Vivatera (Vivatera Series Book 1)

by Candace J Thomas

  Face his fears. Reynolds’s eyes moved to the medallion. “Is it still safe?”

  “Yes, very.” Lytte responded, though clearly preoccupied with Naomi to fully process the question. “Reyn, my boy, I need Aristatolis to visit me. Her heart rhythm distresses me. Please find him.”

  ~*~

  Taren went back in the barrack which had emptied with all the excitement, and lay down on his bunk. He would have to wait to learn about the newcomers until Katia or the stranger who had aroused so much curiosity left the hut.

  Minutes passed in complete peace. Maybe they wouldn’t have to do their warm-up or duties today. Maybe Aristatolis would be too preoccupied. One could only hope.

  The echo of footsteps on the stone floor broke the silence. Taren lifted the hat he had placed over his head to see Katia returning. She lay on her bunk with her back towards him, unaware of his presence.

  Soon Taren heard a voice interrupting the quiet.

  “Hey, Red. Quit sulking.”

  Landon. Taren held still, listening in on the conversation.

  “What do you want, Landon?” Katia complained. “Couldn’t wait to insult me today?”

  “Exactly. You know, I plan my whole day around your attitude.”

  “Do you have to be so rude all the time?”

  “I don’t have to, but it’s just so easy. You take teasing so poorly.”

  “Somehow, you don’t seem to get the hint that I don’t like you.”

  “No, I get that. I rather enjoy it.”

  Taren lost interest in their banter. Their constant arguing bordered on flirting and quickly became irritating. Craning his head a little, Taren saw the two standing in between the bunks by the door. Katia started storming away. “Wait.” Landon grabbed her arm. “I was hoping to ask you a question.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Come on.” Landon continued to hold her back. “I promise I’ll be nicer.”

  Katia stopped and sighed. “What is it?”

  “You saw the girl today.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I’m just curious about her, that’s all.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything.”

  “You know more than the rest of us.”

  Katia huffed and started walking again.

  “Come on, Kat. Any information.”

  “I guess she got hurt, but I couldn’t tell how badly. There was blood all over, but from what Lytte could tell, she wasn’t hurt that much. And she’s blond. I’d only ever heard of blond before; never seen it. Wore a scarf—a really pretty one.”

  “I’m not interested in her clothing,” Landon snapped. “I want to know about the person who brought her here.”

  “I don’t know him. His name is Reynolds.”

  Taren stopped listening. Heat rose to his ears; all the blood in his body turned cold. Of course Reynolds would be behind this. Taren’s mind raced back through his memories, his hatred burning through all his rational thoughts.

  Silence returned. Katia and Landon had left the barracks.

  Now he had some investigating of his own to do.

  ~*~

  Reynolds exited Lytte’s tent without a word, grateful for the chance to get some air. Aristatolis seemed to be fielding questions with a number of the boys, and Reynolds headed in that direction before again feeling a pair of eyes upon him——a pair he particularly didn’t want to see.

  Taren.

  The cold eyes weighed like heavy stones tied to Reynolds’s feet, preventing any movement as Taren’s hard expression bore him down with hatred.

  The plan would have to change.

  Heading to Aristatolis, Reynolds delivered his message. As he moved back toward the tent, he felt Taren’s eyes following him.

  Reynolds ducked into the tent after Aristatolis, who began discussing with Lytte some of the particulars of Naomi’s condition. He could hear them speak, but hardly registered what they said, too busy thinking of what he needed to do next.

  Lytte would keep her safer than anyone. Jeanus had been right, and he trusted her word. But that didn’t stop him from worrying. The place couldn’t be safe for her, not when it had Taren, a very dangerous problem.

  As much as he wished he could keep Naomi a secret, he feared having Taren there made that impossible. Taren would read her magic and understand everything. But Jeanus had been right about the Blackwoods. She would be right about the village, too.

