The Golden Key Chronicles

by AJ Nuest

  “I will return,” he shouted, the muscles in his chest straining against his oppressors’ grappling hands. “Await me in this chamber, my love, and I shall hasten to your side.”

  The king tossed her a glance over his shoulder and followed his guards through the door. The wizard followed quickly at his heels, the rest of the armed men shuffled out, and she jumped when the door slammed behind them.

  Candra’s Freedom

  Book II, The Golden Key Chronicles

  Prologue

  Standing atop the wide stone parapet, Rowena closed her eyes and tilted her face to the warm rays of the late summer sun. Helios, the people called him, and even though she’d tried to buy into their religion, to her the sun was simply the sun.

  A high wind tugged at her hair and whipped a sheet of white silk into a billowing frenzy behind her. Whenever she passed they whispered candra-scinlæce, the Glowing Sorceress, but most of them were exceedingly superstitious, and they believed silly things. She was merely a woman. She had no special powers. No secret gifts. No past, no future…no family.

  Light footsteps breached the landing and she softly smiled. Now who had they sent? Who had seen her and raised the alarm? Hopefully her intruder was Gertie. Oh, how Rowena delighted in sending her owlish handmaiden into fits of palpitations with such outlandish behavior. After all, what other joys were there?

  A gasp reached her ears through the whisper of the wind. Rowena smirked but kept her eyes closed and her legs braced on the stone wall. Yep, that was Gertie.

  “Milady, please,” the handmaiden spoke harshly. “You know how these perilous acts strain my nerves. Should you fall to your death, I would surely follow soon after. The king would display my head on a pike and the commonwealth would spit on the pole for generations.”

  “That’s overstating things a bit, don’t you think, Gertie?” Rowena blinked and peered out over the countryside. From her advantage atop the tall bell tower, every farm in the kingdom sat displayed at her feet, and a whimsical freedom she rarely enjoyed filled her soul.

  Dart screeched aloft his lazy circle astride the wind, falcon wings tipped gold in the sunlight, inviting her to join him in the air.

  “I come bearing news of great import,” Gertie complained. “But I cannot tell you in such a state. You must first climb down.”

  Rowena sighed. When would these people learn? When would they ever, ever learn? She wasn’t some dowdy princess to be locked in a tower with her needlework. She couldn’t stand the thought of one more person telling her what she could and couldn’t do.

  “I’ll do nothing of the sort. If you’ve got something to say, out with it. Otherwise, go away. I’m busy.” If only the wind would pick up just a little more. This event had to be timed exactly right.

  “Fine!” the handmaiden huffed. “No one should bear the load of such a heavy burden. Watching over you has been one terror after the next, and the finality of your demise will successfully do away with my curse.”

  Rowena chuckled. “I love you, too. Now talk or get lost.”

  “A courier just returned from the North. Prince Caedmon has escaped.”

  Her knees involuntarily jerked. So, after nearly two years of waiting, the prodigal son finally returned. Everyone would expect her to be relieved, happy even, but the thought filled the back of her throat with bitter bile.

  No doubt a grand fete would be held in his honor, and she would be put on display, the swooning beauty awaiting her handsome prince. Oh, how terribly romantic. The kingdom would celebrate. Everyone would rejoice. A marriage would most likely follow…and in the privacy of his company, he would try to control her, just like everyone else in this horrid place. He would lord over her and expect she obey his every command.

  Prince Caedmon Austiere. The only person alive who knew the sordid truth behind her arrival.

  The last time she’d seen him he pummeled two men. If that wasn’t enough, he was Braedric’s brother. A shiver of revulsion crawled down her spine.

  To her, the prince’s jailbreak meant only one thing. Yet another heavy lock and chain slung around her neck, another prison sentence to endure…

  Well, tough. She’d long since learned how to fend for herself, make her own rules and forge ahead regardless of the consequences. She wasn’t a simpering ninny anymore, ruled by fear, that scared little girl who cowered in his chambers so long ago.

