Instead, Reynolds came up with a detour, traveling to Spotswood’s home.
A great time had passed without a visit to Spotswood Shadower, the eccentric ground dweller—a friend to Lytte and Jeanus, and a trusted confidant of his own. He was an uncle to someone in the camp, a boy named Micah, who Reynolds remembered as a small child. Spotswood had been gracious enough to open his home to Reynolds and Lytte after their exodus from Southwick many years ago. Reynolds hoped Spotswood might have answers to his perplexing questions about Naomi.
In Reynolds’ hastily thrown-together bag hid something he hoped Spotswood could tell him more about: a medallion, like the others safely hidden in Lytte’s tent, but that one Spotswood had made particularly for him. The illusions it created looked real enough, and Reynolds hoped it might help him. Naomi’s strong presence might make keeping her safe very difficult. He would need all the help he could find. The magic inside the medallion slept quietly, resting in his pocket, waiting to be used.
Reynolds traveled for days and days. East made for an easier journey than any other direction. In the west stood the Ignis Mountains and the deserts, so no one traveled that way; the same could be said of the Northern Crest and the continual cold that never melted. He’d stayed away from the rivers, as smugglers and travelers sent goods to the south. But before him lay the beautiful Mount Ibis and an intricate maze of caves—the framework to the underbelly of Parbraven.
Spotswood’s home, the Durundin, was cleverly situated near Lake Kolindur in an underground pocket partially beneath the water, one of the safest places Reynolds could think of. He wished he had brought Naomi here instead of leaving her with Lytte and the dangers in the camp. His anger built inside any time he thought of it, so he cleared his mind and pressed on.
The hills rolled along. Groves of trees cropped up around small townships. Reynolds belonged in these hills. The closer he came to the mountains, the more at home he felt. Soon he would cross the Ravian River and draw close to the shoreline of the lake.
As the foothills grew closer, he thought he should look for the girl, the guardian of the mountain. The townsfolk around spoke of her as legend, but Reynolds knew the truth: a daughter of Prolius roamed the hills, though he didn’t know which one. Her guardian—a large bear——patrolled along the river, keeping safe the entrance to the Echoes and those who roamed inside.
He couldn’t see any sign of her, no distinct bear tracks to follow. Then he felt it—the quick movement behind him. His heightened awareness sensed magic. It moved fast, following, tracking. From what he knew of bears, that wasn’t one.
Quick change of plans.
Reynolds darted for the river. The forest near the edge had many fallen trees. The crossing wouldn’t be hard as long as he found one. His pace accelerated, and so did the presence behind. In fact, it gained. Only one conclusion: he was being tracked. Browneyes had found him, possibly changed forms. Ahead of him lay several fallen trees across the riverbank; a good crossing. He ran for it.
A low growl came from his right side. A large black wolf darted through the shrubs and trees, weaving in and out, finding footing through the brush.
Reynolds reached the fallen trees near the catacombs at the base of the mountain and nimbly crossed as fast as he could. One leap and he would be there. A growl snarled close behind him. Reynolds landed on the other side just before he felt the pressure of the animal crush him into the rocks.
Reynolds flipped out a knife and turned. The animal’s paws pressed down on his chest, a low snarl escaping behind its sharp teeth. Reynolds slashed at the animal, but each time, it kept its paws pressing down, pushing the air out of his lungs. The animal bit his hand. His weapon dropped to the earth. Reynolds winced at the deep teeth marks cutting across his wrists. He lay there, waiting for its next move.
The animal began to shake as if wet. Long fur flipped from one side to the other until it no longer looked like an animal pelt, but hair—long black braids, blurs of fabric gathered together like strings of material stitching around her body. It took only a moment for Browneyes to appear before him, her grip now firm around his knife, digging at his throat.
“How long have you been trailing me?” Reynolds demanded, out of breath.
“Not long. You tricked me.” She whipped her long braids off her shoulder like a wild animal.
