Entwined Paths (Swift Shadows Book 2)

by M. L. Greye

  She eyed him warily. Her shoulder-length, light brown hair had been shorn close to her skull, barely longer than his own. Dark circles were beneath her vibrant green eyes. But her arms had become tone with muscle. Her lean form looked stronger. So, this was where they’d taken her months ago. Stolen away to this miserable spit of land by a river. Declan wondered how many other faces he’d recognize.

  “I thought you might know each other,” Kearns said with a raspy chortle. “Given you both were taken from the same area.” Kearns grinned at Genne, her scar scrunching up. “Play with him until I’m ready to hear his name.”

  Declan threw a glance at Kearns, startled. She’d never asked for his name. He’d give it to her now if he didn’t have to fight again. But Genne only nodded, and her arms became branches. No, branches shot out of her hands, aiming for him. Declan had never seen her do such a thing.

  Genne no longer looked like the woman who had been Quinn’s friend. Her eyes were blank. Her face sullen. She looked like she would tear him apart. With a grunt, Declan tapped his Teal speed at the last heartbeat and stepped to the left.

  Her vines – the branches from her hands now had leaves attached – went past him. They tried to correct their course a second later, twining through the air for him. Again, Declan tapped his speed and moved. The vines doubled back on themselves, knotting themselves together. Genne growled in frustration and ceased spitting out vines from her palms.

  Surprised, Declan stared at her reaction. Genne had always been a quiet, steady woman. One reason why she and Quinn had become friends. This display of irritation he’d never seen before.

  “Draw him to you,” Kearns advised, her voice soothing for the first time since Declan had met her.

  Genne nodded. She extended one hand out and closed her eyes, reaching towards him. This time when Declan ran, his feet carried him directly to her. Her hand gripped onto his shirt. Declan ripped out of her grasp and darted to the opposite side of the round. But once again his feet brought him right back to her hand. This time her hand twisted around his wrist. He tried to yank free and run, but his feet wouldn’t budge. He stared at Genne. What had she done to him?

  Kearns answered for her, “Genne is creating a path from you to her. Wherever your feet go, they’ll take you right back to her.”

  If his feet were useless, he had to try a different approach. He yanked on his arm that was captured and chopped down with his free hand over and over again at Teal speed until bruises formed over Genne’s arm. In response, Genne sprouted thorns.

  Thousands of tiny, dagger shape thorns. Declan’s captive wrist began to bleed, as did his other hand from hitting her arm. He loosed a startled growl of pain, but he didn’t stop. Her other arm shot out a vine, wrapping around him – twisting up his legs. He flung himself backward, trying to knock her off.

  Blood wet his legs, dribbling out from where her vines sprouted thorns, cutting through his pants. He dug his nails into the vine that wouldn’t stop climbing up his body – reaching up over his hips, into his stomach. Declan began to panic. Using his nails as weapons, he swung his free hand back and forth, clawing at the skin on her arm like his hand was a saw.

  Genne screamed as blood gushed from where he hacked. She tightened her grip around him, puncturing her vine into his stomach. Declan clenched his jaw. He wanted to stop the pain. So still he sawed away. Genne, in response, tightened her grip around his other wrist until it felt like it was on fire. She was going to cut off his hand.

  “Enough!” Kearns shouted.

  Genne retracted her arms immediately, leaving Declan on his back. He couldn’t remember when he’d landed on the ground. Blood coated both of his hands – Genne’s on his right and his own on his left. His chest was heaving from his panting as Kearns appeared above him. She dumped a bundle of heavy cloth on top of his stomach. He grunted as it agitated the cuts Genne had given him. “For making her bleed just as much as you did. What’s your name, Teal?”

  “Declan Sharpe,” he spat out between breaths.

  “Sharpe? That’s truly your name?” Kearns cackled. “Fitting, as I’m about to shape you into a weapon for the king. Sharpe it is, then. Now, go clean up. Eat your normal meal. You’re done for the day.”

