Hex Breaker (The Fenearen Chronicles Book 1)

by Taryn Noelle Kloeden

  Pike?

  Yes, Ash?

  Do you think they’ll forgive us?

  Pike did not answer right away. That depends on if there is anyone left to forgive us.

  What do you mean?

  We did not stop the Maenorens.

  You don’t think…

  I would not be surprised if the war is already over.

  Do not say that! Ash growled.

  I’m sorry. I need Gar to stop me when I get this way. Pike shook his head.

  I hope they’re all right.

  We will find out soon enough. We are about three leagues from the Southern Densite.

  Ash glanced around as they slowed. Ancient oaks guarded the trail like sentinels, and ferns grew in their shade. It was a familiar patch of woods, but it looked different now. He imagined this part of the forest rutted and ruined like those around the Western Densite. As a wolf, he was the forest’s guardian, but how could he protect their land when he could not even protect himself, or his pack?

  There's no trace of Maenorens on the currents. We should announce ourselves to the pack. River trotted to stand beside Ash and Pike.

  Pike agreed, throwing back his great black head in a howl. Ash and River joined him, and soon the woods rang with dozens of voices. Once out of breath, they quieted and waited.

  It was not long until Silver sprinted down the trail in her wolf form, several warriors behind her. Each of the True Wolves slunk low to the ground, ears pinned and tails tucked.

  Is it really you? Silver narrowed her seafoam eyes.

  It’s us. Ash walked tentatively toward her.

  Silver stayed rooted to the ground, her head bowed to protect her neck. She was scared of them, and Ash did not blame her. But another wolf, sandy colored with a darker stripe running along his spine, pushed his way through the Fenearens toward the Trues.

  Gar! Alpha! Ash's tail wagged as Gar ran toward them. Silver tried to call him back, but he brushed past her.

  It’s them! The blackness is gone from their eyes! They’re alive! Gar jumped into the sea of wolves, nuzzling and licking them. The pack erupted into howls and yips as their leader returned.

  Gar! Where have you been?

  It was terrible!

  When Gar turned to him, Ash looked away, guilt overtaking his relief. We weren’t strong like you, Alpha. We weren’t able to fight the voices, and we killed our friends.

  No, Ash. It wasn’t your fault. Gar nosed the leather strap hanging around his neck. The Seal of Wolnor protected me, and Thera is having more made. We will be safe now.

  The Fenearens surrounded Ash and the others, some wolf-formed, others kneeling in their human shapes. There was no blame, no anger in their faces or voices. They were still his pack, and Fenear was still his home. The Da’ Gammorn could not take that from him, and he vowed that no one ever would.

  Rhael smashed his fist onto the table. “You’re telling me that four members of the most elite fighting force in Osterna were defeated by a seventeen-year-old girl?”

  Negiol did not flinch as the Overlord shoved the charts onto the tent floor in frustration. “She did not do so alone.”

  “Oh yes, some other wench is helping her. Forgive me if that does not assuage my irritation, demon.”

  “We can send more riders.”

  “No, you have already failed me once. Let Terayan's men handle her, since he had me kidnap her in the first place.”

  “As you wish, Lord Rhael.”

  “If you only came to inform me of your incompetence, you can go.”

  “We have one other piece of news.”

  “Out with it, then,” Rhael growled.

  “As you know, we have possessed a few animals near the Southern Densite for brief amounts of time. Using this strategy, we have made an interesting discovery.”

  “Which is?”

  “A high-ranking Fenearen man called Nero Geddeont challenged Alpha Bayne's authority, and lost. He was last seen wandering the fringes of the Densite.”

  Rhael creased his brow. “So even the beloved Alpha Bayne has his rebels. I remember this man from when I visited the Densite, but it seems tensions have risen.”

  “Perhaps, Lord Rhael, you should consider finding this man and convincing him to turn his cloak. Inside information is always a valuable asset.”

  Rhael returned the charts to their rightful place. “I will consider it. You may go.”

