The Golden Key Chronicles

by AJ Nuest

  She swung the loaded bag onto her shoulder and spun for the door. Their chauvinistic mentality was ridiculous. For two years she’d struggled to meet some imaginary criteria just so she could breathe free air. Two years she’d bitten her tongue bloody and conformed to their rules. And what did she get for her troubles? What great prize had she earned? Sneaking out in the middle of the night like some shamefaced criminal. Slithering and creeping in order to gain something that should have been rightfully hers in first place.

  The hinges creaked as she pulled her chamber door ajar and peeked through the crack into her receiving room. Gertie sprawled on a padded chair before the dying fire, eyes closed, her breathing deep and even.

  Rowena’s shoulders fell. She couldn’t even say goodbye. She couldn’t share a hug, or kiss Gertie’s soft cheek in parting. Another tear tumbled past her lashes and she closed her eyes, shaking her head against the unfairness of it all.

  Dammit. Her leaving wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

  She stole across the room, footfalls silent, and approached the door to the hall. With one last fleeting glance at Gertie’s sleeping figure, she twisted the knob and slipped across the threshold.

  The four guards stationed outside her chamber door turned and frowned at her appearance. She quickly put a finger to her lips, asking for silence, and pointed down the corridor toward the stairs. Lowering to one knee, she clasped her hands beneath her chin in a show of supplication. Another swell of warm tears flooded her lashes. They only needed to give her head start, keep her disappearance quiet until sunrise. By then, the news of her escape would have come too late. She’d be nothing but a memory.

  Ulrich searched her face for several moments before glancing at the other guards. The whisper of the wall torches buffered her ears as a wordless nod passed between her four brothers. He gripped her upper arms and lifted her to her feet. A quirk of his lips and he jerked his head in the direction of the stairs.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed and pulled him into her arms for a tight squeeze.

  She thumped a solid fist to the chest plates of the remaining three men before walking away backward, covering her white hair with the hood of her cloak and tugging the gray material around her shoulders. She must be a ghost, hide in the shadows if her plan was to work. With a final tender smile to her comrades in arms, she whirled and flew toward her first moment of freedom.

  Her escape from the castle had been meticulously plotted, as had her route once she breached the outer walls. Based on the map she’d pilfered from Denmar’s chambers, several small towns awaited a few leagues to the south. There, she could barter one or two of her weapons in exchange for additional supplies before making the long journey to the southern-most shore. Once in the large port city of Albion, passage aboard a ship could take her to any number of distant lands.

  The months she’d spent exploring each nook and cranny, memorizing the castle’s myriad labyrinths of switchbacks and hidden doorways, served her well. Sticking to alcoves, biding her time, she breathed slow and steady, checking each passageway as she scurried down flight after flight to the castle’s lower levels. She needed to get below ground, past the dungeon and Fandorn’s workshop. With a little luck, his door would be closed. She could sneak along the corridor with no fuss and gain entrance to the secret tunnel which led to the stables.

  The moment the sole of her boot descended the last riser, she clapped a hand over her mouth and pinched her nostrils together. Sweet tits of the nine, what was Fandorn concocting inside his laboratory? The pungent stench of burnt—Helios save her, what was that?—oily metal and rancid fish guts made her eyes water. Coupled with the acrid tang of body odor and excrement from the dungeons, she had to turn her face to fill her lungs.

  Holding her breath, she crept toward Fandorn’s open door. Dammit. Hopefully, whatever potion accompanied that vile aroma would keep him occupied as she flitted past.

  “What are you saying? Her memories are directly linked to the key?”

  She froze, her chest tightening with alarm at the deep timbre of Prince Caedmon’s voice. Shit. Why did the man always have to be in her way?

  “I cannot state for certain. However, if you are as desperate as you say, ’twould seem to me returning Lady Rowena the key would, at the least, grant you a small measure of her gratitude and, at best, restore her memories.”