  As Kearns spun off, a new Ruby dropped beside his hand – the hand he wasn’t sure was still attached to his arm. This Ruby was barely more than a girl and wouldn’t look him in the eyes. While she inspected his ruined wrist, Declan gripped onto the clump of cloth and lifted it up so he could see what it was. He recognized a fresh shirt and pants. Clean ones to replace the muddy ones Genne had just ruined with her thorns.

  So his reward for not letting Genne utterly destroy him was something he should have had in the first place. Declan would have laughed at the unjust irony of it all if he hadn’t feared he’d burst into hysterics. His emotions felt as raw as his lungs at the moment.

  So instead, Declan closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. While the Ruby stopped his bleeding, he tried not to think about what he’d just done to Genne – to Quinn’s friend. All because the Backwards Ruby had told him to.

  He should have said no. He was a coward.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Trezim and Emry were on their way to the menagerie. It’d been days since she’d learned of the Quirl king’s supposed involvement with the Stolen. Fortunately, Emry hadn’t encountered Rufus since the wedding. Had she run into him, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold her tongue.

  The evening of the kings’ council Onyx refused to let her join, Trez found her in her rooms and asked to see how her pair of peacocks were getting along. She knew he was doing it to try to cheer her up. To distract her.

  Along their way, they ran into Cit who had just returned from her first “lesson” with Moira. Citrine had singed the end of her braid as well as her eyebrows right off. She was going to see if a medic could regrow them back. Trez looked to Emry for a translation of what a medic was – a Ruby. Cit then went off to fix her eyebrows, looking as though the next person to cross her would send her into a fiery uproar.

  Out in the menagerie, Emry entered first and bowed to her father’s animals, as she’d been taught to do when Onyx wasn’t present. It was a formal greeting so that the animals would permit her within. Only she and Cit bowed. The gesture alerted her father’s animals that they were his daughters. The servants who cared for the animals had to drop to one knee before they were to begin. Otherwise, the aggressive animals attacked. Onyx was a strong Bronze. He’d trained his animals, or his friends as he liked to call them, very well.

  Once Emry straightened, Trez walked inside and dropped to one knee as Emry had told him to do. It was the only other gesture Emry knew that told the animals not to attack. She had not told Trez that the animals now thought of him as a servant. Let him discover that for himself. She grinned as a couple chickens swarmed Trez, expecting food.

  “Zyntar!” Emry called out.

  The peacock strode forward alongside a female. Emry unwrapped the peach slices she’d snagged from the kitchen on her way out of the palace and laid them on the floor for the two peacocks to share. As they pecked at the fruit, Trez moved beside her.

  “What’d you name the female?” He asked in Heerth. It was the language they tended to use here in Enn. Less people understood Heerth. They could speak freely while using it.

  “Acoba,” she replied without looking up from the peacock in question.

  “Zyntar and Acoba,” Trez mused. “I like it. Fitting.”

  “Thank you for them,” Emry said. “Not for me, but because my father adores them.”

  Trez laughed. “I didn’t give them to you because I thought you needed them.”

  A mountain cat rubbed up against Emry’s leg, releasing a purr far too similar to a domestic kitten. Emry chuckled and rubbed the large cat behind its ears as she’d seen her father do. Trez watched. “They like you.”

  “No, they love my father. I just happen to smell like him.”


  Trez frowned down at the chicken that was tugging on his pant leg with its beak. He took a step out of the chicken’s reach only to bump his back into a moaning cow. Her udder was clearly heavy and ready for a servant to milk her for the night. Emry forced back her laugh.

  “I don’t know if my father will ever allow me to take part in the affairs of my kingdom.” She sighed.

  “Well, I have something to cheer you up. No, two things really,” Trez told her.

  “Oh? What?”

  “After you ran off in search of your father, I weaseled a name out of a grizzled old man in the Ranga Pit,” Trez replied. “He gave me the name of the blacksmith who crafted a very remarkable dagger of his.”

  “What sort of dagger?” Emry blinked.

  “A sun blade.” He grinned.

