‘I wish you wouldn’t ruin my door every time you visited,’ Queen Allehra said, her voice soft and tired.
‘I wish you’d just open it when I knocked, but we don’t always get what we want, do we.’
‘Who’s your friend?’ Allehra hadn’t yet turned around, and Bleak braced herself on the doorframe.
Like mother, like daughter, Allehra was unreadable.
‘Remains to be seen,’ Henri said, staring at her mother.
Finally, Queen Allehra turned, looking not at her daughter, but straight at Bleak. And she truly looked. Bleak felt the woman’s eyes not only sink into her own, but into her, into her whole being.
‘Interesting choice of companion, Henri,’ Queen Allehra said. ‘It’s not every day you bring a mist dweller into our keep.’
Mist dweller. Bleak’s grip slipped on the splintered doorframe and Henri was blocking her escape within seconds.
Allehra watched them coolly. Bleak’s fingers itched to snatch Fiore’s dagger from where she’d tied it around her calf. She’d never be able to draw it in time to be a match for Henri. Even if she did, she wouldn’t be able to best the warrior.
‘Henri,’ Allehra warned.
‘What did you say she was?’
But Allehra was too busy considering Bleak to answer. She rose from her chair, her long skirts flowing about her bare feet. When she stood, Bleak saw how different mother and daughter were. Despite their blue-black hair and general beauty, Allehra was dainty, gentle in her movements and the way she spoke. Henri’s beauty was hardened, intimidating, and she spoke with the sharp edge of authority. They were light and darkness, rock and water.
Allehra stood before Bleak, tilting her head as she took in her features.
‘Who are you?’ Henri demanded.
‘I told you, my name’s Bleak,’ she said. ‘I grew up in Angove, with Bleaker Senior, the fisherman, as my guardian.’ She suppressed the urge to squirm away from the Mother Matriarch’s intense stare.
Finally, Allehra stepped back and began pacing the room, her skirts trailing after her. Henri only took one step back, and still eyed Bleak suspiciously. Bleak had the distinct feeling that the young ruler regretted her moment of compassion in the mountains.
‘Tell me, Henri,’ said Allehra.
Bleak could have sworn she saw a flash of resentment in Henri’s eyes. The young warrior queen went to the window, her gaze settling on the darkening sky outside.
‘The kindred and I were doing our usual check of Felder’s Bay and the mountains when I felt her.’
Queen Allehra nodded. ‘I sensed her presence drawing nearer last night.’
Bleak looked between the two queens. What did they mean they could sense her? And why was her magic not working now, when she needed it most? And a mist dweller? She had so many questions, and yet she felt as though these women were only going to add to her confusion.
‘King Arden summoned her,’ Henri said.
‘Why?’
Henri shrugged. ‘Some nonsense about illegal magic use, treason of some form or another.’
Bleak baulked at Henri’s casual tone – she was speaking of treason. Treason could get them all killed, or worse.
‘And you took her?’
‘The King’s Army were playing foul.’
‘The King’s Army?’
‘Yes, Commander Swinton and all.’
‘Swinton? Why would the king send his most valuable commander on an errand like this? Surely they didn’t expect it to be difficult. And taking the King’s Trail? It makes no sense. No one’s used that trail for decades, not since Ellest started importing Battalonian ships.’
There was a map. Bleak bit back the words. From what she’d seen of Commander Swinton and his jumpiness, the expedition wasn’t just about retrieving her. Should I tell them?
‘I know,’ Henri replied, ‘and it’s not the first time I’ve had reports of that lot lurking around the Hawthornes. Arden’s up to something. More than his usual political horseshit. And I’ll wager she has something to do with it.’
‘That’s enough,’ Bleak said.
‘What did you say?’ Henri stepped forward.
‘That’s enough.’ Bleak’s voice was strong, although she could feel her knees trembling. ‘I won’t stand in silence any longer. I’m here. Stop speaking about me as though I’m not.’
Henri glowered, but Queen Allehra nodded slowly.
‘My apologies,’ she said. ‘Your name is Bleak?’
‘Yes. And I’ve never had anything to do with any royal plans.’