  However Prince Caedmon judged her actions—appalling, fanatical, folly—she simply didn’t care. Let him suffer the same absurd astonishment as everyone else. Let him try, just try to tell her how inappropriately she behaved. She wasn’t about to adhere to such ridiculous constraints. Not anymore.

  She peered down the length of the wall and tightened her jaw when a wave of vertigo made the ground reel some ten stories beneath her feet. Then again, maybe everyone in the kingdom was right. She’d lost her mind and this venture was simply suicide.

  She whipped up her chin. “How soon will he arrive?”

  “By ship two days hence. Now really, Milady, I must insist you withdraw from the wall.”

  “I can’t do that, Gertie.” A gust of mountain air blew the hair back from her brow and the silk snapped and expanded in response. “But could you do me a favor? If I’m not successful, please give Prince Caedmon my regards.”

  Rowena extended her arms, bent her knees and leapt…

  Chapter One

  The wooden deck bobbed and swayed under his boots. A fine spray of salt water misted against his cheeks. Over his left shoulder, sheets of canvas fluttered and swelled as the ship keeled to port and the sails ensnared the wind.

  The bow lurched and Caedmon stiffened his legs, clenching his jaw against the unsteady tremor in his knees. One whole cycle of the moon had passed since his first day of freedom and still malaise lingered in his bones.

  He’d slept much of the trip, spent long hours basking in the fresh sea air and warm sunlight. He’d eaten as much as his shrunken stomach would allow and even sparred with members of the crew, hoping the exercise would help him recoup his strength.

  Chained in the bowels of Seviere’s dungeons, he’d been flogged and beaten. His life had bled from his veins. The wretched king and his minions had stolen more than just the key. Caedmon had been stripped of his spirit, his purpose and rank, the promise he’d sworn to his lady love.

  But in those torturous moments, neither did he yield nor was he deceived by the lies set upon his ear. Only one person merited the consequence of his demise. He merely needed to uncover the truth to prove his suspicions correct. And that turbulent battle started here. Today.

  When first the call sounded his homeland had been sighted, he’d rushed to the prow and stood within full view of his father’s kingdom. Far across the black water the eastern coastline loomed and, in the distance, a large procession trailed down the high ridge toward the water’s edge. His kinsman rode in full regalia, tasseled pennants snapping in the wind, shining armor winking flashpoints in the sunlight.

  So, they came to greet him in pageantry. They welcomed him home with open arms. But was this a genuine display of affection or simply a façade contrived for the spectacle of ceremony?

  With his first step on shore he must possess a show of might, leave no doubt he was fully capable of reclaiming his place within the realm. For who knew what treachery awaited him? To what sealed fate he returned? Until he learned what his future held, he would compel himself to appear as if nothing had changed.

  As the ship pitched through the surf, his father rode into view, surrounded by a garrison of the Royal Guard. Wizard Fandorn trailed closely behind on his gray steed, followed by Master Denmar and his Captain at Arms. Leading his black-robed hashishins and a full rank of foot soldiers, Braedric sat high in the saddle, armored chest plate emblazoned with the royal crest, his sword glinting like a lightning bolt striking the rocky terrain.

  Fury wrenched Caedmon’s gut and he seized the railing. If his brother deigned to scheme against him, this time he wou
ld stand ready. Yet for what purpose did Braedric conspire to high treason? And, even more importantly, how had he persuaded the Dreggs to partake in the assault? What ransom had he offered them? Such a feat was no small task. They did not suffer matters outside their race, yet they had attacked without provocation.

  Riding out with the key, Caedmon and his small band of warriors withstood no chance, outnumbered and caught in surprise by the vicious creatures. On wings like veined leather they had swooped in, fangs bared and sharp talons extended, eerie shrieks ricocheting against his ears like poisoned barbs. His garrison had been scattered to the four winds. In the ensuing melee, he’d been cut off from the rest of the troupe, arrested and spirited to the north, but not before he swore to avenge the loss of his heart’s desire.

  And what of his love? Did she hasten to greet him as well?

