A_Shadow_in_the_Ember_Amazon

by Armentrout, Jennifer L.

  Not the Royal Guards who stood in a rigid line before the dais, adorned in their finery. They looked ridiculous. Gold fringe fell from the puffed shoulders of their plum waistcoats, matching their pantaloons. Their lapeled coats and thick pants were far too heavy for the hot Carsodonia summer and didn’t really allow for unrestricted movement like the plain tunic and breeches the lower-ranking guards and soldiers wore. Their uniform screamed privilege that hadn’t been earned with the swords sheathed in their bone and stone-encrusted scabbards.

  There was no movement from the dais, where the Queen and King of Lasania sat upon their diamond-and-citrine-jeweled thrones, watching the approaching Lord. The golden crowns of leaves atop their heads shone brightly in the candlelight, and while my stepfather’s eyes held a sheen of fevered hope, my mother’s showed utterly nothing. Standing stiffly beside the King, the heir to the kingdom appeared somewhere between half-asleep and annoyed by the responsibility that required his presence. Knowing Tavius, he’d likely prefer to be at least three cups deep in ale and between some woman’s legs by this time of the evening.

  Queen Calliphe broke the tense silence, her voice crisp in the warm, heavy air thick with the scent of roses. “I did not expect you to answer the offer our Advisor made to your Crown.” Her tone was unmistakable. The Vodina Isle Lord’s presence was an insult. He was not royalty. And his actions were clear. He did not care. “Do you speak on behalf of your King and Queen?”

  Lord Claus stopped several feet from the Royal Guard, his unflinching stare tilted upward. He didn’t answer as his gaze traveled over the dais to the many columned alcoves. Beside me, Sir Holland, a knight of the Royal Guard, tensed, his grip on the sword at his waist tightening as the Lord’s survey glossed over me and snapped back.

  I held his stare, an act I’d surely be reprimanded for later, but only a handful of people in the entire kingdom knew that I was the last of the Mierel bloodline, a Princess. And even less knew that I had been the Maiden promised to the Primal of Death. This smug Lord didn’t even know that the only reason he was standing here was because I had failed Lasania.

  Even though I stood in the shadows, Lord Claus’s slow perusal was like a sweaty caress, lingering on the bare skin of my arms and the cut of my bodice before reaching my eyes. His lips puckered, blowing me a kiss.

  I arched a brow.

  His smirk slipped.

  Queen Calliphe noted the direction of his attention and stiffened. “Do you speak on behalf of your Crown?” she repeated.

  “I do.” Lord Claus shifted his attention back to the dais.

  “And do you have an answer?” the Queen asked as a rust-colored stain spread across the bottom of the burlap sack. “Does your Crown accept our allegiance in exchange for aid?”

  Two years’ worth of crops. Barely enough to supplement the farm’s loss to the Rot.

  “I have your answer.” Lord Claus tossed the sack forward.

  It hit the marble with an oddly wet-sounding smack before rolling across the tile. Something round spilled out of the bag, leaving a spattering trail of…red behind. Brown hair. Ghastly pale complexion. Jagged strips of skin. Severed bone.

  The head of Lord Sarros, Advisor to the Queen and King of Lasania, bounced off a Royal Guard’s booted foot.

  “Dear gods,” gasped Tavius, jerking back a step.

  “That’s our answer to your shit offer of allegiance.” Lord Claus edged back a step, hand going to the hilt of his sword.

  “Huh,” Sir Holland murmured as several Royal Guards reached for their weapons. “Was not expecting that.”

  I turned my head toward him, detecting what I thought was a hint of morbid amusement in the features of his deep brown skin.

  “Cease,” King Ernald ordered, lifting a hand. The Royal Guard halted.

  “Now that I expected,” Sir Holland added under his breath.

  I clamped my jaw shut to stop myself from doing something incredibly inappropriate. I focused on my mother. There wasn’t a single flicker of emotion on the Queen’s face as she sat there, her neck stiff and chin high. “A simple no would’ve sufficed,” she stated.

