by K.N. Lee
Rowen laughed nervously and used her hands to steady him. “I don’t, my love. But, soon, I will.”
Ignoring her, Prince Lawson parted her legs and gave her a wink. “Come now, darling. Let’s have some fun. We should celebrate our love.”
Something stirred within her belly, warming her from the inside out. It was shocking, almost making her cry out.
Time seemed to stand still. The drapes that had been flapping with the morning breeze at the windows behind them froze in midair. A whisper swept through the room, vexing her. She couldn’t make out what it said, but it was clear that the prince hadn’t heard it. He stared at her, and in an instant, the color drained from his face as Rowen lifted her other hand and touched his cheek.
It was purely instinctual, and satisfying.
The warmth she’d felt was replaced with a cold so bitter that it reminded her of the feel of the pond water just before winter transformed it into ice.
All emotion drained from the prince’s face and he was left slack-jawed, staring at her with empty eyes.
“Prince Lawson? Are you okay?”
He didn’t reply. He simply stared at her, as if in a trance.
The whisper filled her eyes again, and she struggled to make out what it said.
Rowen spoke calmly and clearly. “Let go of my wrist.”
The prince snatched his hand away as if it were on fire. Still, she cupped his cheek and held his gaze.
Licking her lips, Rowen thought of what she should say. What she should do? This power was fleeting and she hadn’t learned to master it yet.
“You will let me go. And, you will tell your father of our plans for marriage tonight.”
Lawson nodded. “I will let you go. I will tell my father of our plans for marriage. Tonight.”
“Holy light and fire,” Rowen whispered.
Rowen let go of him and took a step back, stunned by what just happened. Her power was getting stronger.
The blood rushed back to her body, and the whispers faded into her head. Fear flooded her mind once more, as she waited for the prince to realize what had happened and to punish her for it.
Once released, Prince Lawson didn’t seem to have any recollection of what just happened. He turned away from Rowen without another word and sat at his desk to return to whatever work he’d been doing prior to her arrival.
“You better get to Macana before you’re late. I’ll see you at the feast.”
Rowen swallowed and nodded. Heart racing, mind frantic with ideas, she hurried to leave his room. She closed the door behind her and exhaled.
Outside in the hallway, she was left feeling dirty, and afraid. She didn’t like where Lawson had tried to take their relationship. It could have sullied his desire to commit to her.
But, greater still, magic was forbidden.
Outlawed.
She bit her bottom lip and sucked in a worrisome breath.
She’d just bewitched someone… a prince. The punishment for that was certain death.
Rowen hurried to finish her errand, but the fact remained. She was stacking up enough broken laws to die several deaths.
Chapter 9
TWO BLOODY DAYS. That’s how long Elian had been waiting for a competent scribe to show up.
Siddhe, for all her other talents, was frankly useless when it came to figuring out if an applicant was truly qualified. To be fair, Elian conceded that her failure was probably due to the fact she was a mermaid and had never learned nor had any use for reading or writing.
The third day in port found him twitchy and anxious to hire the next dunderhead that walked into his cabin and weigh anchor. The Wandering Star was never meant to bob dumbly on the water, safely tied up in dock. She was at her best slicing the waves with her hull while her sails fought to harness the wind. She was meant for action, just like him.
Still, when Siddhe warily poked her head into his cabin and announced there was a youth there to apply for the position of scribe, Elian curbed his restless energy and allowed him in.
The young man entered, giving Siddhe as wide a berth as possible while passing her in the doorway. He was tall and well-built, but not bulky, which was good. Men who were top-heavy from brawn or belly had worse balance on a rolling ship. The youth’s movements were strong but relaxed. Dark hair and eyes, and thank the gods no freckles or spots like Cook. The bronze color of his skin looked like the effect of the sun rather than parentage. That was good as well, for anyone who lived on a ship needed skin that could withstand sun and wind, turning brown and tough instead of red and brittle.
