Audette of Brookraven (The Eldentimber Series Book 4)

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Not to be left out, Rogert bounds over and crushes them both in a bear hug. “They’ve made a truce! Get in here, Audette. It’s a momentous occasion!”

  Squealing, I try to get away, but Rogert is too quick. I’m smashed in between them, laughing. “Let me go! We have things to do.”

  Not an hour later, the three of us stand in the smithy with Edlund’s personal armorsmith. Irving, who’s fetched his drachite armor just as I asked him to, looks ill.

  “It’s not melting down.” The armorsmith shakes his head. “I don’t know what secret Errinton holds on it.”

  Irving sucks in his cheeks and looks at the ceiling. “Rigel said he had to superheat the forge with fire talc.” He practically groans the words.

  Trying not to laugh at his distress, I squeeze his hand, hoping to comfort him.

  It’s beautiful armor, dark and sleek and polished. I hate to destroy it, I really do. But the chance of us killing the ludrako with three arrows is slim to none.

  “Fire talc,” the armorsmith muses, rubbing his jaw and getting it sooty in the process. “I suppose I can try if someone can track some down for me.”

  It takes all day, but we finally find a merchant in Kallert selling the talc. We deliver it to the armorsmith the next day. To my disappointment, he tells me it will be too dangerous for me to linger.

  Irving, not having the stomach to watch his precious armor melted down, excuses himself as well, trusting Rogert and Keven to oversee the process.

  “It’s for a good cause,” I assure him as we walk into the castle.

  “You’re awfully bright-eyed,” he says, his tone only slightly sour.

  I stop to face him. “This is going to work. Once the swords are made, we will attack again, and this time, we will slay the beast.”

  “Why do you say that as though Barowalt will let you go?”

  Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I continue to the castle. “Because I won’t give him a choice.”

  Irving only chuckles under his breath and follows me through the entryway.

  I pause by the nearest guard. “Have the Duke and Duchess Marfell returned yet?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the man says. “They arrived over an hour ago.”

  Not wasting any more time, I thank the man and rush through the halls to the infirmary with Irving at my heels. I knock on the door, impatient.

  This time, when the maid answers the door, she wears a smile.

  “Good news?” I ask her, my heart swelling.

  She grins. “Wonderful news.”

  I walk through the door and find Kent sitting on a cot with Giselle at his side. A red-haired woman sits on a stool in front of them. She has her hand pressed to the prince’s chest, and her eyes are fixed on the wound in concentration.

  Slowly, before our eyes, the swelling goes down and the yellowed skin begins to pink. The oozing slows, and the wound starts to knit.

  “There.” Smiling, she opens her eyes and draws her hand away. “Now it will heal just as it should.”

  “Can’t you heal him completely?” Giselle demands.

  The gimly woman turns to her. “There are too many injured to concentrate on only one.”

  Giselle looks murderous. “But he is the heir to the Ptarmish throne!”

  “And I have taken the infection and the poison away.” She smiles at Kent. “You will be just fine.”

  Kent smiles and lets out a long contented sigh. “I already feel better. I’m in your debt.”

  His wife’s eyes flash, but she keeps her mouth shut.

  The gimly rises, and I look at Barowalt, hopeful.

  “Who next?” she asks Edlund, who lingers in the corner.

  “Please,” Milly croaks, looking near tears. “Please help Barowalt.”

  Edlund nods, smiling. “Yes, please.”

  I take a seat next to my brother. Milly, who looks near death herself, clutches my hand. She’s trembling, terrified it won’t work.

  But I know it will.

  “My name is Pella,” the woman says softly, smiling at Milly to reassure her. She nods to Barowalt. “And who is this?”

  “Barowalt, King of Brookraven.” My voice cracks when I finish, “My brother.”

  Pella nods and sets her hand on Barowalt.

  Irving grips my shoulder as we wait.

  After several moments, Barowalt’s breaths soften. Soon after that, color returns to his face.

