Hex Breaker (The Fenearen Chronicles Book 1)

by Taryn Noelle Kloeden

  It was not a question, but Rayna answered anyway. “Yes. I must. We don’t have a chance without more warriors.”

  “You don’t have much of a chance with them. I have seen it. Tell me, Rayna Myana,” Marielana asked, “would you still fight?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “No, Rayna. Choice is all you have. Water will run with wolf once more, but the fields will flow with blood and gore. From the chaos, one will rise, and all will serve the lord with golden eyes. There is no changing this future. I have tried. So make your choice. Will you serve, or will you die?”

  Air rushed into Rayna’s lungs. She bolted upright, struggling against whatever held her down.

  “Ray! Rayna!” Channon leaned over her. The sky above them was a dark indigo, and she could smell the sea leagues behind them.

  “I’m sorry. I was dreaming.” She smoothed her fingers over the fresh bandages beneath her clothing.

  “You're awake now.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face, stroking her chin. His fingers remained there, brushing her lips and the scar that crossed them. “How are you feeling? You scared me earlier, fainting like that.” The Alvornians and Mina were sleeping nearby. They must have stopped for the night. She and Channon were the only ones awake.

  “I’m fine.” She leaned her cheek into his palm. She could not bring herself to tell him about Marielana, or what she had said. Priestess or not, Rayna did not believe her. The future was not something controlled by riddles and rhymes. Rhael might win, but only if she failed to defeat him, and that was up to her, not fate. She remembered her conversation with Kellan about destiny. He did not believe in it. Why should she?

  “Ray?” Channon’s other hand rose to her neck. She looked into the stormy blue eyes and hard-planed face that still did not quite look like her best friend. “What do you think would have happened? If Rhael had never come, do you think either of us would have found the courage?”

  “The courage to do what?”

  The corner of Channon’s mouth raised into a half-smile. “Don’t tell me you’re still afraid. Not after everything we’ve seen and been through. You can’t still be afraid of this.” His gaze dropped to her lips; she heard his heartbeat hasten.

  Rayna’s hands twined into his salt-waved hair. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Good.” He leaned closer, but a raucous yawn erupted behind them, shocking them apart.

  Mina sat up, her hair matted and standing up in every direction imaginable. “Rayna! You’re awake.”

  “Er, yes.” All around them, Alvornians started to rise.

  Jayden stretched and then knelt by Rayna. “How are you feeling, my lady?”

  “Wonderful, actually.” Rayna stood, feeling better than she had in weeks. Marielana had said she would wake refreshed, but it still seemed odd.

  “That’s the Amne Vena,” said Jayden as he rolled up Rayna’s blankets, handing them to Channon.

  “Amni what now?” Mina snatched her own bedroll back from an Alvornian attempting to carry it for her.

  “Amne Vena,” Jayden repeated. “Water magic. I’m no expert, not nearly as skilled as my friend Winiam, but I did what I could. When we get to the capital, we can have the healers take a proper look at all of you.”

  Once all the supplies had been gathered, they continued north. While Rayna had been unconscious, they had managed only three leagues. Now that she was up, they made good time. According to Jayden, Sinthahelm was thirteen leagues north of the ocean. After that, there were only twelve leagues west to the Southern Densite. Still, time passed too slowly for Rayna's liking. As she neared home, she felt the threat in the air, circling her like carrion crows.

  Rayna glanced over at Channon. There was no question. He had been about to kiss her, and she had wanted him to. Yet as she studied his profile in the gray dawn light, his face was sullen with an ashy cast to it that she had never seen before he had been cursed. He had asked if they would have found the courage to act on their feelings for one another. Rayna was sure they would have, but since then everything had changed. His laugh had lost its boyish charm, and despite the fact that he was kind as always, a trace of anger tainted everything he did—anger that in some ways reminded her of Rhael. His intense gaze, his forced expressions were so unlike her Channon. Even his movement had lost all its endearing awkwardness, changing to a crisp, authoritative gait like that of the Overlord’s. She shivered, turning away.