  Rowena struggled to keep a tight hold on her breath as her thoughts scattered in several directions at once. Could it be true? Fandorn suspected her memories were tied to the key?

  A pounding ache burrowed deep into her temples as she searched the dim recesses of her memories. The first visual she could recall was standing in Prince Caedmon’s bedchamber, a group of armed guards pushing him backward through the door. His chest was bare, his muscles straining. And around his neck, hung a thick gold key. Of course. Fandorn once told her she had brought it with her through the veil. When she arrived, she must have given it to Caedmon, and that’s when her memories had disappeared.

  If she could somehow get her hands on it, maybe she could finally get her life back.

  Glass bottles clinked and rattled, Fandorn no doubt searching his many shelves for whatever noxious ingredient he sought next. “Yet you must use sound judgment, my boy. Breaching Seviere’s inner sanctum may secure you nothing other than another lengthy interment. Or, worse yet, a short trip to the executioner’s block.”

  “I’ve stolen everything from her, Fandorn. Everything. I cannot now beg her forgiveness without offering some proof of my devotion. Returning her the key, presenting her the possibility of restoring her memories is the only chance I stand at regaining her affections.”

  Like hell. Rowena rolled her eyes, suppressing the instinct to snort. Even after admitting his guilt, the man still schemed to get on her good side, toy with her emotions for his benefit. She shook her head. As if his earlier display of intimidation could ever be dismissed. He’d made his opinion perfectly clear regarding the subject of her knowing her place. If he thought offering her the key would get her to lower her defenses or help talk her into some ridiculous engagement, he’d better think again.

  Besides, owing a royal prince such a profound debt would merely ingratiate her to his advances, and she wasn’t about to let that happen.

  In typical, narrow-minded fashion of all the other men in this place, he wouldn’t even consider discussing the key with her, what steps might be taken to ensure its safe return or if that was even what she wanted. Oh no. He would charge off half-cocked, expecting her to be waiting at home like a good little princess, dress unsullied and not a hair out of place.

  Well, too bad. If any measures were to be taken to get her memories back, she was the one who would take them. Not him. Never him.

  A loud whoosh punched the air and, moments later, eerie green tendrils of smoke slithered through Fandorn’s open door and crawled toward the rounded stone ceiling. Her muscles bunched in preparation to sprint. This might be her only chance.

  Choking coughs and wheezing followed, growing louder as hurried footsteps neared the hall. As if springs were embedded in her feet, she dashed down the corridor to the dead end, grabbed the nearest torch from its bracket and twisted the metal stand to the left. The grating rasp of stone against stone reverberated deep into her bones. She shouldered through the narrow slice of black and shoved her palm against the metal plate just inside the passageway. The door immediately reversed and ground to a close behind her.

  She bolted into the dark, ignoring the spider webs tickling her face. When a heavy boulder blocked her path, she leapt it and kept running, holding the torch high to light her way. Her ultimate destination had been made clear and, by all the goddesses in paradise, no obstacle, man or beast would stop her from achieving her goal.

  Several slivers of dim light danced before her eyes in the distance and she slowed, panting, as she arrived at the wooden door which opened to a wide field behind the stables. She dropped the torch and kicked some dirt over the
end to extinguish the flame. Shoulders hunched, knees bent, she stole through the low opening in the castle wall and snuck through the tall grass toward the stable’s back entrance. A quick peek over the wooden half-door and all appeared quiet; the candles were snuffed and the stalls dark. She eased the hinges open, holding the handle to guide the door closed behind her, and inched toward Belial’s stall.

  The stallion nuzzled her shoulder as she fitted his bridle. The long dark fringe surrounding his pale blue eyes blinked at her as she seated and cinched the saddle. Yet, as if he understood her need for secrecy, the horse made not a sound.

  The soft thud of his hoof beats tamped the earth as she led him from his stall and into the vast panorama of the starry sky. Selene shone full and bright against her indigo milieu, and Rowena couldn’t help but think it was as if the moon goddess herself smiled a blessing down upon their departure.