Elian waited until the young man had come to stand before him, hands respectfully clasped behind his back. The sound of ticking from his pocket watch filled the silence of the room.
Time. It was the one treasure he could not steal.
Yet.
“Your name,” he finally ordered after waiting just long enough for the other man to shift his weight in the first signal of nervousness.
“Gavin of Bristan, sir.” There was a slight hesitation in his voice.
“No surname?”
“None given to serfs, sir.”
Elian nodded once in acknowledgement. “How’d you get from serf to scribe?”
“My mam and pap saw that I had my head in the clouds more than hands on the plow. The priest found I could remember and recite the holy texts after hearing them just once. Since I was a lazy good-for-nothing around the farm, my mam and pap agreed to let the priest sponsor me to the temple school. Ten years of nose-to-parchment, another two apprenticing for a right bastard, three as a broke journeyman under a foxed master, and here I finally am. Free to choose my fate with my master scribe seal and nothing to lose.”
Elian leaned back in his chair. The youth’s bold words and cocky grin set his teeth on edge. It was like being with a chatty version of Siddhe. He wasn’t sure if he could handle two of them. The ship rolled to the left, reminding him she was getting impatient to be off. Beggars, it appeared, couldn’t be choosers.
“You’re aware that I’m no… ah… commercial merchant?” he asked.
Gavin’s grin flashed white against his sun-dark skin. “Knew it the moment I set eyes on the mermaid. But, I still walked in your door, didn’t I?”
“You might still walk out with my boot up your arse, boy.”
“Then, you’d be kicking out the best damn memory transcriber you ever crossed paths with.”
“The best, eh?”
“Aye, sir. The very best.”
“Prove it.”
Gavin’s grin slipped to a smile, and then a frown as he concentrated. Elian realized what he was doing and closed his eyes as well, summoning up the memory of a complex sales negotiation he had done two weeks prior regarding a cargo of spices that he had taken off some Harrovian merchant vessels.
He counted five heartbeats after the memory had played out fully, then opened his eyes.
Gavin was back to grinning.
“Fifty-one sacks of cedamom bark sold at thirty-two pence per pound, with each sack weighing ten pounds, give or take two ounces. Three barrels of pepperwine, aged ten years, sold at ninety pence per chalice, with each chalice equaling exactly one-third of a Harrovian commercial pitcher. Six sacks of margithyne sold at twenty-one pence per ounce, with each sack weighing two pounds, give or take one ounce. Payment terms are half upon acceptance of price terms and half upon delivery.”
Elian’s lower lip twitched. He couldn’t help being slightly impressed. The young man didn’t even wait for any reaction before continuing.
“I’ve got all the histories of all the kingdoms, tribes, and races. I read and write in seven languages – but, don’t let that dissuade you if it’s not enough. I’m teaching myself another two right now in my spare time, which, incidentally, I hope to have less of once you hire me. I’m rune-coder, bookkeeper, and draftsman.”
He apparently ran out of things to say after that, and Elian began to teach him the language of silence.
&nbs
p; “You talk a lot,” Elian remarked finally. “The last man who had this job talked a lot, too. In fact, couldn’t keep his trap shut.”
“Don’t worry about me, sir,” Gavin said earnestly. “I’m no fool. I know when words need to be used and when they should be kept secret.”
“Let us hope so.” Elian sighed and shook his head. “Otherwise, you might find this job simply… sucks the life out of you.”
The young man didn’t miss the meaning gleam in the captain’s eyes, and it was gratifying to see his Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“So, does this mean I have the position?”
Elian had to admire the boy’s boldness in the face of his fear.
“For now.”
“Thank you, sir! You won’t regret this.”
The older man laughed humorlessly. “Aye, but you might… and probably will.”
Siddhe strode in the moment Gavin left.
“Him?” The tone of her voice finished her sentence and added nearly a paragraph more on her opinion.
Elian pinched the bridge of his nose. Between the two of them, he’d go mad before he got to Withrae, let alone found the Red Dragon.