  Then a bright star amid a sea of silver and blue crested the ridge. His pulse thundered and he gritted his teeth in expectant hope. If his eyes did not deceive him, his lady rode Belial, a devilish white stallion that had thrown and all but trampled a dozen of his men. A falcon circled overhead, riding the same draft that toyed with the folds of her ivory gown.

  What boon was this? Did she hold sway over wild beasts? To learn as much would not surprise him, for she had tamed his heart as well.

  He tracked her slow descent down the rocky slope. Even across the leagues she glowed like a flame, beckoning him near. At long last she was almost within reach. How his arms ached to hold her, his tongue starved to taste the supple curve of her throat. Longing tightened his groin when he envisioned their time alone. He would chase away her fears and fill her with blissful tides of their love-making. Together they would explore one another’s deepest desires. And Helios save the man who dared intervene. For this solemn oath he foreswore. Never again would he be ripped from her side.

  To this vision he stayed true, increasingly vexed whenever the crowd interfered and he momentarily lost sight of her.

  Yet cold desperation clutched at his chest, threatening his fortitude. Two years she had been left alone, abandoned to her own safety, no knowledge of the dangers his world could hold. Two years without her memories, his lips powerless to remind her of his devotion, their time together lost to a traitorous cause.

  Would she ever forgive him for leaving her in such a state? Was it even within his right to ask?

  “My liege.” The captain snapped to attention at Caedmon’s left elbow. “We make landfall shortly. The boats are being prepared for your conveyance to shore.”

  The slow voyage would last an eternity, and he would not be denied one moment longer. Caedmon grabbed the hoist rope and leapt onto the rail. “Save your men’s arms, Ship Master. I make my own way from here.”

  He filled his lungs and dove for the water.

  ***

  Back straight, eyes forward, mouth shut. Don’t fidget. Stay that obnoxious bird from your shoulder and, above all else, if Prince Caedmon deigns to speak with you, your first and only response should be a resounding and emphatic, “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Rowena winced and pressed a hand against the side of her bodice, Marcelene’s tirade droning like an arduous litany in her head. Resident taskmaster and mistress of all things female at Castle Austiere, the woman had read Rowena the riot act while she stood silent, being trussed up like the roasted squabs Cook was no doubt preparing for dinner. Her hair resembled a fruit basket and evidently she wasn’t supposed to breathe because Marcelene had instructed the handmaidens to cinch the corset like a vise around her waist. The woman was a masochist. But what she didn’t know was Rowena would have never consented to such torture had Master Denmar not agreed to her terms.

  Tomorrow at Apex, she faced his five best men in the Gantlet.

  She smirked. Each time she’d run the course she’d had to up her game, but they would never expect her to attack from above. She and Fandorn had finally perfected their wind rider, and her flawlessly executed landing two days before guaranteed her success. With this final win she would earn her crest, the first woman in Austiere history to be awarded the title of militissae. Bearing such a rank she could go anywhere, do anything. Start over and completely reinvent herself.

  Delight surged through her chest as she envisioned the stupefied awe on her opponents’ gnarled faces when she floated down from the sky beneath a sheet of white silk. Before they had a chance to comprehend what was happening, she could easily take down two. The rest of the guards would be putty in her hands. And even better, rumors would run wild, adding yet another layer to the ridiculous sorceress persona they insisted she wear.

  Well, let the nobility chatter like the silly fools they were. Let them believe she commanded the elements. Every action she took to further their suspicions meant she was one step closer to getting the hell away from Braedric.

  A shudder wrenched her body, fixing her heels harder in the stirrups. Ridding herself of his lecherous sneers and grappling hands was the one thought that kept her from ditching this pretentious sideshow. As well as the reason she’d strapped her wrist blades beneath the cuffs of her pearl-edged sleeves before leaving.

  She would not be caught within his reach without them. Not ever again.

  A shadow crossed her face and she placed a flat hand to her brow, squinting into the sunlight. Dart screeched and whirled into a diving spiral against the cloudless blue sky. She filled what air she could into her lungs and expelled a frustrated breath. Lucky bird. Today was the perfect day for riding the wind. What she wouldn’t give to join him in the air. Instead, she was stuck in a caravan of a different type of predator. The worst kind. The lie-to-her-face and stab-her-in-the-back kind.