  She mounted the saddle and Belial danced to the side, anxious to sprint for the dark border of the forest. Tightening her grip on the reins, she wheeled him around to face the castle proper. Everything she knew was contained within those stone walls, and the aching sorrow building in her chest cast her heart into shadow. She’d never envisioned her last glimpse of the structure as such a clandestine affair.

  Amid fanfare and banners flying, she’d imagined leading Belial into the courtyard, the whimsical dance of strewn petals riding the breeze to tangle in her hair. Denmar’s hearty congratulations would’ve been offered in the form of a hard thump on her back. From his spot beside the king, Fandorn’s farewell would have lingered in one of his secret smiles, the one tinged with fatherly pride he reserved just for her. Perhaps even King Austiere would have conceded she’d finally done something right.

  But none of that mattered now. Not with her muscles weary from shouldering her biggest disappointment of all. She’d wanted to show them, become a living testament to each person in the realm that a woman was every bit as significant as a man. She’d hoped by demonstrating her resilience she could lead by example, prove to all the young maidens they didn’t have to live within some restrictive, patronizing set of rules. If they stood up for themselves, they could be autonomous, be seen as powerful and respected.

  Her jaw tightened with determination. No. She wouldn’t disappear into the ether.

  For the time being…for this moment, she’d been robbed of everything she’d toiled to accomplish, but that was not where things ended. Not if she had anything to say about it.

  Her eyes narrowed and she turned Belial back toward the trees. Let them breathe easy. Let them believe the Sorceress was no longer their problem to solve. She would be back, her memories in tow, and then she would show them once and for all exactly how strong a woman could be.

  With a glance toward the shadow of falcon wings etched perfectly across Selene’s glowing white face, Rowena hunched over her stallion’s neck and spurred him north for the realm of Seviere.

  Caedmon’s Curse

  Book III, The Golden Key Chronicles

  Chapter One

  Rowena sprang to her feet. Someone was coming. And based on the thundering hoof beats and thrashing branches tearing through the forest behind her, whoever it was cared little for masking their approach.

  Dammit. All night and late into the next evening she’d ridden as if the devil himself had pursued her. She’d purposely stayed off the roads, traveling the old tracks instead, and even stopped several times to set false trails. Not until Helios approached the western horizon and she’d discovered this small clearing inside a copse of thick evergreens had she happily made camp. Her body ached with exhaustion, but her fatigue was a small price in return for the confidence that she’d finally put enough distance between her and the realm of Austiere. Surrounded on all sides by dense trees, the hidden location ensured the smoke from her fire would remain concealed. No one would be able to get close without providing plenty of warning.

  The dull pummel of incoming hooves increased and she gritted her teeth, kicked some dirt over her small well-made fire and rushed for the nearest fir. A flick of her hand and Dart took wing, disappearing into the forest just above where she’d wicketed Belial. Whoever was coming had better have their affairs in order. They were about to be on a first-name basis with the nine.

  The bark prickled and dug into her palms as she swung hands to feet up the branches, ascending to mid-tree height before she crouched on a sturdy branch on the balls of her feet.

  Exhibiting all the grace of an enraged bull, a hooded rider crashed into her camp. The horse’s dancing halt disrupted her bedroll, flinging dirt all over her plated dinner. Jerk. The intruder had to be male, what with this presumed sense of entitlement, thinking nothing of ruining her perfectly arranged camp and soiling her property. She eased two sliver blades from the sides of her leather pants and fisted the slender handles in her grip.

  Hello, stranger. Care to dance?

  In a fluid movement which contradicted his initial appearance, the rider leapt off his horse and knelt before her sputtering fire. The sides of his cloak billowed past his shoulders. Thick muscle pulled his leather pants taut around his thighs. And those arms…the black vambraces…the leather cords encircling his biceps.

  She slumped. Well, for the sweet love of Helios. Exactly how far did she have to travel to get away from the man?