Siddhe sighed noisily, understanding his silence for assent, then turned and left to go settle the new scribe in and get the ship ready to depart.
By supper, they’d be riding out with the tide, on the way to Withrae.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for in Withrae, but Cota hadn’t let him down yet. He would find it, or it would find him.
And, then, he’d be one step closer to finding the Red Dragon and the treasure of time.
Chapter 10
THE CENTRAL CHANDELIER in the center of the main ballroom of Withrae Castle lit the entire room with its many candles and hanging crystals. The king and queen of Withrae stood at the end of the hall, on a platform where their thrones were set. Prince Lawson and Prince Rickard were nowhere to be seen, but it wasn’t surprising for them to arrive later than the guests.
Rowen and Brea stood at the back of Princess Noemie’s procession, dressed in gowns designed and crafted by the master clothier. On either side of them was a crowd of noblemen, foreign dignitaries, and visiting royalty.
Rowen’s eyes lit up when she saw a familiar face.
“Mother,” she mouthed, smiling at her mother who stood at the front of the crowd in a red gown. There could have been no greater surprise than this. The fact that her stepfather was absent only brought more joy to her heart.
Whatever Prince Lawson had in mind for after the party couldn’t compare to seeing her mother. Giddy with excitement, she followed the princess, eager to pull her mother aside and talk about all that she’d accomplished in just weeks of being at court.
The princess and her ladies walked to the area around the thrones, and the musicians changed their tune.
“Let’s dance,” Brea said, taking Rowen by the hand.
Rowen shook her head, paling at the thought. She took her hand back. “That’s quite all right. You dance. I want to speak to my mother.”
Brea’s eyes lit up and she looked to the crowd. “What? She’s here? Show me. I’d like to meet her.”
“Certainly,” Rowen said and with a bow to the princess, they headed into the crowd.
The noblemen of court parted a path for Rowen and Brea, yet made sure to cast their charming smiles. Ignoring them, Rowen’s eyes went to her mother’s. The duchess looked as regal as ever, and as beautiful as Rowen remembered. Her mahogany hair was worn long down her back, a faint glow of gold coming from the strands and the golden scales that ran up and down her exposed arms and neck.
“Darling,” Lady Nimah said, holding her hands out.
Rowen slipped her hands into her mother’s grasp and beamed when Lady Nimah pulled Rowen into an embrace and kissed her on the cheek.
“Are you well? You’re too thin. Have they been feeding you?”
Laughing, Rowen nodded. “Yes. Of course. They feed us all the time. I can’t remember the last time I actually felt hunger.”
“Good,” Lady Nimah said with a smile that warmed Rowen’s heart. Her aura changed everything, and made the worries of the day fade into nonexistence. Just from the embrace alone, Rowen felt as though everything would be all right, that the world would be kind and never betray her. A piece of her wanted to leave and return home with her mother right away. If only they could run away together and be free of their duties and their past.
“Well, we have much to catch up on,” Lady Nimah said.
“We do, but Mother,” Rowen said, and placed a hand on Brea’s shoulder. “This is my friend, Lady Brea of Red Shire.”
Lady Nimah gave a slight bow of her head and Brea dipped into a curtsy.
“Duchess, it is a pleasure to meet you. Your daughter has spoken so highly of you and your beauty,” Brea said.
“Lovely to meet you as well, Lady Brea. But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to my daughter alone.”
Brea nodded and took a step away. “Of course.” She turned to Rowen. “Don’t think you’re getting out of dancing tonight, young lady.”
Rowen shook her head, laughing as Brea left to return to the other ladies-in-waiting. Hooking arms, Rowen and her mother left the crowd to a quiet spot near the entrance to the ballroom.
“So, is everything truly going well? I worry about you. Court can be a dangerous place.”
Sighing, Rowen leaned against a pillar and looked her mother in the eyes. “Honestly, I am terrified. I’ve been having these dreams about being hanged. I think Macana knows something,” she whispered.