  With a bow, the Da' Gammorn slipped from the tent. Rhael sank into his chair and brooded on Rayna's escaping him. His only consolation was that Bayne couldn't know his precious niece was still alive. The agony and guilt that pompous, self-righteous Bayne had to be feeling gave Rhael no shortage of amusement.

  Morna ducked into the Overlord's tent. His slumped posture and furrowed brow told her he was in a sour mood. She could fix that. She reached for him, but Rhael did not even glance at her.

  “What troubles you, my lord?”

  “Somehow,” Rhael spoke softly, but Morna heard the rage underpinning his words, “Rayna Myana has escaped the Da’ Gammorn.”

  “My lord, we already have what we needed from the Councilor. The Da' Gammorn are risen. Who cares about his seer now?”

  “It isn’t that,” Rhael said as he came to his feet. “She got away. She made a fool of me.” Morna placed her hand over his. She rose on her toes, brushing her lips on his cheek. “My lord, no one could make a fool of you. Fenear is within your grasp. No Overlord before you has ever come this far. Not your father or your father's father. You are the greatest leader our country has ever seen. Some Fenearen wench could never ruin that.”

  He did not respond, but she felt the tension in his muscles dissolve. His black and gold gaze dropped to her lips. Rhael’s hand wrapped around her waist and brought her lips to his. He exhaled as they pulled apart, and Morna trailed kisses down his jaw and neck. She unlaced his shirt as he sat down, pulling her onto his lap. The Overlord slipped his hand beneath her skirts, sliding it up her thigh. Her head rolled with pleasure as Rhael moved teasingly over her navel.

  Suddenly, the Overlord froze. Before Morna could ask what had happened, he'd pushed her to the side. He stood up and paced the tent, even more agitated than before.

  “My lord? Have I displeased you?”

  “No,” Rhael said. “Morna, you could never...” He trailed off, taking a deep breath as if he were making a difficult decision. Morna could not guess what was on his mind. “Come here.”

  Confused, but obedient, Morna obeyed. He cupped her face before moving his hand down, sliding across her shoulder, her arm, until he reached her stomach. He lay his palm over the folds of her silk dress, hovering over her abdomen. After a moment, he closed his eyes, turning away.

  “My lord, what is wrong?”

  He still would not look at her. “Morna, I am not sure if you realize how uncommon it is for me to forsake the company of many bedfellows in favor of a particular courtesan. How long has it been?”

  “Almost five years, my lord.” She did not dare move. What had she done to make him act this way?

  “Five years,” he repeated, staring at the tent wall. “It feels like only yesterday I first saw you, toiling in the fields. A perfect flower, choked by weeds. So I took you, as I’ve taken so many women.”

  He fell silent. Morna struggled to fill the empty space between them. “I am so grateful, my lord, that you would choose me.”

  “That’s just it.” He faced her. “I did choose you. Not just for a night, or to father another heir. Five years you have been by my side night and day. Not once have I tired of your presence, of your counsel, nor of you, dearest.”

  Rhael had never before said anything like this. A part of Morna rejoiced, but a part cowered. What could this be leading to?

  “In short, Morna, I love you.” The words were not tender or affectionate. They sounded more like a reprimand than a declaration of love, but still, Morna’s lungs emptied. Her head spun, and Rhael continued. “That’s the problem.”


  “My lord, I do not understand.”

  He sighed, running his hand through her hair. “Love makes people weak. I saw it in my brothers who refused to fight for their lives, I see it in the foolishness of the Fenearens and of the Resistance. Every mistake, ever misstep, was made out of love, you see? If I am to succeed, then I cannot allow myself to love.”

  “Then don’t.” The fierceness in Morna’s voice surprised her. “I love you enough for the both of us.”

  And then he was kissing her. He pressed her arms to her side, holding her captive. She yearned to be closer to him, to give herself to their passion, but as quickly as he had begun, Rhael pulled away.

  “You love me now.” Steel clad his voice, a coldness that had never been directed at her before, “but I can change that. Now leave me.”

  “Rhael?” She reached for him, but he shoved her away.

  “I said leave me. Sleep with the other servants tonight.”

