Shadow Crown

by Kristen Martin

  Something clanks in the distance, immediately causing his ears to perk up. A swish of clothing catches his attention, and he looses a breath as a shadow of a petite figure comes into view. “Vira, I’m so happy to see you. I was starting to get worried.” He bites his tongue, realizing just how clingy and desperate he sounds.

  A small laugh echoes in the distance. “Worried? What for?” She brings the tray closer to him and slides it through the bars.

  Not wanting to seem eager for both her company and the food, he takes his time reaching for the bread before sinking his teeth into it. It’s stale and hard and glorious all at the same time.

  “Don’t mind me,” Vira says as she pulls a stack of hay from a nearby corner. She fluffs her skirt before sitting on it. “And I’m sorry for missing your last meal. You must be ravenous. No need to mind your manners.” She gives him a wide grin as she crosses her legs.

  Rydan smiles back. “Thank the lords because you’re right. I am ravenous.” With gusto, he digs into the meat and other piles of slop, even those that he normally wouldn’t dare touch. His stomach rumbles in approval as he finishes every last morsel. “Ahhh,” he says with a long exhale, “that’s just what I needed.”

  “May I take your tray?”

  He nods, but immediately wishes he hadn’t. It dawns on him that she may take the tray and scamper off to whatever’s next on her list of duties—but to his delight, she takes the tray and returns to the haystack. “So, have I missed anything?” she asks.

  He knows it’s a rhetorical question, but in the hopes of making her stay a little while longer, he decides to take a stab at his humor. “Well, Joseph came by the other day with a rare collection of handcrafted bowls that he swears are made from the finest oak in all of Trendalath.” He tries to gauge her response and when she giggles, he keeps going. “And Lady Napoli just won’t give her seamstressing skills a rest. Says she can fix my tunic and trousers right up and make them look like new again.”

  A sad smile drifts across her face. “Do you think they’ll ever let you out?”

  Rydan’s shoulders sag as he realizes his attempt at making her laugh has already come to its inevitable end. “I don’t know,” he whispers in response. “I sure hope so.”

  They sit in silence for a few moments, their breathing the only audible sound throughout the dungeons.

  “Enough about me and my situation,” Rydan says with a faux smile, “tell me about you. I want to know more about the girl who brings me my food. It’s the highlight of my day, you know.” He blushes as he stumbles over his words. “Have you always lived in Trendalath?”

  Vira smiles again, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “No,” she says quietly. “I haven’t always lived in Trendalath.”

  Rydan can tell he’s losing her, so he jumps in with another question. “Miraenia then? With that beautiful blonde hair, I can picture you strolling about the markets in that seaside village.”

  She laughs, and Rydan is relieved to hear it’s a real laugh, one coming from joy and not from pity.

  “Chialka, actually. I grew up there.” She hesitates before continuing. “I moved to Trendalath somewhat against my will. My family, was . . . well, we were split up.”

  Rydan sits back on his heels as he digests this information. “Oh, I had no idea. I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s quite all right. I’ve grown accustomed to Trendalath. I hardly even think about Chialka anymore.” Her voice cracks and Rydan can tell she’s trying to keep her emotions at bay.

  “Vira,” he soothes, “this is a safe place. You can tell me. I promise I’m not going to tell anyone.” He smirks, then jokingly says, “Well, maybe Lady Napoli. She’s unusually inquisitive, that one.”

  Vira’s shoulders relax as she looks up from the ground. “After the fires of Eroesa, Chialka was evacuated to higher ground. My mother and I were sent to Trendalath, and my brother and father . . .” Her voice catches. She doesn’t finish her sentence.

  “You don’t know where they are?” he asks, trying to finish for her.

  She nods.

  “Well, I’m sure they’re safe somewhere, maybe even here in Trendalath.”

  She shakes her head sadly. “I highly doubt that. They couldn’t be here.” She bites her lower lip as if she’s purposely trying not to say anything further.

