Hex Breaker (The Fenearen Chronicles Book 1)

by Taryn Noelle Kloeden

  Coer's childhood had ended when he had been forced into the Overlord’s service at age ten, but still, Coer maintained, it had been a wonderful childhood. That morning, Rayna worked up the courage to ask him about it. When she had quietly let him in and motioned him to a seat, she said, “I've been wondering—why did you leave your family at such a young age, Coer?”

  Coer paused, closing his eyes. Rayna knew that look. It was the one she had seen on Silver's face whenever she'd remembered Rayna’s parents.

  “You lost someone,” Rayna said without thinking. Coer’s blue eyes, so unusual for a Maenoren, shot open. Rayna started to apologize, but he waved it off.

  “I lost everyone,” he said after a moment.

  “I’m sorry.” Rayna could not think of anything else to say.

  “My father was a member of the Resistance, too. They found out and executed him. They would have done the same to my mother and sister, but they escaped to the Outers.”

  “But if they executed your father and tried to do the same to the rest of your family, why spare you?” Rayna whispered.

  “Children can be useful if they’re old enough and molded if they’re young enough. My sister was a baby, but I was half a man. They conscripted me into the military, and I did as I was told. They know memories fade, that love for family can be replaced with love for your regiment. They were right. I’ve done terrible things in Rhael’s service. I’m not the man my father was.”

  “Coer.” Rayna pulled him into a hug. “Once this is over and Channon is safe, I’m going to kill Rhael. It won’t be today or tomorrow, but he is going to die for what he did. I swear it.”

  He swallowed. “I don’t doubt it.” As they drifted apart, Coer surveyed her speculatively, his mouth turning up at the corners. “You love him, don't you? This Channon?”

  “I–” Rayna flushed, picking at her sleeping shift. “He's my best friend, but–”

  The entrance of Rayna's three attendants interrupted them. As always, they despaired over the state of her hair and clothing and went to work turning her into something inhuman, a walking piece of art to be seen but not heard. Coer bowed, stepping to the side.

  “My lady, why are your nails so dirty?” One of the girls inspected Rayna’s hand, followed by her bracelet. “Can we not remove this old thing?”

  “Ask me about my bracelet again, and I’ll eat your tongue.”

  All three froze, shocked. After a moment, Coer burst into laughter. That broke Rayna, and she joined him, to the even deeper horror of her attendants.

  “Maybe we should return later?” the bravest of the three asked in a strained whisper.

  “An excellent idea,” Rayna said. In a flick of deer’s tail they were gone, leaving Coer and Rayna alone again. Once the door shut, they doubled over laughing again.

  “Rayna, you’re going to scare those poor girls to death if you keep this up!” Coer wiped his streaming eyes.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Rayna!”

  “I'm sorry. I know they are just doing their duty, but it's a ridiculous one in my opinion.”

  “I agree; I would have gone insane if I had a trio of servants whose entire purpose was to beautify me.” Coer’s voice slid up an octave in an impressively accurate rendition of the girls’ squeaking. Rayna’s cheeks hurt from smiling. How he did it, Rayna could not say, but Coer had made it all bearable.

  Still chuckling, Coer called back the attendants, and Rayna allowed them to clean her up and stuff her into Maenoren garb. The day’s outfit was dark green velvet that even Rayna admitted complemented her hair and eyes. But no amount of beauty could lessen the day's difficulty. It was time for (as Rhael had put it) “a lesson in civilized table manners.” She was to sit in a hard, straight-backed chair opposite Rhael and other officials while they ate course after course of over-cooked, over-spiced Maenoren fare. Even though she had been prepared, Rayna knew she would not perform to Rhael’s standards. As hard as Rayna tried to succeed for Channon’s sake, the Overlord seemed displeased and disgusted by everything she did.

