Masked (The Divided Kingdom Book 1)

by Shari Cross

  I swallow against my suddenly dry throat, the tears building. I hate that I disappointed them, but I don’t regret what I did.

  Mother and Father stop yelling, and a silent minute passes as I wipe at the traitorous tears that continue to sneak their way past my lids.

  “You need to understand that you can never go there again,” Father finally says, his voice much calmer than before. “However, I must say that I’m proud of you.”

  Proud of me? I look up at my father. His eyes are fixed on my mother and her face looks more bewildered than mine.

  “Proud of her? For what? For being reckless? She could have been hurt or . . . worse!” She can’t bring herself to say killed, though we all know it’s what she was thinking.

  “Yes, Genoveve, she was reckless. But she also saved a boy’s life. He would have drowned had she not been there to pull him out of the water, and though I’m upset that she was near the river, I’m proud that she was brave enough to rescue the boy.” Father moves his gaze to me. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you disregarded our wishes, and because of that, you will not be allowed to leave our home unless your mother or I am with you.”

  “That’s completely unfair!” I shout, rising to my feet. If I can only leave with one of them, I won’t be able to go to the Grey Tree. And something finally happened! I can’t stop going now!

  “Unfair?” Disbelief blooms in Mother’s voice. “Unfair would be locking you in your chambers for the rest of your life, and believe me, Addalynne, I’m tempted to do just that. Father’s consequence is more than fair.”

  “Can I at least ride my horse?”

  “No!” They both reply.

  “That’s not fair to Freyja! She can’t be locked in the stables all day!”

  “Gregory can alternate between riding her and Sejant. She’ll be fine.”

  Breathe, Addalynne. Arguing will get you nowhere. I swipe at my tears. “And how long is this punishment going to last?

  “Until further notice,” Father replies.

  * * *

  Sitting in the entry, I hypnotize myself with the dancing flames in the hearth, each second passing like a drop of water falling from a block of ice. The smell of rosemary and thyme has permeated our home, settling into my hair and clothes. Every time I breathe, it fills my nostrils with its once pleasant, but now suffocating scent. The herbs have been burning constantly since Walter and I dragged the boy home from the river. That was two days ago, and he still hasn’t woken up. I keep asking Mother if the boy is dead. He seems dead; he never moves. She assures me he’s alive and says, “Hopefully, he’ll wake up soon.” I just wish I knew when soon was going to be because waiting around like this is driving me mad.

  The groaning of the kitchen door pulls me from my thoughts. I turn and see Mother walking toward me.

  “You can’t keep moping around, Addalynne. Do something.”

  “What can I do? You and father took away my freedom.”

  Mother’s aggravated laugh cuts the air between us. “Always so dramatic.”

  “I’m not being dramatic, Mother. I’m simply stating a fact. You’re the ones who said I can’t leave unless one of you is with me, so what am I supposed to do? Father’s working at Lord Berrenger’s, and Gregory took Elizabeth riding, so it’s not as though I can spend time with them.”

  “You can study.”

  I drop my head into my hands and groan.

  “I want you to be well-read, Addalynne.”

  “I read every day.”

  “Yes. But I’m not talking about your silly books. I’m talking about poetry.”

  “But I don’t like poetry.”

  Mother sighs and turns to face me. “You don’t have to like it; you have to learn it.”

  “Why can’t I read about the kingdoms?”

  “Because you know everything you need to know about the kingdoms already.”

  “That’s hardly anything!”

  “Yes, and it’s better that way!” She pauses for a deep breath, something I see her do often, especially when she’s talking to me. “Addalynne, please, for once do what I’m asking without an argument.”

  But I want to keep arguing. Gregory was allowed to read the book of the kingdoms when he was twelve, and I’m almost thirteen. Why can’t I? It’s completely unfair! But the look on Mother’s face steals the fight from me. She looks . . . sad, frustrated. And no matter how unfair I think this is, I don’t want to be the cause of that face.

  “Fine, Mother. I’m sorry.”

