Wild Savage Stars

by Kristina Perez

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  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

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  For Bernice Dubois,

  a true Wise Damsel, mentor, and friend

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

  IVERNIC ROYAL FAMILY

  KING óENGUS, HIGH KING OF IVERIU—father of Princess Eseult, uncle to Lady Branwen, holds his court at Castle Rigani in the province of Rigani

  QUEEN ESEULT OF IVERIU—mother of Princess Eseult, aunt to Lady Branwen, sister to Lady Alana and Lord Morholt, originally from the province of Laiginztir

  PRINCESS ESEULT OF IVERIU—fiancé of King Marc of Kernyv, daughter to King Óengus and Queen Eseult, cousin of Lady Branwen, niece to Lord Morholt

  IVERNIC NOBILITY

  LADY BRANWEN CUALAND OF LAIGINZTIR—heir to Castle Bodwa, cousin to Princess Eseult, niece of Queen Eseult and King Óengus, daughter of Lady Alana and Lord Caedmon

  LORD DIARMUID PARTHALáN OF ULADZTIR—heir to Talamu Castle, descendant of High King Eógan Mugmedón, son of Lord Rónán and Lady Fionnula, former love interest of Princess Eseult

  LORD CONLA OF MUMHANZTIR—nobleman from the province of Mumhanztir, former love interest of Princess Eseult

  LADY ALANA CUALAND OF LAIGINZTIR (deceased)—mother of Branwen, Lady of Castle Bodwa, sister to Queen Eseult and Lord Morholt

  LORD CAEDMON CUALAND OF LAIGINZTIR (deceased)—father of Branwen, Lord of Castle Bodwa

  LORD MORHOLT LABRADA OF LAIGINZTIR (deceased)—uncle to Branwen, former King’s Champion, brother to Queen Eseult and Lady Alana

  MEMBERS OF THE ROYAL IVERNIC HOUSEHOLD

  SIR KEANE OF CASTLE RIGANI (deceased)—member of the Royal Ivernic Guard and bodyguard to Princess Eseult, from a coastal village along the Rock Road

  SIR FINTAN OF CASTLE RIGANI—member of the Royal Ivernic Guard and bodyguard to Queen Eseult

  TREVA OF CASTLE RIGANI—head royal cook

  DUBTHACH OF CASTLE RIGANI—servant at the castle, son of Noirín

  NOIRíN OF CASTLE RIGANI—castle seamstress, mother of Dubthach

  MASTER BéCC OF CASTLE RIGANI—the royal tutor to Princess Eseult and Lady Branwen

  SAOIRSE—from the coastal village of Doogort, becomes an assistant to Queen Eseult in the infirmary at Castle Rigani

  GRáINNE—an orphan girl from the Rock Road befriended by Princess Eseult

  KERNYVAK ROYAL FAMILY

  KING MARC OF KERNYV—fiancé of Princess Eseult of Iveriu, uncle to Prince Tristan of Kernyv, brother to Princess Gwynedd, son of King Merchion and Queen Verica of Kernyv

  PRINCE TRISTAN OF KERNYV—heir to Castle Wragh and the protectorate of Liones, nephew of King Marc of Kernyv, Queen’s Champion to Princess Eseult of Iveriu, son of Princess Gwynedd and Prince Hanno, grandson of King Merchion and Queen Verica of Kernyv, cousin to Ruan, Endelyn, and Andred

  PRINCE RUAN OF KERNYV—son of Prince Edern and Countess Kensa, King’s Champion and cousin to King Marc, heir to House Whel, older brother to Princess Endelyn and Prince Andred, cousin to Tristan

  PRINCESS ENDELYN OF KERNYV—daughter of Prince Edern and Countess Kensa, lady-in-waiting to Princess Eseult of Iveriu, sister to Prince Ruan and Prince Andred, cousin to King Marc and Prince Tristan

  PRINCE ANDRED OF KERNYV—son of Prince Edern and Countess Kensa, king’s cupbearer and cousin to King Marc, younger brother of Prince Ruan and Princess Endelyn, cousin to Tristan

  COUNTESS KENSA WHEL OF ILLOGAN—head of House Whel, widow of Prince Edern, mother of Prince Ruan, Princess Endelyn, and Prince Andred, aunt to King Marc and Prince Tristan, sister-in-law of Queen Verica; Villa Illogan and the other lands belonging to House Whel are located on the south coast