‘Doesn’t mean you’re not part of some scheme of his,’ said Henri. She turned to Allehra. ‘She’s a mind whisperer.’
‘I see,’ Allehra said. ‘Do you know how many of your kind of Ashai are left in the realm, Bleak?’
Bleak shook her head. ‘How could I? How could anyone? Thanks to that damn decree all the Ashai have gone underground. Henri’s the first open Ashai I’ve met in my whole life.’
‘Try to imagine, though. Bleak, there aren’t many Ashai like you left at all. Long ago, people saw your kind as the biggest threat. Mind whisperers were persecuted more so than any other Ashai folk. I’d say there are less than a handful like you left. And that the king wants to use you for something.’
‘My powers aren’t working,’ Bleak found herself admitting.
Allehra smiled. ‘They are, just not on a few select Valia kindred. We have wards against such things.’
‘What?’
‘Wards. Talismans. Herbs. Enchantments that protect us and our minds from your kind, and all Ashai, to a certain extent.’
Although Bleak had witnessed this type of ancient magic only moments ago, she still couldn’t quell her disbelief. Ashai folk were one thing – swept under the rug, their importance and influence so vehemently denied that a whole realm of people overlooked their existence. But enchantments? That kind of magic was from folklore and myths.
‘Bleak, you are powerful. Inexperienced, yes, but powerful. I can feel it,’ said Allehra.
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘Watch your tongue,’ Henri murmured from the window.
Allehra dismissed this with a wave. ‘The question is not whether you are powerful, but rather, what you want to do with that power.’
‘What? I want to cure it. It’s what I’ve been trying to do my whole life – get rid of it.’
‘That’s not possible.’
‘So I’ve been told.’
‘Then surely the next best thing is to have some measure of control?’
Bleak shrugged, feigning indifference. What did these people want from her?
‘Training her is too dangerous,’ Henri interjected, studying Bleak again from afar.
‘Me? Dangerous?’
‘You are dangerous in the wrong hands, if you’re trained,’ said Henri, before turning to Allehra, ‘which is why we shouldn’t do this.’
‘The girl decides.’ Allehra’s eyes flashed with the same steeliness mirrored in her daughter’s. ‘Do you want to be in control of this?’ she asked Bleak.
It seemed too good to be true. To be trained to control her magic by the Valians. It wasn’t a cure, but it would give Bleak her life back.
‘What’s in it for you?’ she asked. Senior had taught her enough of the world that she knew nothing in life came for free. When things seemed too good to be true, they usually were.
Allehra smiled again. ‘When the time comes, and it will, you will accompany Henri to Heathton.’
‘What?’ Henri said, whirling around to face her mother.
‘You don’t see it yet, but you’ll need her. The king will want you both, and you’ll need to go together.’
Henri made an exasperated sound and folded her arms across her chest.
‘This training will stop the voices?’ Bleak asked.
‘Not stop, it will control them, block them out when you need them to be, among other things.’
‘Like what?’
&nbs
p; ‘We won’t know until we try.’
Bleak’s chest was tight with anxiety. This might be the only chance she ever got to rid herself of this cursed ability. With their help, she might have a shot at a normal life.
‘Not every Ashai gets the opportunity to train with the Mother Matriarch of Valia, in case you need more incentive,’ Allehra said gently.
‘I’d be training with you?’
Allehra nodded.
Bleak looked down at her hands to find Senior’s rope weaving through her fingers. How long had she been doing that? Neither Valian had mentioned it.
‘What about the king?’ she asked. There’d be no point in leading a normal life if it was cut short by the monarch.
‘We cannot know the future, Bleak, only what we can do today,’ Allehra said.
‘What’s your decision, Angovian?’ Henri pressed. ‘I don’t have all night for this.’
Bleak looked from one matriarch to the other. Was there really a choice to be made?
Chapter 11
Dash’s heart felt as though it would burst from his chest as he tried to contain his excitement. He was helping his father prepare the horses for Commander Swinton and Captain Murphadias. His father had let him lead the commander’s stallion, Xander, around the corral, warming up the mount’s muscles before they rode out into the chilly dawn. Dash saddled the horse as well, using the little step construction Pa had made for him, and brushed the stallion’s mane until it shone. He kept glancing to the courtyard, because at any moment the famous knight’s son would stride out of the castle. Maybe this time, the commander wouldn’t be cross with him; he had helped with the horses, after all.