  Mine Lady weaves

  color'd thread

  through the Wheel of Fortune

  what sayeth thou

  not of death

  one thread pull’d

  unravels the rest

  I’ll admit, the poem is beautiful, but something about it leaves me feeling unnerved: as though it’s warning me somehow. I can almost imagine Sir Alsius reciting the last line and then looking at me; Don’t pull the thread, Addalynne.

  I close the book, place it back on my father’s desk, and study the bookshelf behind it. My eyes scan the books until they land on one bound in red leather, the words The Divided Kingdom etched in black script on its spine. Stepping around his desk, I move toward the book and my fingers trail along the title. I spare a nervous glance at the door and then slowly begin to pull the book from the shelf: pulling that thread. It’s not yet half way off when the door swings open. I shove it back in place, my heart a hummingbird in my chest as I spin to face the intruder.

  Gregory laughs quietly and then shuts the door behind him. “What are you doing?” he asks and drops down lazily in Father’s brown leather armchair.

  “Nothing.” I look at the skirt of my dress, my hands running along the creases.

  “Come on, Addalynne, I know that face. Besides, I saw you.”

  I glance up at Gregory. His face is calm, but expectant, waiting for my answer.

  “I want to know about the kingdoms.”

  “You already know about the kingdoms.”

  “No. All I know is that Faygrene is in the Kingdom of Silveria, and the Kingdom of Incarnadine is on the southern side of the Glass River.”

  “That’s not all you know. You know about the hellions.” He wiggles his fingers toward me as he says, ‘hellions’, and I laugh in response, both of us remembering with skepticism the warnings Sir Alsius annually passes down.

  I move around my father’s desk and sit on top of it, my legs swinging off the side. “Fifty years ago our village had an encounter with one of the hellions that lives in the Faenomen Forest,” I mimic, in my best impersonation of Sir Alsius, Faygrene’s village elder.

  Gregory laughs. “What did the hellion look like, Sir Alsius?”

  “Oh, we do not speak of it. No. That may draw it near. We must never speak of it.”

  “I don’t think they know what it looked like,” Gregory says, ending our impersonations.

  “Of course not. Think about it, Gregory. The story always starts with fifty years ago. How old were you when you first heard the story?”

  “Five.”

  “And now you’re fourteen. Shouldn’t the story now say, fifty-nine years ago?”

  Gregory chuckles. “You’re right.” His smile leaves his face and his eyes study me with contemplation.

  “What?” I ask, not liking his scrutiny.

  “I’ll tell you what I can about the kingdoms, Addalynne, but honestly the book doesn’t say much.”

  I wait expectantly for him to continue.

  “According to the book,” he begins, his voice a hushed whisper. “Silveria and Incarnadine used to be one kingdom—Alomeria. The queen of Alomeria had twin sons, Alderon and Ceris. The brothers were inseparable, until they realized that only one of them would be king. Alderon was born first which meant that he was next in line. But one day he had some sort of accident.”

  “What kind of accident?” I interrupt.

  “I don’t remember. He fell off a horse or something. It d
oesn’t matter, what matters is that it left him barely able to move. And, because of the accident, the King named Ceris heir to the throne instead. Alderon was obviously furious because becoming king was his birth right. Anyway, some more boring stuff happened, and then, several years later, Alderon found a way to cure himself.” Gregory turns to me with a wide smile, the narrow gap in his front teeth on full display. “Now this is where it gets good,” he says and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “The cure he found also gave him powers. At first, he was careful with his powers and didn’t use them much, but that changed as soon as the King died. Within a fortnight of their father’s death, the brothers were at war. Ceris had most of the kingdom’s army under his command, so that forced Alderon to rely on the few thousand men that were loyal to him and, of course, on his powers. Somehow, Alderon was able to use his powers to open the threshold into other realms.”

  “What other realms?”

