Hex Breaker (The Fenearen Chronicles Book 1)

by Taryn Noelle Kloeden

  “Here is your personal guard.” He turned to Coer. “You will watch over my queen when I am not.”

  Rayna gave an internal sigh of relief. That meant Rhael would not stay near her for the entirety of the journey. She doubted the guard would make better company, but at least he was not the Overlord.

  Coer bowed low to Rhael, and then to Rayna. The Overlord dismissed the other men and ordered his subjects to their duties. He did not glance back at Rayna as he accepted a bowl of stew from Morna and stalked off to eat it in the shadow of a beech tree. Rayna did not realize Coer was standing beside her until she brushed against his breastplate.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She backed up. Coer seemed puzzled by her apology. She stepped back farther, but before she could say anything, a curtseying attendant handed her a bowl of stew.

  “Thank you.” Rayna looked down at the burnt meat surrounded by over-boiled vegetables. “I think.” She poked at a squishy potato, provoking a grin from Coer. “What?”

  With that smile, Rayna could almost relax around him. But he was still Maenoren, and therefore could not be trusted. Still, there was no point in making more enemies than she had to. “You're allowed to speak, you know.”

  “Thank you, m’lady.”

  “My lady? Can I give you permission to use my name?”

  “I'm not sure. Nobody ever has.”

  “That’s idiotic. There has to be more than one ‘my lady’ around. How am I supposed to know if you're addressing me?”

  Coer laughed in reply.

  “Aren’t you going to eat something?” She tentatively sniffed her dinner.

  “I've already had my rations.” He gestured to another guard who nibbled on a hunk of bread.

  “That’s all?”

  “We get salted pork, too,” he said as though to justify his meager provisions.

  “Do you want this? I don't think I can stomach meat this—”

  “Cooked?”

  Rayna wrinkled her nose. “Do you want it?” She offered the bowl.

  Coer stared at it and touched his stomach. “I cannot eat more than what I’m rationed. And definitely not anything of royal quality.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “The Overlord requests your company,” Morna said behind her. The woman stared at Rayna with her giant brown eyes.

  “Of course.” Rayna followed Morna past the other Maenorens. She could barely hear Coer behind them. She had a feeling that if he wanted to be silent even to her ears, he could. The Overlord's lofty tent was already pitched, large enough that even Rhael did not have to duck within it. Morna pulled back the flap, and Rayna entered.

  “Sit, my dear.” Rhael’s voice mocked her. He did not turn, leaning instead over a table covered with charts. “You will sleep here. Your guard will be posted outside in case you need to relieve yourself.”

  Rayna's mouth dropped open. He spoke to her so differently now. The emotion hidden behind his eyes was clearer. Distaste? Perhaps something even stronger. Now that he had broken her, was his enjoyment over? She obeyed him completely; was that all he had wanted? Was she now a prop? More importantly, was he so dissatisfied with her that he would not free Channon after their wedding as promised? Or even break off the alliance? He took his maps and left without saying another word. Rayna collapsed onto the mat provided. Coer walked into the tent.

  “Do you need me here?” he asked.

  “Don’t you need to rest?”

  “I rest when I am not needed.”

  “Get some sleep, then.”

  “Yes, Rayna. I will be outside if you do need me.”

  He bowed out of the tent, leaving Rayna alone for the first time since she had left home. The tears beaded on her lashes before she realized she was crying. If Bayne and Silver knew what was happening, they would save her. Just as they had the last time Maenorens had harmed her. But this was not a skirmish. Nor was this a nightmare from which she could wake. With Channon cursed and the alliance and thousands of lives on the line, Rayna had to go through with this wedding. She clutched at her blankets. They were some smooth fabric, not the furs to which she was accustomed. More tears fell, and the silky sheets did little to muffle her cries.

  Chapter Nine

  Over the next several days, Rhael ignored Rayna as they journeyed toward Anhorde. It took three days to get through Fenear. The terrain altered between thick forests, open clearings, and the occasional field of sweet grass. When they had reached the Camilar river, Rhael and his countrymen had seemed less than impressed by the thin wooden bridge spanning the waterway, but it saw them safely across nonetheless. Coer was enthralled by everything they saw. Each time a bird he did not recognize flew by, or the call of a forest creature sounded, he was quick to ask Rayna what it was.

