The Kingdoms of Evernow Box Set

by Heidi Catherine

  The Whisperers were her father’s idea, although she’d noticed that all his good ideas came from someone other than himself. Usually her mother. It would be wrong to call him stupid, as that wasn’t true. He was intelligent enough to recognize a good idea when he saw one, just not quite capable of having too many of them himself.

  She startled as someone opened her door. Slowly. Silently. Her father’s Whisperers weren’t allowed to make a single sound, which meant they were unable to knock. Their sounds were to be saved and harnessed to increase their power when they were unleashed on her father’s wishes.

  Her heart rate increased as she leaped from her bed, relishing the idea of a visitor, no matter who it was. She’d spent an hour the day before, talking to a butterfly that’d flown through her window, that’s how desperate she was for a friend.

  She knew immediately this was a new Whisperer, despite not being able to see his face. It was the shape of him that was new. The last one to bring her breakfast had been short and stocky. This one was tall. His hood was pulled low and his eyes cast down, fixed to the breakfast tray he carried.

  There’d be no point asking her mother what happened to the last Whisperer. She’d only get the same sad look in return, and she hated to see her mother’s eyes fill with tears.

  This new Whisperer’s hands were shaking ever so slightly, the only sign that he was afraid. The other Whisperer had been like that too. She didn’t want them to be afraid. Surely this man couldn’t be afraid of her? If they slipped up and made a sound or even spoke to her, she wouldn’t tell anyone. Although they didn’t know that, she supposed. She might be an innocent girl, but in their eyes, they must only see her as the King’s daughter.

  She went to the door and closed it behind her visitor, curious to look at a new face, undisturbed.

  “Hello, Whisperer,” she said, keeping her voice low so that nobody outside her bedchamber could hear.

  His eyes flicked up to meet hers for only the briefest of moments before he remembered himself and looked away.

  It was a moment enough. She felt everything change in just that one flash of time. Her mother had once described eyes as the window to the soul. She’d never understood that before now. But when he’d glanced at her, with those eyes that were the bluest eyes she’d ever come across, she hadn’t seen a Whisperer. She’d seen him. A boy, not too many years older than her. Sixteen perhaps?

  This shocked her. She’d never thought of the Whisperers as actual people. They were so alien in their robes, with their shaved heads and silent voices. It’d never occurred to her that they were individuals, with their own personalities. Except she’d never seen a Whisperer like this one.

  Maybe he was her Prince who’d come to take her away? And he’d come for her from outside the palace, just like the Prince in the story. Only he wasn’t blind, he was mute. Would her tears one day restore his voice, just like the girl in the tower had restored her true love’s sight?

  She scolded herself for being so dramatic. She didn’t know one single thing about this Whisperer. Her fascination was due to her loneliness. This was the only other teenager she’d seen for months now. Possibly years. Of course she was making up stories inside her head about him. He was no more her Prince than her mother was a witch.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, desperate to know more about him, even though she knew he couldn’t answer her.

  He set her tray down on her table and stepped aside, looking out the window while he waited for her to take her plate.

  She had no interest in her breakfast today. Sausages, eggs, and tomato couldn’t compete with a new face, especially one as appealing as this. Her eyes trailed across the square line of the Whisperer’s jaw, then up the smooth skin of his face, to settle on his eyes. Those blue, blue eyes that refused to look at her.

  “Is it Harry?” she asked, studying him for a reaction.

  He didn’t flinch. Surely, he’d have flinched if she got it right.

  “Harry?” she tried again.

  He remained still, his eyes fixed to the window, still waiting for her to take her breakfast from the tray.

  What made a person want to become a Whisperer? Who would choose this strange life for themselves? She understood that even less than she understood why they needed them. The servants who’d worked in the palace before them had done a perfectly good job. An even better job perhaps. As had her father’s army. She’d felt much safer when she could see soldiers patrolling the grounds with their swords, ready to protect her at all costs.

  Her father insisted they weren’t needed anymore. The Whisperers were protecting them. This made no sense to Rose, although her mother said it was true. Nobody could hurt them now. She could see no reason for her mother to make this up.

  She took her plate from the tray, although her hunger had vanished, as if it’d been somehow replaced by her fascination with this Whisperer.

  “Thank you for my breakfast,” she said.

  The Whisperer almost nodded. It was a movement so slight, it was invisible to anybody who wasn’t searching for it. More like a leftover reaction that he wasn’t able to suppress than a deliberate movement.

  “Please look at me,” she said, desperate to see the real him again. That one glimpse she’d had earlier wasn’t enough. There was so much more to this boy than the statue who stood before her.

  He shifted his gaze and she held her breath, preparing to look into his eyes once more.

  Instead, he looked toward her table and seeing that she’d removed her plate, he picked up the empty tray and stole silently toward the door.

  “Harry!” she cried.

  His silent steps shuffled faster and she noticed the tray shaking in his hands. He was afraid someone would hear her.

  “I’m sorry.” She let her voice fall to a hush, not wanting him to be punished for her crime of speech.

