”

  “She has our blood, V... High Priestess.”

  “She has the blood of a traitor, Argentyn! She is not one of us. That may not be her fault, but nor is it our problem, yet you’ve deigned to make it ours, and so now it is.”

  “Lady Blackwood may be useful to us. If we could study her, study her magic, we might better understand the effects of mixing bloodlines, of how far Rhosyn’s line has strayed from ours, of—"

  “Oh, spare me your lies of selflessness and service. You don’t want her here to enrich our knowledge. Even I know that.”

  Argentyn bristled. “If you know so much, then tell me. What are my motivations?”

  This was the problem. She didn’t have this answer. She couldn’t see into his heart, and this troubled her. “Her time here has come to an end.”

  Argentyn laughed. “What would you have me do, cast her against the mountain?”

  His laugh died when Varinya didn’t disabuse him of this suggestion. “You? You will do nothing. I will take things from here. You are not to visit her. You are not to speak of her. You are not to even think of her, not even in your passing thoughts, or the space of your dreams. It is as if, to you, she no longer exists at all.”

  “What will you do with her?”

  “That is no longer your concern.”

  * * *

  Wulfsgate had never felt so still.

  The bustle of travelers, shopkeepers, and smiths had died away, replaced by the occasional woman, huddled in her furs, passing down the road alone or with her small children. Even the energy of the keep had shifted; the kitchens were no longer so lively with only a handful of mouths to concern themselves with, and the absence of men walking the halls meant her thoughts were now so loud it was as if she was being screamed at, in echoes.

  There were still men; those left by Holden to guard the gates, and the keep. But they were not her men.

  Gr
etchen’s place was here, despite how empty and alone she felt. She would not leave her youngest children with anyone, not now, and maybe not ever again. They were all she had left. And when Pieter returned to her—a possibility she forced herself to believe, in the same way she strong-armed her mind to imagining Drystan and Lisbet might one day return—she had to be here to welcome him home.

  But the quiet was driving her to madness.

  Gretchen finished the last of the jug of wine and lifted herself away from the table. Her head was woozy with drink, and she swayed on her feet, but it did not stop her from finding the old familiar path and making her way down the stairs with the damp walls, toward the one place in all of the Northerlands where she could be free.

  “Ash,” she whispered, breathless, as she clutched a gap in the mossy stones. She’d come down the stairs too fast, and now her head was a whirlwind. “I know what you said before, I held fast to your belief in me, I did. I swear it. But I need you. I need you, and if you love me, you’ll come to me.”

  The only answer to her plea was the thump of her heart beating in her ears.

  “Mother’s blood, Ash, do I have to beg? Because I will! I will drop to my knees and prostrate myself before you, and say whatever it is you wish me to say to return you to me!”

  “Mama?”

  Gretchen gasped. She whirled around. The light from her torch swung wildly, her eyes following suit, until they landed upon little Nyssa.

  She knelt down before her daughter. “Nyssa, darling, what are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “No?” Gretchen touched her face with the back of her hands. “You’re warm. Do you feel poorly?”

  “When will Father be home? And Christian?”

  “I don’t know, wulfling. They’ve left to keep us all safe. The Northerlands, and the kingdom.”

  Nyssa’s tired eyes widened. “That sounds very important.”

  Gretchen nodded. “It is. I can’t think of anything more important than what they’ve gone to do. Shall I heat some stew for you?”

  Nyssa shook her head. “I’m not hungry.” She looked past her mother, and, with a light gasp, pointed. “What are those?”

  Gretchen turned and realized her daughter was asking about the tombs. That this was the first time she’d seen one. Neither Gretchen nor Holden had brought the twins here before. “This is where your ancestors have gone to be at rest after their promise was spent.”

  Nyssa twisted her face. “There are dead people down here?”

  “They are only bodies now. Their souls have gone to be with the Guardians.”

  “Are all the people who died in Wulfsgate here?” Nyssa seemed to be calculating what would be required to accommodate such a thing.

  “No, wulfling. Only your father’s family. Like this one, see? Hadden Dereham. This was your grandfather. And with him, your grandmother, Mylannie.”

  “How did he die?”

  “No one knows. They found him one morning, having passed in his sleep.” How many times had she told this lie? Pretended that the deaths of all the mothers and fathers of the lords and ladies forced into marriage were not a gift of the crown?

  “I hope that’s how I die,” Nyssa said plainly. She read another tomb and drew an inward gasp. “Torrin. Is that for my brother?”

  “No, wulfling, that isn’t for your brother. We called him Rinn, but he was your father’s eldest brother. He would have been the heir had he not died before his time. But he wasn’t the first Torrin, or the last. Your brother was named for many great men who came before him.”

  Nyssa seemed more relaxed now, her uneasiness replaced by curiosity. Gretchen took her daughter by the hand and walked her through what she knew of her husband’s family history, answering what questions she could, feeling more at peace with every word that felt true. This wasn’t the relief she’d sought in coming here, but the Guardians had a strange way of delivering what was needed.

  At last, Nyssa yawned, and Gretchen could see she was ready for bed. “Shall we go up? You can sleep in my bed tonight.”

  Nyssa brightened. “Really?”

  “Yes, wulfling. Come.”