  “No.” It was a simple word. One that passed her quivering lips just above a whisper. There was power in it that she had never claimed before. “I won’t leave you. You need me, Rhael.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw, the only indication at first that he had heard her refusal. “Because of your visions? If you have one, inform a guard, but since you have not had a prophetic dream in months–”

  “I’m not talking about my visions.” Another first. She'd interrupted him. But she did not stop. “You need me, Rhael. As I need you. No one else understands you.”

  He was still, a marble statue lit orange in the oil lamps' light. When he turned to her, it was as though she saw him for the first time, because these were not the eyes of the dauntless, powerful, and sometimes cruel man she loved. The gold in his irises spilled over their black bands, seeping into the white, until nothing but a lifeless, metallic glare remained.

  “You do not understand me, Morna. You believe you do because I have indulged your girlish fantasies, nothing more. Now do as you're told and leave my sight. You try my patience.”

  Despite the fear thrumming through her veins, she grasped his hand. “Rhael–”

  “GO!” His voice blew a shock-wave over her, forcing her back. Morna regained her feet, fleeing the tent.

  Numbly, Morna looked back at the grand structure she had shared with the Overlord before joining the servants’ modest quarters at the fringes of the encampment. She lay on an itchy straw bed and tried to ignore the stares. They knew Rhael had tired of her. Just as her father had said he would. She forced her tears back, warming herself in the straw.

  “What happened, love?” asked a grizzled old woman from the adjoining pallet.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “It’s the life, ain’t it?” The woman smiled, revealing many gaps.

  “What do you mean?”

  “One moment, you’re the Overlord’s favorite pet, and the next, he's thrown you out into the cold, mean world.”

  “He did not throw me out. He is under great pressure, that is all.”

  The old woman shook her head. “Believe me, sweetheart, he is done with you. How old are you? Twenty?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “He was looking for an excuse to pitch you out. It happens to the best of us.”

  “But why would he get rid of me?” He loves me, she almost added.

  “Look at yourself, dearie. You’ve lost that sparkle in your skin, the glint in your eye. You're still young and beautiful, but Lord Rhael does not want that to change.”

  “But I thought…he said…”

  “Of course you did.” The old woman patted her shoulder. “He wants you to think you're different, but you aren't. Mark my words, before this war is over, he'll have a new little toy. I’ll wager you'll see yourself in her. Men's tastes rarely change.”

  “That’s not fair,” Morna said.

  “I know. Believe me, I do.” The woman’s gaze was years away.

  “How could you?”

  “Thirty years ago, I was you. To Lord Rhael’s father, anyway.”

  Morna’s eyes welled. How could this portly, gray-haired, wrinkled bat ever have been beautiful? “That’s impossible.”

  “Even the most glorious beauty fades with time, and Rhael knows that. He also knows hard work speeds the process. Don’t be surprised if you get worked harder than the other girls for a few months. Rhael no longer wants to recognize you.”

  Morna turned from the old woman, burying her face in the straw. Eventually she slept, dreaming of her future, that wretched old thing she would become.

  The next morning, a guard roughly shook her awake. Forgetting her new place, Morna snapped at the man. “What are you doing? Don’t touch me!”

  The guard struck her across the face. “I'm teaching you some manners.”

  Morna rose, rubbing her cheek.

  “The Overlord wants to see you.” The man pushed her forward. Morna couldn't help smirking at the old woman. She had been wrong. Rhael already wanted her back.

  She held her head high as she entered the Overlord’s tent and bowed to Rhael. But as she straightened, he was not looking at her.

  “My lord, you wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, Miss Helena, to give you your new orders.”

  “New orders, my lord?” Her heart fell back into its pit.

  “Yes, I have a mission for you. It will require skills I know you to possess.”

  “So I am no longer your… companion?” Morna struggled to keep her voice even.

  “No, but do not worry that you will waste away as a scullery maid.” He paused. When he spoke again, he sounded almost hoarse. “You are to serve a new master.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” He cleared his throat, still not facing her. “I intend to acquire a new ally. Negiol has informed me of a dissenter among the Fenearen ranks.”