“No, I changed my mind.” He tried again to knock the knife out of her hand but failed.
“Where’s your trophy?”
Reynolds kept his focus on his enemy, his voice even. “Safe.”
“Now, come on, Reyn. Why can’t we be friends about this?”
Reynolds stopped struggling and thought of a plan. “When you stop trying to kill her.”
Browneyes hardened her stare. “It sounds easy, not killing her, but I don’t think it’s possible.” She pressed the knife against his skin. “But you must know, I’m putting the pieces together. You tricked me into loving you. In fact, I don’t think you even cared about me. You just wanted to keep me away from her.”
Reynolds didn’t respond.
“I’ll take it by your silence that I’m right.” She smiled a wicked grin and gripped his injured wrist with her free hand. He winced as the pain shot up through his arm. “I don’t think I should ever come second.
“I saw what happened to that poor girl in the Blackwoods. I saw the blood dripping down her legs. I could smell the magic. Smell it, Reynolds. Wouldn’t her blood be a great addition to my collection?”
“Doesn’t mean anything,” he tried to say through the pain.
Browneyes twisted the blade in a circle. It bored into his skin and blood trickled down his throat. “It does when you know how to get in.”
Reynolds’ anger built up. With a jerk to his side, he escaped her hold. Browneyes jolted forward, still with the knife in hand. She kneed him in the back, but Reynolds rebounded off a boulder and stood on his feet, facing her.
“Fronzi!” she yelled.
He knew Browneyes might inflict minor injuries, but never seriously hurt him; she loved him too much. But her sister Fronzi hated him, and would destroy him if she could. He needed to play to his strengths.
“Why here, Browneyes?” Reynolds probed her while he still had time. He knew where he stood; the entrance to the Echoes and the caves below couldn’t be far. “You wouldn’t chase me here unless you had business with the underlord.”
Browneyes stiffened at his accusations. “Harrow is looking for something. Something you made and hid, maybe something you stole.”
Reynolds knew exactly what she meant, his secret treasure hidden safe in the Willows. “Tell your underlord I don’t know anything about it.”
“But I watched you exit the camp.”
Reynolds played down his anxiety. “That means nothing.”
“Doesn’t it?” Browneyes slid slightly forward like a snake ready to strike. “I know how to enter. I could go any time I wanted. I could find your treasure and your girlfriend.”
She’s bluffing.
Heat flushed her cheeks. “I could destroy your whole world. I could murder your girl, take her blood, and use it however I wanted. You wouldn’t know she was dead. I would be such a convincing replacement.” Her words pierced Reynolds’s heart; overwhelmed him with guilt for his decision to lead her on as he had. “Just watch me do it.”
Reynolds evaluated her expression. She was serious. He’d known the consequences of hurting her, and at the time, he hadn’t cared. But Browneyes could never be near Naomi. The risk was too great.
“You know I wouldn’t hurt you, Browneyes. I never meant to.” “Reynolds searched for mercy in her eyes. “There’s no need to take out your revenge on her for my mistakes. I’ll do what you ask.”
A tall silhouette appeared in the shadows, her long braids highlighted against the rock—so like her sister’s.
Browneyes heaved a breath before she spoke again. “You’re wrong. I think I do have the right to exact my revenge.” Her head jerked to
the side——a signal to act.
Reynolds knew they were going to do something unpleasant, but his mind was made up. He had to go graciously or he would never reclaim the advantage.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he got down on his knees—the words audible to Browneyes, but intended for Naomi.
Chapter Ten
Silexa
The next few weeks passed quickly for Zander. The palace ran like an enormous clockwork. Zander struggled with the pace; everyone moved so quickly. Audra stayed close to him and made sure he wasn’t lost in the flurry of work around them.
His days as a servant in Southwick were filled with duty and honor. Each servant knew the importance of his job, and pride of place swelled within them. A busy hive of activity, nothing got missed or overlooked.
