Contents
Acknowledgments
Map of Attilath
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Segment 1
Segment 2
Segment 3
Segment 4
Segment 5
Segment 6
Segment 7
Segment 8
Segment 9
Segment 10
Segment 11
Segment 12
Segment 13
Segment 14
Segment 15
Segment 16
Segment 17
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Cuskelom
Nirrorm
Jechorm
Athorim
Serhon
Talhon
Thank you!
Sneak Peek
Glossary
Author Bio
Copyright © 2016, 2018 Kelly Blanchard
ISBN: 978-1530066483
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Published by Scripton Publishing
Printed on acid-free paper.
Cover by Taurus Covers
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Scripton Publishing
First Edition
Acknowledgments
This book was complex and frustrating at times, but I am eternally grateful for my very supportive family and friends, especially Matthew Dale and Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer. The five of you have been with me every step of the way, encouraging me, challenging me, and just being a listening ear when I needed it or someone to bounce ideas around with. Thank you!
Many thanks to my editor, Rachel Lemons, who was quite thorough with her edits and critiques of the story, helping me identify plot holes and any potential questions readers may have.
Then, of course, there is the brilliant graphic artist, Taurus Covers, who created this fabulous cover. A very special thanks goes to you for all your hard work and stunning images.
A deep heartfelt appreciation goes to the fans of this book, who have been extremely patient in waiting for an actual physical copy of ‘Someday I’ll Be Redeemed’. I have published this book primarily for you, so thank you for all your support. Be sure to go to my website for bonus features of the story! www.kellannetta.com
I dedicate this book to
MATTHEW DALE,
whose great encouragement and patience
persuaded me to finish the edits to this book
and finally publish it.
I am eternally grateful.
Thank you!
Prologue
Look at them now—returning joyous from a hunting trip; laughing and sharing jokes of recent memories made. All eight of them. There is Prince Theran—crown prince of Cuskelom, a large, loud, and proud man. His three younger brothers are there as well. Prince Honroth possesses a wise leader's heart while his twin, Prince Heldon, follows in Theran's drunken footsteps and acts like the youngest of them though the youngest brother is Prince Lorrek—the only dark-haired prince among them and a quiet, watchful fellow. Traveling with them are the strong-willed Princess Atheta of Serhon, her sister, Gremina, and her brother, Haskel. They are very close and sharp-eyed. The cautious Princess Mordora of Nirrorm accompanies them also; like Prince Honroth, she is responsible.
Let them ride. Let them take in the rays of the brilliant sun and laugh at the cloudless sky.
They do not know that one will stand accused of heinous crimes while another will walk away from his inheritance. Two will come to believe nothing but lies. Two others will try to save them all but will sacrifice so much—maybe even everything. Yet another will live in a world of lies while the last will master manipulation and deception.
Watch them laugh now among the fields of flowers. A gust of wind carries the merry sound. Ah, the joy—the happiness in this moment.
One day each one of them will look back and recall this moment and wonder how such mirth had ever been possible among them. How foolish this day will seem to them then.
But let them ride this day. Let them laugh and build fond memories. It will only crush them in the end.
They will never see it coming.
1
Wind raked across the darkened barren winterscape as he trudged through the knee deep snow in the mountain terrain. A wolf's howl caused him to halt and look around then up at the sky at the full moon's pale face; wisps of clouds passed swiftly across the bright night sun.
Knowing the wolves were no threat to him, he tugged the edges of his hood closer to his face and hugged his cloak around himself as he ducked his head and pressed on through the skin-biting wind, step by step through the snow, ice, and rock.
Even in these night hours, he knew this path, having worn it well during the years of his childhood. If he lifted his head, he knew he would see the impressive sight of Nirrorm's castle jutting out of the mountain at the end of the valley—its sharp towers a contrast in the night and an imposing and frightening sight to the unfamiliar—but he simply kept walking, one step at a time.
At last he came to the castle walls, and the honorable watchmen saw him before he saw them.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
He stood at the foot of the wall staring at the structured stone. Drained from his journey, he did not wish to speak above a whisper, for he had little strength. He knew he could conjure a magical orb as an answer to the watchmen's question, but he was familiar with the laws of Nirrorm.
Magic was not welcome here.
Sighing, he lifted his chin and looked up, up, up at the top of the wall where the watchmen leaned over to see him and aimed their arrows at him. As if that would harm him. A small smirk touched the corner of his pale lips, but he swallowed and forced his voice to be heard. “I am Prince Lorrek of Cuskelom, and I seek sanctuary.”