  He couldn’t stay. In doing so, he would betray Naomi. She bound him so strongly, the thought of leaving her caused physical pain, but he had no other option. He should go find the boy Zander, as he had promised. It would be a nice diversion, a chance to clear his head and help him remember why Naomi had to be there in the first place, though the thought stung on the inside.

  And what of Browneyes? She needed to be reckoned with before she unraveled everything he had tried so hard to keep safe.

  “Lytte, I can’t stay,” he finally spoke.

  Lytte understood without further explanation, Reynolds knew the healer comprehended deeper meanings he could not see.

  “I’m turning over my promise to you. I’ll be back. Watch Taren.”

  Both Lytte and Aristatolis nodded, understanding well their most dangerous tenant.

  ~*~

  Within a few minutes, Reynolds had packed some supplies, ready to leave again. But first, he faced Naomi. The hold she had over him felt stronger than ever. She lay so still and peaceful, though her soft expression remained a bitter reminder.

  This is my fault . . . everything. He turned away. He wouldn’t say goodbye, not yet.

  He thought it would be safest to leave through the back of Lytte’s tent, not attracting attention as he had that morning. But his trek didn’t take him far before someone stopped him cold.

  “Bringing more people to this hell?” Taren’s voice came from somewhere above him.

  Reynolds saw him in the trees. The younger man had been waiting for him, predicting his moves. He walked on.

  “That’s what you do: bring them in and drop them off. Leave them here to rot.” Taren dropped to the ground and began following Reynolds’ tracks.

  “But this one is different. Why bring a girl? What’s so special about her? Adding another butterfly to your collection?”

  Reynolds didn’t want to hear any more. He swung as he turned, catching Taren off-guard and connecting with his side. Taren retaliated with a blow toward his middle, knocking the wind out of him.

  Reynolds’ wits were sharp. He blocked the next punch easily and deflected two more before Taren calmed down.

  “Who is she?” Taren demanded, readying himself again. “You know I’ll find out.”

  Reynolds flinched, his anger growing, his concentration wavering. “Just try. I dare you. You’ll be affected just like the others.” Another swing and miss. Reynolds, so in tune to his adversary, could predict the movement now. “I’m warning you. Stay away from her.”

  Taren’s blow hit Reynolds square in the jaw, knocking him back into a tree. His lip cracked and bled.

  Taren looked satisfied. “I want out. Get me out of here.”

  Reynolds wiped his lip on his sleeve and stood back up. “Why should I do that?”

  “You owe me and you know it.”

  The guilt treatment wouldn’t work on Reynolds. “It’s simple magic. I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out.”

  “I’m not simple,” Taren spat. “You would know.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to figure it out if you can.” Reynolds stared him down a long moment to see if Taren would accept the challenge.

  He took off running.

  Taren followed close behind—faster and faster, pushing Reynolds to his limits. He knew where to find the apex, but also knew Taren couldn’t figure out the puzzle. It took more than brains and magic to get out of the camp. It took something beyond Taren’s capability.

  Reynolds ran through the willow trees.

  Behind him, Taren lost the trail.r />
  Chapter Six

  Southwick

  A few days passed without any trace of Prince Bryant. Zander understood that he would be a fool if he did not take Bryant’s offer. He regretted not telling him yes when he could. The opportunity to live a clean, cared-for life had seemed too unreal to him at first——but even if it proved to be a trick, the option of staying in the grimy, rotting cell, being beaten daily, left him begging for the chance to leave.

  Being in the service of the king would be better than begging in the streets or wandering the world in search for something better.

  Curled up in the corner of his cell, Zander watched the bugs crawl in and out between the stone cracks, which had proved to be more interesting than examining the fibers of straw in his bedding. His eyes drifted to the bundle of Naomi’s papers wadded together under the mattress. He tried to make patterns out of the wrinkled papers, matching lines to lines.

  The door swung open without him noticing.

  “You!” A large rumbling growl startled him. Zander’s hand grabbed the bundle and stuffed it quickly under his shirt as he turned to stare at the menacing helmet-clad guardsman. “Come!”