  Prince Caedmon pinched a bit of ash between his thumb and first two fingers, rubbed them together and lifted them to his nose. Rowena squinted past the branches as he rounded the fire and approached her saddlebags. He squatted to rifle through the contents, his back facing her, his hood hiding his profile from view. She scowled. Most likely, his intent was to drag her kicking and screaming back to the castle. But she wasn’t about to sit idly by while he got his grubby mitts all over her supplies.

  She sheathed her blades and swung silently to the ground. Motions steady and even, carefully shifting her weight, she reclaimed her knives as she side-stepped twigs and piles of dusty leaves. For all her caution, her concerns were unwarranted. The big ox was so preoccupied with searching her belongings, she could’ve easily stomped all over the place without distracting him.

  A soundless bounce on the tips of her boots and she pounced, knees straddling his wide back, crossed blades pressed along the thin skin under his jaw. “I’m officially pissed off,” she hissed in his ear. “And if you plan to see tomorrow, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

  The next instant she was flying backward through the air. Her teeth clattered on impact and her blades scattered as she landed on her rump in the dirt. She shook her head to regain her bearings. How in the hell had he dislodged her so fast? And which hurt worse? Her bruised ass or her pride? She quickly scrambled to her feet.

  Tendons flexed and every muscle in his arms bulged as Prince Caedmon tore the cloak off his shoulders and chucked the garment aside. A silver chime hummed through the air as he unsheathed his sword from the scabbard at his back and fisted the hilt at his side. Anger smoldered in the depths of his chocolate-brown eyes, but if that fierce glare was meant to make her shriek and scamper into the woods, the man and his stubborn male pride had another think coming.

  She notched up her chin and met him scowl for scowl. Not for one second would she let him intimidate her. No constructs governed the ways of the forest. Out here, survival was the only decree, and if risking injury was the price for her freedom, she was happy to end this test of wills come what may.

  “It’s time you learned a thing or two, my love.”

  Ha! Could he be any more condescending? On a click and whirr, her wrist blades snapped home and she hugged her chest, widening her legs into her warrior’s stance. “Too bad Denmar’s not here to save your ass. It’s high time we settled our differences once and for all.”

  Leaves scattered as he strode forward, his turbulent approach devoid the elegant fighting prowess he’d exhibited in the Gantlet. A guttural roar bellowed from his chest as he swung his sword high and then lunged. She parried his thrust, wr
ist blades crossed overhead to arrest the sharp edge of his sword from invading her rib cage.

  Penetrating vibrations pulsed down the bones of her arms from the force of his blow, and she bowed under his press of her weaker left side. Shit. The man was an oaf but, dammit, he was strong. Her shoulders creaked under his weight. Her thighs trembled from the strain. She whirled to evade the ever-increasing pressure, gain some distance and give her muscles a chance to regroup, but his hand seized her hip and he easily hauled her close. Half-lifting, half-dragging her, he marched forward until her spine slammed the trunk of a tree.

  Pinned. In less than two moves he’d overpowered her with sheer size and strength alone. How could she have been so stupid? She’d made a horrible mistake in letting him get so close.

  “How soon you forget,” he whispered, his face inches from hers. Determination sparked in his eyes, reinforcing the intensity of his low warning. “We’ve contested before, my love. You favor your left side.”

  Without forewarning, he withdrew. The evening air rushed in to cool the same spot on her cheek his breath had warmed only moments before. He aimed the tip of his sword at the ground where their battle had commenced and backed away. “Again.”

  He sheathed his sword, spun and crouched near her saddlebags.

  She blinked. Wait…what? Her brows slammed down in confusion. “Again,” as if this was all just a game? As if the outcome of their fight—and her future—was merely his opportunity for a “teaching moment?”

  Her shock evaporated and a thousand tiny needles of irritation bristled over her skin. Narrowing her eyes, she pushed up from the tree, but she didn’t resume her previous location. He’d just made a dire mistake. Offering his back to her a second time had sealed his doom.