Broken Arrow (Darkened Destiny Saga Book 1)

by Azaria M. J. Durant

  Jambeau inhales sharply. “She's dead?”

  I nod. “She died saving my life.”

  All pretence of hostility is gone. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and presses his hand over his gaping mouth. His eyes well with tears and his gaze darts around, looking for a safe resting place.

  “This is no time for past sentiment, captain,” the king snaps.

  “She's dead," Jambeau says, his voice raw with emotion. “She's—”

  “Why should you care? I thought you lost all feelings for her when you abandoned her for this position years ago!”

  Jambeau flinches. “She wasn't supposed to die,” he whispers. “She was supposed to come back. I was going to—”

  “She never would have come back and you know it!” the king interrupts. "She allowed her heart to be darkened by her bloodlust and it destroyed everything good that had ever been inside of her. You should be glad that you left her when you did.”

  “Who are you to talk about evil?” I explode, my sorrow channelling into rage. “You who have already sold your soul to Zeldek and will stop at nothing to do his every bidding!”

  Both the king and Jambeau stare at me.

  “Silence, boy!” the king snaps, blanching. “You don't know what you're saying!”

  But I won't be silent. I want him to know exactly how I feel about him. "I'd be willing to bet my life that I'll be on my way back to Gaiztoak in the morning.”

  King Leonel's face reddens and he balls his fists. “Leave us,” he hisses to Jambeau, his voice trembling with fury.

  Jambeau is too overwhelmed to care and quickly does as he is told. As soon as the door is closed behind him, the king turns on me and slams my shoulders into the wall.

  “You are smarter than you look, half-breed!” he growls. “Yes, Zeldek wants you back! He wants your allegiance, and in the end, he will have it. Tomorrow morning, I will send you back to him under the pretence of having you sent to the mines of Lavylli. Then you’ll be out of my life forever!”

  I stare back at him, hoping that he can see his own rage reflected in my eyes. “I don't know what I did to you to make you hate me so much!” I pause, and then force out the word, “Father.”

  He glares down at me, his eyes glazed with deep hatred. “Do not call me that. I have no son but Hamish!”

  I nod, pushing back the bitterness that sours my mind and the pain that fills my heart. “Yes, Hamish. My brother.”

  His glare turns to a cruel sneer. “How did you figure it out?”

  “I saw my grave.”

  Confusion flickers across his face. “But how did you know of your true name?”

  “Zeldek told me. He also told me that my father abandoned me as a baby. I worked everything out from there.” I take a deep breath. “That's why nothing is working out for Hamish, isn't it? Why his hair isn't golden? Why the sword won't glow for him?”

  “You were supposed to die! All of that was supposed to transfer from you to him!”

  “What happened, then? If I was meant for the throne, I would have the golden hair!”

  “You did, once,” he says, and his gaze drifts off as he stares into a past only he can see. “I see that you are confused. I'd be surprised if you weren't. Perhaps it would be best for both of us if I sated your curiosity.”

  I don't object.

  “Its funny how life finds a way to foreshadow things yet to come,” he begins with a bitter laugh. “The day you were born was bitingly cold. Winter had come a few weeks early that year, and so had you. You were so tiny, so sickly. You could barely move or make a sound other than a pitiful squeak. Your mother was hopeful, of course, but I knew that you wouldn't last the night. She told me that you were to be named Elroy, for you were 'the chosen king'!” He snorts, and revulsion sharpens his words like whetstone does a blade. “But my Master had other plans. He was convinced that you would survive, and that you would be a danger. He told me what to do, and I did as he commanded. While no one was looking, I gave you a potion that had been given to me by my master. The potion stopped your heart long enough for that oaf Lesley to pronounce you dead, and even your mother was convinced. She fell ill in her grief, and by the time Hamish came along, she’d lost her will to live.”

  His gaze passes over me, landing on the amulet, which glints out from behind the folds of my tunic. He takes the pendant in his fingers, a look of deep pain creeping behind his eyes.

