Powers of the Six

by Kristal Shaff

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Bonus

  Map

  Shay Symbols

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  BLOOD OF THE GUARDIANS preview

  Acknowledgements:

  Author Info

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales, is purely coincidental

  Copyright © 2016, Kristal Shaff

  Illustration © 2016, Anne Drury

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Kristal L. Shaff. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any in form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from Kristal L. Shaff, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Edited By: Courtney Koschel

  Cover illustrated by: Anne Drury

  Typography by: Liesl Mensinger

  Cover Copyright © 2016 Kristal L. Shaff

  Second Edition, April 2016

  Bonus Content: Free ebook

  Visit www.kristalshaff.com for a free fantasy

  ebook, THE PARDON STONE

  Also, learn more about the Shay powers and keep

  up to date on other books in this series,

  as well as Kristal’s other works.

  To my father,

  who never got to read this book

  before he left this world,

  but who encouraged me along the way

  Chapter One

  AFTER YEARS OF PRACTICE, Nolan still found lying difficult. It wasn’t easy to hide a power that came as naturally as breathing. He had to continue, even if each flawless stroke of his quill exposed him for a fraud. As impossible as it seemed, he had to keep hiding to survive.

  The candlelight danced across the half-finished parchment. A pile of identical rolled scrolls lay neatly stacked near his feet. It had been a long night, one that wasn’t ending anytime soon. He covered a yawn and looked over his work.

  His shoulders sagged. Crows! It wasn’t supposed to be a masterpiece.

  Dipping his quill into the jar of murky ink, he forced down his Shay of Accuracy. With a flick of his wrist, Nolan dislodged exactly two drops, splattering them across the parchment—not enough to destroy it, but enough to add the imperfection it so desperately needed.

  Footsteps and voices echoed outside the door. He listened, making out Duke Ragnall’s low rumble. If the duke bothered to visit this late, he’d have some “important” task he’d want Nolan to do. He stabbed his quill into the inkwell and wiped his hands on a stained rag. His long night just got longer.

  He opened the door just as Ragnall poised his hand to knock. The duke’s bushy brows rose briefly, then his pompous expression slid back into place.

  “Nolan,” he said. “There’s an incident that requires your service.” He glared at the grinning and puffed-up captain who stood off to his side.

  “Of course, my lord.” Nolan bowed and grabbed his workbag. “What’s the situation?”

  “Captain Finnis claims to have captured the Traitor of Faylinn.”

  Nolan blinked. He was tired. Probably didn’t hear correctly. “Did you say the Traitor of Faylinn?”

  “That I did,” Captain Finnis said. “Having a drink at Aunt Bonty’s, he was. The nerve of him, strolling into Alton like he hadn’t a care or trouble in the world.” He gave Nolan a yellow-toothed grin.

  Wasn’t the captain supposed to be on patrol instead of having drinks in a pub? From the duke’s pursed lips and scowl, Nolan guessed the duke had noticed too.

  Nolan had seen pretty much everything since coming to the manor two years ago, especially in the last year when taking over the duties of Master Irvin, the previous scribe. It was absurd how much needed to be recorded: every ridiculous party, every drawn-out tournament, and even the questioning of pickpockets and idiots who’d stirred trouble because they’d had one too many. Nolan suspected Captain Finnis had downed his fair share of drink by the looks of him—red bulging eyes, stupid grin—but more so, because of the absurd claim he made. How could a drunken slob have captured such a powerful and notorious traitor?

  They proceeded through the gold corridor and entered the orange-painted halls. Continuing through the blue halls, then the red, they finally reached the section of the manor where bright colors became bare stone: the prison wing. The gray, colorless walls, signifying a wordless insult to those kept behind their doors.

  As they neared the West Tower, raucous laughter boomed from the hall. They turned the corner to see guards, sporting the colors of all the districts in Alton, camped in front of the entrance.

  Duke Ragnall stopped. “For the love of Brim, Captain. What in the Darkness is going on here?”

  “The boys wanted to have a bit of fun. Didn’t want to miss out on—”

  “Unless they want to miss out on every free moment they have from now until they’re ninety, they’d best get back to their posts.”

  The captain’s smile vanished. He barked orders to his men, and the hall cleared—except for two standing at attention on either side of the door. Their chests were raised. Right arms hugged iron-tipped spears as they attempted to look important.

  Skirting past the guards, they climbed the staircase and spiraled by cobwebs clinging to more gray walls. At the top, the captain unlocked the large oak door and shouldered it open. The smell of old filth and mold poured through. Captain Finnis thrust his lantern into the darkness, nodded, and led them inside.

  Light flickered across a man standing at the far side of the cell. He wore brown breeches and worn leather boots, and a neatly trimmed beard covered his chin. He looked common enough, apart from the bloodstained rip in the shoulder of his tunic. The man didn’t acknowledge their entrance or glance in their direction; he just stared out the small window to the streets below. Calm. Not pleading. He was different than normal men who’d been thrown into Alton’s tower.