  “It didn’t say. It just said, ‘other realms,’ but those realms are where the hellions came from. Once Alderon brought them through, he sealed them in Alomeria and tried to use the hellions to fight on his side. But he couldn’t control them, and soon both armies were almost completely annihilated.” He sweeps his arm in front of him as though it’s made of iron, not flesh, as he says, ‘annihilated.’ “To end the war and save the few people they had left, the brothers decided to divide the kingdom and somehow contain the hellions in the Faenomen Forest. And that leaves us with Silveria and Incarnadine, separated by nothing more than the Glass River.”

  “And the Faenomen Forest,” I add.

  “Well, the Faenomen Forest is part of Incarnadine, Addalynne.”

  “Did the book say what the hellions were?”

  “No.”

  “Did it say how Alderon cured himself and received the powers?”

  “No.”

  I ponder this for a moment and decide he’s telling me the truth. Gregory wouldn’t lie to me, not about this. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Just don’t tell our parents that I told you.”

  “You know I won’t.”

  Gregory leans back in the chair again. “Is the boy still sleeping?”

  “Yes. I honestly don’t know if he’s ever going to wake up.”

  “He will,” Gregory says confidently and rises to his feet.

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t. But I tend to believe things will work out. I guess, you just have to have faith.”

  Faith? Do I have faith? I would like to think so, but wanting something and actually having it are very separate things. Regardless, I hope Gregory’s right and he wakes up soon. I want to know all his secrets, now more than ever.

  Chapter 3

  HER

  “Did you see Becky’s new dress?” The delicate voice of my little sister interrupts my thoughts, which are sparring between worrying about the boy and thinking about what Gregory told me. Elizabeth is sitting in front of the window, her small ivory hand lifting up the doll, her eyes hopeful for my approval and attention. I place a look of pure admiration on my face and move to sit beside her.

  “Wow! It’s lovely, Lizzy!” I run my fingers along the navy fabric of the doll’s new dress. “Becky will be the prettiest girl in Faygrene.”

  A soft smile paints Elizabeth’s young face. She looks so much like our mother; the same curly red hair, the same blue eyes. I share the same black hair as my father and Gregory. But where their eyes are the deepest of browns, mine are the color of amber. Mother says I have the same hair and eyes as my grandmother. I wish I could have met her. I have never seen anyone with eyes like mine.

  “Mother made it for her,” Elizabeth says adoringly, her concentration still set on her favorite toy. She received it for her sixth birthday and it hasn’t left her side since.

  “Addalynne!” Mother’s voice calls from the kitchen. I kiss Elizabeth’s head and push myself to my feet.

  When I open the door to the kitchen, I’m met with the smell of boiling onions. Mother is standing in front of the pot, stirring the broth. She glances at me and then nods toward a bowl and cloth that are on the table. “I need you to take that into the boy’s chambers and lay it on his forehead, however, before you do that, be sure to check his wound. If you see a sign of infection, come get me immediately,” she says, and turns back to her stew.

  I make my way down the dim hallway, lit only by a flickering torch on its last breath, and stop in front of the door. Since the moment my father moved him into this room, I have been anxious to see him, but now that the moment is here, I only have one thought terrorizing my mind: what if he’s dead? My hand trembles as I turn the doorknob, my nerves jumping frantically. I hold my breath and push the door open.

  The boy is lying on the bed, his pale face illuminated by the ivory candle flickering on the table next to him. Other than the small light from the candle, the space is almost completely engulfed in darkness. I look over at the fireplace and see that the fire has burned down to embers sizzling against the blackened logs. I stoke the fire and, once I have the flames burning again, make my way to the side of his bed.

  The boy’s eyes are closed and his brown hair is falling along his forehead, blocking my view of his cut. I move my fingers gently to his face, my heart pounding, and brush his hair away from his forehead. It’s difficult to see in the dim light, making me lean in close to get a better look. I’m so close that, though my mother has cleaned him as best she could and changed him into some of Gregory’s clothes, I can still smell faint traces of the river on him—dirt and stale water, mixed with lavender soap and a scent that could only belong to the woods. The black stitches are still perfectly in place, the skin underneath a little red and bruised, but it doesn’t look infected.