  She fought back tears as she walked with Coer to the dining hall, which might as well have been a torture chamber. She never would have found her way without Coer's help. Despite living in Anhorde for weeks, the black marble castle confounded her sense of direction with its labyrinthine passages. There were no landmarks to guide her, only flickering torches singeing the walls and her nose, and an endless stream of portraits bearing black-and-gold eyes. Shafts of sunlight penetrated the fortress from narrow windows, but even so—despite it not being yet noon—Anhorde was to her caught in eternal night.

  When they reached the dining hall's carved walnut doors, Coer bowed and mouthed the words, “You will be all right.” Nodding to the other guards, he turned and disappeared around the corner.

  Rayna’s heart was in her throat as the guards threw open the doors. She had to put on another show. She walked in, keeping her steps as short and measured as possible. It felt wrong, different from her naturally long stride. She did not look at Rhael and the other attendees, but she could smell them. She was surprised by two new scents. Two other guests were present, one of whom was female. The putrid wine the Maenorens adored fouled the air. She would be expected to choke that down. She heard Rhael’s cloak rustle as he rose from his seat. Rayna trained her eyes on the floor until his huge black boots came into view. With a steadying breath she raised her head, forced a smile, and curtseyed. Her foot caught on her skirts, and she wobbled before side-stepping to catch her balance. Rhael exhaled a low hiss while the two guests standing at their chairs stifled laughter. The Overlord gripped Rayna’s arm so tightly she almost cried out. She choked the sound in her throat as he half-led, half-dragged her to her seat.

  Once Rayna was seated, Rhael returned to his throne, gesturing for his guests to sit. As Rayna expected, the raven-haired beauty, Morna, stepped forward to name the attendees. Wherever Rhael went, she was never far behind.

  “Rhael II of House Demetrian, son of Orelian III, Overlord of Maenor, welcomes his guests, Councilor Amblin Laevul and the Lady Ezra Laevul of the Kyrean Republic. May I present to you, my lords and lady, Rayna Myana of Fenear.”

  Rayna raised her gaze to meet the Laevuls'. From their scent and appearance, she could tell they were siblings, likely twins. Both had thin black hair, close-set eyes, and were around thirty winters. Rayna was struck by their eye color—like Rhael’s, black and gold. She thought they must be distant relatives somehow spared from the Cult of Demetrian. How else could they have his eyes?

  The meal passed in silence aside from an occasional whisper between the Overlord and the siblings. Shortly after the fifth dish, roast pheasant stuffed with chestnuts, had been cleared, Ezra leaned to speak into her brother’s ear.

  “Ah, of course,” Amblin said. A thin smile crowned his weak chin. “The engagement present you and Councilor Terayan discussed, Lord Rhael.”

  Her interest piqued, Rayna watched over her water goblet as Ezra passed a small package wrapped in a red and gold handkerchief to Rhael. His gloved fingers slipped beneath the edge of the fabric, but to Rayna’s annoyance, he did not remove the covering enough for her to see.

  “Please convey my gratitude to the Councilor.” He noticed Rayna’s gaze and pocketed the gift. “Not yet, dearest, though I daresay you will look lovely in this.”

  Ezra and Amblin exchanged thin-mouthed smirks. “Of course,” Ezra said, sipping her wine, “we have arranged for the other items you requested to be brought to your chambers.”

  “The Kyrean Council is too generous.” Rhael raised his goblet to the twins.

  Rayna turned her attention to the strong-smelling bisque set before her and tried to ignore the dread pouring down her spine. She did not know who Councilor Terayan was, but she was certain that she wanted no gifts from him.

  As the meal continued, she left her wine untouched, and as it seemed eating small amounts was the custom, she forced herself through ten dishes without vomi
ting. Her ordeal was over.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Rhael sneered as he helped her from her chair, “that will do.” He left her to the guards, returning to the dais to speak with Ezra and Amblin.

  As she left the chamber, Rayna overheard Amblin’s weasel-like voice. “You have done well. It is her, we’re sure of it. Continue as planned, and Councilor Terayan will provide you his assistance as promised.”

  She heard no more as she was ushered out of the chamber. It sounded as if they were speaking about her, but she didn't know of Councilor Terayan, so what could he have to do with her?

