The Tynder Crown Chronicles, Season One: Episode One: The Tynder Crown Chronicles (The Tynder Crown Chronicles, A Novella Series Book 1)

by Wendy Owens

  I no longer wait for him to answer me, and I start frantically searching the office for any trace of my grandfather. On the coffee table near the fireplace is the one oversized leather-bound book I remember I was never allowed to touch. Joe had said it was an antique, and the pages were far too fragile to be handled. The fire is low, but it still gives off a warm glow. Where are you, Joe?

  Shifting, I pace to the other side of the large room where Desmond’s desk resides. I’m not surprised to see the entire area organized and tidy. He is always cleaning up after Joe. I see the door to the apartment at the back of the office and immediately approach and reach for the knob.

  “Tynder, wait, please,” Desmond begs, rushing up behind me.

  My heart skips a beat. From his reaction, I know I’ll find answers about Joe on the other side of the door, and it terrifies me. Something in Desmond’s eyes tells me I won’t like what I find.

  Pushing open the dark six-panel wooden door, I am hit with a charred smell. I wince, raising a hand to my nose to shield the offensive odor. “Christ, what is that?”

  “Stop,” he cries, lunging forward, grabbing my arm. He’s holding on to me so tightly, my arm begins to ache.

  “Let go,” I growl, looking at him intensely. I don’t even recognize the sound of my own voice. The way he looks at me, with terror and shock in his expression, I think I may have actually frightened him. He does as I ask, and I walk the rest of the way into the apartment.

  The setup has always seemed to work well for them. There is a large area that consists of a living room and kitchen. Off to each side is a bedroom with a shared bathroom between them. Desmond used to sleep in the office when I lived here. After I moved out, I think Joe held out hope I would come back for the first year and only let Desmond take my room when he was certain I would not be returning to the nest. Though, I know if I said wanted to come home, my old room would be mine once again.

  Desmond follows closely behind me. He’s no longer pleading with me; instead, he keeps his distance, watching me silently. I move farther into the room, looking around for any sign of Joe. The deeper I move, the stronger the smell is becoming. I walk around the kitchen island, and my eyes try to process what I see on the floor.

  On the ground, facing up, is a life-size statue of Joe. It’s completely black in color, like it’s made of coal. In its chest is a dagger with an emerald green handle.

  “What is that?” I ask apprehensively, looking back at Desmond.

  His eyes widen, but he can’t seem to find the words to answer me.

  “Desmond!” I shout. “What the hell is that? Where’s Joe?”

  Still he says nothing, his eyes filling with moisture. His silence answers my question. Somehow I know what I’m seeing on the floor isn’t a statue at all. It’s Josiah Crown, my grandfather. I don’t think; I can only act. I have to fix this. I have to fix Joe. I need him. Rushing to his side, I collapse to my knees and reach out to take hold of him. I’m not sure what I’m thinking, perhaps that I’m going shake him back into reality, wake him from this state of nothingness.

  “Tynder, no!” Desmond cries, lunging forward, his hands outreached, trying to stop me. But it’s too late. By the time he is close enough, my fingertips have already grazed the cheek of Joe, and the black figure collapses into a pile of ash and dust, the dagger falling to the ground.

  “What the—” I freeze, scared to move or even breathe.

  “Oh God, no,” a whisper escapes Desmond’s lips.

  My body is still locked tight in its current position. “What’s happening?”

  “It’s what happens to a Phoenix when they die … They return to ash. He would have only held his form as long as he wasn’t disturbed.” Desmond is speaking, but I am unable to process the meaning of his words. Phoenix … return to ash … I must still be hallucinating. Maybe that means that none of this is real. Then that would mean Joe is—still alive?

  Falling back onto my bottom, the ash from the floor coats my leggings and boots. Then why does this feel so real? I don’t react as Desmond moves swiftly. He slips off his sweater and picks up the dagger with it, wrapping it tightly inside. He moves and begins to open drawers and cabinet doors, looking for something. At last he pulls over a wooden dining chair, and, climbing up on top of it, he pries off the cover to a vent on the wall, then tucks the cocooned weapon inside and replaces the cover. Returning the chair to its original position, he’s now on his knees next to me.