But as he led Xander out of the holding stall, his father took the reins from him.
‘Off you go now, Dash,’ he said.
‘But, Pa!’
‘I said you could help with the horses, but you’re not to be underfoot when the commander comes. He’s a busy man.’
‘Pa, please, he’s —’
‘I know very well who he is. And I don’t want you in the way.’
Dash’s heart sank. He’d worked so hard all morning, before the sun was even up, just so he could hand Commander Swinton the reins.
His father’s face softened and he squeezed Dash’s shoulder. ‘I can’t have you in here,’ he said, ‘but perhaps you can watch from the rafters?’
A grin spread across Dash’s face. ‘Really?’
‘You’ll have to be as quiet as a mouse, you hear?’
‘Yes, Pa. I’ll be even quieter!’
‘That’s a good lad,’ said his father, as he mussed up Dash’s hair. ‘They’re due here very soon, so you best get up there now.’
With a boost from his father, Dash climbed into the towering bales of hay, and from there, up into the rafters. Someone had laid down planks of timber so the stable workers could store additional grain, hay and equipment. Dash spotted a small window at the other end and grinned to himself; he’d be able to watch them ride out of Heathton from here.
‘Morning, Carlington,’ a gruff voice sounded from down below. Commander Swinton and Captain Murphadias’ armour clinked as they walked into the stables. Dash could make out the famous battleaxes strapped to the commander’s back.
‘Commander, Captain,’ Dash’s father greeted the men, dipping his head.
‘Early enough for you?’ That must be the captain.
‘I’m always up in the wee hours,’ Dash’s father said. ‘This way.’
Dash peered down through the rafters, watching his father lead the two heavily armed men to the stallions.
‘Both warmed up.’ His father stroked Xander’s neck. ‘Captain, this is Indigo.’ He gestured to the other horse. ‘One of the king’s finest.’
‘Would have preferred my own mare,’ Murphadias said, taking the reins from the stable master.
‘Darcy’s stride doesn’t match Xander’s. It’s a long journey,’ Swinton said.
‘Too right, Commander,’ his father said.
‘Everything I requested is in the saddlebags?’ the commander asked.
‘Yes, everything on the list.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
‘Very good, Commander,’ his father said, standing back, allowing the men to lead the stallions from the entrance of the stables and out into the courtyard.
‘Carlington,’ the commander called as he mounted his horse. He flicked Dash’s pa a gold coin. ‘For your trouble.’
Whoa. Dash’s eyes bulged. He must be pleased with the horses.
Dash’s father caught it, looking up in surprise. ‘Much obliged, Commander,’ he said, tucking the gold piece into his breast pocket.
The commander nodded, then pressed his heels into the horse’s sides.
Dash ran to the little window, and watched Commander Swinton and Captain Murphadias canter out of the royal courtyard. The sun was peeking above the horizon now, washing the sky with pink and orange as they passed through the gatehouse and crossed the drawbridge. They looked like the knights in Dash’s favourite picture book at home, sitting high up on their steeds, the commander’s axes strapped across his back, glinting in the sun. The people at the markets outside the castle grounds parted and made a path for the two warriors, leaving for yet another adventure.
After Dash had finished helping his pa muck out the rest of the stalls, he set off to meet Olena at Heathton Falls. He didn’t get far. Just past the gatehouse, the squires were training, and the weapons master, Tannus, was nowhere to be seen. Dash slowed his pace, studying the footwork of the more skilled boys, who parried in the shade of the looming maze hedges.
‘What you gawking at, farm boy?’ called one squire. Dash recognised him as Valter, son of the nobleman Xavier Wendley. Pa often tended to Lord Wendley’s horses. Dash froze as Valter came towards him.
‘Where’s the blind fool you’re always following?’
‘What did you say?’ Dash said, horrified.
‘You heard me.’
‘She’s our princess. Take it back.’
‘Make me,’ sneered the older boy.