The lifestyle fit Zander quite well. He got used to the steadiness of the kitchen. His duties consisted of washing dishes and serving. Mildred, the head cook, also became a better friend. Under her hard, callused skin lurked a consummate professional with total devotion to her work.
She took to mothering Zander like he was a baby bird fallen out of its nest, sometimes to the point of smothering him. He liked her attention, reminiscent of how Naomi had cared for him, but he liked the quiet moments by himself, something he’d never had before.
His room became a comforting retreat. The sea had a calming effect and lulled him to sleep. He had never felt such peace as in his room, watching the waves roll back and forth. His one frequent disturbance to the calm was Audra.
After completing her routine in the kitchens, Audra began a nightly habit of visiting him before venturing to bed. Zander liked the company but was reticent to answer her probing questions.
“Ander?” she started one night, “I always feel like I’m the one talking. I really wish you would get over that speech thing of yours. Is it something you’ve always had?”
Zander had moved his trunk just below his window so that he could sit and watch the sea. He sat motionless, barely listening to Audra but understanding her completely. “I d-don’t know.”
“You must know all about me by now.”
That was true. Zander had learned of her exile from her family, her sea adventures as a stowaway, the nightly raiding of the liquor from the brew house on the edge of Southwick’s walls. She always had a story, and it was great entertainment.
“Are you going to tell me more about your life before here?” she prodded.
“I’m not s-s-sure,” he returned. He didn’t like the question. Everything was still so close to the surface and he grew sad at the thought of his old life with Naomi. Every night, Audra brought up questions about his past. He couldn’t figure out her interest, and he wasn’t sure if he could trust her. Maybe he could talk about something that didn’t have to do with Naomi. It might satisfy her curiosity.
“My f-father is dead.”
“So is mine,” Audra returned. “So, what? How did he die?”
Zander shrugged his shoulders, his answer methodical. “I think he was mur . . . murdered.”
Audra raised her head to look at him. “Sorry about that. Not that my father deserved to die either, but he was a stupid man. He should have known better than to trust me.”
Zander’s insides twisted uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure how to take that response.
She began again to talk about her father and family. Zander slowly wandered back into his own world of thought, watching the sea ripple back and forth. The sun hung low on the horizon, giving off incredible colors as it set. He found the view much more interesting than what Audra prattled on about—until he heard a name that caught his attention.
“Who did y—?”
“Prince Bryant. Have you met him?”
“Briefly.” Zander’s mind wandered to the elusive prince, and wondered where he had been. “What did you say . . . about him?”
“He’s crazy. Ever since he returned from the north, he’s been acting so funny. Kender, who works out in the gardens, says he goes out there all the time, talking to himself.” Audra shifted herself on his bed and kicked up her feet in the air in a playful manner. “Well, I have never liked the prince. He’s completely worthless. The king doesn’t care for him either.”
“W-why?”
“Oh, you know, he uses people to get what he wants. It’s a typical story. Of course, he’s very attractive and he knows it, so he swindles and abuses others at his leisure. And he never notices all the work we do for him.”
“Excuse me.”
The unexpected sound of Curtis’ voice startled them. He stood in the doorway. Audra gasped.
“Come now, boy,” he said. “The prince would like to meet with you.”
Audra smiled and stood up. “See ya.” As she waved goodbye, she winked.
Zander stood and followed the tall man down the hall.
~*~
“Well, little squire,” Curtis said, velvet and smooth. “Did you find a girlfriend?”
Zander winced at the word as he trailed behind the tall figure. His stomach tied itself in knots in his anxiety at meeting the prince again.
They traveled through a maze of hallways and grand staircases, around courtyards and through many wonderful rooms. On and on they went. Finally, they reached an enormous chamber filled wall-to-wall with pictures. Light filtered through colored glass panes in the ceiling. Beautiful rainbows reflected off the paintings hung about the room. It didn’t take long for Zander to realize they were portraits of kings of long ago. He wondered about the lives they lived and the kind of rulers they were.
