by AJ Nuest
“Tell us, Sorceress, what devious plot came of your visit with King Seviere?” Braedric turned with his goblet in hand, a pleasant smile in place. “Or perchance your plans were of a darker nature. Mayhap the counsel of Wizard Gaelleod is the one you sought?”
Above the continuous scribbling of the chronicler, Rowena locked eyes with Caedmon. Two high red spots dappled her cheeks. Realization slammed into Caedmon’s mind and his jaw snapped shut with a clack. Braedric had just named her a deserter to the throne, documenting her place in history for all eternity.
The king’s eyelashes fluttered and she quickly returned to his father’s bedside as he rasped a series of desperate coughs. A prayer of blessed gratitude swelled in Caedmon’s chest. Thank the nine, the rightful king still lived. He stepped forward to pay his allegiance and despondency nipped at the heels of his relief, chasing it into the days of his youth.
Red droplets speckled his father’s lips. Precisely like his mother.
The wet lung sickness.
Caedmon gritted his teeth against a wail of despair. But whereas Isadora had toiled under its fatal grip for an entire season, his father had succumbed in a matter of days. How could this be?
Mayhap the king’s age played a factor—Caedmon peeked askance at his brother’s serene smile—or the unfettered suspicions fueled by the sedition of his father’s only pure blood heir, the whispered lies set upon the king’s ear that his bastard son had joined forces with the enemy.
Hatred sang pure and swift through his veins and Caedmon whirled toward his brother. “Only one traitor in this chamber defiles the king with his presence.”
Braedric’s brown eyes glittered with disturbing malevolence and Caedmon’s palm dampened around the hilt of his sword. “You’d best rethink your allegations, brother. You address your future king.”
“I have not yet departed this realm, Braedric.” King Austiere sipped from the glass Rowena tipped to his mouth, his trembling hand clasping hers. A pink cloud issued from his lips, blooming in the water like a fragile flower. He pushed the glass away as another retching fit wracked his shoulders.
“Do not trouble yourself with the heinous transgressions of this treasonous leech, father.” Braedric strolled to a spot directly before Caedmon, obstructing his view of the king. “Rest easy in your bed. You may trust Caedmon’s punishment to me.”
“You seem quite eager to set aflame the funeral pyre of my ascension.” His father collapsed back to his pillows and the parchments strewn across his fur-trimmed coverlet fluttered at the disruption. “I’ve signed no order. The crown does not yet rest upon your brow. And until my last breath leaves this chest, I shall rule this kingdom with an iron fist and judge what is best to safeguard her subjects!”
Another bout of soupy coughs overtook the king and he pressed a lace-trimmed cloth to his lips. A tear tumbled onto Rowena’s cheek and she briskly swept it aside with the tips of her fingers. She tugged the blankets and settled them higher upon his father’s frail chest.
“And get that bleeding corpse out of my chambers!”
Fandorn flicked his hand at the remaining hashishan and, a moment later, the chamber door clicked into the latch at Caedmon’s back, though he spared not one glance over his shoulder. The cunning gleam of triumph in Braedric’s gaze held his entire focus, the swirl of depravity hidden beneath his brother’s outwardly congenial mask.
“Caedmon, come here, my son.”
He broke from Braedric’s stare and approached the bedside, lowered to one knee and clasped his father’s hand. The skin was hot to the touch, and a cruel tremor suffused the king’s fingers.
“Where have you been, my boy?” The king’s watery brown gaze searched his face. “Is it true what the rumors say? Braedric’s hashishans reported you’d ridden for the realm of Seviere. Why, my son? Speak quickly now and with sincerity. I’ve not much time.”
Unbearable grief arose within him, stilling his tongue. Caedmon blinked past his tears, shaking his head. That his father had been tormented with the worst possible doubts regarding his character rent his heart into pieces. And yet, the reports were true. He’d left the castle without forewarning and ridden straight for the enemy. So, where did he begin? What manner of words could he utter to calm his father’s worries and ease his troubled leave-taking of this plane?
