The Golden Key Legacy
Page 1
The Golden Key Legacy
AJ NUEST
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © AJ Nuest 2015
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
AJ Nuest asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
By payment of the required fees, you have been granted
the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access
and read the text of this e-book on screen.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or
stored in or introduced into any information storage and
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whether electronic or mechanical, now known or
hereinafter invented, without the express
written permission of HarperCollins.
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Ebook Edition © November 2015 ISBN: 9780008170844
Version 2015-11-13
Praise for AJ Nuest
‘Incredibly tantalizing’
Love Reading Romance
‘This is a fantasy romance novel that should definitely be on your TBR list’
She Loves to Read
'A unforgettable, sweeping adventure of ambitious proportions'
Lucinda's Literary Ventures
'There is romance, kickass scenes and a hot prince, what more can you want from a fantasy series'
Comet Babes Books
'Captivating and alluring'
Kirstie's Passionate About Reading
Dedicated to all readers of fantasy romance who, like me, believe in happily ever after
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for AJ Nuest
Dedication
A Furious MuseChapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
The SacrificeChapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
A Wizard RisesChapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
A Time of ReckoningChapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Also by AJ Nuest …
AJ Nuest
About HarperImpulse
About the Publisher
A Furious Muse
Chapter 1
The low caress of a maniacal laugh raised the hair on her arms, and Faedrah paused in her flight up the stairs. Slamming her back to the wall, she searched in the dim light of the first landing above, swiveled her head and squinted into the murky shadows swallowing the steps below.
On which level did he linger? The evil laugh had echoed in from every direction.
“You cannot hide from me, Faedrah.” The rustle of black robes, the morbid stench of decay wafted in from the haunting depths and she sprinted up the staircase. “The flutter of your pulse gives you away.”
The sharp corners of the banister’s wooden dowel bit into her palm as she rounded the landing and dashed up the remaining five risers to the second floor. Where was the door? She glanced left then right, but the long corridor to either side stretched into obscurity. Only one choice out of many led to safety. Behind only one would she find her escape.
“Come, my sweet.” A fetid breath skimmed the nape of her neck and she skittered forward, whirling around. Reaching over both shoulders for her short swords, she bit back a roar of outrage as her hands clawed empty air. Goddesses’ tits, how many times had she forgotten? Her weapons did not accompany her into this realm.
Yet the stairwell remained vacant.
Her jaw firmed as she lowered her hands to her sides. And on how many occasions had she fallen prey to this wizard’s seductive ploy? He purposely kept her off balance, setting his evil whisperings upon her ear. If just once he would cease in his trickery, she would happily banish him back to the netherworld from whence he came.
“All I ask of you is the key.”
Rage trembled through her taut muscles and her nostrils flared. He lied. The key would merely be the first of his demands. “Never.”
His wistful sigh dallied about the high ceiling. “You are so like your mother.”
Her fingers curled in on themselves against a hot shard of despair. She was not like the White Queen of prophecy. No matter how hard she toiled, she would never be as strong or as beautiful.
A spin on her toe and she raced down the corridor on her left. Wicked shadows leapt from the baseboards, but she hurtled past the sinister phantoms and kept moving. She could not surrender. With Helios as her witness, she would never consent.
The golden key bounced against her chest. Her braid echoed the heavy rhythm down her back. Doors flew by, yet she sprinted on. Perchance this was the opportunity she could finally take to prove herself. She would reign victorious and attest to all in the realm she was worthy.
The myriad switchbacks muddled her sense of direction. Skidding to a stop, she retreated from a dead end. How long must she withstand the torture of this labyrinth? How many countless nights must her soul be splintered before she gained release from this hell?
Stopping before a door she’d not yet encountered, she twisted the knob and shouldered into the room. May the goddesses grant that, at long last, she’d found the right one.
Her eyes darted along the wooden walls and disappointment crashed down upon her shoulders. Hot tears of defeat stung her eyes.
No armoire. No mirror.
“You lose.”
A pair of obsidian eyes swarmed her vision. A jagged dagger plunged toward her chest, and Faedrah screamed…
Drawing a deep breath, Princess Faedrah Austiere fought to clear the disturbing nightmare from behind the pulsing canvas of her closed eyelids. The comforting pattern of the training mat’s woven reeds cushioned her bottom. Spine straight. Hands relaxed on her thighs. Knees bent and ankles crossed. She envisioned the terrifying images escaping the top of her head for the ceiling and slowly exhaled, easing the tension from her body. She had returned to the realm of the living, was in the sparring room awaiting Vaighn, and must focus if she intended to win out the day.