  “After she died,” he continues with more of a struggle, “she commissioned me to bury this amulet with you. My Master ordered that I let you keep it, as it may one day prove useful to him. I do not know why.”

  He lets it fall to my chest again and turns away, clasping his hands behind his back.

  Though my anger is great, I cannot help but pity him. Somewhere deep inside, there is good in him that struggles to get out.

  When he speaks again, the spite has returned to his voice. “According to my Master's wishes, you were taken to a sorceress called Siena, who cursed you with the appearance of a normal half-breed, ridding you of your golden hair. You were put in the charge of one of my closest friends to look after until you had grown a little. When you were old enough, the lord sold you as a slave into Zandelba, where I assumed you would be worked to death. And yet here you are.”

  “I don't understand,” I stammer. “You got rid of me just because Zeldek told you to?”

  He spins to face me, his eyes wild with the passion that saturates his words. “My loyalty is to Zeldek and Zeldek alone!”

  “What about love? Decency? Did none of that stop you? I was an innocent baby! I was your son!”

  “You were never my son! Never! My blood may flow through your veins, but I will never bear the disgrace of calling filth like you my son!”

  “Filth like me?” I echo, confusion binding me more than the shackles that hold me to the wall. “I need to understand. Hamish and I are twins! And yet you chose him? I need to know why!”

  An odd smirk turns his lips. “You have every right to be jealous—”

  “Answer me!” I shout, my voice going hoarse. “I don't understand! What is the difference between us?”

  He glowers at me with that same hatred, but doesn't reply.

  “Please,” I cry desperately, trying to make sense of it all. “Tell me!”

  “You are weak!” he shouts. “Hamish is strong! I glimpsed into the future. I saw what you might become! My master was right. The only thing that you will ever be good for is slavery! Because of my sacrifice, you will never rise above that. Because of me, you will never become the king that Hamish will!”

  My gaze falls to the ground, weighed down by intense shame. What future horror could Zeldek have shown him that would turn cold even the love of a father? I realize that my face is wet with tears.

  “You could have done it, you know,” he adds quietly. “You could have redeemed yourself in my eyes if it wasn't for your stubborn pride!”

  He pauses, as if waiting for an answer, but I don't give one.

  “Did you hear me? I could have called you my son again! If only you had joined Zeldek when he asked you to! If only you had accepted his offer and given him your allegiance. That's all that it would have taken. But now we are stuck on opposite sides of a war!” His voice becomes more and more strained. “I have to disown you once again because of what you are and what you have chosen! I have to call you a disgrace to the line of Gryphem!”

  I look up at him. For the briefest of moments, there is a glimmer of remorse behind the mask of rage. Then it is gone.

  “I cannot wait to see my master destroy you!”

  The words pulse through my body in a current of despair. In all of my recollection, nothing has hurt this much. “He will never destroy me,” I choke.

  “Yes he will! And I'll be there beside him, watching him shape you into what you should have been. Only then might I have reason to be proud of you. Because right now...” he shakes his head. “Right now you make me wish that you had died as an infant
.”

  He turns on his heel and exits the room, throwing the door closed with a thunderous slam. The noise resounds through the hall outside and the flames in the torches flicker. The echoing of his footsteps fade away and I let myself slump forward in my chains. I barely notice the sting of the metal cuffs as they dig into my wrists, or the ache of my arms as they are pried back.

  And for the first time since it all began, I allow myself to cry.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I t is a while before the door swings open again, and Jambeau re-enters. Even through the swelling of my own eyes, I can see that he too has been crying. His eyes are red but he tries to hide it by squinting through the torchlight as he searches for the right key to unlock my chains.

  “You alright?” he asks, noticing the tears that streak my face. His voice sounds strained, like an eggshell preparing to crack.

  I nod slowly.

  “He didn't hurt you, did he?”

  Physically, not much. Emotionally...

  I shake my head.

  The key rattles as he unlocks my shackles. One by one, they fall from my wrists.