  Coer relieved the guards, escorting her back to her room. She walked through her door, and he followed her inside.

  “How was the etiquette lesson?” He leaned against the wall. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. She felt guilty for keeping him awake every night with conversation.

  “I was as disappointing as usual. But the other guests were odd.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She sat in front of her mirror and began removing hair pins. “They were Kyrean. Ezra and Amblin Laevul. But they had eyes like Rhael's.”

  Coer's eyebrows bunched together. “Odd. Maenor has open trade with the Kyrean Republic, but nothing more. Not for hundreds of years anyway, not since the Kyreans realized conquering the Peninsula was a fool's errand. I don't know why their eyes would be like his. What did they say?”

  “Not much. Before I left, Amblin told Rhael something about me. At least I think it was about me.”

  “What?”

  “He said, 'It is her, we are sure of it. Continue as planned, and Councilor Terayan will provide you his assistance as promised.' Any idea what that means?”

  Coer's eyes widened. “I have to tell Seperun about this. Rayna, whatever the Overlord is planning, I don’t think we have much time.” He hurried to the door. “Be careful. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  With that, Coer was gone. Rayna dropped the last pin on the table and let her hair fall down her back. Perhaps there would not be a wedding after all. She only hoped she would find a way to help Channon in time.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rhael entered his study, and the seven candles in his wrought-iron chandelier sputtered to life. Morna trailed behind him. Her silk-slippered feet made no noise as they glided across stone floors. On the altar at the room's center, he had left an odd assortment of items, objects he finally possessed after trying to obtain them for over a year.

  Morna held back, her dark eyes narrowed. “The alliance, obtaining the Fenearen seer–all of that was for these?” She gestured toward the bone fragment, the vial of dirt, and the shrunken heart lying on the marble surface.

  “These, and three thousand Kyrean infantrymen, though I doubt we will need them once we use these.” Rhael stroked the bone–a chunk of vertebrae–and smiled at Morna’s mystified expression. “You don’t think it will work?”

  “I trust your judgment, Rhael, but I don’t trust Terayan to not have provided us with counterfeit artifacts.” She eyed the bone, dirt, and heart. “You risked your life–and your reputation–bringing the seer to Anhorde so that Terayan could be sure of her identity before we kill her. He has what he wants. Rayna will soon die, but how can we be sure he truly found the proper ingredients? ”

  “There is only one way to know whether these will work. Shall we?” Rhael wrapped the items in his handkerchief and slipped them into his inner pocket before offering Morna his arm.

  They wound down the stairs of his tower and into the main corridor, passing countless guards and servants, who bowed with eyes lowered. When they reached the heavy iron door, both Rhael and Morna stopped. Rhael felt the protective enchantments he had woven around the door's frame through his gloves. He twisted his wrist, willing the magic to part. A moment later, he pulled open the door. He started down the dusty stone staircase with Morna, his excitement building with each step. The torches lit as he passed, and soon they reached the floor below. When his boots touched the ground, hundreds of oil lamps sprang to life along the walls, extending out of sight. Rows of bookcases filled the enormous chamber, and though Rhael had spent years poring over the scrolls and books, he had only discovered a handful of the library's secrets. The year before, he had made his most exciting discovery yet: a spell he had once thought a myth. Thanks to his bargain with Councilor Terayan, he had everything he needed for the ancient spell that would make him more powerful than any other Overlord.

  Rhael took Morna’s hand and led her through the labyrinth of shelves. They had walked a quarter of a league before they reached the section he sought, hand-curated by his ancestor, Kalmor I. His fingers shook in anticipation as he pulled on the bronze bust of Kalmor. Mechanical clicks echoed through the library before the shelf receded into the wall, swinging open. Rhael strode into the darkness beyond while Morna picked up an oil lamp and followed.

  The chamber was frosty as a midwinter morning. Their breaths curled like smoke before them as Morna held the lamp high. Alcoves filled with dark shapes dotted the walls. Rhael approached the closest niche and motioned for more light.