  No one was born evil. Bayne had told her that when she had asked him about the men who had killed her mother. People were all products of their experiences and how they dealt with them. Sudmaris had said much the same. Decades ago, Rhael had not been an evil child. Somewhere deep within him there had been the potential, but he had been the victim of evil acts himself. It was the only way he could have turned into the monster she knew.

  How much evil could one man take before it consumed him? What was more evil than what had happened to Channon? She remembered his wild eyes when she had first found him underneath the black ocean. She thought of how he had attacked her, of the scars covering his body, of the way he saw the world now, so full of rage. It was so different from her Channon. Rayna had to come to terms with one fact: the man she brought back from Hell was not the boy she grew up with, and he never would be again. The question was, did that change the way she felt?

  Rayna settled her scattered thoughts on her surroundings. It was much easier to consider the differences between the Alvornian forests and those of her homeland than to dwell on her feelings for Channon.

  Alvorn had many of the same kinds of trees–white oaks, birch, cedar–but the trails were much wider and easier to follow. The Alvornians sometimes rode horses, so they would prefer such well-tended paths. Seashells lined the trail edges, and though it flurried, most of the snow melted when it touched the sandy ground. The animals, too, were familiar. She smelled squirrel, deer, raccoon, and plenty of winter-hardy birds. Of all her travels—Maenor, Kanton, the Sylrian Provinces, Vanuuk, and lands between–Alvorn felt most like home. But she was not home. Not yet.

  “Rayna! Rayna? Snap out of it!” Mina slapped her shoulder.

  “Ouch! What is it, Mina?”

  “That.” Mina pointed ahead. The forest ended in what Rayna first mistook for marshland, but the canal rows were too ordered for that. She remembered Bayne telling her once of a water-based crop called rice, an Alvornian favorite. These must have been their paddocks, yellow and abandoned in winter. Beyond the paddocks, a moat and white wall at least fifty tail-lengths high protected a city unlike any she had seen. Concentric rings of islands with bridges spanning across them at regular intervals, surrounded a central forest. She smelled countless people and many of the strange, domestic animals she had seen in Anhorde. But the similarities to Rhael’s capital ended there. In ancient Alvornian, Sinthahelm meant city of life, and Rayna could not think of a more appropriate name.

  “Come, my lady.” Rayna had not realized the others had started toward the city until Jayden turned back to her. “It is as beautiful within, I assure you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Morna sat beside a dying fire, her hands folded over her barely swelling stomach. The night was quiet. Most of the men in the encampment had already marched to face what was left of the Fenearen forces. Nero had gone with them. She had not told him about her secret, nor was he clever enough to notice the signs. It was for the best. Either he would die in battle and she would be rid of him, or he would return and she would let him believe the child was his. For all she knew, it could be.

  She picked at the fraying edge of her robe and did not notice the presence behind her until he cleared his throat. Morna twisted to see who it was. Rhael approached her, silent as snowfall.

  “Overlord.” She stood and curtsied.

  “Miss Helena.” He motioned for her to sit again, and, to her surprise, joined her beside the fading embers.

  He said nothing for a long time, until Morna could no longer stand the sile
nce. “My lord, I thought you had left with the others.”

  He shook his head. “No. I will ride out presently, but the field must be cleared of traps before the real battle can begin.”

  She nodded, but her focus was on the fact that he spoke to her at all. She chose her next words with care, scared she might ruin the moment. “I’m certain your victory will be swift, my lord.”

  Morna glanced at him and found his black and gold eyes staring straight at her. “My lord?”

  “I want you to know I regret how I've treated you.” He pushed a strand of hair from her face. “No one else has been worth anything except you, and I threw you away.”

  “Rhael,” she whispered, placing her head on his shoulder.

  He swept his palm over her abdomen, caressing the subtle swell. “Morna, you have to understand why I tried to let you go—to make you hate me.”

  Tears clung to Morna's lashes. “Why, Rhael? How did I lose your love? You said love made you weak, but nothing you do could ever be weak.”

  “Don't you understand, Morna? You didn't do anything. The child—I couldn't put our...” He cleared his throat. “It is an unkind thing, to be born into my family. I do not wish that for your child.”