  “Come,” he says, thrusting the keys back into his belt.

  He turns and his foot bumps Bellator's sword. It clatters, skidding across the floor. He freezes, then takes a few hesitant steps toward it. Bending down, he picks it up as if it were a delicate rose petal.

  “It's beautiful,” he breathes, examining the hilt. “They say she was evil, but it's not true. There must have been beauty in her heart to have created something like this.”

  I make no reply. I don't need to add the memories of Bellator's death to my torment.

  Jambeau shakes his head, struggling to regain his composure. “Best get you to your cell,” he mutters, taking my arm.

  He guides me down a corridor and into a hall with heavy doors and barred windows. He brings me to the very last door. Opening it, he pushes me inside. The cell is small. A built-in bench barely big enough for me to lie down on takes up the width of one wall, and a grungy bucket in the opposite corner serves as a latrine.

  The door screeches on its hinges as Jambeau begins to close it, but stops halfway. There is a moment of silence. I refuse to turn back to face him, to meet his gaze. I don't want to see the pain he is feeling.

  “Did she suffer?” His voice is very near the breaking point.

  I look over my shoulder, but focus on the wall beside the door.

  “I don't think so.”

  He takes a shuddering breath. “I'm sorry, Ealdred. Truly, I am.”

  I turn to stare at the wall before me again.

  There is a pause, and then the door snaps shut, cutting off all light. The key grates in the lock. His heavy footsteps fade slowly. I wait until I can no longer hear them and then throw myself angrily at the door, kicking it as hard as I can. I only hurt myself, but I don't care. I scream out all of the anger that is inside of me. Tears follow swiftly, and I break down into uncontrollable sobs. I collapse against the door, letting myself cry. My family was the one hope that I always clung to. The one hope that there might be someone out there who loved me. But now even that small hope has been taken from me and crushed before my eyes.

  “What's wrong?” says a soft, wispy voice in the darkness.

  A shudder runs through me. I know that voice all too well.

  “Look at the pain you have brought upon yourself by your own stubbornness. All that you had to do was give me your allegiance! That was it.”

  “Leave me alone, Zeldek!” I scream.

  “Oh, but you are alone! Is there one person in all of Theara that cares about you now? You, who are so odious that not even your own father can bring himself to feel anything for you!”

  Tears choke me.

  “I'm giving you one last chance. Give me your allegiance, and I will welcome you when you return to Gaiztoak. I will treat you kindly and give you a high position in my house. Perhaps then your father will welcome you with open arms. If not... well, I will enjoy hearing you scream!”

  “Leave me be!” I shout, pressing my fists over my ears. “Just leave me be!”

  “You are a fool!” he growls, his voice growing fainter. “Embrace the consequences of your words, half-race! This is the last drop of kindness you will ever receive from me.”

  “Don't flatter yourself! You have never been kind to me!”

  But he doesn't reply. I kick the ground in fury, the anguish inside of me almost too much to bear.

  I can't go back there! I can't!

  As the hours pass, I begin to greet the familiar faces of my old enemy hunger and his twin sister, thirst. But I know that it will be a while until I’ll be able to eat again. Just as I am drifting off into a troubled sleep, I hear light footsteps running down the hall outside. Moments later, a key fumbles in the lock.

  I crawl away from the door and put my back to the stone bench. The fumbling continues. I grit my teeth and wait. The lock finally clicks open. The door swings on its hinges. I squint through the bright torchlight that streams in from the outside hall. As my eyes adjust, I recognize Nerienda standing in the doorway, sliding two hairpins back into her braids.

  “Get up boy, quickly!” she whispers, beckoning to me. “It is almost midnight. The king has retired to his chambers for the evening. You must leave immediately!”

  “You're- you're here to help me?” I stammer.

  She nods. “Be swift!”

  I scramble to my feet and exit the cell. She eases the door closed again. Then she turns to me, crossing her arms over her chest. Her critical gaze passes over me and compassion softens the worn lines on her face.