  Pella shudders and gasps, but she doesn’t remove her hand. Finally, with a loud exhale, she opens her eyes. To Physician Benjamin, she says, “Change his bandages and keep applying the salve to his wounds, and he’ll be fine.”

  Milly, so overcome with relief, begins to cry. She clutches her face in her hands, sobbing.

  I’m about to wrap her in my arms when Barowalt stirs. I freeze, watching my brother as he opens his eyes. Blinking, he looks around. Immediately, his gaze lands on Milly, who hasn’t yet noticed through her veil of tears.

  “Milly?” His voice is scratchy and rough.

  She jerks her head up. Her face is already wet, but when she sees him, she cries harder.

  He sits, cringing at the pain of the movement. “What happened? All I remember is the beast.”

  Milly sets her hand on his arm. “I didn’t know if you would…”

  His gaze intensifies as if he’s truly seeing her for the first time. Even though we’re all here, gawking, he yanks her to his chest. Threading his fingers through her hair, he kisses her.

  “Marry me,” he says after several long moments. “Enough of this game.”

  Laughing while holding back another wave of tears, she nods. “Yes.”

  My own eyes begin to sting. I blink quickly and turn away to give them privacy.

  “Thank you,” I say to Pella. “How can I repay you?”

  “There’s no need. I’m happy to help.” She glances about the room and then pulls me into the corner. “What is this creature?”

  “A ludrako.”

  “I’ve never heard of it, but its magic is fierce.” She eyes my hair. “Be wary. It’s marked you and your brother. I don’t know why.”

  “I don’t understand the purpose of the dark magic.”

  She shakes her head and fidgets with a strand of colorful beads at her wrist. “No—the magic isn’t dark. It’s not inherently evil, but rather predatory. Similar to that of a dragon.”

  I sigh, thinking.

  Pella lowers her voice further. “It can track now. Perhaps there is someone using the beast to find those protecting the blessing.” When my eyes widen, she leans close and pats my shoulder. “Don’t be afraid. I’m a gimly. I can see things humans can’t.”

  Slowly, slightly spooked, I nod.

  With another twist of her bracelet, she turns away, off to help the next man in need of her services.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “You were only able to craft five swords from a full set of armor?” I ask the armorsmith, my voice on the shrill side.

  “Your Highness,” he says. “We used the fire talc, but the metal reacted strangely. I’m not familiar with the alloy. You’re lucky you got five.”

  He’s brought them to the villa, where we’ve now returned with Barowalt. We stand in the courtyard, and birds sing from the trees.

  I glance at the swords. Not only did we get five when I had hoped for ten, maybe even fifteen, but they are ugly swords at that.

  Sighing with defeat, I thank the man.

  Once he leaves, Irving picks up a sword and studies its rough construction. It’s gnarly and pitted, and the blade is anything but straight.

  “You’re not going to cry, are you?” I set my hands on my hips.

  “No,” he says with an exaggerated wobble in his voice. “I’m fine.”

  When he tries to slide it in his sheath, a divot in the blade catches on the leather, hanging it up.

  I press my lips together, trying not to laugh.

  Since we’re alone, I step forward and ease the sword int
o the leather sleeve. “They will serve their purpose, and I will buy you another set of Errinton’s prized armor when we return home.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “A wedding present?”

  “If that’s what you’d like to call it.”

  Grinning, he loops his arm around my waist and tugs me closer. “I can think of something I’d rather have—”

  “Honestly,” Keven says as he strides out the villa’s entryway, rolling his eyes.

  He and Irving may have made amends, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the knight likes seeing us together.

  Luckily, Keven’s quickly distracted by the new swords. He pokes one with his dagger as if he doesn’t want to sully himself by touching it. “What are these?”

  Hallgrave and Rogert soon join us, and after several moments, Barowalt hobbles out with the assistance of a staff.

  My brother tires quickly, but Benjamin said it’s best if he walks for short intervals several times a day.