  She did not mind getting to know him. Although Rayna knew she could never trust him, he was a welcome distraction. By the third day she had abandoned her litter in favor of walking beside him. Rhael appeared not to notice or care. She learned that Coer was thirty-one winters old, had trained in the Overlord’s service since he was ten and, like her, had been orphaned as a child. Rayna knew better than to pry, but from the way his blue eyes had misted when he mentioned his parents, she felt certain their deaths had been sudden. Perhaps he was an orphan of war, too. If his parents had been killed by Fenearens, though, he did not hold a grudge. The Fenearen life fascinated him, and he questioned her about every detail. Rayna was grateful for the chance to talk about her home.

  On the fourth day, they passed into Maenor. The border was still heavily patrolled by both Fenearens and Trues, though once they crossed the half league of no-man’s land, only a handful of Maenoren sentries greeted them. The Maenorens were evidently more confident in the truce than Rayna’s packmates. As the tree cover lessened in favor of cultivated fields barren from recent harvest, Coer continued his questions about shifting.

  “How do you do it? Do you utter a chant?”

  “No, you sort of melt into it. It's like as soon as you think it, you are a wolf. It’s as easy as blinking, once you learn, and just as fast. Here, I’ll show you.” Rayna took her wolf form, shook out her red fur, and then returned to her two-legged self.

  “That’s amazing! Can you get stuck?” Coer asked.

  “I heard once that if you stayed feral too long, you lose who you are. But I think that’s a myth.”

  “What does it feel like?” he asked, his dark blue eyes stretched wide.

  “Warm, I guess, and for a few moments you feel itchy as a wolf and sort of naked as a human.”

  ”I meant do you think differently when you’re ... feral?”

  “Sure, you're more in the moment. You have your memories, but you're not constantly inside your own head. It’s relaxing.”

  “Can you still talk?”

  Rayna shook her head. “Not exactly. I can't say any Clanspeak words in wolf form, though I can still understand it. But I can communicate to other Fenearens and True Wolves using gestures, glances, yips, barks, growls, and other sounds. We call it the Wolven language, but it's not something you learn. You just know, and I can speak it when I am human or wolf.”

  “What about your clothes?”

  “My clothes?” Rayna asked. A blush crept up her neck.

  “I beg your pardon. I only meant wolves do not wear...” He paused, and cleared his throat. “My apologies; I did not mean–”

  “No apology needed.” She laughed. “When we transform, leather and pelts—anything from an animal—condenses into our fur. We treat our weapons' belts and packs with rue, which allows them to stay intact in both forms so we don't drop anything. Other materials—like metal or silk—will stay on our bodies in both forms.”

  Coer was silent for a moment. Rayna wondered if she had made him uncomfortable, but then he erupted into a hearty chuckle. “How amazing!” he said. His laugh was so kind, not Rhael’s self-confident hiss, but a warm, real, sincere laugh—like a diving into a cool lake after a long run. Rayna could breathe again.


  Her own curiosity heightened as they moved along. “Coer, I was wondering about your powers.”

  “Powers?” Coer’s face shadowed. “I am afraid we are not as gifted as Fenearens are. Not anymore.”

  “Anymore?” Rayna had heard stories, but she wished to hear Coer’s version.

  He paused before continuing, choosing his words with care. “Today, we Maenorens are good at moving quietly, keeping to the shadows. We can move quietly enough to creep up on a Fenearen, for example.”

  No easy feat. She waited for her guard to say more.

  “Hundreds of years ago, our gift was more mystical. We could melt into the shadows, and disappear in the darkness. Not unlike how you said your clothes and body condense into wolf form.” Coer lowered his voice, glancing at Rhael's litter not far behind them. The curtains did not stir.

  “What happened? How did your powers diminish?”

  Coer hesitated. His brow knitted together.