  His hands are on my shoulders, gripping me firmly; he stands, lifting me with him. I feel like I am a doll, being carried around, lifeless, and at the complete mercy of my master. He looks me in the eyes. “Can you hear me?” he questions, and I nod slightly in response.

  “We have to get our stories straight.” His words startle me back to reality, and I shake loose of his grasp.

  “What? What stories? I came in and found my grandfather reduced to a pile of ash, so what’s your story, Des? Where were you?”

  “What are you saying?” he gasps, staring at me with his mouth hanging open.

  “I’m asking what happened here? What happened to Joe?” I rattle off the questions racing through my mind.

  “I don’t know exactly,” he answers.

  “That can’t be him. Tell me that wasn’t him.”

  “I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you we’ll find his killer.”

  “Killer? He’s a pile of ashes … How in the hell did that happen? No killer could have done that.”

  “You have to listen to me, we don’t have much time. The Heralds will be here soon.”

  “Harold who?” I snap, digging my fingers deeper into the flesh behind my knees.

  He shakes his head. “Not Harold. The Heralds. Think of them like the brute squad of The Council.”

  “Council? You’re making no sense. Nothing makes sense anymore. I’m seeing messed-up creature things everywhere I go. Hell, my hair turned white,” I add, whipping my cap off. “And now this. What in the hell is going on?”

  Desmond doesn’t seem surprised when I reveal my hair. “So the transformation did project onto you. With your father being who he was, we weren’t sure it would.”

  “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

  “All right, you have to listen carefully. I need you to get as much information as you can before they’re here.”

  “Before who is here?”

  He sighs impatiently. “The Heralds. Josiah didn’t want to make you a part of this world if he didn’t have to. He knew it was dangerous, and if your powers never manifested, there wasn’t a reason to bring you into it. A Phoenix usually needs to be a pure blood in order for the abilities to pass from one generation to the next. Your mom refused to follow the old laws, and she mated with a blood nymph.”

  “I think you were hit in the head, too,” I suggest.

  “The things you’ve been seeing, it’s because you have the sight now. Once Josiah died, his abilities passed onto you, and part of that is being able to see Fae. If you don’t have the sight, they all just look human. They can see you too now. All Phoenix bloodlines are what we call Royal Magistrates. It’s a sacred position held only by your kind.”

  “Wait, that little toad creature in my apartment called me that, but I thought I was hallucinating.”

  “No,” Desmond continues. “You weren’t hallucinating. Fae can sense you’re a Phoenix, and as a result, they look to you as a peacekeeper.”

  “What? I don’t want to be a peacekeeper; I don’t want any of this. I—I want my grandfather,” I stammer.

  “Tynder, I’m sorry, but he’s gone, and this is your life now.”

  “Wait, can you see them? The Fae thingies. You’re a human, aren’t you?” I question in disbelief.

  “Sort of. I am human, but I’m a wizard, so the sight is granted to me. All Phoenix are assigned a magic human companion. They’re a protector, as well as a liaison between the humans and Fae folk. It was actually an idea originated by your grandfather. H
e devised most of our customs when it comes to our laws. I was assigned to Josiah, but … I failed him…”

  “None of this makes sense,” I state again.

  I hear commotion from the office area. How can that be? I locked the dead bolt. Alarmed, Desmond grabs my hands. “They’re here. Listen, a Phoenix’s skin can’t be pierced by a blade unless it’s coated in the nectar of a thistle berry bush from the gray forest. All the thistle berry bushes were destroyed to keep the Phoenix bloodline safe. Someone has been keeping one alive, waiting for this moment. When they take us, say nothing, and trust no one. Your grandfather had many enemies for the things he was trying to change.”