  I drag the back of my fingers along his hair line, which is warm, but thankfully, not feverish, and his eyes open. My breath catches and I go completely still, as though his wide, green eyes won’t see me if I don’t move. He blinks rapidly, and I jerk my head back and take a step away from the bed.

  “Who . . . who are you?” he stammers, his eyes ignited with panic as he searches my face. I’m too shocked to respond, and after several seconds, he warily examines the room around him. “Where am I?”

  I suck in a breath and push out the words. “I’m Addalynne Troyer. You’re in my home.” His gaze returns to me.

  “Addalynne?” His eyebrows pinch together. “Am I supposed to know you?”

  “No. We’ve never met before.” My words cause him to slightly lean away and fear returns to his eyes. “I saved your life,” I add, hoping to show him he has nothing to fear. He takes several deep breaths and looks at his hands which are twisting their way through the fur of the blanket.

  “What do you mean you saved my life?” he asks, his voice filling with what sounds like a mixture of doubt and . . . irritation? I risked everything to save him and he’s bothered by it?

  “Well, a thank you would be nice, but . . .”

  “Thank you.” He lifts his head, his eyes locking onto mine. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I’m very grateful, but I don’t understand . . .”

  Heat spreads to my cheeks and continues down my neck and chest. Clearly he’s confused and scared, and I let my inability to hold my tongue make him feel bad.

  “I’m sorry, too. I should have explained better.” I stop and think about my next words. He didn’t see me in the woods, so he doesn’t know when I came along and found him. And, what if he’s not someone I can trust? I don’t know anything about him, other than where he came from. Which means I shouldn’t tell him that I saw him stumbling through the fog in Incarnadine. He can be the one to tell me where he came from. And then, for his safety, I’ll convince him not to tell anyone else. “I found you floating face down on a log in the Glass River. I jumped in and pulled you out.” More confusion passes over his features. “Do you remember how you got into the river?” I whisper, hoping he’ll do the same.

  The boy
’s breaths accelerate, pushing through his mouth in short, strained bursts, his eyes becoming lost, unfocused. “No. I . . . I don’t remember anything.”

  He’s in worse condition than I thought. I need to get my mother. But I can’t bring myself to leave him. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll remember. You seem to have hit your head.” I lightly place my fingers above his cut. “And that’s probably making you forget what happened.” I try my best to calm him, but my words do nothing.

  “No! You don’t understand! I don’t remember anything! I don’t know who I am! I don’t even know my name!” His voice breaks with his words and he drops his head into his hands, his fingers fisting tightly in his hair. My heart jumps and I grab hold of the wooden arms of the chair for support. Pull yourself together, Addalynne. He’s allowed to be afraid right now, not you.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll remember.” I force out the words as I move away from his bed. “I’ll be right back,” I continue. “I just need to get my mother.” With a deep breath, I run from his chambers.

  I sleep fitfully in my bed for several hours, remembering the look on my mother’s face when I brought her to check on the boy. She was frightened, I could tell, though she said otherwise. I wanted to stay with him, but he told her he was tired and wanted to sleep, so she pulled me from the room and insisted I go to bed as well. But I can’t sleep. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. The thought that he’s going to leave flickers across my mind and makes its way to a painful burning in my chest. I don’t want him to leave. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Everyone I know, apart from Sir Alsius, was born here in Faygrene. And this boy is from Incarnadine. Once he gets his memories back, he can tell me all about Incarnadine, and I will finally know the truth.

  I turn to my side and close my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but the fear that the boy will leave continues to plague me. I grab the thin, ivory candle on the wooden table next to my bed and move across my chambers to the fire. I light the candle with the dimming flames and carefully make my way to his chambers.

  Stepping inside the dark space, the fear that has been haunting me is immediately confirmed. His bed is empty, the blankets thrown to the bottom. A lonely breeze blows through the open window.