  “But would it have had the same impact?” Lord Claus countered, that half-grin returning. “The allegiance of a failing kingdom isn’t worth a day’s worth of crops.” He looked at the alcove and continued backing up. “But if you throw the hot piece over there into the deal, I may be convinced to petition the Vodina Crown on your behalf.”

  The King white-knuckled the arms of the throne as Queen Calliphe said, “My handmaiden is not a part of the bargain.”

  Just like my mother, I showed no emotion. Nothing. Handmaiden. Servant. Not daughter.

  “Too bad.” Lord Claus climbed the short set of steps to the entrance of the Great Hall. Hand on the hilt of his sword, his elaborate bow was as much a mockery as what spilled from his well-formed lips. “Blessed be in the name of the Primals.”

  Silence answered, and he pivoted, strolling out of the Great Hall. His laughter seeped into the hall as thick and cloying as the roses.

  Queen Calliphe shifted forward as she looked at the alcove. Her gaze met mine, and a strange mix of emotions crawled over me. Love. Hope. Desperation. Anger. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked directly at me, but she did now, and it fueled the kernel of apprehension. “Show him what a hot piece you are,” she ordered, and Sir Holland cursed softly. “Show all the Lords of the Vodina Isles.”

  A near choking sense of sorrow settled in my throat, but I shut that thought down before it could breed and take on a whole new life. I shut it all down as I exhaled, long and slow. Like the countless times before, emptiness seeped in through my skin. I nodded, welcoming the nothingness that sank into my muscles and penetrated my bones. I let the nothingness invade my thoughts until no inkling of who I was remained. Until I was like those poor, lost spirits that roamed the Dark Elms. An empty vessel once again filled with purpose. It was like donning the Veil of the Chosen as I nodded and turned without word.

  “You should’ve just given her to the Lord,” Tavius commented. “At least then, she might actually do us some good.”

  I ignored the Prince’s caustic remarks and quickly walked through the alcoves, the skirt of my gown snapping around the low heels of my boots on my way out of the Great Hall.

  The corridor was eerily still. I reached up and lifted the hood attached to the collar of my gown. I pulled it into place, an act driven by habit more than anything else. Many of those who worked inside Wayfair Castle knew me simply as the Queen had called me: a handmaiden. To most outside the castle, my features were those of a stranger, just as when I’d been veiled as a Chosen.

  I stalked past the great mauve banners adorning the walls. They swayed, caught by the warm breeze rolling in through the open windows. In the center of each banner, the golden Royal Crest glittered in the lamplight.

  A crown of gold leaves with a sword through the center.

  The crest supposedly represented strength and leadership. To me, it looked as if someone were being stabbed through the skull. I couldn’t be the only one who thought that.

  I passed the Royal Guards at the doors leading to the wall facing the Stroud Sea, where I knew the ship would be waiting to return to the Vodina Isles. Passing the stables, I crossed the courtyard and slipped out the narrow, smaller gate rarely used since it fed into a less-traveled trail through the bluffs overlooking Lower Town—a crowded section of warehouses and dens, catering to the dockworkers and sailors.

  Under the moonlight, I navigated the steep pathway, aiming for the dark crimson sails I spotted above the squat, square ships bearing the Vodina crest. A four-headed sea serpent.

  Gods, I hated snakes. One-headed or four.

  Based on what Lord Sarros had said before the unfortunate incident of his head being severed, a small crew had traveled with Lord Claus—three additional Lords.

  The briny scent of the sea filled the air and dampened my skin as I reached level ground and entered one
of the alleys between the dark, quiet buildings. The soles of my boots made no sound against the cracked stone. I prowled toward the edge of a building catty-corner to the Vodina ship, the edges of the gown’s hem fluttering soundlessly around me. Years of intensive training with Sir Holland had ensured that my steps were light, my movements precise. The near-silence in the way I could move was one of the reasons some of the oldest servants feared I wasn’t truly flesh and blood but some kind of wraith. Sometimes, it felt like I…I was nothing more than a faint trace of a specter—not fully formed.

  Tonight was one of those nights.