  The Overlord ignored Morna's startled gasp. He knew about her pregnancy? She thought of the last time they had kissed, how he had recoiled after touching her stomach. Was it possible he had known before she had? Had his coldness, his insistence that she lie with another, been to ensure she would not be forced to enter the Cult of Demetrian? Could it all have been to protect their child? The possibilities swam through her head without pause, leaving her dizzy.

  “Commander Geddeont will not survive this battle.” His hand found hers. “I am confident his savage people will smell him out. Even if they don’t, I promise he will not return.”

  “Rhael…” She could not catch her breath.

  He continued. “I was wrong to forsake you, Morna. You were right. I need you, and not just for the divine magic in your veins. When I found you that night—I was so angry at first, but...” He tightened his hold on her hand. “I do not want to live without you. I have instructed two Da' Gammorn to escort you to my summer palace on the coast. Go. Have your child. There may be rumors, but your relationship with the Fenearen traitor and my rejection of you was quite public. Even if the pregnancy is discovered, no one will suggest that you are worthy of entering the Cult of Demetrian. The child will be safe.”

  “I–”

  Rhael cut her off with a kiss. The ice that had choked her heart for weeks shattered, and life returned. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. He stood, turning away from her.

  “I must prepare for battle. I will come to you when I can.”

  “Why fight, Rhael?” She cupped his jaw. “Why risk your life when your army can win the day for you? Come with me.”

  He smiled, running his hand through her hair. “Your concern is touching, if misguided. I will see Fenear destroyed, my enemies slain, and then return to you, victorious. Now, go.”

  Two mounted Da' Gammorn appeared from the darkness at the firelight's edge, a bridled gelding between them.

  Morna threw her arms around Rhael. His breastplate was cold, but she pressed into his chest anyway. “I will wait for you, my lord.”

  He pulled away, kissing her hand. “One last question before you leave. Do you still dream of Rayna? Will she return in time for battle?”

  Morna's skin prickled. After all these months, he was still obsessed with the silly Fenearen girl. “I see her in dreams. It’s… hazy, but I think she is closer than she has been in months.”

  “Good. Now leave this place.”

  He disappeared into the shadows before she could say more. Morna turned back to the fire, letting the heat wick away her tears. He loved her. He loved her and their child. They would be together.

  Silver woke to the beating of drums and the scent of rotting flesh. Like the other warriors, she and Bayne had camped in the trees south of the valley where they would meet the Maenorens in battle. The indigo sky meant that sunrise was still some time away, but Rhael’s army was on the move. They would arrive with the sun, as promised. She slid from Bayne’s arms and walked to the tree line. Tendrils of smoke dotted the horizon a league to the north. The drumming carried, echoing her heart's rhythm. She had fought in battles before, during the last Maenoren invasion. She had been seventeen when she had seen Aquillo fall with a flaming arrow jutting from his chest. That was only one of the horrors permanently etched in some dark, secret corner of her mind. How many more images would she add to her collection before she died?

  “Silverine?” Bayne whispered, but still she jumped. She had left him sleeping. He joined her at tree line overlooking the valley.

  “You know I hate it when you call me that, Bayne. Makes you sound like my mother when she was cross with me.”

  Bayne ignored her weak attempt at humor and took her hand. “It’s not too late. The pups and elders need protection when this is all over. You could take them—”

  “No.” The wind tossed her short silver-blonde hair as she turned to face him. “I’m not running from this fight. I’m with you.”

  “I am not losing you!”

  “And I’m not losing you. That's why we’re here together.”

  Bayne turned to hide the moisture in his dark eyes. “It was not supposed to be like this.”

  “What was not?”

  “Our lives. It should have been the four of us forever. Aquillo died first, and then Mya. Now I can’t even protect you.”

  “Shh.” Silver touched his bristly cheek. “Bayne you gave me the life I wanted, a life with you. Ours is a life of adventure and hardship, love, victory. I could not ask anything more.”

  His hold on her hand tightened. He pulled her to him, bringing his lips to hers with unfamiliar desperation. She wrapped her fingers in his hair, forcing him closer until all parts of their bodies touched and his pine and oak scent blocked out everything else. They had been mates for seventeen winters, Alphen for seven, friends their entire lives, and would be together until the end.

