Shadeborn: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “Your Grace,” said Xain, raising his head. “My son. If I could be permitted—”

  Enalyn fixed him with a hard glare, and the wizard subsided. “I have not yet decided what to do with you, Xain. I will not reunite you with your son only to force you to part again. That is a cruelty I would visit upon no child, least of all my kin.”

  Xain bowed again, but Loren could see he was fuming. The palace guards came forward to take them away, lifting them to their feet and escorting the party toward the throne room door.

  As they turned, Enalyn called out sharply for them to halt.

  “Forest girl,” she said. “I had heard that a young girl of the family Yerrin was traveling by your side. Was I misinformed?”

  Loren found her head spinning, for it seemed impossible that the High King should know anything about her. She thought hard, and chose her words with care. “The girl was with us upon our road, but no longer.”

  Enalyn’s head rose slightly, like a dog catching a scent. “And do you know where she is now?”

  “I have some idea where she might be, but not exactly, Your Grace.” That was true enough. Annis was on her way to Ammon, but Loren knew not where she was on the voyage, or where the destination lay.

  The High King nodded, and Loren felt that the gesture held understanding beyond words. “We shall speak more of this soon. Farewell for now.”

  Then the guards were upon Loren again, and the throne room was soon behind them.

  twenty-five

  They were whisked through a series of serpentine halls. Almost immediately, Erik and the other Mystics were separated and led in another direction before Loren could say goodbye. They soon found themselves before a chamber with a great wooden door. Inside they found the most lavish quarters that she had ever seen.

  The chamber was large with plush chairs everywhere and an ornate table in the middle surrounded by several smaller chairs for eating. Many doors led from the main room into bedchambers, each as large as the common rooms of any inn. Gem’s eyes bulged from his skull. Chet appeared utterly shocked. Xain shrugged.

  “They are modest chambers by palace standards,” he said. Still, it is better than the prison cell I thought to find myself in.”

  Several sentries were posted outside their door: two palace guards alongside a new pair of Mystics. One carried no weapons—Loren guessed she was a wizard. Then there was an Academy wizard, wearing similar robes to the Dean, though nowhere near as lavish. Each type of guard eyed the other with the same breed of distrust granted to Loren and her party.

  They spent the rest of that day in the chamber. Gem ran about, ruffling the plush pillows and jumping on beds until he had chosen one for himself. But Loren, Chet, and Xain sat in the main room, silent save for the occasional answer to one of Gem’s questions. Loren could not forget they were captives, fine as their prison might be, and had no guarantee of any future safety. It put a damper on any conversation, and that night they went to sleep in their separate rooms with heavy hearts (though Loren still liked the soft feather mattress a great deal more than the hard ground they had found upon the road).

  The next morning, attendants came to serve them breakfast in the main chamber: eggs, sliced ham, and fine juices made from fruits whose taste Loren did not recognize. Gem wolfed his down, but she and the others ate more slowly. After all, they had nothing to do upon finishing the meal, and so there seemed no reason to rush.

  While eating, they heard lively voices just outside the door, and one in particular spoke very loudly. The door was thrown open, and a young man in fine clothing came barreling through. He took one look at them then fixed his eyes upon the wizard.

  “Xain! You mad, mad, mad fool. What in all the nine lands ever possessed you to come back to this forsaken island?”

  Then he came forward, dragging Xain from his chair and into a tight bear hug. The wizard’s eyes bugged from his skull as though the life was being squeezed from his body. Loren and Chet stared at the man, confused. His clothing was nearly as fine as the High King’s, gold and white like hers with the same kind of breeches and a fine shirt. But he also wore a silver coat; its threads shone in the early morning light pouring through the eastern windows.

  “Loren and Chet,” said Xain, after the man finally released him. “May I introduce, with some reservation, the Lord Prince Eamin.”

  Loren’s throat went immediately dry. She scrambled to her feet. Chet followed. Then she thought to kneel, but before she could, the Lord Prince had her hand wrapped in his, shaking it as though she were a bag of coins he hoped to loosen.