  DOWAGER QUEEN VERICA OF KERNYV—mother of King Marc and Princess Gwynedd, grandmother of Prince Tristan, widow of King Merchion, originally from the kingdom of Meonwara, currently resides at Castle Wragh in Liones

  KING MERCHION OF KERNYV (deceased)—father of King Marc and Princess Gwynedd, husband to Queen Verica, older brother to Prince Edern

  PRINCE EDERN OF KERNYV (deceased)—younger brother of King Merchion, husband of Countess Kensa, father of Prince Ruan, Princess Endelyn, and Prince Andred

  PRINCE HANNO OF LIONES (deceased)—father of Tristan, navigator with the Royal Kernyvak Fleet who became a prince through marriage to Princess Gwynedd of Kernyv; his ancestors came to Kernyv with the Aquilan legions from Kartago

  PRINCESS GWYNEDD OF KERNYV (deceased)—mother of Tristan, older sister to King Marc, daughter of King Merchion and Queen Verica

  GREAT KING KATWALADRUS (deceased)—king at the time the Aquilan Empire withdrew from the Island of Albion to the southern continent; decreed that southerners could remain in Kernyv; started the raids on Iveriu that have persisted for a century

  KERNYVAK NOBILITY

  BARON ANIUD CHYANHAL—head of House Chyanhal, one of the five largest baronies in Kernyv granted by Great King Katwaladrus; House Chyanhal’s lands lie in the north, bordering on the kingdom of Ordowik

  BARON BRYTAEL DYNYON—head of House Dynyon, one of the five largest baronies in Kernyv granted by Great King Katwaladrus; House Dynyon’s lands are adjacent to Liones and used to comprise some of Prince Tristan’s territories

  BARON CINGUR GWYK—head of House Gwyk, one of the five largest baronies in Kernyv granted by Great King Katwaladrus; House Gwyk’s lands lie to the east, bordering the kingdom of Meonwara

  BARON MAELOC JULYAN—head of House Julyan, one of the five largest baronies in Kernyv granted by Great King Katwaladrus; House Julyan’s lands are located close to Monwiku and the Port of Marghas

  BARON RYD KERDU—head of House Kerdu, one of the five largest baronies in Kernyv granted by Great King Katwaladrus; House Kerdu’s lands are located on the north coast

  MEMBERS OF THE ROYAL KERNYVAK HOUSEHOLD

  SEER CASEK—chief kordweyd of the temple in Marghas

  SEER OGRIN—kordweyd who runs a rural temple on the moors

  MORGAWR—Captain of the Dragon Rising, member of the Royal Kernyvak Fleet

  LOWENEK—an orphan girl rescued by Branwen from the mining disaster

  TALORC—an Iverman who resides at Seer Ogrin’s temple

  TUTIR OF MONWIKU CASTLE—member of the Royal Kernyvak Guard

  BLEDROS OF MONWIKU CASTLE—member of the Royal Kernyvak Guard

  XANDRU MANDUCA—friend to King Marc, Captain of the Mawort, and a member of the powerful Manduca family, a mercantile dynasty from the Melita Isles; distant cousin to Queen Yedra of Armorica

  ARMORICAN ROYAL FAMILY

  KING FARAMON OF ARMORICA—father to Crown Prince Havelin, Prince Kahedrin, and Princess Eseult Alba

  QUEEN YEDRA OF ARMORICA—mother of Princess Eseult Alba, stepmother of Crown Prince Havelin and Prince Kahedrin, originally from the Melita Isles and a distant cousin to Xandru Manduca

  CROWN PRINCE HAVELIN OF ARMORICA—son of King Faramon, older brother to Prince Kahedrin and half-brother to Princess Eseult Alba

  PRINCE KAHEDRIN OF ARMORICA—son of King Far
amon, younger brother to Crown Prince Havelin, older half-brother to Princess Eseult Alba

  PRINCESS ESEULT ALBA OF ARMORICA—daughter of King Faramon, younger half-sister to Crown Prince Havelin and Prince Kahedrin

  QUEEN RIMOETE OF ARMORICA (deceased)—mother of Crown Prince Havelin and Prince Kahedrin

  PART I

  UNTO THE BREACH

  THE QUEEN’S CHAMPION

  THE WAVES MOCKED HER.