  A ghastly face, gray and waxy, greeted them. Its eyes were closed, but its mouth, filled with rotting, broken teeth, was frozen open as though it screamed. Morna yelped and jumped back, nearly dropping her lamp.

  “But they’re horrible!”

  “Yes.” Rhael took the lamp from her and strode to the center of the room. “Do try and contain yourself, Morna. I need to concentrate.”

  “I'm sorry, my lord.”

  Rhael set the lamp on the floor and knelt beside it. He brushed away thick dust that lay over carved stone designs. A four-pointed star marked the room’s exact center, with channels radiating from each of its points. Rhael removed the items Terayan had provided from his pocket, along with a pouch of herbs. He had memorized the Awakening spell when he had found it in one of Kalmor’s journals. He lay out each of the ingredients in order.

  First, the dirt from a battlefield where both human and demon blood had been spilled. He uncorked the vial and poured a few grains into the star. Next, the dried wormwood, followed by the asphodel petals. Already, he could feel energy pulsing through the stone. He placed the shrunken heart of a creature not born of Osterna on top and turned to Morna.

  “Knife?”

  She produced a silver blade from her sleeve. Her face was pale, shining with sweat despite the room's coolness. Powerful magic always affected her more than most, but that was to be expected given what she was. Rhael took the knife, crushing the heart with the flat of the blade. Once done, he palmed the brittle bone fragment, taken from a Sea Guardian, and scraped its edge with the knife, sprinkling dust over the other ingredients. As soon as the bone dust touched the four-pointed star, sparks erupted into a flame, gold as Rhael’s eyes.

  He looked back at Morna, rising to his feet. “The Da’ Gammorn shall rise again.” Yanking off his glove, he sliced the knife across his palm. Red droplets showered the flames with a hiss. The flames collapsed, filling the star before fanning out, racing through the channels, splitting into a web that filled the room, climbed the walls, and surrounded every alcove. Rhael leaped back, pushing Morna with him, as the floor in front of them fell away. As they regained their feet, withered, gnarled fingers grasped the edge of the chasm. Morna screamed as worm-eaten gray arms with sheaves of skin hanging off the bone, followed. Then shoulders, a head. The creature’s face was leathery and drawn, chunks of flesh missing from its cheeks, and its eyes glittered like black diamonds in the fiery light. Its head twitched to the side, as if examining them.

  “Rhael II of House Demetrian.” The dried remnants of its lips scratched together as it spoke with a deep and unnatural voice. “We are many. We are Negiol, commander of the Da’ Gammorn. We are bound to you by blood.” As it continued, other bodies filling the walls of the room pushed from their crypts, surrounding them. Morna pressed into Rhael’s side, but her fear was foolish. He was the Overlord, and these were his soldiers.
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  Negiol sank to his knees, and all of the Da’ Gammorn mirrored him. A thousand voices spoke as one. “What is your command?”

  The next morning, Rhael’s eyes opened, and in one swift motion he sat up in the plush comfort of his bed. The sheets fell away as he twisted to see his bedfellow. Morna still slept, her porcelain-smooth shoulders rising and falling with every slow breath. He ran his finger through her silken hair, trailing down her perfectly crafted form.

  Over the years, he'd had countless courtesans. But for the past five years, he'd been with Morna, alone. She had captivated him like no other, not only with her beauty, but with her mind. She was full of wit and passion, and he had raised her from a simple courtesan plucked from provincial life to his most trusted adviser in the space of a few years. Rhael could not imagine life without her. That she was a seer was a bonus he had not anticipated when he had first seen Morna toiling in the fields. Her ability to dream of the past and future, though unpredictable and out of her control, had still proved useful. She was more important to him than she knew.

  Forcing sentimental musings from his thoughts, Rhael stood and strode to the other side of his cavernous chamber. He pulled on black breeches and poured icy water into his basin. Dunking his head into it, he let the cold engulf him. He slung his head back, and droplets showered the floor as he inspected his reflection in the mirror.