  He left the room, closing the door behind him, the breath of air it displaced the only sound he gifted her.

  She made a wish. The first wish she could ever remember making. Normally, it was her father making the wishes.

  Let this boy be her Prince.

  Let him rescue her from the palace. When the day came and her mother told her to run, let him be by her side.

  She felt something wet on her cheeks and realized she was crying.

  Life wasn’t like that. It didn’t deliver you something, just because you wished for it. She didn’t care what her father had to say on that matter.

  This strange Whisperer wasn’t her Prince. He was her father’s solider. His name wasn’t Harry. She didn’t even know what it was.

  And she never would.

  ROSE

  THE AFTER

  Rose’s eyes snapped open at the first sign of daylight. Her sleep had been dreamless, and she was glad of it.

  Her Prince would be here soon with her breakfast. She knew it was wrong to call him that, but what else was she supposed to call him? He wasn’t Harry, like she’d guessed the first day she met him all those years ago. Nor was he James or Robert or Carl. He definitely wasn’t Bruce or William or Marcus. And she was sure he couldn’t be Peter or Simon or Frank. She’d tried every name she could think of. Only yesterday she’d also ruled out Thomas. She’d been certain that must be it, wondering why she hadn’t tried it earlier. It was so obvious! Only that hadn’t seemed to be it either.

  Her Prince had been bringing her breakfast for five years now and she’d tried a new name each day. That was nearly two thousand names and none of them had sparked even the smallest reaction.

  So, she’d taken to calling him her Prince inside her head. It was easier that way. She could hardly think of him as Breakfast Bringer.

  Although soon there’d be a real Prince inside the palace. Her mother was pregnant and certain that this time it was a boy, just like her father had always wanted. There’d been a Whispering about it, which meant her mother was right. A Prince would soon be born and she’d have a brother to sit beside her three sis
ters. Not that they sat beside each other very often. It was a bit hard when they were all locked inside their rooms. The only contact they were allowed was at dinner, when they gathered around a huge table with her father at one end and her mother at the other.

  Whisperers stood next to the table, waiting for them to drop something or attend to their glass if it needed refilling. Her Prince was never there though. His only job seemed to be to bring her breakfast each morning. He brought her sisters their breakfast too. And her mother. She wondered if any of them had tried to talk to him and if he’d replied, but she’d never dared to ask. It would make it too obvious that this was what she’d been doing and it would only put him in danger.

  She hoped they hadn’t tried to get him to talk. He was her Prince. She didn’t like the idea of him talking to one of her sisters or her mother, and not to her.

  In the five years she’d known him, she’d never heard him say a single word. And never again had she managed to catch his eye like she had that first time she’d met him. Of course, this only made her try harder. Sometimes she’d jump on her bed and pretend to fall or spill her orange juice on the floor to see what he’d do. Not once did he break and fix his gaze on her. If only she knew what her father had threatened him with if he did. She could make a good guess, only it wasn’t a nice one.

  Every day when he walked into her bedchamber holding that tray, she breathed a sigh to see that he was still alive. The faces of the Whisperers changed often in the palace. Her Prince was one of the only Whisperers left from the early days. When they’d first started appearing in the palace, she’d only been young and had naively thought they were there by their own choice. She no longer believed that. Nobody would become a Whisperer by choice, she didn’t care how much her father insisted on it. They were as good as slaves. Who would choose that life for themselves?

  When she was Queen one day, she’d set the whole lot of them free.

  If not when she reminded herself. If. Becoming the Queen was another thing she wasn’t sure she believed in anymore. Even though she was next in line to the throne, she couldn’t help thinking that her father had other plans about this. When her brother was born, he’d find a way to change the rules to push her aside. It was no secret that he believed men to be far superior to women.

  Ironic really, given that all the best decisions he’d ever made had come from ideas given to him by his wife.

  The door to Rose’s room opened, slowly, silently. She held her breath, waiting to see him, hoping nothing had happened in the twenty-four hours since she’d last laid eyes on him.

  It was her Prince. He was still here. Still alive. Only he was different somehow. Unhappy in a deep way his normal misery had never seemed to reach.

  She got up from her bed and closed the door.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

  He placed the tray on her table and looked out the window, waiting for her to take her food.

  She wasn’t interested in her food. She was going to make him talk. Today. Right now. No more waiting.

  “I’m not going to guess your name today,” she said. “You’re going to tell it to me. And after that, you’re going to tell me what’s wrong.”

  He blinked slowly, his gaze still focused on the window and not on her. There were dark circles under his eyes, like she got when she let herself cry. The whites of his eyes were pink, ringing his blue irises like a soft flame of misery. Her poor Prince. Something had happened. She was certain of it. She’d seen him every day for five years, and she’d never seen him like this.

  “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.” She stood between him and the window, interrupting his line of sight.

  He looked to the floor.

  She reached out her hands and placed one on each of his shoulders. He was taller than her, although not by much. She felt him flinch at her touch. Never before had she touched him like this. She wondered how long it’d been since anyone had laid their hands on him. He must’ve had a mother once.