A wooden sword was thrown to him out of nowhere. Fight? He was expected to fight this boy? A squire, no less. Valter had been trained in swordplay. Dash only knew what he’d studied in books and practised in the privacy of his room, or the lofts above the stables. And now? Now he’d be fighting in front of all the royal squires. His palms were clammy. But what were knights for, if not to defend their princesses? He swallowed the panic rising in his throat and adjusted his stance. I have to try.
Valter lunged, a sloppy attack that showed he expected Dash to fall from the first strike. But Dash was quick. He stepped aside easily, leaving Valter to stumble forward where he’d imagined he’d collide with Dash. There was laughter from the boys who had gathered around them. Valter swore at them, and launched himself at Dash again, his sword aimed viciously for Dash’s neck. Even with a wooden sparring sword, Valter’s intense strikes could prove fatal. This time, Dash ducked, and struck Valter’s legs from below with his wooden blade. Valter yelped and glared at Dash, seething. Dash took a steady breath. He’d angered the older boy now, and he attacked as Dash expected, with strong but unmeasured blows. The noise from the squires around them faded away, and it was as though it was just the two of them. Dash could hear his opponent’s laboured breathing and the scrape of his shoes in the dirt. He was a heavy boy, bulky with muscle, and a belly that had perhaps enjoyed too many noblemen’s desserts. Dash parried and ducked again, thinking of his footwork as much as the swing of his sword. Valter was sweating, his face already flushed, and Dash realised in that moment that there was a chance he could beat the brute. Dash feinted left and Valter fell for it, leaving Dash to make his final lunge. In the next moment, Valter was on his back in the dirt, his sword kicked away from his reach, with Dash holding his sword to his opponent’s throat.
Suddenly, the world around him came back into being, and he realised that the squires were applauding him. Some
approached him and clapped him on the back. Slowly, he let himself smile. He’d just beaten one of the royal squires at swordplay! He’d done it. He looked around at the grinning boys and pretended he was one of them. But then, someone pushed through the group. Valter’s older brother, Adalrik Wendley. A senior squire.
‘Valter’s horseshit at fencing,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should get you up against one of the real men, if you think you’re so damn good. See if the stable master’s little son really can fight.’
‘Come now, Adalrik,’ said one of the other squires, ‘he’s just a boy – leave him be.’
Dash looked up at him. Adalrik was old enough to have wisps of soft hair growing from his chin and above his lip, and he towered over Dash. Without warning, he thrust his sword forward, sending Dash back in a defensive leap. Dash was tired from sparring with Valter, and he doubted he’d see the same favourable result with Adalrik. The wind picked up then, sending a shiver through the leaves along the maze’s hedges and a wave of goosebumps across Dash’s arms. A true knight would never back away from a rival, no matter how much bigger or stronger he was. Dash eyed his opponent, changed sword hands and stood with his feet apart. He could do this, he just needed to be smart about it.
Adalrik didn’t wait; he struck out. Dash blocked, the impact of the blow singing through his wooden blade and up his arm. Dash used his slightness to his advantage, forcing his opponent to advance on him, leaving him to expose himself to Dash’s lightning-fast blows. Dash struck Adalrik’s side, and the older boy cursed, realising what Dash was doing. Adalrik changed his style of attack, forcing Dash backwards until he was almost at the entrance of the maze. Dash matched Adalrik strike for strike, but couldn’t help glancing nervously behind him at the towering hedges and forking pathways.
‘So you know a bit about swinging a stick,’ Adalrik said, taking a step back. ‘But I’ll bet you three silver pieces you’d get lost in the maze and your peasant father would have to rescue you.’
Dash’s heart sank, and he watched as the faces of the squires around them became eager, even the boy who had stood up for him. He looked down at his practice sword. He couldn’t keep Adalrik’s strength at bay for much longer, and now, a new challenge had been made. Could he retrieve the famous red flowers? His ma and pa had no silver to spare, let alone three pieces’ worth. And Dash knew that the gold coin from Commander Swinton this morning was going straight to the smithy to pay Pa’s debts. But if he walked away now, he’d never get another shot with the squires. It’s now or never, he told himself, as he drove his sword tip into the soft earth at his feet.
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