  Morna could not understand what this had to do with her.

  “You will convince him to join our cause. I doubt it will be much of a challenge for you.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Henceforth, you will be this man’s servant and companion.” A thickness strained his voice, so unlike his usually deep, confident timbre. “Do as he pleases, make him comfortable and happy. Do you understand me?”

  Morna gaped. He was giving her to another man? She trembled in silent anger.

  “Go prepare yourself. An armed detachment will escort you as soon as possible.” He motioned toward the exit.

  She left, and he had never looked at her.

  Nero thrashed through the trees, clutching his shredded ear. He fell forward against the rough bark of a tree as a cough hacked from his lungs. Exhausted, he slid down an oak, settling into the leaves and mud as he caught his breath.

  A day and a night had passed since his fight with Bayne, but Nero had slept most of the time, trying to regain enough strength to travel. He had almost reached the Southern Densite's border. Beyond, the wilds of the Fenearen forest stretched, and many leagues farther, the ravaged Densites. Perhaps he could set up camp there, among the bodies of his dead brethren. Why should he care? Bayne had banished him. He was no longer a pack member. The dead were nothing to him now. The thoughts crowded through his mind, and Nero's heart pounded harder. Bayne had banished him. The coward hadn't had the decency to finish him off, but instead had left him to the lot of a lone wolf, madness and despair. That was, if he survived his wounds.

  A twig crack snapped Nero to attention. He watched a pair of figures winding among the trees toward him. Their scents registered next, both female. One, he knew all too well. Periwinkle flowers and cool spring water. Silver. As they came closer, Nero recognized Thera’s scent as well.

  “Razorn's blood! What do you want? Will you finish what your mate started, Silverine?” Nero spat.

  “Calm yourself, Nero. You will make your wounds worse,” Thera reproved him.

  Silver reached Nero first, kneeling beside him. “Let her h
elp before you go. You'll die otherwise.”

  “Why care what happens to me, Silver? You never did before.” The pain in Nero's words had nothing to do with his physical injuries.

  “I never wronged you, Nero Geddeont, despite your twisted perception of our history. You hate me because I would not love you, but that is your mistake, not mine.”

  “I hate you because you think you're too good for me,” Nero growled. “I hate you because you never gave me a chance, even after I supported your father, to earn your love!”

  Silver laughed as Thera slung her medical bag onto the ground. “Love cannot be bought with favors. It is unselfish, which is why you have never known it.”

  Nero's eyes narrowed. “Bayne is as selfish as they come, Silver; you're blinded by the foolishness you call love. Look what his desire to make a name for himself did to our country. How many are dead because of his ambition? Fenear was great once; now it’s a ruin. I'm the fortunate one. I'm free from Bayne's tyranny. But you and the rest of the pack, you're idealistic saps who deserve destruction. It's the law of nature. We Fenearens should understand. The strong kill the weak. And thanks to you and Bayne, Fenear is weak.”

  Silver's hand swept across Nero's cheek with a resounding crack.

  “Alphena!” Thera stood between her patient and Silver. “Enough. Help me move him to my den. I need more supplies and hot water.”

  Silver's seafoam gaze burned into Nero. “Once you're patched up, Nero, you will do as my mate commanded and leave, lest I kill you myself.”

  Nero smiled, blood dripping from his split lip to the cleft of his chin. “If you'd wanted me dead, Silverine, you could have let me die of my wounds. You may not accept it, but part of you wonders if you should have chosen me instead. That's why you couldn't let me die.”

  “I couldn't let you die because Bayne would not have wanted to kill a man, even you, over a dominance battle. I'm saving you because I love him. You can spend your life remembering that.”

  Once Nero was situated in Thera's den, Silver stopped by the water basin to wash away Nero’s blood and scent. A howl interrupted the tense silence.

  “Bayne.” Silver glanced at the healer. “He must be wondering where I am. He should be resting.” Her gaze fell on the sullen Nero. “I have to go. Bayne doesn't need to know about this.”