A long window opened up at the end of the room, revealing the silhouette of a figure whose broad shoulders stood out unmistakably. “Thank you, Curtis,” Bryant said, more to the window than to anyone else. “You may leave.”
“Sire,” Curtis answered, his tone low and serious, “I think you may need my counsel.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Bryant turned to face them. “The business I have with the lad does not concern my business with you. I wish to be alone with him.”
“Excuse me, sire, but I think—”
“Alone, Curtis.” The command had an uncomfortable sharpness to it, clearly communicating his desires.
Curtis bowed low, the tip of his long hat nearly touching the ground. As he rose up, he glared briefly at Zander before leaving the room.
Bryant turned back to the window. Zander took in his appearance: finely dressed in rich jewels and fabrics, including a long, blue cloak—similar to one he wore when Zander first met him in the dungeons, draped from the embroidered collar of his silk-spun tunic.
Silence filled the room as Zander waited for direction.
“Please, come here, boy.”
Zander walked forward until he stood next to him, not sure what the prince had been looking at until he pressed his forehead to the glass.
The view of the city looked incredible from that height. Like a sea of gold, winding streets lined with lampposts wrapped the glorious buildings with their tiled roofs and cobblestone streets, and ornate gardens with pathways of green foliage and colored flowers of all kinds. From that height, people looked like ants, scurrying to their destinations.
“Wow . . .” escaped Zander’s lips.
“Well,” Bryant stated, impressed. “I knew you would rediscover your voice after a while. I didn’t expect so soon. Must have been the bath.”
Zander looked away from the city to glance at his new master. It confused him why the prince took such an interest in him.
The smile on Bryant’s face faded after a moment. “So, how do you like your home so far? I tried to get you one of the nicer rooms, but there isn’t much of a choice down there.”
Zander fitted on a smile and nodded. “V-very n-nice. Thank you.”
Bryant’s big hand gave his shoulder a playful smack. “You like the view? This is Southwick, home of the kings of Parbraven. When the fires are lit at night, it looks like the starry sky reflecting on the water. Have you ever
been to Southwick before?”
Zander shook his head.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he muttered under his breath. “Sharlot is a waste of a town in my opinion.” He heaved a sigh and turned away from the window. “Come over here, boy.”
He led Zander to a set of finely carved benches facing a portrait of a tall, thin, severe-looking man. “I am glad we are alone now.” The prince’s words sounded unnatural and hurried. “There are a few things of grave importance that I want to talk to you about. First . . .”
He paused as if making a decision at the spur of the moment.
“Zander, know that I had nothing to do with your father’s death. The fires were lit to get his attention, but I never imagined the man would be so insane as to lock himself inside.”
Zander did not like hearing this. The inside of his chest hurt.
“We weren’t there for him anyway. We were looking for a girl. What was her name again? Naomi? I am positive you know something about her. Tell me.”
Zander considered the question. What would he want to know? A quick sear of pain crossed his heart every time he thought of her. “I,” he started. “I m-miss her.”
“Please, that is not what I asked.”
Zander swallowed the lump in his throat. “She took c-care of me. I loved being by . . . h-her. Knowing h-her.”
A half-smile appeared on Bryant’s face. “She is interesting to me, in more ways than one. You will understand why over time.”
He smoothed the ends of his hair. “Zander, I brought you up from the dungeons for a special purpose. That day in Sharlot, the day my guards captured you, I was riding in the caravan with a very special girl. Most people cannot see her, but you did. And this is very important.” He leaned over so his voice did not carry across the hall. “She is here with me. Her name is Silexa, and I need you to be her special attendant.”
Zander froze. “M-me?” he stammered. He remembered the girl all too well, almost like a dream, ethereal and enchanting, with a short, black moppet of hair and a star exactly like the one Naomi had on her neck.
Vivatera (Vivatera Series Book 1) Page 11