  Emry stared at him. “Someone else had a sun blade?”

  “A beautiful one at that.” He nodded. “Well, if you ignore the serrated edges. It was clearly an Enlennd blade.”

  “And you got him to tell you where it was made?”

  Trez rolled his eyes. “I can be charming.”

  “When you choose to be,” Emry quipped, smiling. “Did he mention if this forge he went to makes shadow blades as well as sun blades?”

  “He did not,” he replied. “I felt as though the information he provided was sufficient.”

  “You mean he scared you off,” she retorted.

  Trez ran a hand over the cows back. “Do you want the name or not?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Lord Smith.”

  “As in he’s the lord of the blacksmiths?” Emry asked incredulously.

  “I suppose it does sound that way,” Trez said slowly.

  She chuckled. “Easy enough to remember. Where do I find this Lord Smith?”

  “In Pragge.” Emry winced, and Trez noticed. “Is that bad?”

  “It’s a border town. It sits in the Midlands but touches Enn on one side.” Emry bit the tip of her tongue. “I’ll have to arrange another trip. Thanks, Trez. I know it must have taken a lot of courage for you to pester that old man into giving you a name.”

  Trez jiggled his leg free of the persistent chickens. “You’re hilarious.”

  She grinned. “What was the second thing you have to cheer me up?”

  He looked up at the darkened ceiling overhead. “Where is your father’s study?”

  “This is it.” Emry waved a hand toward the rest of the menagerie.

  “No,” he shook his head, “where does he meet with his advisors on formal affairs?”

  “You mean, where will this kings’ meeting most likely be held?” Emry paused. “If he’s meeting with his advisors, then it would be on the first floor, in the west wing. It has a nice view of the maze.”

  “Is it a spacious room?”

  An odd question. “Why? If you’re suggesting I crash the meeting, my father would never let me through the door.”

  “I thought all you needed was a crack to slip through.”

  Emry stared at him. “You’re saying I should become shadow and eavesdrop on the whole thing.”

  “Could you stay shadow for long enough?” He asked.

  “I could be shadow all night,” she shot back. “That’s not the issue. The room is too bright. Even in the dark, it has enough candelabras to make it feel like midday.”

  “Oh yes,” Trez sighed. “You use primitive candles here rather than servants to do your lighting.”

  Candles were far cheaper. Curse Heerth and its wealth.

  Emry narrowed her eyes at him. “It was a nice thought while it lasted. Thanks, anyway.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t finished.” Trez smirked. The gleam in his eyes suggested he had won something.

  “What did you do?” She demanded.

  “I figured that particular room would be too bright for you to hide in. But really, any room large enough to fit all your father’s advisors and whoever else the kings chose to admit would be too bright.” Trez’s gaze took on a wicked glint. “So, I suggested to my father that a topic as important as this should really just be done between the three kings. So that no one could hide behind their clever spokesman. So that the Quirl king would have to explain the Stolen for himself.” He shrugged. “My father agreed.”

  Emry stared, impressed. “You manipulated your own father for the chance to get me in that meeting?”

  He chuckled darkly. “It was as much for you as it was for myself. Sabine said for me to bring her back answers. Your father isn’t the only one who wouldn’t divulge information. I’m not the Crown Prince, but for the good of Prythius, I need to know what’s said.”

  “It’s a shame you don’t let the world see how incredibly clever you can be when you try,” Emry said quietly after a moment.

  Trezim gave her an odd look, one she couldn’t quite translate. “You see it. That’s good enough for me. Besides, Heerths are naturally quite clever.”

  She smiled. “Where was the meeting changed to?”

  “To your father’s personal study,” he replied. “I assumed you would know where that is.”

  Emry frowned. It wouldn’t have been in Onyx’s rooms. Her father would not bring the kings near his daughters. That left the large council room and her father’s parlor.