  “But I—” Just as I am about to beg him for more answers, the door bursts open. In walk three large men; at least, they appear to be men at first. As they come closer, I can see their eyes glow a brilliant red color. Their ears come to a point, and their skin has a gray tone to it—like a corpse. I have no clue what they are, but I don’t like them.

  “We’re looking for Josiah Crown’s Crimlock,” one of the beasts growls in a low tone.

  I’m wondering what that is when Desmond steps forward and lifts a hand. “That would be me,” he answers solemnly.

  “On your knees,” the creature bounces back. Shock washes over me when I see Desmond comply. As if something has possessed me, I step between the muscle-bound freak and the only friend Joe knew.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, holding up a hand.

  “He failed in his task, so he’ll be taken into custody and brought before The Council for sentencing,” the thing answers me, continuing to cautiously close the gap.

  “You’re not taking him,” I snap back.

  “Tynder,” Desmond whispers.

  “And who are you?” When the beast asks this question, the other two large suited beings laugh.

  I widen my stance, place my hands at my sides in balled fists, and announce clearly, “I’m the new Royal Magistrate.” I hope this inspires some kind of fear in them, because honestly, I think I sound like a complete idiot.

  The one closest to me looks me up and down, nods, then glancing over at one of his buddies, adds, “Take her too.”

  I turn to take a defensive posture, and, before I can react, the warrior extends a silver metal staff. When the end touches my shoulder, I fall to the floor, darkness enveloping me.

  THE ROOM I’M IN IS dark and cold. The way the air moves through feels odd and unnatural. I raise a hand to my pounding head. What the hell happened?

  “Tynder? Are you awake?” I hear Desmond’s voice—it’s near—but I can’t see him.

  I sit up with a groan, still clutching my head with one hand, and steadying myself on the cool stone bench with the other. My eyes have not adjusted to the darkness, but to my right I can make out what appears to be metal bars. I lean back; the wall behind me is made up of stone as well. This is when I realize I’m in a cave-like room, the only exit blocked by an iron-barred gate. Fear washes over me, and I jump to my feet, my head bumping the dome of the cave.

  “Ouch!” I yelp, moving to the more open space of the cell.

  “Are you okay?” Desmond calls out, and I realize he is across from me in another room that mirrors my own. I rush to the bars, and the look on his face only makes me more terrified.

  “What’s going on?”

  “It sounds like we’re going to be brought before The Council,” he answers.

  “Okay, pretend I still have no clue what you’re talking about. Who is this Council?” I huff, trying my best to ignore the pulsing inside my skull.

  “It’s like I was telling you before: many things are the way they are because of your grandfather,” Desmond begins. When he talks about him I feel a twisting in the pit of my stomach, and the image of Joe lying on the floor, that expression of pain etched across his onyx face, haunts me.

  “Like what?”

  “When he inherited the family line—”

  “You mean when his dad died,” I state bluntly. How this delightful little treat of an inheritance is passed along is very clear to me now. You only become a freak like me, if the freak before you dies.

  “Yes,” Desmond hesitates, then continues with his story. “It used to be that a Royal Magistrate was the investigator, the judge, the jury, and then the executioner, if needed. It was more power than one individual should ever possess. It took some convincing, but The Queen agreed to appoint a Council.”

  “There’s a Queen?”

  “Yeah, but she’s supposed to be neutral; she rules over both sects, the light and dark Fae. When a Fae reaches the age of knowledge, they’re given a choice to follow a house. There are three houses of light Fae and three houses of dark Fae. A member of each house is appointed to The Council, and then there are Fae who are unable to fit into our society. They’re called the nether Fae, and by our laws, they’re not allowed to use their Fae abilities.”

  “So ‘Fae’ is a term you use to include all of these creatures I’ve been seeing.”

  “Exactly. And now that you’ve become the Royal Magistrate, your job is to investigate cases that are brought before you. Something seemed off lately. Joe started digging around, sat in on some of the trials and sentencing hearings. The way things had been shaking out didn’t sit well with him. I warned him to be careful of whom he asked questions.”

  “Wait, are you saying they killed him for asking too many questions?”