  “Tell me your name,” she said, tilting her face to try to catch his eye.

  He looked away.

  “I want to help you,” she pleaded.

  Slowly, as if time had fallen asleep for a moment, he lifted his gaze.

  “Let me help you,” she said.

  Then his eyes were locked with hers. Not a glance like the first time they’d met, this time it was a stare. She had his eyes, his focus, his soul laid bare.

  Her hands dropped from his shoulders and ran down his arms to his hands. She held them. His skin was warm and soft. She squeezed gently, still keeping his gaze. He squeezed her hands in return, his gaze still locked with hers.

  “Talk to me,” she said. “Please.”

  He swallowed. Hesitated. Gathered his strength.

  “Please,” she whispered. He was so close to speaking. She could feel it. The words were in his chest, waiting to spill out.

  “Tell me your name,” she said, trying to coax them out.

  He blinked, squeezing her hands gently once more. His lips parted.

  She held her breath, not wanting to spoil the moment.

  “Jeremiah,” he said, his voice so soft, she had to strain to hear it.

  But hear it, she did. The air rushed from her lungs and she broke his gaze to tilt forward and rest her forehead on his chest, for fear she was about to collapse. The moment she’d dreamed about for five years was here at last. Her Prince had spoken to her. More than that. Her Prince finally had a name.

  “Jeremiah,” she said, feeling the sound of his name on her lips. “Jeremiah.”

  Worried he’d retreat back into himself and be lost to her forever, she lifted her face and looked into his eyes once more.

  “I knew you had a name,” she said. “You’ve never been a Whisperer to me. I’ve seen you every time I’ve looked at you. And now I know your name. Jeremiah. Such a beautiful name.”

  “My sister’s here.” His voice was croaky, like opening a rusty gate that hadn’t been used for an age.

  His sister? It was strange to think he had a sibling. Was she younger than him? Taller than him? Did she have the same pale irises that drew you in and made you feel like you’d seen an angel?

  “Please,” he said. “You must help me get her out.”

  “Oh, Jeremiah. I don’t even know how to get myself out. Don’t you see I’m as much a prisoner as you are?”

  He shook his head and his brows knitted together. He’d risked everything by talking to her. She knew she owed him more than the response she’d just given him.

  “I’ll think of something,” she said. “We’ll think of something together. We’ll get your sister out. We’ll get you out.”

  Tears welled in his eyes, spilling out and pouring down his cheeks. She lifted her hand and wiped them away with her fingertips, hoping she could find a way to fulfill this impossible promise.

  “There’s just one condition,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Anything, Princess.”

  “When we get you and your sister out … I come with you.”

  She wasn’t going to wait for her mother to tell her to run. The time to run was now. There was a whole world out there calling to her. She wanted to go to it. Feel fresh air in her hair, dirt under her feet and hope in her heart. And she wanted to do all of this with her Prince—with Jeremiah—by her side.

  Let her brother be the King. Let her father have his army of Whisperers. Let her mother tell her sisters stories and whisper in their ears to run.

  “Jeremiah,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  He flinched, stiffened, then melted.

  “Yes, Princess?” he asked.

  “My name is Rose. Please call me Rose.”

  “I know,” he said.

  She broke away and looked at him to see he was smiling. It was a smile that changed his whole face, like his soul was suddenly on the outside of his body, not hidden deep with
in.

  And it was the most beautiful thing she’d seen in all her life.

  She just hoped she could find a way to make sure she’d see that smile again. Because he’d smiled at her for promising to do something she shouldn’t have. She had no idea how to escape the nightmare they were both trapped in.

  She reminded herself that the girl in the tower had found a way to do the impossible. She’d escaped and run deep into the forest with her Prince.

  Rose and Jeremiah could do that too.

  KING VIRTUS

  THE BEFORE

  King Virtus woke to the sound of his army marching in the grounds below. He liked hearing their heavy boots connect with the earth, as if stamping their authority. His authority. Forte Cadence was his kingdom as it had belonged to his father and his father’s father before him, going back for over twenty generations of men. All named Virtus.

  He was the first King not to produce a son as his heir. Well, the first not to do away with his daughters to ensure the heir was a son. He was too kind-hearted to take his daughters’ lives as babies. Best to let them live until he needed them to step aside. He had no brothers, so if he had no surviving children, the throne would pass to his twin sister. And that would be an even greater tragedy than the female fruit of his own loins taking over. His daughters could live for now.

  His Queen had told him Forte Cadence needed a merciful king, so this decision seemed to make her happy. The Queen told him a lot of things, which was irritating, as of course, he’d already thought of them all first. Women didn’t have original ideas. They weren’t leaders. Men had always had far superior thought processes. It was the way their brains were wired. That was why it took a man to rule a Kingdom. If he let his daughter take over from him, Forte Cadence would be invaded in no time, and all that work over the generations to build what he had before him would be ruined.