  It’s strange to see my brother so helpless, so at the mercy of those around him.

  Like a worrisome mother hen, Milly follows him out.

  “Where is Letta today?” I ask her.

  Since we’ve returned, the girl has barely left Milly’s side.

  “She’s visiting with Grace,” Milly says, and she looks somewhat relieved.

  As much as Milly dotes on the girl, taking care of both her and Barowalt seems to be a little more than she can handle at the moment.

  Barowalt leans against a stone garden barrier and picks up one of the swords. “So you believe these will kill the beast?”

  “Yes,” I say, completely sure.

  “As long as he doesn’t get in our heads again.” Rogert rubs his temples at the memory.

  I turn to Hallgrave. “The unicorns were just as frightened of you as they were of me, correct?”

  The knight nods. “Terrified.”

  Satisfied, I pick up one of the swords, testing its weight. It’s slightly heavier than what I’m used to, but it will do.

  “What are you doing?” Barowalt asks me, his voice too even.

  “Surely you don’t think you’re going to fight the beast in the condition you’re in?” I turn to him. “This time, whether you like it or not, I’m leading my knights.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I forbid it.”

  I motion the men, Irving, and Milly away with my head. They don’t need to be present for this.

  Once they’ve gone into the villa, I turn back to Barowalt. “I love you. I respect you. But I’ve given you too much of my power when it comes to the Order.”

  “You can’t handle this alone.”

  “You’re right. I can’t do it alone. But that doesn’t mean I need you taking the reins. Barowalt, this is my duty. I don’t know why the responsibility is passed to a female, but it is the way it’s done. I have to do this.” I pause, letting my words soak in. “And you have to let me.”

  His jaw is tight, and he starts to shake his head. “If something were to happen to you—”

  “It would be just as devastating for you as it was for me when I saw them haul you in on that wagon, bloody and barely breathing.”

  “You don’t understand.” He looks torn, his once familiar eyes too dark. “I promised our parents before they passed that I would take care of you.” His eyes are full of memories. “I promised.”

  Gently, I wrap my arms around his middle. “But you can’t protect me from everything—especially my duty.”

  “I know.” He sets his arm on top of my head and rests his chin on it.

  The gesture used to irritate me when we were younger, but now it’s comforting.

  “If you’re this protective of me,” I say, “what in the world are you going to do when the Order falls to your future daughter?”

  He growls. “I don’t even want to think of it.”

  I laugh and pull away, giving him a mischievous smirk just to irk him. “Your and Milly’s future daughter.”

  He tries to hide a smile but fails. “If I’m lucky, we’ll only have sons.”

  Shaking my head, I turn back to the atrocious swords. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  Barowalt shifts, hobbling next to me. He meets my eyes, his look meaningful and mildly threatening. “You had better be.”

  ***

  The only thing left to do is wait for the beast to attack again. Another month passes, and there hasn’t been any sign of it.

  I’m growing increasingly anxious. I want to be done with this.

  The storms have let up as spring approaches, and we’ve had more days of sunshine. Villages around Ptarma have slowly continued their festivals, and villagers are beginning to again walk the streets at night. People are starting to speculate the beast died in the last attack.

  What if it did?

  What if Irving’s shot was so true, he actually killed it?

  But it wasn’t there when we went back to scout the cave. Dead creatures, even the magical species, tend to leave bodies lying about when they die.

  Half-bored, I sit with Milly, Grace, and Aunt Camilla in Queen Clara’s sitting room. Since Aldus’s death, the queen’s been sullen, and I was surprised to receive an invitation for tea this morning.

  “Where is Giselle?” Clara asks several minutes after the maids have brought in the tea. “I spoke with her earlier, and she said she’d come.”

  “I haven’t seen her today,” Grace answers.

  I drum my fingers on my leg and stare out the open balcony doors, watching the pink blooms of the amberwood tree wave in the slight breeze.

  “Audette,” Clara says. “Would you mind checking her quarters for me?”