  Rydan wishes he could break out of his cell and give this poor girl a hug. He essentially forced her to open up to him and now she’s sitting on a haystack, alone, with no one to comfort her.

  Nice going.

  “Tell you what, when I get out of here,” Rydan says, “we’ll search every inch of the Lands of Aeridon for your father and brother. We’ll even journey to other cities if we have to.”

  Her eyes gleam even in the dim lighting, and he can tell she’s on the verge of tears. “That’s kind of you, but I think it’ll be near impossible to find them. Best to just move on.”

  Rydan knows not to press any further so he says, “Well, if you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

  Vira gives him a nod. “Thank you.” She looks over her shoulder as if she hears something. “I should probably be on my way out.”

  “Vira?” Rydan says her name a little too quickly. “It was really nice talking to you and getting to know you. And I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

  She waves her hand flippantly in the air. “It’s not that at all. I just have bad memories of . . .” She trails off again, a faraway look in her eyes.

  “No matter,” Rydan says, breaking her from her trance. “I look forward to our next encounter.”

  She sinks into a half-curtsy before picking up the empty tray. “As do I.”

  Rydan watches as she leaves, feeling both better and worse at the same time. Who knows when he’ll see her again, especially after going on and on with question after question about her family and her past. He wouldn’t be surprised if she requested a change in her duties, one that didn’t require serving him his meals. That thought alone causes him to suck in a sharp breath.

  No, she’ll come back. They connected. She wouldn’t leave him alone to rot with no social interaction. Not to mention, she seemed just as lonely, if not lonelier. I have nothing to worry about.

  But the more he repeats those words, wishing them to be true, the more they feel like an empty promise—one that, sadly, will never come to pass.

  

  DARIUS TYMOND

  AFTER A FULL day’s travel, Darius finds himself standing on a doorstep he thought he’d never have to approach again in his lifetime. A burnt orange door stares him in the face, beckoning him to knock. Go on, burn yourself. It couldn’t possibly be worse than last time, the nonexistent voices whisper.

  Darius swiftly turns to look over his shoulder at the carriage and horses that brought him to this retched place. Declorath: the city of lying, deceitful, cowardly men. Or perhaps that was just from his own past experiences.

  He could turn around and leave. Head back to Trendalath. Lie to Aldreda. Find another way out of this stupid mess. But Aldreda would find out, and she’d either have his head for it, or do it herself. Best not to awaken the beast.

  With a reluctant raise of his hand, Darius raps his knuckles against the door. A few seconds go by and no one answers. Relief washes over him, but the feeling is quickly replaced with dread. He has to be here. Where else would he be?

  Just as he’s about to knock again, the door swings open. Darius takes a step back, startled by the sudden shift of stillness to movement. His eyes meet those of the man standing before him.

  Clive Ridley. The leader of his Savant. He hasn’t aged a day and looks exactly as Darius remembers. His copper hair is still wound in tight curls around his head, his hazel eyes lively and bright. Wrinkles are scarce and there’s not a mark on his face, not even a freckle. He smiles wide, showcasing his jagged teeth before saying, “Darius! The last person I ever expected to see. How have you b
een, my old friend?”

  Darius gives him the once-over before forcing a smile. “I have been quite well. Is this a bad time?”

  “For King Tymond? It’s never a bad time!” Clive gives him a sturdy slap on the back as he ushers him inside the house. “Do come in. Sit, sit. Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?”

  Darius watches him intently as he hurries over to the cupboard and pulls out a wooden cup, then proceeds to the fire with a pail of water. He really isn’t in the mood for tea, but Clive seems to be purposely trying to keep busy, so Darius keeps his mouth shut.

  It’s hard not to like Clive. He’s charming, amicable, and charismatic. A loyal confidante. A trustworthy advisor. That was, of course, until the affair with his wife.

  Darius takes a seat at the table as Clive pours the water into a cup and begins to steep some strong scented herbs. He brings the concoction over to the table and sits down across from him. “So,” Clive says as he cracks his knuckles, “what can I do you for?”