  A dozen feet from the docks, I stopped and waited. Sailors and workers crossed before the mouth of the alley, some hurrying about and others already stumbling. I slipped my hand through the thigh-high slit in the gown, curling my fingers around the handle of my dagger. The iron warmed to my touch, becoming a part of me. I felt the edge of the blade just above its sheath. Shadowstone. The shadowstone dagger was rare in the mortal realm.

  A door down the street opened. Raucous laughter staggered out, followed by high-pitched giggles. I stared straight ahead, motionless in the shadows as I thought of my mother—my family. They’d probably already moved to the banquet hall, where they would share food and conversation, pretending as if the Lord of the Vodina Isles hadn’t just returned their Advisor to them minus his body. Pretending that this wasn’t another sign that the kingdom was on the brink of failure. I had never, not once, experienced supper with them. Not even before I’d failed. It hadn’t bothered me before. Not often, at least, because I had been Chosen. I’d had a purpose.

  I have no need of a Consort.

  Things had been hard after that. But when I turned eighteen? I was once more veiled and wrapped in that gauzy shroud of a gown and brought to the Shadow Temple as they summoned the Primal of Death.

  He hadn’t shown.

  Things were even harder when I turned nineteen. And then, six months ago, when I turned twenty and found myself once more seated on the throne in that damn veil and gown for the third time? They’d summoned him again, and still, he didn’t come. Everything changed then. I hadn’t known what hard was until then.

  Before, they always sent my meals to my room—breakfast, a small lunch, and then dinner. After the first summoning, that changed. They skipped deliveries. Less food was sent. But by the last summoning, they sent nothing at all to my chambers. I had to raid the kitchens during the short window of time where any food worth consuming could be found. But I could deal with that, as I could the lack of other necessities and new clothing to replace well-worn items. Many within Lasania had even less. The worst part was the fact that my mother had hardly spoken to me over the last three years. She barely looked at me, except on nights like this when she wanted to send a message. Weeks passed without me catching even a single glimpse of her, and while she had always been remote, I’d still spent time with her. She would check in on our training and even share a lunch with me every so often. Then there was Tavius, who now behaved with the knowledge that there was little if no consequences for his actions. The hours when I wasn’t training with Sir Holland—who believed the Primal would still come for me because I had never told anyone what he’d said, not even my stepsister, Ezra—and I was alone without anyone to spend time with or be close to, were long and passed slowly.

  But tonight, she had looked at me. She had spoken to me. And this was what she wanted.

  A bitter taste pooled in the back of my mouth as a familiar form appeared at the edge of the alley. I recognized the cut of the dark crimson tunic and the shine of his fair hair in the moonlight.

  The beat of my heart was steady and slow as I lowered the hood, stepping out of the shadows and into the lamplight. “Lord Claus,” I called.

  He stopped, turning to the mouth of the alley. His head tilted, and I didn’t know if I felt relief or pain or nothing at all as he said, “Handmaiden?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hell,” he drawled, stepping into the alley. “Did the bitch Queen change her mind?” Each step toward me was cocksure, unhurried and at ease. “Or did I catch your fancy?” He adjusted himself. “And make up your own mind?”

  I waited until he was several feet from me, far enough away from the street. Then again, in this area of Carsodonia, one could scream, and no one would blink an eye. “Something like that.”

  “Something?” Air whistled between his teeth as his gaze once more fixed south of my face on the swells of my breasts above the gauzy bodice. “I’m betting you know a lot about some things, don’t you?”

  I wasn’t even sure what that meant, and I truly didn’t care. “The Queen was quite displeased with your answer.”

  “I’m sure she was.” His thick chuckle faded. Finally looking at my face, he stopped in front of me. “I hope you didn’t come all the way down here and wait for me just to tell me that.”

  “No. I came to deliver a message.”

  “Is that message under here?” Lord Claus asked, curling a finger in the slit of my gown. “I bet it’s nice and warm and…” He pulled on the thin material, revealing my thigh sheath.

  “The message is neither tight nor wet nor whatever other coarse word was about to come out of your mouth.” I withdrew the dagger.

  His gaze shot to mine, his eyes widening briefly with shock. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “The only joke here is that you thought you’d live to see the night through.” I paused. “And that you so eagerly stepped into a trap.”