  Discordant laughter swelled in Branwen’s mind and twisted her heart. She couldn’t remain on the ship one moment longer. Her skin itched.

  Branwen rubbed her thumb along the raised flesh of her right palm, trying to quell her anger. She couldn’t. The gangway creaked beneath her feet as she disembarked the Dragon Rising at a brisk pace. She needed to get away from everyone on board.

  With a shallow breath, Branwen took her first step onto dry land—the land of her enemies.

  The kingdom of Kernyv had terrorized her beloved island of Iveriu for generations. Kernyvak raiders were responsible for the deaths of Branwen’s parents, and countless other Ivermen. But she wasn’t here for revenge.

  She was here to make peace.

  And she had already killed for it.

  Her eyes skittered over the cliffs that towered above the Port of Marghas; their lurid green had faded to a melancholy hue in the hour it had taken to make landfall. The rocky vista reminded Branwen deceptively of home, of the view from the beach below Castle Rigani.

  She quashed a pang of longing. She couldn’t afford to look backward; Branwen had been sent across the sea to ensure that the future would be brighter than the past.

  The late-autumn breeze coming off the waves was warmer than it would have been in Iveriu. The Kernyveu called the body of water that separated their two kingdoms the Dreaming Sea. Branwen scoffed. Her voyage had been filled with nothing but nightmares.

  Loosening her fur-lined shawl, she panned her gaze across the fishing boats and other merchant vessels moored in the sheltered harbor. Kernyv occupied the southwestern peninsula of the island of Albion and, being so close to the southern continent, it owed much of its wealth to trade. Both legal and illegal. Kernyvak pirates were feared throughout its neighboring seas.

  The din of bartering and gossiping lured Branwen toward the jetties, which were littered with stacks of crates, wicker baskets, and ceramic pots. Albion had been ruled by the Aquilan Empire until a century ago. At the empire’s peak, it had dominated half the known world, and Kernyv maintained strong trading ties with its distant corners.

  Farther inland, near the end of the pier, Branwen spied a market where fishermen were selling their fresh catch. Also, she reckoned, where foreign merchants were trying to tempt the locals into purchasing jugs of sweet Mílesian liqueur or weapons forged from the toughest Kartagon steel.

  Her throat tightened. Those weapons would never be used against the Iverni again. Branwen would die before she let that happen.

  She glanced back at the sail of the Dragon Rising. A swath of red cloth was stitched between the white. Branwen had risked everything for the deepest magic known to her people because she’d rashly believed she could mend the rift between Kernyv and Iveriu in the same way.

  Blood and bone, forged by fire, we beseech you for the truest of desires.

  To bind the peace with love, she had conjured the Loving Cup. This morning, the streak of red looked like blood on the moon.

  The Land, Goddess Ériu herself, had chosen Kernyv as her Champion in a sacred ritual, but Branwen had wanted more for the Princess of Iveriu—for the sister of her heart—than a political alliance. She had wanted her cousin to know love.

  Her aunt, Queen Eseult of Iveriu, had cautioned Branwen that forced fruit is nearly always bitter.

  She hadn’t listened.

  The Old Ones, the Otherworld-dwellers who guarded her homeland, had sent her warnings.

  She’d ignored them.

  And now … no one could ever know the Loving Cup had existed. No one could know the potion intended for the Princess of Iveriu and the King of Kernyv had been imbibed by the wrong couple. Not even the new lovers themselves.

  The knowledge could only bring ruin—to Iveriu, to Kernyv, to everyone Branwen cherished. When she’d discovered the golden vial empty, she hurled it to the bottom of the sea, disposed of the evidence. In trying to break the cycle of war, Branwen had led others into treason: both her cousin and the only man she had ever loved.

  The truth threatened to strangle her from within, but, if that was the price of her transgression, she accepted. The burden of this secret was hers alone.

  Lost in her thoughts, Branwen continued walking toward the market. Thud. She smacked straight into a solidly built chest.

  The man she’d stumbled into regarded her shrewdly, silver eyes gleaming, and Branwen studied him right back. Light brown hair and a precisely trimmed beard framed his pale, slightly sunworn face. The angles of his cheekbones were too severe to be handsome, but not unappealing. He was at least a head taller than Branwen, and she ventured a guess he was also about ten years her senior.

  “M-Mormerkti,” she stuttered.

  “Mormerkti?” the stranger repeated.