Having accomplished his sole purpose to find safe haven, and having endured much tribulation and trials, Lorrek collapsed into the snow and sank into unconsciousness. Before the darkness overtook him, he heard the watchmen's startled shouts at his sudden collapse and the orders, “Fetch the king!” “Get a healer!” “Quick! Open the gate.”
A sigh passed through Lorrek's parted lips as he let his eyelids slide closed as he lay in the deep snow, feeling its coldness on his cheek.
He was safe—for now.
When he woke, he made no sudden movement. He sensed the essence of others in the room, and he wanted to determine who was here before he opened his eyes. At the foot of his bed, staring directly at him, sat an unmovable individual. Lorrek searched his memories of this place until he found a match: Wordan—king of Nirrorm. Off to Lorrek's right, further from the bed and closest to the door stood another stubborn figure—Princess Mordora. Given their last encounter, her presence surprised Lorrek, but he knew he could not feign sleep much longer if he wished to settle i
ssues and ensure his safety for the time being.
Slowly, Lorrek cracked open his eyes. As he had predicted, King Wordan sat at the foot of his bed with his powerful arms folded over his chest and heavy brows furrowed. He did not look his many years, but Lorrek knew not to doubt the man.
Knowing it best to show reverence to the local sovereign, Lorrek struggled to sit up in order to bow his head, but Wordan lifted a hand. Lorrek noted Princess Mordora in the corner of the room as he had foreseen, but he focused on her father, who heaved a relieved breath before speaking.
“Prince Lorrek, it is good to see the rumors of your death are not true.”
Lorrek's breath hitched in his chest, but he managed a whisper. “Please do not tell me you informed my brothers.”
“I thought to.” Wordan tilted his head toward Mordora. “But my daughter convinced me not to—not until we have some answers. You remember Mordora, do you not?” He held out his hand for her to approach, and she did so unwillingly, glaring at Lorrek—a look that went completely unnoticed by her father who was lost in his memories. “How long has it been since the Cuskelom princes came to visit? Twelve years? Fifteen?”
“Not long enough.” Mordora's answer came through her tight lips, and Lorrek saw the way she clenched her hands.
The prince arched a brow. “Still upset that I cut your hair? It's grown back, I see, and very lovely.” He admired the black silky waves of her hair.
“It grew back black!” Mordora lunged to strike him, but her father snatched her wrist and held her back. She scowled at Lorrek, who chuckled.
“Shall I change it back to blond?” He lifted his hand, ready to summon his magic. “It would be such a pity because your hair really is lovely.”
“You are a foul beast, Prince Lorrek!” Mordora struggled against her father one last time, but then she gave up and pulled back. Wordan let her go, and Mordora crossed her arms. “You toy with people's lives with your magic because you think it's fun, but you never realize how detrimental such little changes can have on a person's life.”
“She speaks the truth.” Wordan nodded but then set firm eyes on the prince. “Magic has no place here. I do not yet know the circumstances of your request for safe haven here, but if you wish to stay, your magic must be bound.”
Lorrek lifted a hand to ease the concerns. “Not to worry, Your Majesty. My magic is already bound. Why do you think I walked here and not magicked?” Wordan and Mordora stared at him. He dropped his eyes to avoid their gaze. Magic was always a sensitive topic here.
“You know I must have a magic minder confirm this.” Wordan gave Lorrek a hard look, and Lorrek nodded.
“I am aware of that.”
Mordora watched Lorrek with creased brows. He was never one to give up his magic willingly. It was the one thing he had over his older brothers; none of them could use magic, but they were more skilled fighters on the field. She had seen them practice, and Lorrek's magic made him equal to his brothers—especially Theran. For him to give that up meant something troubled him deeply, and he blamed his magic.
Mordora glanced over at her father, who was giving the prince his final conditions for his stay here in the palace, and then she looked back at Lorrek. He was hiding something. He was never one to share his secrets but preferred to hide behind lies and in the shadows of others. She narrowed her eyes. Now that Lorrek was here, she would question him until he gave her the answers she wanted.
“My dear.” She blinked out of her thoughts at her father's voice addressing her, and she looked at him. He gestured at Lorrek. “He needs his rest.”
The princess nodded. “I'll be right behind you, Father.”
He gave her one last stern look before turning and leaving the room.
Lorrek watched Princess Mordora stand before him with her arms folded and glare ever present. He knew she had something on her mind, and she was not one to keep her thoughts to herself.
“You're hiding something, Lorrek, and you should be wary before you bring any ill fortune upon us.”