  “Are you having a nice conversation?” Rhael asked suddenly from behind them.

  Coer leaped away from her. She had not realized how close he had been until she felt his absence.

  “Yes, my lord. I was telling Coer about my home.”

  Rhael looked from her to Coer and then back again. “Very well. Carry on.” To Rayna’s surprise he strode ahead to speak to another guard. Why was Rhael so keen to let her talk with Coer? Cold suspicion doused any beginnings of friendship she had developed for her guard. Rhael had chosen Coer for her. Of all the people with whom they traveled, Coer looked the least Maenoren. His skin and hair were a shade or so lighter, his eyes were blue, the lined skin of his forehead was spattered with freckles. He did not look Fenearen, but he was closer in appearance to them than all the other Maenorens in the party combined. Rayna tried not to judge others based on their appearance, but fear and loneliness made people behave in predictable, if wrong, ways. Had Rhael chosen someone with whom he hoped she would identify? Even trust?

  Perhaps Coer’s friendliness was not as genuine as it seemed.

  It took another three days for the band to traverse Maenor toward Rhael’s palace, Anhorde. It was situated in northern Maenor, as far from her home as she could go while still being in the Peninsula. Copses of ash and fruit trees dotted the road, but compared to the forests of Fenear, Maenor was practically treeless. The Fenearen ground was alive with moss, flowers, and grasses of many lengths and colors. In Maenor, sandy dirt and scrubby grasses crunched beneath her boots. She had stopped her conversations with Coer, so nothing distracted her from the strangeness of her surroundings. If he were offended, or concerned that he was not gleaning information from her for his lord, Coer made an excellent show of hiding it. He did not speak other than to point out the occasional landmark or comment upon the weather, accompanying Rayna as her silent shadow.

  A full week after she had left home, Rayna reached the crest of a hill and stared down at Maenor’s capital. She had visited every Densite in Fenear and had sometimes been surprised by their differences. Those in the Eastern and Southeastern Densites sometimes built dens high in trees, and the northern sites were often sparsely populated with dens more easily movable than those she was used to. But as she gazed down at Anhorde, all comparisons flew from her mind. She had never seen anything like this city before. They had passed a handful of Maenoren villages, but none of them could compare with what lay before her. Houses, some larger than any she had seen in the villages, filled the outskirts with their thatched roofs and gardens. There were pigs, horses, and geese, as well as odd animals she did not recognize milling through stalls and paddocks. One yard was filled with strange, horned creatures that looked like bulky, square-faced deer. The currents were bursting with their scents, along with woodsmoke and other less pleasant aromas. Past the farms, smaller huts framed a plaza bursting with people. Beyond that, in the center of the city, a walled fortress shadowed all.

  Coer slunk from her side as the Overlord approached.

  “Anhorde,” Rhael said, beaming with pride. “The greatest feat of architecture in all the four countries and beyond.” He brushed past her to the head of the convoy. “Much nicer than a hole in the ground,” he added.

  If Rayna had not been so blinded by quiet anger and so averse to living in a completely enclosed place, she may have agreed with Rhael. The shining black marble structure at the city’s center was incredible. Angular and symmetrical, it had six towers and endless balconies and arches all arranged around a spacious, square courtyard. Rhael’s seal was everywhere; the twin vipers leering at her in their familiar gold. More markets, barracks, and other smaller buildings surrounded the palace with such modesty that Anhorde looked grander by comparison.

  Rhael turned back to her. “I think it best if we retire to the litter for the journey into the city, Rayna. I would hate for my people to see you before we had the chance to clean you up.”

  Rayna growled, covering it with a cough before returning to the litter to await their arrival in the polished prison she could not escape.

  Rayna stared at her reflection. Mirrors were rare in Fenear, so this was the first in a long while she had seen her own face undistorted by ripples or the murk of a river or lake. Her long red hair was pulled up with a jeweled comb, her green eyes were outlined in charcoal, and her lips—her funny lips where the bottom was so much fuller than the top—were painted bright red. Rayna ran her fingers down the golden dress the attendants had pulled over her. It felt constricting. She longed for her leather vest and leggings with their comfortable fur lining. They had forced her to undo her hair wrap, and all her hard-earned beads and adornments were stowed away. She touched her fingertips to her bracelet, though she had memorized the linden grooves. One of the attendants had tried to remove that, too. Rayna's teeth and claws had extended, frightening the girl when she told her not to touch it.