  She surreptitiously flicked a hand to the side and the falcon soared off toward the woods. “Good hunting, my friend,” she whispered.

  Some days, that bird seemed like the only one who truly understood her.

  Out on the water a large ship broke through the surf, waves crashing against the sides like frothy ale. The silhouette of a lone man stood near the railing.

  Shit. Shit, shit, double-shit. If only his arrival had been postponed a few days longer, she most likely wouldn’t even be here. But she’d long since decided Prince Caedmon’s return wouldn’t sway her decision. Now, if she could just keep him at a safe distance, all should go according to plan.

  She reined Belial over to a young stable boy, waved off his proffered hand and hopped to the ground. She didn’t need his help. She didn’t need anybody’s help.

  Glancing around for Marcelene, Rowena made eye contact with the stern Head Mistress, her highbrow glare a sure sign she’d been watching Rowena’s every move.

  Marcelene narrowed her eyes, delivering a silent warning, and jerked her head toward the assembling procession. Rowena clenched her jaw and strode across the sand to her assigned position. One more day…two tops…and she’d make damn sure she was never bossed around again.

  She’d been instructed to stand in the second row, behind Wizard Fandorn and slightly to his left. King Austiere was already in place, slightly to the left in front of her and, on his left, Braedric sauntered into position followed by Master Denmar.

  She momentarily locked on to the Captain of the Royal Guard and he winked at her with his one good eye. Cupping the back of her hand in the opposite palm, she flipped him a crude finger. He huffed, and then cleared his throat over a low chuckle.

  The amusement died on her lips and compassion sidled in as Faelynn scurried to a spot on Rowena’s right, the petite woman’s hands on Vaighn’s shoulders, guiding her ten-year-old son before her like a small shield. Each time Rowena had the occasion to cross paths with them, her heart wept at the sight. The demeaning way Braedric treated his wife in public was atrocious. She could only imagine the unspeakable horrors he contrived behind closed doors, the torment Faelynn had endured to produce an heir. The poor woman had been browbeaten enough, she wore a constant veneer of panic, her movements stilted and jerky, eyes either glassed-over or dartin
g about as if she were seeking an avenue of escape.

  Rowena dipped her chin and smiled politely, and then couldn’t help tousling Vaighn’s silky, chocolate curls. The child was the exact opposite of his mother. A joy to behold—energetic, happy, fascinated with everything life had to offer. The real tragedy was how much Faelynn had sacrificed in order to ensure her son’s ascent to the throne. Recognizing the choices she’d made, Rowena respected the young princess on a level much deeper than she could ever express.

  She hugged the young boy to her waist with one arm and, when he blushed six shades of red, she winked and tweaked the tip of his nose. Faelynn smiled gratefully, reclaimed her hold on Vaighn’s shoulders and held him strictly in check. No horseplay would be tolerated during such an auspicious event.

  And now, they waited. A small squadron of boats would deliver Prince Caedmon to shore. Upon his arrival, the trumpeters would herald his homecoming and everyone except King Austiere and Braedric would fall to one knee, heads bowed. Only after the prince had been greeted by his immediate family and given the kiss of welcome would the assembled party be asked to stand. Then everyone would make the long, slow trek back up the ridge to the castle. Rowena would submit to an unnecessary wardrobe change, after which her small garrison of foot soldiers would escort her to the Grand Hall for a huge feast, followed by a night of dancing and celebration. Blah, blah, blah…

  She couldn’t wait for this ludicrous charade to be over.

  Straightening the lace collar banding edge of her shoulders, she peered out to sea. The dark shadow standing near the railing was approached by the ship’s Captain. He swept the plumbed hat from his head, snapped to attention and his lips moved. And here we go. The boats would be lowered and Prince Caedmon would debark. But, to her amazement, the man grabbed the hoist rope and leapt onto the railing, spoke something over his shoulder and dove headfirst for the water.