The door creaked open and she peeked through the dark fringe of her lashes as her elder cousin entered.
“Good morning, Poppet.”
His use o
f her childhood nickname made her jaw clench. His tousled locks and the disheveled slouch of his untucked shirt forced her lips into a sneer. “Been tossing the sheets with another courtier, have we? Who was the recipient of your bumbling affections this time?”
A lop-sided grin deepened the dimple in one of his scruffy cheeks. The merry twinkle in his amber gaze relayed she’d targeted the cause behind his late arrival. “No one you need concern yourself with.”
“Good.” She closed her eyes and feigned the continuance of her meditations whilst, in reality, she kept both ears sharply tuned to his motions about the room. Ruse or not, she would not fall victim to Vaighn’s casual demeanor. She’d done so before only to have her ass presented back to her on a platter.
A labored sigh lifted her chest, and her fingers involuntarily tightened on her knees. Vaighn’s reputation as a rogue plagued her more often than not, all thanks to her position in the realm and her father’s coddling eye. Though cousins by blood, most in the kingdom had branded them siblings, and the vast contrast of her untouchable purity to his scandalous escapades oft lay the sour taint of jealousy upon her heart.
Another peek as he bracketed his hands on the base of his spine, and a smile twitched her lips whilst he worked out the kinks in his back. Mayhap, this day, she could exploit his lack of restful slumber to her benefit. For once, his fatigue matched hers and she’d been presented the opportunity to trounce him sound and true…and, in the process, leave him no alternative but to advance her training to the Gantlet. A reward that, once accomplished, would serve both their goals.
Yet he would never concede unless she proved herself the more adept adversary. She tipped her head side to side, rolling the rigid set of her shoulders. To cheat and grant her sanction merely because they shared a familial bond went against everything he believed in. For all her impatience, it went against everything they both believed in…and would incite the wrath of her father in ways neither one of them were prepared to pay.
As a seasoned warrior ten years her elder, Vaighn was poised to succeed Denmar Emsworth as Captain of the Royal Guard. A position Vaighn had fought hard to attain since his father’s desertion and fateful disappearance, and one Denmar would not relinquish until Vaighn’s abilities as a mentor were proven through her skill.
Yet, if any heart in the realm understood the overwhelming pressure Vaighn bore to validate his worth, ʼtwas the one which beat in her chest.
A princess by birthright, her place within the kingdom had been plotted. The events of her life charted and coursed. As the single heir to the half-blood gypsy king and his prophesied white sorceress, Faedrah’s path to the throne was assured, though her doubts were many she’d ever be granted the undying adoration lauded upon her parents. Their achievements had simply set the bar too high, and her tedious ascension through the guard fell far short of their glorious salvation of every soul in the kingdom.
Even though her mother and father steadfastly professed she’d one day rule with benevolence and grace, she’d yet to gain the respect of the Council…not to mention the admiration of the realm.
The only opportunity for her to do as much was to earn her crest. If only she could prove to Vaighn she was ready…if she could follow her mother’s shining example and be only the second woman in Austiere history to gain entrance to the Gantlet then, at long last, she would have finally made a step in the right direction.
“Do you plan to deliberate your defense all morning or shall we get started?”
Hah! As if she were a first year recruit. “I was prepared for your assault the moment you entered the room.”
Faedrah blinked and stretched her arms forward, fingers linked and palms aimed toward the wall. Vaighn fisted the back of his shirt and whisked the collar over his head.
Releasing her hands, she scanned his bare torso as he tossed the clothing aside. Muscled and lean, his shoulders and chest bore the scars of his battle-worn talents. The chiseled planes of his stomach bespoke a life spent dedicated to training hard and playing harder.
Not that she found his physique the least bit appealing, especially in lieu of their familial ties and his unwavering aversion to any moral compass.
Several dark bruises marred the tanned skin of his throat, and she lifted a shrewd brow at the stark evidence of the latter. “Your latest conquest was a biter, I see.”
He chuckled and retrieved his sword, swiping the blade in a wide arc on either side of his hips. “Oh fair Lindeen. What she lacks in beauty, she offsets in enthusiasm.”
Faedrah huffed. And no doubt the poor girl would appear at her chamber door two days hence, begging Faedrah to deliver Vaighn a scented missive wrapped in a hankie…which he would decidedly ignore.