  Roxen cleared his throat behind them, breaking their kiss. “Sorry to interrupt,” he apologized. “Since you’re up, should we start to prepare?”

  “Yes.” Bayne dropped his hand to the small of Silver’s back. “Spread the word, everyone is to eat before heading to their assigned locations. And be mindful of the traps.”

  “Yes, Alpha.” Roxen turned to go, but Bayne stopped him.

  “Rox. Your parents would be proud of you.”

  “As we are,” Silver added, squeezing his hand.

  Roxen nodded, but his gaze extended toward the oncoming Maenorens. “Do you think we can beat them?”

  “I don’t know.” Bayne clasped Roxen’s shoulder. “But I do know we’ll give them a hell of a fight.”

  A shadow of a smile twitched Roxen’s mouth, but he did not reply before taking his auburn wolf form. He bowed his head to them both and hurried into the trees.

  Bayne and Silver turned back to the valley. Already the columns of smoke marking the Maenorens’ progress seemed closer. Silver shivered as snowflakes melted on her exposed hands. Bayne held her closer, and she clung to their moments together with all her might. The battle was near that would make heroes and cut down heroes, that would determine the future of their lives and their culture. But for now, they were together and whole, and it was enough, because it was all they had left.

  Ash crouched in the bracken lining the forest edge, overlooking the valley as hundreds of Maenoren foot soldiers marched onto the field. The rising sun reflected blood red off their armor, and their march shook the ground until his paw-pads buzzed. Beside him, Pike was stiff, his amber eyes blazing as they awaited the signal to attack. They had hoped Rhael would send his cavalry and the Da’ Gammorn first, but Nero must have warned against it. Ash dug his claws into the frosty ground. How many lives would the traitor’s treachery cost them?

>   The Maenoren infantry marched downhill in a perfect square, shields raised, spears jutting outward to prevent attack. Ash could not see his enemies' faces behind their formation and helmets, but he imagined the expressions of mingled fear and confusion they wore. From their perspective, they marched onto an abandoned field. Their weak human eyes could not see the Fenearens hidden in the forest, or the death awaiting them only a dozen tail-lengths ahead. Nor could they see the True Wolves in the underbrush on either side of them. They beat their war drums, bellowed their horns, and waved their black and gold banners, but still no defenders appeared.

  Beside him, Pike licked his lips. Any moment now.

  Twigs cracked and leaves rustled, and the unlucky Maenorens on the front lines fell into the first of the hidden pits. Ash pinned back his ears as the screams, clashing armor, and bloody scent filled the valley. He could not see the men who had disappeared into the ground, but he knew they would be impaled on stakes, still twitching like moths in a spider’s web. The pits claimed several more lines of helpless men pushed in from their momentum before the remainder halted. Those men that had fallen after the first several would likely survive, but climbing out of the pits in full armor would take time. A Maenoren commander shouted to his men from the rear. Though Ash could not understand the words, the meaning was clear: reform and go around the deadly trap.

  They obeyed, and Ash felt almost guilty as they walked straight into the next pit. The coverings fell away, and more men fell screaming to their deaths. This time though, the screams did not stop, but morphed into the panicked desperation for which the True Wolves had been waiting. The Maenorens fled their positions despite their commander's orders. Some formed smaller units, dropping their spears in favor of swords, while others crashed to the ground, their ankles caught in snares. Still others toppled, their feet punctured by hidden spikes.

  Then the wolves attacked.

  Pike leaped from their hiding spot first, Ash following as another twenty-four pairs of Trues sprang from both sides of the valley, pouring down onto the Maenorens. Ash forgot his pity as they crashed into their opponents. In the heat of battle, his instinct boiled over his awareness, propelling him and Pike into a choreographed attack. Pike's girth forced opponents to the ground, and Ash finished them without hesitation. The Trues herded the remaining Maenorens toward the traps until all three of the huge pits were choked with bodies living and dead. The wolves surrounded the pits, tearing apart any Maenoren that managed to escape. Ash and Pike sprinted up the valley’s south hill until the last group of soldiers fled into the woods where the Fenearens and Resistance waited to strike.