  “He must have found something out that scared someone,” Desmond whispers. “There has been a power struggle in the Fae world for hundreds of years, so this is nothing new. But Joe stumbled onto something they needed to keep him quiet about. I just wish he would have told me—told someone.”

  I remember all the missed calls before my bath that morning, “I think he was going to.”

  “What are you talking about?” Desmond presses his face against the bars.

  I reach in my pocket. “My phone, it’s gone.”

  “They would have taken it when they took us into custody, why?”

  “Joe called me this morning … like, a lot. I had a—” I decide not to reveal my hangover. “I was in the bath. He was trying to reach me, and I never picked up.”

  Desmond shakes his head and frantically waves his hands. “He must have known they were after him. He kept saying it was time to tell you about your birth right, but I couldn’t figure out why all of a sudden he was going to burden you with something when we didn’t even know if it was going to affect you. He had to have known somehow you would inherit his ability. How could he—”

  “What if I don’t want to be this Magistrate thing?” I ask, biting my lip.

  Desmond looks around, as if checking to see if anyone might be listening to our conversation. “You don’t have to follow in your grandfather’s footsteps, not if you don’t want. Nobody would blame you, but there’s something you need to know. If you want out, you’re out all the way.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “They’ll use a memory eater. You won’t remember me, you won’t remember that Fae even exist, and most of all, you won’t remember that Josiah was murdered.”

  “What?” I gasp, narrowing my brow.

  “They can’t risk humans knowing about them. You either have to play by their rules, or you’re out entirely. That’s just how it is.”

  “Maybe that’s for the best,” I whisper.

  “Perhaps, unless justice is what you want,” he suggests, standing still now, watching for my reaction.

  I shake my head. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  He shifts uneasily. “You play along, get in deep, gain people’s trust, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll figure out what Josiah was on to.”

  I say nothing as I think about his words.

  “I can’t tell you what to do, Tynder, but if you want to—”

  “All right, that’s enough, you two,” an enormous guard snarls as he approaches. He has the head of a boar, including the two large tusks.
My breath catches in my throat, and I’m not sure I will ever get used to seeing these things. He slides the key into Desmond’s door first, moving him forcefully into the dimly lit hallway. I’m next, and I consider resisting, but I have no clue where I am or how to get the hell out of here. “You two have a date with Queen Boru.”

  The mention of the name causes me to freeze. My vision comes back to me. The fiery bird and the mental message it sent me: ‘Beware the Boru’s circle.’

  “No, that’s not right. I thought we were to go before The Council,” Desmond argues, seemingly frightened.

  “Guess things have changed.” The hairy beast laughs, pushing us both forward.

  “Let me do the talking,” Desmond whispers.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, but Desmond just lowers his head silently and does as the creature commands. I follow.

  We’re led up a set of cold and uneven stone steps; perched on the walls are torches. It feels like something straight out of one of the fantasy novels grandfather loved so much. We reach the top of the stairs, and I’m instructed to exit through the large wooden door. In an instant, we’re transported from some medieval dungeon to what I can only describe as a luxurious oasis. The floors glow a bright white; I’ve never seen any material like it. The grand hall we move down barely needs any lighting because of the brilliance that beams naturally all around us, though there are crystal sconces lining the marble walls.

  “What is this place?” I whisper as our footsteps echo around us.

  “The Royal Palace,” Desmond replies, keeping his answer short.

  The guard stops and points in the direction of two massive doors, at least twelve feet in height. “Queen Boru awaits you,” he announces in a low growl.

  “Through there?” I ask, apprehensively motioning toward the large doors. My stomach is nervous—I’m experiencing actual butterflies of anxiety—a reaction terribly unlike me. What kind of gorgeous and delicate creature could reside in such an exquisite palace? Perhaps the warning from the bird meant that someone in The Queen’s circle has betrayed her. Is that what Grandfather discovered? Could this traitor have killed him? Is the bird trying to help me protect this Queen? Is it trying to help me find Joe’s killer?