  “The girl and the boy from the Birchwood, or so I have heard,” said Eamin, and the smile upon his face was brighter than sunlight. “And you will be Gem, of the family . . . was it Noctis? I have never had a gift for names.”

  Loren thought Gem’s smile might split his cheeks and run to his ears. “You have mine perfectly, Lord Prince, and so I would call you a liar.”

  “Gem!” Loren grabbed his ear. He squealed, but the Lord Prince laughed and patted his shoulder. Then he looked at Loren properly for the first time, and his smile vanished, quickly replaced by a look of wonder.

  “You . . . Loren, is it? Come here a moment.”

  Loren looked at Xain uncertainly—he seemed as confused as she felt. She slowly stepped toward the Lord Prince. Without warning, he took her shoulder with one hand, and with the other tilted her chin so she was looking him full in the face. She smelled a faint whiff of perfume, pleasant and not at all overpowering, and on his breath the scent of mint.

  “You are touched with elf glamour,” he said, his voice scarcely a whisper.

  She blinked and swallowed then looked over to Chet. He had looked somewhat annoyed as the Lord Prince drew her close, but now he seemed concerned.

  “Your . . . Your Grace?” said Loren, unsure of what to say.

  “I can see it in your eyes,” said Eamin in wonder. “You have had concourse with the Elves. Only once before have I seen such a thing, and the tale behind it is well worth the telling. Speak, child. How came you by them? What did they say?”

  Loren looked nervously at Xain. She saw in his eyes the same wonder that was in Eamin’s—and also a sort of understanding. He had seen it too. The day after she met the Elves, he had noticed something different in her eyes, though the wizard knew not what he beheld.

  Eamin seemed to think he had frightened her, for he released Loren’s shoulder and fell a step back. “My apologies. Only I have always been intensely curious about the Elves. It made me forget my manners. Please forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Your Grace.”

  “You need not tell me this tale if you do not wish it. I pressed too hard, and we have only just met.”

  “Though I, for one, would like to hear it,” said Xain.

  “Leave it be, Xain,” said Eamin in a warning tone, couched in a smile. “Tales of the Elves are magical and precious, truly belonging only to those who have lived them. If the girl does not wish to share, you must not press her.”

  “As you say, Your Grace,” he said. But Loren saw the look in Xain’s eyes and wondered how long he would keep that promise.

  “Others have often told me I may have some relation to the Elves,” Gem piped up, apparently tired of having lost the Lord Prince’s attention. “I doubt there is much truth to it, but they must be fooled by my exceptional appearance and cunning wit.”

  Eamin laughed. “City children are such a welcome change from the stuffy sort we are stuck with here. Foresters, too,” he said, smiling at Loren and Chet. “Really, anyone who hasn’t spent the last few years upon the Seat is preferable to all those who have.”

  “And am I long enough gone to fit?” said Xain with a wry grin.

  “Xain, my dear, dear friend, you have always been better company than anyone in this thrice-damned place.” Eamin wrapped the wizard in another embrace. Loren half expected to hear a cracking rib. “Now, take your seats. I am livid that I missed you
r arrival, and so now you must tell me about all your journeys since leaving the Seat.”

  Loren found the food bland, and her appetite gone. It seemed that all she had done for the past few days was recount their travels, and she had no desire to do so again. Standing and pushing her chair back, she nodded to Eamin. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I will take my leave.”

  He looked up at Loren, concerned. “Have I done something to offend you?”

  “Not at all. Only I lived the tale, and have told it too many times. I wish not to live it again.”

  He nodded, and in his eyes she saw compassion. “Of course. And you need not call me Your Grace—‘my lord’ is the correct title, and in this room, you need call me nothing more than Eamin.”

  She bowed again. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He smiled, and she left. Chet stood silently to follow her. Gem stayed behind, for his eyes had lit with glee from the moment he beheld the Lord Prince.