  Feeling weak and fatigued, Zander’s adrenaline soon kicked in as the guardsman stepped toward him. He scrambled to his feet, his muscles sore from lack of use and malnutrition. Marching forward, the guardsman grabbed Zander’s shrinking wrists and chained them with heavy cuffs meant for a man, not someone his size. He struggled to hold them up.

  “No trouble,” the guardsman grumbled. Shrinking in his presence, Zander followed him out of the cell in silence.

  A series of tunnels spread out before them, lined with dirt and stone, dimly lit with torches in brackets. Zander glanced into a few of the other cells, looking for any human connection, but only darkness greeted him. All remained silent and still, unlike those fearful days of mocking when he first arrived.

  They ascended several flights of stairs. The bulky guardsman knew the climb, but it made Zander’s legs burn and tighten. The wheezing in his chest accelerated to an outward gasp, but the guardsman gave it no mind, just pulled on the chains tighter than before.

  On and on they climbed, turning this way and that in a dizzying progression. Zander felt glad he had never tried to escape. He certainly would have died, lost in the labyrinth of this dungeon. He could not fathom how the guardsman knew where to go.

  Suddenly, the corridors looked very different. Zander turned a corner at the top of a stairway and walked down a long hall lined with polished granite walls. Finally, he felt they had traveled above ground.

  After the torturous hike, Zander stopped for a moment, taking the opportunity to breathe the good air. The guardsman pounded a few times on a thick wooden door at the end of the pathway, followed by the sound of many locks clicking on the other side. The door creaked open, and Zander blinked and squinted as the guardsman pulled him into the light.

  Before his eyes could adjust, the guardsman pushed him from behind, knocking him off balance. Landing awkwardly in a chair, he felt large hands holding him down. He struggled to free himself but his weak muscles proved useless. The guardsman removed the chains and replaced them with a hard coarse rope on both his hands and his feet.

  Several men loomed over him, each with sword and armor, dressed uniformly in tunics and dark purple cloaks with a large woven crest stitched in the front. The intricacy of the design grabbed Zander’s attention. He had never seen it before but could tell this said a lot about the importance of the men.

  He looked around to see if he could find the prince, but with all the helmeted faces, the search proved pointless. Voices echoed from an adjoining hallway, and the men quickly lined up away from him.

  Zander tried to focus on the men as they began marching forward, but the enormous room sparkled with white marble and beautifully polished stone, which distracted him. Wide columns ran from the floor to the ceiling, large windows covered with intricately patterned glass and sent rainbows cascading onto the floor.

  It felt so unreal to have come up from a place so foul, so horrible, to a place so remarkably beautiful. How could the two co-exist?

  Two men came forward and stopped in front of Zander—one very familiar. He didn’t know whether to smile or cry at the sight of Prince Bryant.

  “You look like hell,” Bryant’s voice rang around the giant room. “. . . and you don’t smell too good, either. I think the bucket got the best of you, boy.”

  Zander didn’t speak, but sighed with relief.

  “Curt, I need him presentable for the upcoming festivities.” Bryant’s hand swept over his brow in contemplation. “Keep him close to the kitchens. Mildred will take care of him.”

  “Yes, Highness,” the man next to him answered, his silky voice slithering about him like oil.

  “Boy,” Bryant addressed Zander again. “This is Curtis, my Primitus. He will take charge of you until you understand your role and get used to this place. We have quarters for you with the other servants by the kitchens. It will be pleasant enough, I’m sure.” He evaluated Zander’s bound arms and legs. “Did you really think that necessary?”

  A man standing next to Zander—who in fact, held onto his shirt collar—spoke up. “My lord, he came from the deepest part of the dungeon, from the isolation chamber. We did not know what to expect when he arrived, so I had my men take every precaution.”

  Bryant snapped back, “Well, he is no threat. Good glory—he’s a boy! Untie him at once!”

  The men scrambled to cut the bindings, and Zander fell forward from the unexpected imbalance.