Lady Nimah’s brows furrowed, creasing her olive-colored skin. “Macana? What makes you think that?”
Rowen narrowed her eyes. “She is always watching me, and she’s been asking questions lately. She doesn’t hawk anyone else the way she does me.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about her. She’s just a chaperone. Nothing more.”
“I know. But, there is something about her. Just earlier, she grabbed me by my neck and threatened me.”
“What?” Lady Nimah hissed. “How dare she put her hands on you? That is not like her at all. I know her.”
“She did, and it’s been bothering me all day.”
“And the prince? How are things going there?”
A smile lifted the corners of Rowen’s mouth. “That is the one thing that has gone right. He is smitten, and wants to marry me. But, he hasn’t found a way to make it happen yet.”
Lady Nimah stroked Rowen’s hand. “Dear girl, that is a minor setback. He is the crown prince, his father is older than dirt, and it is only a matter of time before he becomes king. Who makes the rules then? The king. You just have to be patient.”
“I know. But, I have this sinking feeling that something is going to go wrong. The prophecy worries me to no end. I have to find a way to thwart that fate.” Rowen frowned. “I bet your husband could care less if I die, as long as his station is elevated.”
“Nonsense. He isn’t that cruel. If you die, there will be no elevation. He wants you to succeed.”
Rowen stared at the crowd. “At least if I am successful, he’ll no longer have any control over me.”
“Darling, look at me.”
Rowen looked at her mother and forced a smile.
“When you are queen, the only man that can ask anything of you is your husband. Prince Lawson, what is he like? Is he kind to you?”
“Kinder than any man has ever been.”
Lady Nimah tilted her head. “You actually love him, don’t you?”
Rowen stood up straight. “You can tell just from looking at me?”
With a laugh, Lady Nimah wrapped an arm around Rowen’s shoulder and turned her toward the thrones at the other end of the ballroom. “No, darling. I’ve been in love once before, and I can see it in your eyes. There is no mistaking that look. Now, what better end to your stepfather’s scheme than to be queen to the man you love?”
A hush fil
led the room as soldiers and guards burst through the doors behind them. The musicians stopped playing, and everyone stopped dancing to behold the soldiers whose swords were drawn as if ready for battle.
The grips of terror wrapped itself around Rowen’s throat as she and her mother turned to them. Whatever had happened, had to be serious. The guards would have never burst into a formal event.
Rowen stepped aside to make room for them to pass. When the captain of the guards lowered his eyes to Rowen’s face and pointed his sword’s point at her, her blood turned cold and her body stiffened.
“Lady Rowen Glenick,” he said, his deep voice booming and echoing off the walls of the ballroom.
Shaking, Rowen placed her hand on her chest. At first, the word stuck to the back of her throat and she had to swallow to bring it forth. “Me?”
“You’re Lady Rowen Glenick, are you not?”
“I…I am.” Rowen looked from her mother, to the crowd of staring faces, and back to the captain. “Is there something amiss?”
The captain of the guards grabbed her by her hand and yanked her toward him.
“What is it?” Rowen asked, her voice rising with anxiety.
This cannot be happening. It has to be another dream.
“Don’t pretend as if you don’t know,” he growled. His eyes, fierce with rage left her face and looked to the crowd. “This woman is charged with treason.”
Lady Nimah stepped forward, standing in between him and Rowen. “Whatever for, Mickleson? I am sure that whatever it is can be explained. You do not have to handle my daughter in such a vicious manner.”
Mickleson shot her a glare, one that erased all thoughts that she would be able to talk her way out of this ordeal. “On the contrary, Duchess. Your daughter deserves worse.”
“What for?”
“For killing the prince.”
Everything went silent for Rowen in that moment. The outrage from the crowd fell into the background as his words resonated in her head, leaving her frozen in disbelief.
No. Her stomach dropped. No.