  Darius glances down at the steaming beverage before pushing it to the side. “First and foremost, I need to make it clear that my trip here is strictly business.” He cocks his head toward the tea, implying that it’s something old friends would do, which they are not. “I’ve come to you because I’m facing a dilemma in Trendalath.”

  Clive nods his head as he scoots the cup of tea back to his side of the table. “I understand. Proceed.”

  Darius hesitates, weighing how much information to provide. “One of my assassins has gone missing, and the other Cruex members are starting to grow restless. I’ve had my men searching day and night for her, but to no avail.” He pauses. The next few words are hard to get out. “I need you. And the Savant.”

  Clive regards him with interest as he strokes his beard. “I see.”

  While this short response angers Darius, he doesn’t let it show. “I need you to find her. She has . . . abilities. I’m not sure she’s discovered them just yet.”

  “Well, we are the King’s Savant. You say the word and we’ll be there.”

  The statement should fill Darius with comfort, but instead, it does just the opposite. Every time Clive opens his mouth to speak, he imagines the words that were spoken to his wife. The way his tone caressed her ears. His charm. His charisma. His allure.

  It was strong enough the first time for Aldreda—who’s to say it wouldn’t be even stronger the second time?

  On the ride over to Declorath, Darius had gone back and forth in his head as to whether or not pulling the Savant into this was a reasonable idea. He’d exiled his Savant to Declorath specifically after learning about Clive’s affair with Aldreda. The King’s Savant used to live in the Trendalath castle, and that’s where it’d all happened—right under his nose. He’d been too blind to see it.

  So inviting the Savant back into his life seems utterly absurd; but finding Arden is of the utmost importance. And to do that in the time allotted, Darius needs the Savant where he can keep a watchful eye on them.

  In Trendalath. In his castle. In his home.

  Knowing that he’s about to invite Clive back to the very place he’d forcefully removed him from is a difficult pill to swallow. But there is no other choice. It has to be done. And quick.

  Clive is busy talking about the shortage of crops in Declorath when Darius interjects, “I need you to gather the other members of the Savant and make your way to Trendalath castle.” He spits the words out; they taste like poison on his tongue.

  Clive raises a thick eyebrow, obviously thinking the exact same thing Darius is, but keeps his shock to himself. “When?”

  “Immediately. If you can ride in tonight, that would be preferable.”

  Clive looks around his house, his forehead creasing. “It’s short notice, but we will make do. Let me notify the others.”

  Darius nods his head as he scoots his chair back from the table. “Your sense of urgency is recognized and appreciated.” He extends his arm for a handshake, but finds himself being pulled into a bear hug instead. He grunts as Clive pats him on the back with a little too much force.

  “I’m so glad we can put this all behind us. Don’t forget what I said. We are your Savant. Just say the word and we’ll be there. That will never change.”

  Darius gives him a half-smile. “I look forward to seeing everyone again.”

  Clive lets out a low chuckle. “As do I, My King.” He sighs longingly. “As do I.”

  And just like that, Darius wishes he could reverse the last twenty minutes, and kill the damn rat bastard instead.

  CERYLIA JARETH

  “YOUR GREATNESS, YOU shouldn’t have.”

  Cerylia grins as Opal’s excitement radiates from across the room. She watches as she pulls piece after piece of fine silk from the box. “Do you like them?”

  “Do I like them?” she squeals. “They are exquisite. Magnificent.” She clutches the robes tightly and brings them into her chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever received such a thoughtful gift.”

  “Hard work deserves to be rewarded,” Cerylia says. She rises from the chair in Opal’s chambers and glides over to the bed. Gently, she takes a seat next to the girl, who is still admiring her new robes. The look on her face—one of pure joy—is familiar, an emotion that Cerylia wishes she could still summon, but sadly, it was taken from her some time ago. “You’ve been pushing yourself harder and harder each day. I want you to know that it has been recognized. These robes are a token of my appreciation.”