  “Father.” She scoured her mind for any image of him. There was just one, a shadowy composite of what Bayne, Silver, and her mother had told her of him. But it was not real, only a tall, thin, but strong man with her green eyes in an otherwise indistinct face.

  “I don’t want to be here,” she whispered, tears escaping her eyes. “I want to go home to Bayne and Silver and Roxen and—” Rayna stopped her quiet prayer; one name was missing. If being Rhael’s doll for the rest of her life would help Channon, it was a small price to pay. She missed him more than anyone. Her family and other friends were thinking of her, but she could not know what Channon was thinking, how much pain he was in, how scared he was, or if he were still alive at all. Rayna searched her mind for images of Channon, too, but the only one that came was his last look of pure terror before Rhael’s hex had engulfed him. A knock sounded, interrupting her vigil.

  “Um, please come back another time.” The door opened anyway, and Rayna’s betrothed entered amid a cloud of burning scent. “I am sorry, m-my lord, I did not realize it was you.”

  “Stop groveling, girl,” he snapped. Coer closed the door from the corridor as Rayna stood and approached Rhael, curtseying. As she rose, Rhael’s grip crushed her arm. He slammed her against his chest like he had before. She winced as his grip tightened around her wrist and bracelet.

  “You still insist on wearing this token of your old home.” He twisted it around to undo the clasp.

  “Please! My lord, please. My father made it for me!”

  He stopped, staring down at her. She forced herself not to cringe from his awful black and gold gaze.

  “Please,” she said, her free hand touching his cheek. “My lord, please.” His smell was torture. “You have to let me keep it.”

  He ripped the bracelet from her wrist and it fell to the ground.

  “I do not have to let you do anything!” he shouted, slapping Rayna so hard she fell beside the bracelet. Instinct grew her claws and teeth into dangerous points, but Rhael did not notice. “I only visited your chambers to keep up appearances anyway.” The Overlord wiped his cheek, turning to go.

  “
My lord, may I ask a question?” Rayna's voice was quiet, but it halted her soon-to-be husband. Rhael did not speak, but glanced down where she sprawled on the floor.

  “If my appearance and behavior displease you so much,” Rayna spat the words, tears of hate and confusion staining her swelling cheek, “why marry me? Why take Channon to force me here?”

  To her surprise, the Overlord smiled, but it was the smile of a madman. “I've told you before. Do you truly believe that a man like me has the freedom to choose how he lives his life?”

  “But you're Overlord of Maenor, one of the most powerful men in Osterna...”

  “Power won by playing by someone else's rules. As I am now.” Rhael offered her a gloved hand.

  Unsure, Rayna took it and rose to her feet. “I don't understand.”

  “No, you wouldn't, Rayna Myana, beloved niece and pack member, pride of Fenear.”

  “You're forgetting one. Rayna Myana, orphan of war.” She was sure the hatred and blame she had tried so hard to conceal was painted all over her bruised face.

  Rhael chuckled. “There are worse fates, believe it or not. Better to lose your parents than to learn what they really are. What we all are.”

  “And what are we?”

  “The same.” Rhael caressed Rayna's face with sickening gentleness, his eyes betraying curiosity more than concern. “We’re all greedy, hungry creatures with a choice to make, kill, or be killed. In the end we all make the same decision. It's only a question of who the better killer is.” Before Rayna had a chance to respond, Rhael dropped his hand and strode from the room.

  Once Rhael had vanished down the tower stairs, Coer closed the door and rushed to her side.

  “Are you hurt?” he whispered, guiding her to a couch with the lightest touch possible.

  “I’m fine.” She sat and turned away.

  “Is it tender?” Coer placed his fingertips where the Overlord’s had rested moments before.