  Startled, I look back at the queen. “You want me to go to Giselle’s rooms to look for her?”

  The queen smiles. “I know there’s tension between the two of you. It’s time you make amends.”

  Grace very subtly wrinkles her nose, but, being ever the lady, she keeps her mouth shut. Milly looks flat out disgusted at the thought, but she keeps her thoughts to herself as well and, instead, spreads marmalade over a scone.

  It’s Aunt Camilla I expect to say something, but she only offers Grace another small cake.

  “All right.” I stand, feeling awkward. “I suppose I can try to find her.”

  I’d rather walk the castle halls than sit for tea, anyway.

  After stalling as much as possible, loitering about the halls and admiring the plants and art, I finally make my way toward Kent and Giselle’s rooms. I knock on the door, hoping to find the chambers empty.

  Unfortunately, Giselle’s handmaid opens the door.

  “Oh,” she says, startled to see me. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”

  “Queen Clara is expecting Giselle for tea. Is she feeling well? Does she still plan on attending?”

  Please say no.

  The girl motions me inside. I hesitate but don’t want to be outright rude, so I follow her in.

  Giselle looks up from the chair by the window, more surprised to see me than her maid was. “Audette. What can I do for you?”

  I explain to her why I’m here, even though I know she overheard me speaking with her maid.

  “It slipped my mind.” She sets her embroidery aside as she rises. “The queen always insists on keeping the balcony doors open. Would you be a dear and fetch my wrap for me?”

  Glancing to the dressing table, I raise an eyebrow.

  Does she truly expect me to serve her?

  The answer to that is obviously “yes” because she sends her own maid on another errand. I take a deep breath, paste a smile on my face, and walk to the dressing table.

  My hand freezes inches from the wrap. There, next to the brush, sits a brightly-colored beaded bracelet.

  “Oh, do you like it?” Giselle asks from behind me. She picks up the wrap herself.

  I meet her eyes in the mirror above the table.

  Giselle smiles and brushes her dark, full hair behind her s
houlder. “I thought it was the dearest bauble, and I convinced that little gimly witch to give it to me.”

  Gimlies are as far from witches as unicorns are from ludrakos, but I keep my mouth shut.

  Knowing she’s flustered me, Giselle raises an eyebrow. “I wanted it. And I always get what I want.”

  Undaunted, I turn to look at her, smiling. “But you could have any bracelet you please. Why take hers?”

  “For the pleasure of it.” She shrugs, and both of us know she’s not speaking of jewelry.

  “Someday you’re going to run into someone who’s not keen on the idea of sharing.”

  Her eyebrow twitches just slightly. “I don’t see how that matters. Like I said, I always get what I want.”

  Anger boils under my skin. “Should we be going?”

  “Of course.” She dabs perfumed oil on her wrists. “I’ll follow you.”

  All the easier for her to stab a knife in my back.

  ***

  “I know who’s been manipulating the ludrako,” I say to Grace in the privacy of her and Javid’s quarters.

  The duchess looks up, surprised. “I thought we had decided it was the gypsy.”

  “I think it’s Giselle.”

  Grace widens her eyes, obviously not sure how to respond. Carefully, she says, “I understand she isn’t your favorite person—”

  “No,” I cut her off, agitated. “That’s not it.”

  I pace back and forth, ready to argue my point. “The beast originates from Waldren, right?”

  “Audette.”

  “And Giselle is from Waldren.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And now Kent is next in line for the throne.” I turn to her, sure I’m right. “The beast eliminated the two men directly in front of him—and Giselle orchestrated the whole thing, using that girl from the village. You realize, don’t you, that she’s going to be your next queen!”

  Grace places her hands in her lap. “She’s never left the castle—not once.”

  “So she has people working for her,” I argue. “That makes more sense anyway. She wouldn’t actually soil her hands.” I stop pacing and turn to her. “And the attack in Constelita! It’s no secret she wants Irving. To have him, she needs me out of the picture.”