Pressing her palms to the floor, she uncurled the length of her body and pushed into a handstand. Her braid tumbled past her shoulders and hit the mat with a heavy plop. She closed her eyes and focused on centering her balance, all while presenting Vaighn the two short swords crossed at her back. “For far too many reasons than I care to count, I cannot wait to cram my boot up your—”
“Now, now, Poppet.” Reeds crinkled as he stepped onto the sparring mat. “Is that truly the proper way to address your superior?”
Sweet tits of the nine. If only today were the day she could teach him a lesson.
Wait for it…
The whisper of honed silver sliced the air a moment before she flipped to her feet. Utilizing her momentum, she sprang hands to heels away from him as he advanced, the tip of his sword slashing a scant mote from her body. A spin on her toe and she unsheathed her weapons.
Lunging forward, she crossed her blades overhead to arrest his attack. A twist of her wrists and his weapon was trapped, lodged between the edge of her sword and its long u-shaped quillon. A thrust of her boot against the wall of his chest and he stumbled back, hilt torn from his hand and blade careening to the mat with a dull chime.
“Very good.” He nodded, raking his ebony hair back from his brow.
“Not good enough, you mean.”
His eyes widened as she sprinted at him full force. A moment before they collided, she dropped to one knee and swept her leg in a wide semi-circle. His feet were wrenched from beneath him. A grunt burst from his chest as his back slammed the floor.
She grinned and rolled onto her shoulders, hands braced on either side of her head. As he struggled to his feet, she pinioned her heels against his ribcage, using the strength of her thighs to knock him askew. He stumbled sideways, but the distance allowed him to reclaim his sword.
Son of a whore!
Whirling around, she charged for the far wall. Three steps up and she flew back, body extended. Her braid whipped the air as she jabbed his defenses from above. Silver clashed and a dense vibration pulsed up the bones of her arm.
The impact threw her landing off balance. His fist shot out and pain exploded through her shoulder. Numbness tingled into her fingertips. The breath was thrust from her lungs as he drove the top of his head into the pit of her stomach.
Pounding his back and kicking her feet, she gritted her teeth as he hefted her onto his shoulder and carried her to the center of the mat. An oopf blurted from her lips as he deposited her on her ass with an unceremonious thump.
“Goddesses tits, Poppet. What deviltry has gotten into you today?” Hands braced on his knees, he panted and shook his head. “I think you may have cracked one of my ribs.” A wince squeezed his eyes tight as he straightened and pressed a palm to his side. He groaned.
Propping her elbows on her knees, Faedrah swallowed past the hard knot of defeat crowding the base of her throat. Whatever wounds she may have inflicted didn’t matter. She’d still lost. The error in her strategy had ensured as much the moment she raced for the wall. “I was not high enough, was I?” How many times had he warned her to estimate her ascent to the height of her opponent? And if not enough space to strike without risking injury, to alter the angle of her attack. “I should have never engaged you from overhead.”
Someone cleared their throat and she and Vaighn looked toward the doorway.
The queen stood resplendent in her gray leather warrior’s ensemble, cheeks rosy and a glint of humor sparkling in her emerald eyes, unbound hair sheeting past her shoulders like bolts of silver-spun silk. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto one hip. “If you two can spare a moment between maiming each other, your father and I are ready to break our fast.”
Faedrah frowned. Normally, the king and queen dallied about a morning ride before breakfast. Or rather, they dallied about whatever shameless activities they shared whilst hidden amongst the trees. This delay was rare occurrence, indeed. “Has something happened, M’ma?”
“Denmar and Fandorn have asked to join us this morning.” She smirked. “But don’t worry. I’m sure your father will insist we have our ride before the day is through.”
Vaighn chuckled at her veiled meaning, scratching at the unkempt bristle under his chin.
Faedrah grimaced and kicked the side of his ankle. “Please.”
Though it was well bandied about the castle the king and queen still enjoyed a torrid love affair an abundance of years into their marriage, she didn’t need the reminder. Certainly, amongst the entire kingdom, she was the only girl of twenty to have never been kissed. While most courtiers her age enjoyed a variety of dalliances, and the proposals for her hand in marriage still filtered in with the same profusion they had since her sixteenth season, her father had yet to entertain even one of the suitable candidates. Not even her mother’s insistence Faedrah was well into the age of eligibility swayed his decision.
No, he preferred her days be filled with swordplay, presiding over provincial disputes and the droning of the council in matters of state.