  Loren and Chet went to her room. It had a door set in the back wall, leading to a wide stone balcony that overlooked a peaceful courtyard. There were many chairs, but she felt the need to stand.

  Loren went to the railing instead, leaning her elbows upon it and looking down at the grounds below. Chet joined her in silence. A gorgeous garden sprawled before them, and they watched gardeners going about their business among the flowers and hedges.

  “I know we are confined to these quarters,” said Chet. “Yet it is hard to feel as though we are cooped up. Scarcely in my life have I imagined such luxury.”

  But Loren had stopped looking at the garden, and instead she stared north and east. Their room was high enough to look out over the wall on the other side, and she could see the Great Bay stretching for miles. Annis was somewhere on those waters, or mayhap she had landed in Dulmun already and was on her way to Ammon now.

  “I wonder how far away she is,” Loren said softly. “And in what direction. I hardly spared a thought for her yesterday, but now I find myself missing her far more than I thought.”

  “She will be safe. I know it.”

  “You cannot know.”

  Chet turned so he was leaning back against the railing. “But I can. You devised the plan for her safety, and if I have faith in anything in all the nine lands, it is in your cleverness.”

  Loren gave him a wan smile but said no more. They spent a while looking out at the Bay, and then at the courtyard. When she tired at last of standing they went to sit in two of the balcony’s chairs. There they rested in sun and silence, until the door opened and Gem came running out to find them.

  “The Lord Prince just left. Never have I met such a man. Always quick with a joke, yet courteous, too. And Loren, you will not believe this—when I told him of Jordel’s lessons in swordplay, he promised to join me in practice. I will train with the Lord Prince! I could never have dreamt of this when I was a starving boy scuttling along the rooftops and gutters of Cabrus.”

  Loren looked at Gem, fawning like a puppy whose ears had been scratched. He ran to the railing and drank deeply from the floral scent wafting up from below. Then Loren saw his gaze drift upward, just as hers had, until he too was staring out across the Great Bay. After a moment he turned to them, somewhat deflated.

  “I wish I could tell Annis of this. I miss her.”

  Loren felt a pang of sorrow at Gem’s new expression, and rose from her chair to stand beside him. With an arm around his shoulder, she tried to mask her own worry with an encouraging tone.

  “I miss her as well. But mayhap we could write her a letter. We cannot write Annis herself, you understand. But we could write to Kal and tell him of our mission’s success and include a secret message for her.”

  Gem perked up. “That is a fine idea. I can write it myself since I know you have not learned your letters. But where will we find both parchment and quill?”

  “Ask the guards at our door. I think they are under orders to provide us with anything we might require.”

  “Be quick about it, and remain cheerful,” said Chet with a smile. “We will soon see Annis again, for with the Lord Prince at our backs I am sure this will be sorted quickly.”

  twenty-six

  They soon discovered that Chet’s optimism was, if not foolish, at least misplaced. Days passed, and they received neither word nor summons from the High King. Nor could they leave their quarters, and spacious as they were, Loren felt their chafing by the time a week was behind them. There were only so many chairs to sit in, so many soft cushions upon which to rest, before Loren felt she would rather fling herself from the balcony than spend another idle day within her room. Pleas to their guards fell upon deaf ears, and even the Lord Prince Eamin grew frustrated. He visited often, and told them that he spoke to the High King daily on their behalf, to no avail.

  “I am on her council, yet she pays me no more heed than one of the guards in the corner. Everyone seems intent on dragging their feet. Though the Dean only learned of the Shades’ existence a week ago, he acts as the Underrealm’s greatest authority on their motives and intentions. When he is not pontificating as to their next probable move, he claims this is all a ruse of Xain’s to distract my mother while he destroys the nine lands. Meanwhile, the Lord Chancellor counsels caution. My version of caution would entail investigating the Shades’ whereabouts, whereas his means doing nothing.”