  Branwen flushed. Mormerkti was the Kernyvak word for “thank you.” His eyes remained steady on hers, not unkind, no doubt puzzling at why she would offer thanks for barging into him. Scrambling to recall the few other words of Kernyvak she knew, Branwen tried again.

  “Dymatis,” she said, tentative, her pronunciation halting. It was a greeting that translated as “good day.” The stranger must have realized Branwen was a foreigner from her accent, but could he tell she was an Iverwoman?

  The Iverni had also spilled much Kernyvak blood. Branwen had come to the land of her enemies, but she was their enemy, too. She braced herself to be rebuffed. Unconsciously, she touched the brooch pinned to her shawl. It had belonged to her mother and bore her family motto: The right fight.

  Slowly, the corner of the stranger’s mouth lifted in a guarded quarter smile.

  “Dymatis,” he said in return, and Branwen released a small sigh of relief. Pointing toward the other end of the dock, in the direction of the ships, the man launched into a torrent of Kernyvak words.

  Branwen couldn’t keep up. His tone was friendly and, from his cadence, she thought he was asking a question—although she had no notion as to what that question might be. The heat on her cheeks intensified. Biting her lips together, she dropped her gaze, landing on the sash that the man sported across his tunic.

  In the center of smooth white silk, a sea-wolf had been embroidered in shiny black thread. The hybrid beast was the royal emblem of Kernyv. Morgawr, the captain of the Dragon Rising, had informed Branwen that King Marc would send an envoy to meet them at the port. This man must be in the king’s service. His leather trousers and sumptuous linen tunic indicated affluence, perhaps even nobility.

  An idea sparked in Branwen. The language of the Aquilan Empire was still spoken at most royal courts across their former territories. Ivernic nobles also learned the language so as not to be at a disadvantage in diplomatic negotiations.

  Steeling herself with a deep breath, Branwen said to the man in Aquilan, “I beg your pardon, but I’m not fluent enough in Kernyvak to be able to understand your question.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise, followed by a tensing of his features. He stroked his beard.

  Tamping down on her nerves, Branwen summoned a smile of encouragement. She hadn’t been graced with the same natural charm as some other members of her family. She was less interested in public life than her patients in the castle infirmary.

  But that had been in Iveriu. Branwen was in a new land, and she needed to become someone new. She needed to make allies for her people—to do everything in her power to secure the peace and prevent the chaos of her magic from being unleashed.

  “Forgive me,” the envoy replied in Aquilan after a moment. His voice held something close to trepidation. “You’ve
arrived on the ship that just landed?”

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  “From Iveriu?”

  Another nod.

  His agitation mounted. “Forgive me,” he said again. “I’d planned to meet you on deck. A pressing matter … delayed me.”

  “You were sent by the king?” Branwen inferred.

  The envoy didn’t answer, just worked his jaw. He began to bow from the waist. “I—” Branwen stopped him, touching a hand to his shoulder.

  “There’s no need to bow before me,” she said.

  He looked like he was about to protest when he was distracted by something over Branwen’s shoulder.

  “Brother!” he exclaimed. His face relaxed into a brilliant smile, and she suspected that this was a man who smiled less often than he wanted. He looked younger when he smiled. Affinity, instant and unexpected, rippled through Branwen.

  Intrigued, she turned, following the envoy’s eye line, to see who had inspired his sudden joy.

  Her heart liquefied.

  Tristan.

  The man with whom she’d shared her first kiss—with whom she’d wanted to share her life until a few hours ago—raced toward them.

  And behind him, still on deck, was the woman whose happiness Branwen had prized above an entire kingdom.

  “Marc!” Tristan called out as his feet pounded the dock, and Branwen failed to suppress a gasp. She swung her gaze back toward the other Kernyvman.

  Marc. King Marc. The man destined to wed her cousin. The man for whom the Loving Cup had been devised.

  She staggered back a pace and raked her eyes over him with fresh scrutiny, guilt and fear roiling inside her. And hate.

  During the voyage, Branwen had been tormented by images of horror sent to her by Dhusnos: The Dark One who ruled the Sea of the Dead. He’d used a kretarv—a carnivorous bird—to send her a vision of her parents’ deaths.

  A young Kernyvak raider had watched Branwen’s mother die. He’d seen the blood spurting from her chest and run away. A raider named Marc.