Rowena knelt beside him and her hand met his back. She reached inside her chest plate and, with her thumb and index finger, withdrew the golden key from between her breasts. “We’ve been to the future, my king.”
A slight inhalation lifted Fandorn’s shoulders and he stuttered forward several steps.
“You lie!” The underside of Braedric’s cape snagged along the rough floor as he quickly advanced. “If such a thing occurred, we would have known. We would have been given a sign. Believe not one word she speaks, father. Each syllable that falls from her tongue is like a poisonous plague through my veins.”
A musical tapping snared Caedmon’s attention as the chronicler dabbed the ink from his quill. His monotonous scratching resumed.
She poisoned the king’s eldest son when he rebelled against her …
The words whispered across the backdrop of Caedmon’s mind and he clenched his jaw. “The chamber which contains the chest was shuttered under Gaelleod’s evil spell.” He locked onto his brother, searching for any glimmer of recognition, any hint of subterfuge to verify his claims. “The same chest whence once retained safe harbor inside Castle Austiere…and through which Sorceress Rowena entered this realm.”
The king scowled. “What are you saying, my boy?”
“A blinding light by which the future will be illuminated.” Fandorn came forward another tentative step. “It is her, is it not? Sorceress Rowena is the future.” He paled. “And the armoire is the chest. Of course. Helios wept, how could I have been so shortsighted?”
“That’s absurd!” Flushed fury reddened Braedric’s cheeks. He flung his cup aside and wine splattered across the floor. “The armoire refused to open.”
“And you would know of this, how?” Caedmon pushed to his feet. The dishonesty ended here. Now. No more lies. No more fear. No more deferring to his brother simply because of the blood that coursed through his veins. “Tell us, Braedric. What did Seviere promise you in exchange for delivering him the armoire? What could he have possibly bartered in trade for a kingdom which was already rightfully yours?”
A brittle edge formed along Braedric’s jaw as he gnashed his teeth. “You fool. You ridiculous half-blood fool.” His focus danced to the other faces in the room. “Do you not see? Do all of you not see how she has turned you against me? I was to be named Rescinder. By all rights, the armoire was mine. And yet she chose a smelly gypsy as her champion. Someone unworthy to wipe the sweat from my brow. On her word alone, my birthright was cast aside and you all deferred to her will. The bastard prince and his white witch. The sum of you left me no choice. She has no power, father. She is a lecherous blight. And I shall not stand idly by while the two of you destroy everything whence was promised me. I will not be ignored in favor of some common trollop and her monotonous, two-bit lover!”
Caedmon squinted at his brother. What deceptions had Braedric been told? What ignoble lies? For how long had Seviere whispered such fraudulent words in his ear? “You have been deceived, Braedric. Rowena is the key. She’s the very foundation upon which our—”
The door flew open and a hashishan stormed into the room. “My liege.” He fell to one knee at Braedric’s feet. “Seviere’s army advances. Their forces number at least ten thousand strong.”
The hint of a smile twitched the corner of Braedric’s lips. He closed his eyes, filled his lungs and faced their father. “She brought them here.”
The loopy scrawl of the chronicler’s quill persisted, and Caedmon’s stomach sank even as the truth of his brother’s accusation rang in his ear. Seviere followed her, yes, but she hadn’t led the charge. “You are twisting the facts to suit your needs. Seviere comes in search
of the key.”
“Here is your proof , father.” The reigning prince opened his hand toward Rowena. “Seviere follows in her wake even as Caedmon stands before you professing her innocence. You must know we cannot defend against such an advance. Seviere’s legions outnumber ours five to one. We must join with the enemy, unite the realms. If we are to protect our people, we must submit to Seviere and relinquish the throne.”
Contempt for his brother surged bitter and hot up the lining of Caedmon’s throat. And yet, at last, he finally understood.