  If the rest of them were eager for action, Xain was beside himself with impatience. “What of the High King?” he asked, for what seemed to Loren the thousandth time. “In which direction does she seem inclined?”

  “She withholds her judgement,” said Eamin with a sigh. “She is not so shy as the Lord Chancellor, but neither does she wish to rush into anything rash.”

  “There is wise prudence, then indecisiveness,” said Chet. “I would call this the latter.”

  “When your choices can change thousands of lives, you may find much reason for indecision,” said Eamin, though Loren could hear the frustration in his words. Xain snorted, staring out the window, his expression dark.

  After nine days gone, the Lord Prince brought them different news altogether. This time, he spoke in a low voice, leaning across the table with a sidelong glance at the door. “I thought I should tell you that the family Yerrin has been trying desperately to see you—or, I should say, Loren in particular.”

  Loren licked her dry lips. Her palms started to sweat.

  “What do they want?”

  “What do you think?” said Eamin, arching an eyebrow. “They seek the girl Annis. But the High King has forbidden them from obtaining an audience with you. Their representatives grew so insistent that she banished them from the palace grounds while you remain here.”

  “Well, at least that is one worry sorted,” said Gem hopefully.

  “I would not be so optimistic as to call that the end,” said Xain.

  “Nor I,” Eamin agreed.

  “Was it Damaris asking after us? Or her servants?”

  Eamin blinked at her. “I am sorry, I thought you would know—no one has heard from Damaris or her caravan in weeks. Not since you saw her last in the Greatrocks. When you arrived here and told the High King that part of your tale, palace chatter ceased at once. Either she has fled, knowing the High King would seek justice against her for siding with the Shades, or something has happened that we do not know.”

  That gave Loren some relief. But at the same time, she found herself wondering after the caravan’s fate. Loren doubted she was so fortunate to never hear from Damaris again. But then again, she had assumed the merchant was alive. Considering things now, it seemed entirely possible that the Shades, or mayhap the Necromancer himself, had taken revenge on Damaris for her disaster in the Greatrocks.

  It was chilling to think that Damaris might be dead, and to her surprise she was not entirely certain how she felt about it. Moreover, Loren did not look forward to telling Annis the news. No matter for a letter; it would have to be done in person, after leaving the Seat.

  If in
deed we ever do.

  It had been twelve days since their arrival at the palace. Evening was bleeding toward night. A dying red filled the sky, and servants came to light lanterns throughout the room. The Lord Prince sat with them at their table for supper, he and Xain falling deep in their wine. Loren and Chet had poured themselves each a cup, but Loren found the palace wines too strong, and had only sipped.

  Nightfall was the worst time for their mood, for it meant another day had passed without any happenings. Gem was slumped so far in his chair, he looked like he might fall out at any moment. Though the Lord Prince tried to engage him in conversation, Xain was staring silently at his plate, barely moving. Chet tried to smile whenever Loren looked over, but it was clearly forced. She felt, as she had for so many days, the aching lethargy of their confinement.

  There was a sharp sound outside their door. In Loren’s distraction, she almost missed it, but deep instinct prickled the hairs on her neck. Then she placed it: the hiss of drawn steel.

  They heard a great crash followed by the dying screams of murdered men. The door exploded open, and in rushed many dagger-wielding figures.

  Loren shouted and leapt to her feet. Together they stood. She dove for their weapons; the High King had ordered their return, and they had been sitting in a corner for days. Loren snatched her staff and turned to face their attackers, with Chet a heartbeat behind her.

  The figures struck, two coming for Loren with their daggers bared. She backed up, forced away from Chet in the fight, and swung her staff wide to keep them at bay. They wore hoods and black masks that buried their faces. She could only see their eyes, glittering in lantern light, and the flash of their daggers as they swung.

  They had caught her off balance, but she swiftly recovered. One of them fell to a heavy blow from her staff, and as the other backed off, Loren struck the one who had fallen again across the temple to ensure he stayed down.