  Opal shifts her gaze from the robes to the queen. “They’re stunning, but hardly necessary, if I may say so, Your Greatness. You’ve given me shelter, food, training, and companionship. You have given me more than enough.” What looks like a tear threatens to fall from her eye, but she takes a deep inhale and it disappears.

  “On the contrary, I hardly think I’ve done enough. Without your courage to approach me, none of this would be happening, and my questions would remain unanswered. Because of you, I will finally have clarity.”

  Opal blushes just as a knock sounds on the door.

  Cerylia lets out an exasperated sigh. “Who is it?” she calls out.

  “Your Greatness, my apologies,” Delwynn says hurriedly from behind the door, “I had no idea you were visiting with Opal. I’ve come to take her to training.”

  Cerylia turns to Opal and gives her a small smile. “No need to apologize. Come in, Delwynn.”

  Her advisor scurries into the room, looking disheveled and embarrassed. He sinks into an awkward bow as he addresses the queen, then faces Opal. “I can come back at another time.”

  Opal eyes Cerylia, who shakes her head. “No, that’s quite all right. We were just finishing up.”

  He eyes the intricate silk robes that Opal is stuffing back into the box. “What marvelous robes,” he points out. “A gift, I presume?”

  Opal nods her head.

  Delwynn fixes his gaze on Cerylia. “No doubt. What a fine gift for someone who’s showing such tremendous progress. As her mentor—”

  Cerylia holds her hand up. “I didn’t forget about you, Delwynn. You’ve been a loyal advisor and an effective mentor.”

  Delwynn beams at the compliment. “Thank you, Your Greatness.”

  “Which is why,” she turns behind her and pulls something from the other side of the bed, “I got you this.” She extends a staff made of white marble to him. “It’s about time we got rid of that old thing,” she says with a nod toward his white cedar cane.

  “But how—?”

  Cerylia already knows what he’s about to ask. “The marble is lighter than a falcon’s feather. I had the healer conjure a mixture using dragon scales before it was sculpted into its final form. Give it a try.”

  Delwynn takes the staff from her, his eyes widening as he realizes how light it is. “This is truly remarkable, Your Greatness. But it would be selfish of me to accept.”

  “And it would be disrespectful of you not to.” Cery
lia gives him a knowing smile. “It will never need replacing and the support will be like no other.”

  “It would appear I have no choice but to accept then. Thank you, Your Greatness,” Delwynn whispers. “I am wholly grateful.”

  “Now,” Cerylia says as she swiftly rises to her feet, “I suppose I should check on our supper. It should be served at 1800 hours. As our guests of honor, please arrive on time.”

  Both Delwynn and Opal nod as the queen takes her leave. Just as she’s about to walk down the hallway, whispering catches her attention. Opal and Delwynn seem to have carried on a separate conversation.

  “Have you asked her yet?”

  Cerylia sneaks back toward the door and presses herself against the wall. The door is still cracked, enabling her to eavesdrop.

  “I’m afraid not,” Opal responds, her voice quiet.

  “Why not?” Delwynn presses.

  “I haven’t found an opportune moment, but I’m sure one will come along. Any day now.”

  Cerylia bristles at her response. Opportune moment? To ask me what?

  “Well, when you find out, please make sure I’m the first to know.”

  “Delwynn,” Opal says, “I understand. I will come straight to you.”

  “It’s critical that we know exactly what she needs to clarify and soon.”

  Cerylia sucks in a sharp breath as if she’s just been shoved into a wall. Opal is confiding in Delwynn?

  “If the queen finds out that you’ve been able to travel back to her desired timeframe all along, lords only know what she’ll do with us. We definitely won’t be seeing anymore of these,” he says half-jokingly, and Cerylia immediately presumes he means the gifts.

  Her hands curl into fists as rage ignites within her. Not wanting to hear another word, she takes off down the hall, trying to be as quiet as possible until she rounds the corner. With her head in her hands, she slinks against the stone down to the floor, her robes overflowing into a pool around her body. She’s been able to travel back all along. Why did she lie to me?