  Nyssa planted her feet. “Mama... I have a question.”

  “All right.”

  “If all of Father’s family is here, that means I’ll be here, too?”

  Gretchen kissed her on the forehead. “Unless your husband prefers you join him in his own family crypts. But not for a very long time. You have many years ahead of you.”

  Nyssa wasn’t satisfied with this answer. “I like it down here. I can visit with people who are gone, like they never left.”

  “Yes, it can be like that, at times,” Gretchen said, concerned by the look in her daughter’s eyes, and where this was going. “Come, let’s go up.”

  “I miss Drystan, Lisbet, and Pieter. Can we make tombs for them, too? So I can come down and visit them?”

  Stars surged into Gretchen’s vision and she had to reach for a patch of moss on the wall to steady herself. “Tombs are for the dead, wulfling.”

  Nyssa looked up. She gave her mother a placating look, took her hand, and nodded. “Okay, let’s go to bed.”

  * * *

  Alasyr hadn’t been anywhere near Wulfsgate since he’d betrayed his family. He didn’t dare dip down, even if he was confident he wouldn’t be spotted. What he’d done, telling Emberley about Argentyn’s crime, was unconscionable. He’d be punished horribly if his betrayal was discovered, and there was only one answer for treason.

  He hovered just beyond the entrance to the Courtyard of Regents. He wanted to see the midnight goat again, especially the one he’d saved, but he wouldn’t commit another crime with his recent ones lingering so fresh. Even the thought of stepping a foot into the icy rotunda sent a chill of fear through him.

  Alasyr jumped as his father came barreling toward him, from the courtyard. He was so startled at his lapse in attention that at first he didn’t notice his father’s disheveled state. These days, he knew quite well what troubled his father and sent his own conscience into a tailspin.

  He was more surprised to see his mother calmly follow. She paused at the entrance and regarded Alasyr with a dark smile. The bleariness in her eyes made him desperately curious about had transpired between them.

  “Alasyr. Just who I wanted to see.”

  “Me?” Alasyr turned toward the direction his father had fled. “Is everything all right, Mother?”

  “Don’t concern yourself with your father. He is long past the age where he can rely on any excuse for his actions.” She stepped closer and rested a hand along Alasyr’s cheek. “You, though. You’re still a boy in many ways. I can’t hold you at fault for what you knew and did nothing about.”

  “I—”

  “Shh,” Varinya replied. “There are ears everywhere. Didn’t Corridyn tell you as much when you visited his deathbed?”

  Alasyr’s heart soared in uneven beats. His mother knew. She knew everything. Had she known all along? “I don’t know what possessed him to do it, Mother. I followed him... I...”

  Varinya kissed his forehead. Her lips were icy, but he nonetheless felt the spread of warmth within. “As I was saying, about ears.”

  They both took to their wings, leaving Argentyn behind, fuming. Varinya soared ahead, with Alasyr in anxious pursuit. At last she landed at the base of a cave. It wasn’t far from Midnight Crest, but he’d never set foot inside.

  “I need to know where your father is keeping Lady Blackwood, Alasyr.”

  “In the old dowager quarters that no one uses anymore,” he blurted. “I don’t know why he keeps her, Mother. I truly don’t. He and I... we’ve never spoken of it. Not a word.”

  “I have my suspicions,” Varinya said, turning toward the entrance of the cave. A blizzard swirled beyond, obscuring any view. “But you’re wrong. He’s moved her. To where, I do not know, but when I said she was in the old quarters, he let me believe it. I’m well acquainted with y
our father’s tics when he lies.”

  “I didn’t know he’d moved her,” Alasyr said. He couldn’t help squinting in hopes for a better view beyond the cave. Argentyn could be on the other side and they wouldn’t know.

  “Hmm,” she said. “I hear you’ve been speaking to Lady Blackwood’s daughter. That the two of you are friends.”

  “I have spoken to her,” Alasyr confessed. Then he lied to his mother. “But we are not friends.”

  “Why speak to her at all?”

  He dropped his eyes. “I thought she could aid me in bringing Ravenna back.”

  Varinya laughed, but there was no humor in it. He thought he heard her crying but was afraid to look. “No one can help with that now, Son, least of all a half-blood child who has no place among us.” She again approached him. “I need you to find where he has her. I cannot go searching without drawing attention to his activities, but no one will pay mind to your steps.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “You don’t sound particularly eager to serve me in this.”

  Alasyr sighed. “I am angry at Father as well, for bringing her here. But... that is not her fault, is it? He took her, against her will, he and... and I don’t know who the other was. I can’t figure it out.”

  “There’s another?” Varinya asked. She paled. “You’re certain?”

  “I saw another raven watching him the day he took Lady Blackwood.”

  Varinya nodded. Her attempt to seem unbothered by this revelation failed. It was written plainly in the soft lines of her face. “Your concern for Lady Blackwood is honorable, but misplaced. Just as your friendship is with her daughter.”

  “I’m not concerned for her, it’s—”

  Varinya held up a hand. “I agree. She did not ask to be brought here. And now she must leave. You will help me see this done?”

  Alasyr swallowed. “You’ll send her to Wulfsgate? You won’t hurt her?”

  “I won’t hurt her,” Varinya replied after a small beat, and Alasyr knew she was lying.