  Anger crowded out the shock, mottling and twisting his features. Men and their fragile egos. They were so easy to manipulate.

  Lord Claus swung a meaty fist at me, just like I knew he would, and I dipped under his arm, rising swiftly behind him. I kicked out, planting my foot in the center of his back. He staggered forward, grunting as he caught himself. Withdrawing his sword, he swept out with it in a wide arc, forcing me to dance back. That was one of the benefits of a larger weapon like a sword. It forced the opponent to keep back and on their toes, risking life and limb to get close. But it was heavier, and only a few could wield one gracefully.

  Lord Claus wasn’t one of them.

  Neither was I.

  “You know what I’m going to do?” He stalked forward.

  “Let me guess. I’m sure it’s something disgusting having to do with your cock and then your sword.”

  He made a misstep.

  “Knew it.” I rushed under his attack, aiming low and kicking out, catching him in the midsection. The impact knocked him back a step, but he was quick to regain his footing, swinging out with an elbow that would’ve landed if I hadn’t ducked. He spun, thrusting out with the sword as I whirled to my left. The blade embedded deeply into the wall. Tiny plumes of stone dust exploded into the air, and I turned back, gripping his arm.

  He pulled on the sword as I twisted around, slamming my elbow in the general vicinity of his face. Lord Claus cursed as his head jerked back. He tore the sword free, spinning toward me. Blood ran from his nose. He charged me but feinted to the right, twisting and lifting the sword high.

  I lurched forward, grabbed his wealth of hair, and pulled hard, yanking him back sharply. The movement caught him off guard, and he lost his balance and started to go down. There was a reason I kept my hair braided and tucked under the cowl of my hood.

  Grabbing his sword arm with my free hand, I slammed my elbow down on his wrist. I swept his legs out from under him, and he released the sword with a gasp.

  Breathe in.

  The sword fell with a heavy thump against the ground, and I brought the shadowstone dagger down. The blade was lightweight, but it was double-edged, each side sharp. Hold. The nothingness inside me began to crack, allowing the brief, choking heaviness of before to settle in my throat once more. I’m a monster whispered through my head.

  “You stupid cu—”

  Breathe out. I forced myself to move then. I struck fast, jerking his head up as I stabbed the dagger down. The end of
the blade pierced the back of his neck, severing the spine and thus the connection to the brain.

  Lord Claus jerked once, and that was it. There was no more sound. Not even a gasp. An internal decapitation was quick, not nearly as gruesome, and almost painless.

  Exhaling raggedly, I eased the dagger free and gently lowered his too-loose head to the alley floor.

  I rose, wiped the blade clean on the side of my gown, and then sheathed it. Turning, I spotted Claus’s fallen sword. Warmth gathered in my hands, the heat of my gift pressing against my skin. I clenched my fist, willing the warmth away. Stepping over the Vodina Isle Lord, I picked up the sword and got to work sending the message that would make my mother proud.

  All I thought about while hopping down from the ship onto the docks was my lake nestled deep in the Dark Elms.

  I was decidedly…sticky as I severed the rope anchoring the Vodina ship to shore. The current was always strong in the Stroud Sea. Within minutes, the vessel was already drifting away. It would take days, maybe weeks, but the Vodina Isles Lords would return home.

  Just not whole.

  Stepping back from the glistening waters, I inhaled deeply. I smelled of blood and pungent, White Horse smoke—an addictive powder derived from an onyx-hued wildflower found in the meadows of the Vodina Isles and often ferried in by merchants. The Lords had been indulging in the smoke, and the scent was probably the source of the dull ache setting up residency in and around my temples. The headaches had been infrequent, starting in the last year, but had become more common. I was beginning to wonder if they would eventually become like those my mother suffered from, causing her to retreat to her private quarters for hours and sometimes even days at a time. Seemed fitting that one of the rare things we had in common would be pain.

  At least the dark fabric of my gown hid the worst of my evening’s activities, but red spotted my arms and hands, already beginning to dry. Looking back at the drifting ship, I pitied the person who boarded that vessel.