Braedric’s jealousy had driven him into the arms of the enemy. From the moment he’d lost the title as Rescinder, he’d conspired to join their nation with Seviere. This march on their kingdom had been planned. Braedric would yield to Seviere’s army, offering up their kingdom as recompense. And to what end? To secure himself a seat of honor? Steal back his place in history and be revered as the savior of his realm?
How many lives would be destroyed as the outcome? What unending sacrifices must be wrenched from their people to justify Braedric’s avaricious need? Their kingdom would be lost to obscurity, overthrown and forgotten. Her subjects would be beaten and enslaved. And to fulfill what cause?
The indignant, self-righteous appeasement of her ill-appointed leader.
Caedmon dropped his gaze to Rowena, kneeling at his side, the light of her undying love sparkling like an emerald fire in her gaze. With his next breath, the dim shadows of doubt receded and, for the first time, he was granted a vision himself through her eyes—strong, steadfast, a man bound to his country…
A king.
He cupped her cheek in his palm and she covered his hand within the gentle comfort of hers. She’d been right all along. The Austiere Kingdom did not belong to Braedric. It never had. How could it when she’d presented the sum of its future to Caedmon the moment she’d appeared in his life?
He lifted his chin and met his father’s feeble gaze, fraught with fear, desperation. The last, grief-stricken hopes of a dying king. “I will not…I cannot allow our kingdom to be deposed, father. As Helios as my witness, you have my solemn vow. I shall fight for Austiere freedom until the last beat of my heart thunders on.”
“As will I.” Rowena stood at his side.
The king rasped a weak breath, glancing between them. He reached for a yellowed parchment near his leg and Fandorn snapped his fingers, calling the chronicler’s attention.
The man sprang from his chair and rushed for their king, a quill, inkwell and the royal seal in hand. He dipped the stained tip in ink and placed the feather between the king’s trembling fingers.
“Father, I beg you.” Braedric raked a hand through is dark hair. “Think of your subjects.”
“They are always foremost in my mind.” King Austiere penned his signature along the bottom of the parchment and pushed it aside. “Self-sacrifice, duty, justice…” He wheezed and sputtered, gasping for air. “These are the qualities that make a king. Yet be still, Braedric. Grant me peace in this moment of my death.”
The strength left Caedmon’s legs and he collapsed to his knees, gathering his father’s limp hand in both of his. The chambers of his heart constricted. Grief became a living, breathing entity in his chest.
“The crown passes to Caedmon. Such is my final decree…” The king’s lashes fluttered, his fingers momentarily clenched Caedmon’s hand. “Rule well and with a mighty heart, my son.”
He stiffened, the coverlet pulling taut across his body, and went limp. His chest descended as the last dying breath spilled from his lips.
“My heart cries out in mourning,” Fandorn whispered. “The king is dead.”
Caedmon squeezed his eyes closed, his tears falling warm down his cheeks as he pressed a fierce kiss to the back of his father’s hand. Alas, alas his king was dead. May the goddesses guide you safely to paradise, father.
“He loved you more.” Braedric stumbled back several paces, shaking his head. “I did everything he asked of me and he loved you more.”
“Brother, please.” Caedmon untangled his fingers and stood, placing his father’s palm on his still form. Could they not have one moment’s respite to contemplate their misery? Could not the impending tide of their differences be set aside to mourn the loss of their king?
Braedric whirled away from the bed, both fists pressed to his temples. His head fell back on his shoulders and his maniacal cackle rebounded in the chamber like the tolling of the Apex bell. “Honor? Justice? Rich words issued from a king whom felt compelled to dispense neither.”
“Enough!” Caedmon roared and Rowena flinched beside him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her near. His anger lay not with her. “You will speak of our father with respect or remove yourself from these chambers.”
Braedric turned with a sneer. “So sayeth the king.” He backed toward the door, his eyes narrowed. “Then remove myself, I shall. Yet bide my words well. You cannot win. You rule a kingdom with no army. Your loyal guard belongs to me.” He spun toward the threshold and hesitated. “I shall meet you on the battlefield, brother, where I shall bestow your duty on the steel of my blade.”
He strode forward and disappeared.