  The parlor had been her grandfather’s drinking room – where he would sneak a drink during the parties he’d banned alcohol from. That awful, hypocritical man. Her father had since turned it into a sort of refuge. Located not far from the ballroom, Onyx was known to slip away for a few minutes here and there to refresh himself. It was small – just big enough for three chairs oddly enough. Onyx had two chairs added to his one when his daughters began attending the balls so if they ever needed it, they could rest a few minutes there for themselves. Emry knew the room well.

  “I know where they are.”

  “Then why are you still here?” Trez asked. “Their meeting began maybe five minutes ago.”

  Of course it had. Trez had led her out here so that she would have a solid alibi – so that no one would suspect she’d been lingering within hearing distance. Emry grinned. “Shall I return to my room or yours?”

  “Mine. Who knows how long this will take,” he retorted. “I don’t want to interrupt my beauty sleep by waiting up for you.”

  “Men are such babies.” Emry rolled her eyes.

  Trez caught her arm with one hand. His grip was gentle but firm. “Stay hidden. If you’re discovered, it could be disastrous for our feeble alliances.”

  He was right. She nodded. “I’ll be darkness itself. No one will so much as give me a second glance for fear of what they’d find.”

  Trez grunted and leaned in, pressing his warm lips to her cheek. “Go.”

  Emry became shadow, swirling out of his grasp into tendrils of night, and flung herself toward the sliver of space between the door to the menagerie and the floor. She slid through it easily and disappeared beneath it into the open night sky. She shifted toward the palace and then through it as nothing more than a dark mist, sticking to the dark corners.

  Minutes later, the door to her father’s refuge from society appeared before her. She eyed it warily – suddenly uneasy at what she’d find behind it. At what she’d hear.

  Citrine and Emry had spent many hours in this small room, especially during those first few events following their mother’s death. When Enn had been new and learning to mimic its accent had been tedious. It seemed all of those hours spent being unproductive had actually been useful.

  Emry knew just how far the flicker of the flames from the small fireplace reached. She knew exactly which part of the room lay always in shadow. She knew the line of sight for each chair. She knew how to stay hidden. If she managed to fool the three kings, she might have to kiss Trezim for his incredible foresight. That man was seriously not being used to his full potential in Heerth.

  Once again, Emry slid through the crack between the door and the floor. Staying close to the wall, she veered into th
e corner just right of the door. She straightened and drew in the shadows closer to her. Not even her father was aware of this particular ability. Even though it had been the first ability to manifest itself – her power to manipulate the darkness.

  Her mother had assumed it was her ability to create orbs of silvery moonlight in her hands, as hers had been. Emry had never corrected her.

  “This wine is excellent.” King Ruffus’s smooth voice slithered over Emry.

  “I didn’t come here to discuss the wine,” Krynto snapped. He hadn’t even touched his full glass on the low-lying table set between the chairs. Her father didn’t even have a glass. Both kings apparently wanted to keep their wits about them.

  “Yes, Ruffus, there is an entirely different matter to discuss,” Onyx said – almost too gently, as if trying to soften the Heerth king’s words. Emry cringed.

  Ruffus took another large gulp from his goblet of green glass before slowly setting it down beside Krynto’s. “Is this about the predicament in Perth?”

  There was a predicament in Perth? That was news to Emry. She thought things had settled down for them since Varamtha, their warrior, had defeated a few of the Ship Lords. Had more Ship Lords returned for vengeance?

  “This has nothing to with Perth,” Krynto ground out. In Heerth, he added, “Demented oaf.”

  “There have been problems along our borders,” Onyx began. “A number of our people have gone missing.”

  “They’ve been stolen,” Krynto sneered, correcting Onyx. His gold eyes flashed with the light of the fire. “Stolen from their cities, villages, and families. Taken into North Quirl.”

  Ruffus leaned back in his chair, placing his arms on the rests at either side. “Oh, that.”

  “So, you do not deny that you aware of what has been transpiring along our borders,” Onyx replied slowly.

  “Of course I know.”

  When Ruffus didn’t continue, Krynto raised an eyebrow in a gesture that reminded Emry of Trezim. “And?” He prodded. “What do you plan to do about our Stolen?”