  “Hamish tells me that you are innocent of the crimes charged against you,” she says. “Is that true?”

  I lower my gaze. “I'm a sorcerer.”

  A kind smile fills her eyes. “There is no crime in that.”

  “You think so?”

  “You have a gentle heart, Ealdred. I believe that you will use your power to help instead of injure.”

  “Why? You barely know me.”

  “Hamish believes in you, and that is reason enough for me.” Her expression regains its usual frost. “I ask only that you don't let him down.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she turns back up the passage and leads the way to the guards' quarters. The prison guard lies sprawled out over a cot, snoring loudly. A mug dangles from his hand, the last dregs leaking onto the stone floor.

  “Poor fool had too much to drink,” Nerienda remarks, shaking her head. “Leonel will have him flogged for this.”

  I feel sad for him. My escape will serve only to increase the severity of his punishment. Yet my hunger for freedom combined with my fear of Zeldek outweighs my compassion.

  We return to the main level. Although the hall is empty, Nerienda keeps close to the walls, peering around every corner before she turns it. I begin to recognize my surroundings as we draw closer to the castle's scullery.

  Kenet suddenly bursts around the corner, looking frantic. He sees Nerienda, and his hands fly as he communicates urgently with her.

  “Algitha?” Nerienda exclaims. “What is she doing down here?”

  He makes some form of response, his fingers forming sentences that only Nerienda understands.

  She sets her jaw. “Alright. Leave her to me. Take the boy out the gardener's way, and make sure he isn't seen.”

  Kenet nods.

  She looks fondly at him. “I'm counting on you, little man.”

  A grin lights his face and he puts his thumbs up.

  She gives me a curt nod, and then sweeps around the corner out of sight. Kenet gestures for me to follow him. He leads me in the opposite wing of the hall she left through, and a few minutes later we emerge into the cool night air of the garden.

  Kenet stops in the doorway. Tugging on my sleeve, he points toward a thick grove of trees.

  “Thanks, little sir,” I say.

  He smiles shyly and skips away.

  I hurry
across the lawn in the direction he pointed.

  “There you are!” a voice calls as I approach.

  “Hamish?”

  He ushers me further into the thicket. “I was worried that Nerienda might not make it past the guard.”

  “Oh, there was no need...” My voice trails off as Jambeau emerges from the shadows behind him. “Wait! Why are you both helping me? The king — he's made me a criminal.”

  Hamish puts a hand on my shoulder. “And he is wrong to do so. You may be a sorcerer, my friend, but you haven't hurt anyone. You don't deserve to be treated in this manner.”

  Friend. The word warms me inside like a ray of sunlight. Yet a deep sadness is cast over my heart. I don't deserve such loyalty and I'm afraid that I can never repay it. He has risked so much for me. Will I be able to do the same for him?

  “Besides,” he continues, “Jambeau told me the charges that my father made against you. You may have lost control for a moment, but Jambeau says that's natural for someone who doesn't have full control of their magic yet.”

  “How would you know that?” I ask Jambeau.

  He shrugs. “You aren't the first sorcerer I’ve met. Your powers have developed much later than hers did, but I can see the same beginning stages in you.”

  I don’t need to ask whom he is referring to.

  “Speaking of which, you'll be wanting this back.”

  He holds out Bellator's sword to me. As I take it from him, his hand lingers on the hilt for just a moment before releasing it.

  I strap it to my side. “Thanks.”

  “Shh! Someone is coming!” Hamish says, and we all crouch low to the ground.

  “Relax. It is only me,” calls the voice of Lady Marianna.

  Hamish breathes a sigh of relief and beckons for her to approach. “You have brought our provisions, my lady?”

  She appears through the rising mist, her netted hair draped with a hood of forest green. Marianna told Hamish about her deceit regarding Arnon the same evening that she told me. At first, he was annoyed that she hadn't told him sooner. But his irritation didn't last for very long.

  “And some water too,” she confirms. “It isn’t much, but it is enough for a day, at least, in case you get trapped in there.”