Prince Lorrek of Cuskelom laughed—a weak sound in his current condition. “Have no worry, Princess. I only do what I do to protect those I love.”
“And do you love us? Do you love this kingdom?”
Lorrek hesitated as he fell back into his childhood memories of this place. Nirrorm was always cold—one of the coldest kingdoms he ever visited. However, in the springtime, it blossomed with snow-fed flowers, and crystal clear streams from melted mountain snow cleansed away the dirt and grime of wintertime.
They hunted in these dark forests. Theran always tried to prove himself the most fearless of them all by racing after wild boars only for Lorrek to tend to his wounds with magic. Princess Atheta lectured him on his foolishness yet again. Lorrek always appreciated her boldness and her willingness to go toe-to-toe with Theran. Princess Mordora, he recalled, preferred to sit with his brothers, Honroth and Heldon, observing the whole thing. Lorrek never gave her much thought because she had an invisible personality—until he cut her hair on a dare from Theran. That was the first time Mordora lost her temper and ordered the guards to throw them out of the palace—and the kingdom—before her father was aware of the situation. Now he was back for the first time, and it was no wonder Mordora asked if he cared for the kingdom of Nirrorm.
He locked his blue eyes with her green gaze. “Yes.” He paused. “I treasure this kingdom and all it has ever taught me—of myself, of family, of friends, and of life. I will not disappoint.”
She saw he meant every word, and her face softened. She did not want to be unkind to her old friend, but he was not like Honroth, who was the natural leader of the four brothers. Honroth was kind and gracious, whereas Lorrek kept his thoughts to himself and rarely expressed them. However, it had been thirteen years since she had banished them from her kingdom, and maybe Lorrek changed.
“I am glad you are here, Lorrek.” She reached down and took his hand. “I had heard rumors you had died, but now we can tell your brothers that you are alive and well—” His hand snatched hers and held it with a death grip. She gasped. “Lorrek...” Only Atheta's superior skills as she sought Lorrek's eyes for a reason.
His face remained expressionless, and his eyes an icy blue. “You must not tell them. Tell no one I am here. Tell no one I am alive.”
“But why?” She cried out softly when he gripped her hand tighter.
“Promise me.” Urgency filled his voice, and fear bled into his eyes. “Swear to me?”
She stared at him before reaching over and covering his hand that gripped her wrist. Then she nodded. “I swear. I promise. I won't say anything.”
Once he heard these words, he released her hand, and she pulled it quickly to herself, rubbing the raw skin. The lingering hurt burned anger within her, and she scowled at him, stepping back. “What do you think you're doing? We offer you safe haven, and you threaten me?”
Lorrek sighed and dropped his hand then used it to prop himself up. His strength was returning to him now, but he knew to take it slow. Finally, he met Mordora's gaze. “I cannot explain it to you, Your Highness. Please. Do not inform my brothers. It is for their own good and peace of mind.”
Mordora's face softened when she heard this, and she frowned. “Lorrek...” She waited until she knew she had his full attention. “What did you do?” The question came out harsher than she wished, but still the answer was needed.
Lorrek dropped his gaze to his open pale hands, and with a whisper, he answered, “I did what I had to do to save those I loved.” He looked at her once more. “But I still lost one nonetheless.” Mordora's brows furrowed, but Lorrek turned away from her. “I wish to rest now, Princess Mordora. I do believe that was the physician's orders.” There was a lightness in his voice, but Mordora knew he was disguising his hurt.
With a nod, the princess stepped back. She hesitated, wanting to tell him he was safe now and that they would fix things, but it was a promise she couldn't make. But there was one promise she knew
to be true. “I'll make sure no word returns to Cuskelom—until your permission is granted.” With that, she went to the door and opened it but looked back, her hand still on the door.
Lorrek sat on the bed facing the window with his back toward the door. Both his hands gripped the edge of the bed, and with hunched shoulders, he sat—an unbearable weight on his conscience.
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Mordora stepped out of the room and firmly but quietly closed the door.
He was hiding more than one thing, and she would keep her eye on him.
2
He shouldn't be able to do that—not here, in this abandoned part of the palace that once hosted grand balls and royal gatherings. It had been her mother's favorite room—so huge and tall. The circular walls, wide windows, and many arching pillars along the edges gave this room a mythic feel. The sound bouncing off the marble floor and the dome ceiling added to the mystery, and if Mordora stood still long enough and listened closely, she could still hear the music of past banquets and see the phantom dancers on the floor swirling in circles and circles with laughter and smiles.
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