  Duke Ragnall cleared his throat. “You have been identified as Emery Cadogan, former general of the Shay Rol’dan army. What say you to this accusation?”

  At first, Nolan thought the man hadn’t heard as he continued to stare into the night. Finally, he turned. Dark purple bruises ringed his eyes, and dried blood coated his split and swollen lip. In spite of his injuries, he smiled.

  “So now I’m asked for my name?” he said. “Is it common practice in Alton to beat a man before finding out who he is?”

  Captain Finnis grabbed him, squeezing his arm. “Answer the question!”

  “Do you think I�
��d be foolish enough to show myself if I were the Traitor of Faylinn?” he answered, his teeth clenched. “I’m just a traveler, for Brim’s sake. Nothing else.” He pointed to the other side of the room, as if he were reprimanding a disobedient dog. “So if you’d please, Captain, get your filthy hands off me, and go stand over there.”

  The savage expression on the captain’s face faded. He blinked. And then, oddly enough, obeyed.

  Duke Ragnall gawked, his face flushing. “Captain! What in the Darkness do you think you’re doing?”

  A faint purple light glimmered in the prisoner’s eyes.

  Nolan stared, then shook his head. It was late. He wasn’t seeing properly.

  “I’m sorry for this misunderstanding, my lord,” the prisoner said. “It’s a simple case of mistaken identity. I’m common enough. Could easily pass for someone else.” He forced a laugh. “Though being mistaken for a traitor isn’t something I’d like to repeat.”

  A glazed expression passed over the duke’s face. “Yes, my good man. I’m sure it’s all a mistake.”

  My good man? Blood drained from Nolan’s face. He inched toward the door; but as he slipped a hand around the opening, an overwhelming contentment washed over him.

  As if moving through fog, Nolan turned to the prisoner. Nolan should be frightened, shouldn’t he? No. Of course not. The man wasn’t the traitor. Captain Finnis was, after all, an idiot.

  Nolan met the prisoner’s light-filled gaze. Violet illuminated the man’s head, casting a glow in the dim confines of the cell. How could he help him? They would need to sneak past the guards. Slowly, truth pushed through the haze. These thoughts weren’t his own. They were his.

  The prisoner’s eyes narrowed and blazed brighter.

  “No!” Nolan shoved the invading thoughts away, but the man’s power shifted and probed deeper, as if turning the pages of Nolan’s mind like an old book. The prisoner’s power tore through him; shock and revelation flashed across the man’s face.

  Nolan staggered, his vision darkening, as the workbag slid from his shoulder and thumped to the ground.

  Captain Finnis shook his head. The prisoner’s mental control had left him. He cursed before punching the traitor squarely between the eyes.

  The prisoner’s head jerked back, and he crumpled to his knees. Nolan stared, his mind reeling. The man had seen him. Somehow, he knew.

  “Guards!” the duke bellowed. He grabbed Nolan’s arm, yanking him from the room.

  A rush of clanging swords and footsteps thundered up the stairs. A pair of guards raced past and into the cell. Violent commotion and pain-filled wails erupted from inside.

  The duke shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He can bend one’s will. Typically an Empathy Shay can only read a person’s emotions.”

  Nolan’s hands shook. The traitor could read far more than emotions.

  “Nolan? Are you unwell?” he asked.

  Nolan balled his hands into fists to control the trembling, at least a bit. “I’m fine, sir. Just shaken.”

  Captain Finnis emerged, breathing heavily while wiping the corner of his mouth with a bloodstained knuckle. “He’ll never use his nightforsaken Empathy power against us again, that’s for certain.”

  Duke Ragnall looked nervously to the door. “For Brim’s sake, you didn’t kill him, did you?”

  He hesitated. “Certainly not, my lord.”

  Laughter and feeble moans echoed from inside.

  Captain Finnis flinched. “But even if we did, he’d get what he deserves.”

  “He was the king’s general!” Duke Ragnall said. “What would happen if King Alcandor arrived and discovered some commoner had killed him?”

  “I’m no commoner, sir. I’m a captain of—”

  “You’re a commoner to the king. Unless you’re planning to pull a dormant Shay power out of your backside, you’d best go in there and calm your men.”

  The captain paled and bowed. “Yes, my lord.” He returned to the cell, and the clamor hushed to an eerie silence. The rattling of chains followed.

  The duke sighed. “Say nothing to anyone, Nolan. Though, with Finnis’s mouth, I doubt this news will stay quiet for long. Question the soldiers and record how they discovered him. And of course, King Alcandor will need to be informed.” He studied Nolan’s face. “Can you remember all that transpired?”

  Nolan nodded. How could he forget?

  Two years of careful hiding. Two years of controlling himself, day after day. He’d given up his family, his career, any chance at a normal life. He’d pushed everyone away. Two years of loneliness … for nothing? This man could easily give his secret away! After a single, horrible moment, Nolan’s fate now rested in the hands of a traitor.