  “Steady!” yelled Bryant, reaching out to catch him. “I do hope you aren’t always this much trouble.” He smiled. “I need you healthy.”

  Zander attempted a grin.

  “Can you walk?”

  Zander opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, he nodded his head.

  “Good, because you really do smell awful. No offense.” Bryant released him from his grasp, then wiped his hands off.

  Zander nodded in agreement.

  “All right, Curtis, he’s yours.” The prince evaluated Zander’s face, his expression tender and sincere—as if he truly intended to help him. “I hope you’ll find everything to your liking.” He patted him tentatively on the shoulder before turning to walk away, then paused. “I expect our conversation will be more stimulating next time.”

  ~*~

  Zander remained with the man named Curtis, who seemed too tall and freakishly slender. He wore all black, interwoven with ornate threads and swirling patterns that mesmerized the eye. A peculiar, pointed, hat of intricate design sat atop his head, which made him resemble an arrow. At first impression, Zander didn’t like the intimidating man.

  “Let us get you clean,” Curtis said in low silky tones. “This filth is burning my nostrils.” The comment came out rather dryly. Zander couldn’t interpret the real meaning but followed him just the same.

  After his much-needed bath, Curtis provided him with clean clothes, simple but elegant wear: a white tunic, a camel leather vest that laced in the front, and leather pants that fastened at the knee. It felt like a costume, but Zander recognized it to be the uniform of the servants, having seen others in similar attire wandering about. His hair had also been cut and cleaned, revealing tan lines that came from farm life and the hot summer sun.

  “Here is your room.” Curtis pointed down a corridor of doors lined back to back, each marked with a circular window in the front of the door. The window bent around like a fisheye and had the color of a shiny pearl. Curtis ushered Zander into the chamber at the end of the hall. “I will be by later, at the prince’s request.”

  The small room stood simple, clean, and private; a wondrous improvement over his cell. The bed pushed up next to the wall looked more comfortable than even his pallet on the farm. An iron-thatched window let in the sunlight, and a large chest sat across from it. He found extra clothes, similar uniforms, and a nightshirt within. What an unfam
iliar life he had entered: a life without possessions or debt, just service. He bounced on the bed.

  I could get use to this.

  Outside, he could hear a muffled roar but didn’t recognize it. By the third shove, the stubborn window finally opened and sunlight poured in. A strong smell swelled in his nostrils.

  Zander did not expect what he saw.

  Steep cliffs of sliced, smooth rock dropped from his window hundreds of yards down. Below, the sea rolled, wide as the horizon, with its waves rushing wildly toward the rocks. Far beyond, the clouds played with the sun in mixed golds and pinks. The bird cries blended beautifully with the crashing of the waves against the rocks far beneath his feet.

  “Beautiful, huh?” a voice whispered close to his ear. Startled, he jumped away from the window and turned to face the intruder. A slim, girlish figure backed away, laughing at his reaction.

  Still startled, he took in the presence of this stranger. The girl couldn’t have been much older than he, maybe fourteen. She appeared unlike anyone he’d ever met but strangely pretty. Her hair fell long about her shoulders, like flowing copper reflecting in the sunlight, and she’d pulled it back behind her pointy ears. She wore a dress similar to Zander’s uniform, but slightly more formal-looking, with a cinched waste at the skirt. She had a willowy frame and good muscle tone. But, her most distinguishing feature, her emerald eyes stood out and made her pale skin seem almost transparent.

  “Easy, easy,” she started. “I was just curious who Curtis would bring down to this room, that’s all.”

  Zander just stared at her, too dumb to speak.

  “My name’s Audra Thornhollow, and don’t stare at my ears.”

  Zander looked down, not realizing he’d been doing just that.

  “Aw.” Audra waved her arm, dismissing the innocent reaction. “I’m a Louving. There aren’t many of us and people are always curious. So I have pointy ears and a good sense of direction. That’s all you need to know. Happy?”

  Zander liked her instantly. He enjoyed her carefree expressions and honesty.