Caedmon stared at the empty doorway. A moment passed before he internally cursed. For all his bluster, Braedric did not exaggerate. The odds were decidedly grim. His hashishans would assuredly follow as he marched to join Seviere. Ten thousand strong or more. A vast army the likes of which his country had never seen.
Yet all was not lost. His arm instinctively tightened around Rowena’s shoulders. Not as long as his love was kept well and safely outside Castle Seviere.
He expelled a breath of regret, lifting a brow at Fandorn. “Go and search out Denmar. We unleash the hounds of war.”
Chapter Seven
“You were escorted here by a legion of what?” Denmar snapped upright from his hunch over the tattered map stretched across the long wooden table in the armory. His thighs bumped the edge and several war figurines toppled over.
Rowena bit her lip against a smile, plucked a knight off the map and placed him back on his feet. Though the captain’s shock was expected, out of respect for Reddeck, she couldn’t dismiss the Dreggs’ vow of loyalty, or the advantage they would bring to the fight. “Dreggs.”
Denmar shifted the full weight of his steely blue inspection to Caedmon. “And you approved of this, my bo—Sire?”
One of Caedmon’s brows shot up and he tipped his head to the side, crossing his arms.
Rowena lowered her chin to muffle a chuckle. The silent communication passing between the two men rang out loud and clear in the room. No use in disagreeing with her unless they were itching for a fight. Approval or not, she would do what she wanted.
A huff of concurrence blurted from Denmar’s lips. “Aye, she is a stubborn lass when it so pleases her. A noble quality in a queen.”
Her head spun at the idea. In less than a week, she’d gone from warrior, to fugitive, to wife, to sorceress, and now a queen. Rowena rolled her eyes. And things in her world supposedly moved fast.
He refocused on her. “Can they be trusted?”
“I think so, yes.” She glanced over her shoulder as the door creaked open behind them and Eibel entered. “Regardless, we have no choice. According to their leader, a band of rogue Dreggs have also joined forces with Braedric. I have no idea how many they number and I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“My liege.” Chain mail jangled against the floor as Eibel dropped to one knee at Caedmon’s feet, his head bowed. “The guard is returning as ordered. Yet some travel a distance of three days, Sire. At last count, our numbers were still greatly diminished. I fear most may not arrive before we march to war.”
An impatient sigh heaved Caedmon’s chest and he shook his head, though Rowena doubted his frustration was with the royal guard. Their brothers had been given a choice—either unite with Braedric’s hashishans or disband. Most of them had opted to return to their families, forgotten soldiers
…retired and disowned, rather than fight for a king they couldn’t trust and would never respect. She couldn’t imagine the disillusionment that weighed heavy on their shoulders as they departed the castle, the only home most of them had ever known. Neither she nor Caedmon blamed them for their choice. Those men had dedicated their lives to protecting this kingdom.
“On your feet, Eibel.” Caedmon clasped the guard’s shoulders and lifted him to standing, meeting Eibel’s gaze, eye for eye. “Do you recall the time you smeared horse dung inside my chest plate? ‘Twas before my first run of the Gantlet, do you remember?”
Eibel paled. “I most deeply regret— ”
Armor rattled as Caedmon shook his friend’s shoulders. “We’ve been sparring since the day I enlisted in the guard, man. I no more expect you to kneel in my presence than I require the persistent coddling of the servants.” He withdrew a step and offered Eibel his sword arm. “Now take my hand and let us stand united against our enemies, brother to brother, riding shoulder to arms, so we may rage against all those who oppose us and greet them in battle upon the mighty steel of an Austiere sword.”
Eibel searched Cademon’s face a moment before he grinned and seized Caedmon’s forearm in a hearty handshake, the two of them pounding one another’s backs as they quickly embraced.
Rowena blinked away a sheen of grateful tears as she lowered her focus to the floor. The adjustment to their newly appointed roles had been just as difficult for Caedmon, if not more. Especially after coming so swiftly on the heels of his father’s death, not to mention his brother’s desertion.