  Chapter Two

  NOLAN’S HANDS STILL SHOOK long after he’d returned to his room. He’d packed and unpacked his belongings three times before putting it all away—not that it took long. He had little to call his own: two changes of clothes, his ink bottle, and favorite quill, and a few books he couldn’t live without.

  Finally, he sat on the edge of his bed taking deep, focused breaths. Control. He had to gain control. It would do no good to run away—it would only draw attention. He’d worked too hard to lose it now.

  To distract himself, he plunged into the work he’d left earlier, doing little to hide perfection in his strokes. He was being careless, but half his attention was focused on the sounds outside his door. Would they come for him? Maybe they’d hurt the traitor too much for him to talk. Or maybe, just maybe, Nolan was wrong. Maybe the traitor hadn’t sensed anything.

  He concentrated on finishing the documents, but not even that work could calm his mind. Sleep didn’t come. He dug into his towering bookshelf, removing book after dusty book, re-reading every account of the six Shay powers. They all mentioned how Empathy could judge the slightest change of mood before the person realized it. But apart from that, it mentioned nothing about it being able to sense others’ powers.

  Leaning back in the chair, he balanced it on two legs and ran a hand over his chin. He had no proof the prisoner knew his secret. Only the king had the ability to sense another Shay. Could the traitor be like the king? No. It was impossible. There was no one like the king.

  Dropping the chair to the floor, he slammed the book closed. He crammed it back onto the bookshelf and picked up a small bit of parchment a servant had delivered earlier. The script was in the duke’s nearly illegible scrawl.

  Nolan,

  Please join me in the dining hall for breakfast.

  There is much I need to discuss with you.

  Duke Ragnall

  He sighed. It was already almost time for breakfast, and he still had no answers. Then the most absurd thought came to him: What if he went to the prisoner and asked him what he knew? He dismissed the idea. General Cadogan had nearly turned Nolan into his puppet just hours before.

  “Right this way, General Cadogan. The door is just over here. Can I get you anything else while I’m at it, General Cadogan? Some food? Some wine? A sword to run me through?”

  Even if Nolan wanted to speak to him, guards watched night and day. He had to find another way. But not now. Duke Ragnall waited.

  ***

  Everything in the duke’s dining hall was gaudy. Portraits in gilded frames displayed over-dressed noblemen with arrogant expressions, and floral tapestries in every imaginable color hung from floor to ceiling on each wall. Every piece of furniture had some sort of lion or bear or other wild beast carved on its surface. The combination was nauseating.

  A gigantic chandelier hung over a narrow dining table that stretched the length of the room. Today, the servants had set the table for three.

  One place for Duke Ragnall.

  One place for Nolan.

  And the third …

  Nolan groaned. Mikayla, the duke’s young wife, glanced up, and her dark eyes locked on his. He had suspected for some time now that the duke needed spectacles more than he did. The way his
wife stared at Nolan, like he was a roasted duck, made her strange obsession clear to everyone but the duke.

  She was attractive and exotic. Her black hair shimmered with purple and blue hues. Her flawless, olive complexion outshone any woman’s he’d ever seen. Not a single man, including Nolan, could resist turning his head when she walked by.

  Her interest in him was baffling. He didn’t see himself as remarkable, at least not by a woman’s standards. He supposed that, compared to her old and overweight husband and the parade of idiot soldiers who came in, he won by default. Even though the attention flattered him, Nolan would never give in. He valued his life too much.

  Duke Ragnall sat a ways from the table; his large stomach wouldn’t allow him to fully pull his chair in. A servant stood next to him, cooling him with a fan of peacock feathers. The duke wiped his scalp and waved for the servant to speed up. Seeing Nolan, he dabbed his bushy mustache and waved him closer. Nolan adjusted the bag on his shoulder and approached them, wanting this meeting to be over already.

  “Ah, Nolan! So good of you to come on such short notice.” He motioned, giving him permission to sit.

  Nolan placed his bundle within arm’s reach and sat at the empty place setting next to the duke’s wife. He put the napkin in his lap and attempted to appear comfortable, though Mikayla’s gaze followed his every movement.

  “Well,” the duke said, “about last night’s incident …”

  Nolan tensed, unable to meet his eyes.

  “I assume you have already recorded the information?” the duke said.

  Nolan relaxed. “Of course, sir.”

  “Very good.” Duke Ragnall took a large bite of sausage and chewed vigorously. “Do you have any new business?”

  Nolan reached into his satchel and pulled out a piece of parchment, pretending to scan the list as he calmed the thrumming in his chest. He took a long breath. He’d probably spent all night worrying for no reason.

  “Yesterday, we received a request from a merchant,” Nolan said. “Mr. Bakker is interested in moving his clothing shop from Orange District to Blue District.”