He cleared his throat and let go, sitting down beside her once more, forearms resting on his knees. “Dragons. The god of dragons. It’s a long story, Gandrett, but let’s start with why dragons are no longer around.”
Gandrett grasped the corners of the blanket that Nehelon had dropped and pulled them up to her chin.
“When the last Dragon King conquered Neredyn, he forced all of the four realms under his rule. All but the Calma Desert at which a priory sat at the heart, training Children of Vala to serve the goddess of life.
“The desert had belonged to no territory for a thousand years before that. Barren and hostile land where not even the dragons of the north could survive. So the city of Everrun remained a little sanctuary in the heart of Neredyn. A sanctuary to where humans and Fae fled alike. But that’s for another time…” His voice trailed away as he seemed to sink into memories.
“The last Dragon King ruled over Neredyn for nearly three centuries before he was defeated,” he continued after a long, pensive silence, which Gandrett hadn’t dared disturb. “During that time, praying to the god of dragons was a common practice. And there were far more of those gifted with magic than there are nowadays. But then, nowadays there are no dragons left.” He eyed Gandrett with an unreadable face, eyes squinted as if he was trying to figure something out.
“And you know this from experience,” Gandrett assumed, careful about how she spoke the words. Now that Nehelon was finally speaking, she wanted to get as much information out of him as possible. And if he was talking about events from seven-hundred years ago—
The male chuckled almost inaudibly. “You are asking how old I am?”
Gandrett didn’t nod or shake her head. She didn’t dare do or say anything other than listen.
“Too old for you to bother,” he said with that same dark laugh as if it was a joke.
Disappointment spread in Gandrett’s stomach like a sticky carpet. Should she have asked directly? Would that have ensured her an answer? But that wasn’t the information she truly needed. She needed to learn about the Shygon cult, about dragons. Anything that would help… Nehelon’s age was about as relevant in this as the height of the tree at the foot of which they were sitting.
“Dragons,” she prompted, and Nehelon turned back to face the darkness.
He sighed as if pulling up all those stories cost him. “After the last Dragon King started his tour of conquest from the north-east”—Eedwood, Gandrett remembered, and the dragon water and dragon fire under the castle—“Theodore Brenheran and Elise Denderlain were ruling over Sives as king and queen with their royal seat in Ackwood. A married couple—the last marriage between the two noble houses in Sives. When the Dragon King slaughtered the entire court in their sleep, only their son got away.” Nehelon’s voice darkened, anger filling his tone. “He survived, thanks to a loyal servant who, when he beheld what was going on in the palace, took the child and ran.”
As with so many things concerning the history of Neredyn, she had heard about the Slaughter of Ackwood during her training at the priory. She had seen the scenes etched into the stone walls in the innermost part of the citadel, painted on furniture in the residential, and the thought alone was enough to make her nauseous.
“The heir of the House Brenheran went into hiding, and the line didn’t resurface until much later when the Dragon King was defeated,” Gandrett recited, and Nehelon gave her a look that suggested he was relieved he didn’t need to start from scratch. His eyes, free of the glamour, sparkled in the first rays of light as dawn crept over the leaf-canopy.
“Not until three-hundred years later when the Dragon King was killed by the last human-Fae alliance,” he specified as he absently played with a leaf he had picked up from the ground. “It took another solid century until the last Shygon worshippers disappeared from the lands. And those hundred years…” He gave her a look that suggested that what had happened in Alencourt was nothing compared to what Neredyn had seen. “They went into hiding in the beginning, but after a couple of years, when peace had been reestablished, when the southern territories had redrawn their borders and Sives had been shattered into two halves, they crept out of their holes.
“At first, there were just some missing individuals every now and then, here and there, until they gathered followers, people who were unhappy with what the war had left them with. Their following grew fast, and the need for blood sacrifices did, too. And power grew as fear rose among the people of all territories—even Ulfray, where immortal folk resides”—a quick sideways glance at Gandrett—“and then they started raiding villages, grabbing everyone they could just to please their god. They burned down villages, took children—“
Gandrett understood then and there what he was saying. “It’s happening again.”
The Fae male nodded. “It is. And I cannot stand by and let them harm the people of Sives unpunished.” He tore the leaf with quick fingers. “Sives is just the beginning.”
For a long moment, Gandrett waited for him to continue, but he just stared at the ground, features stone-cold.
“Does it really happen?” She swallowed, unsure whether the question was going to earn her his laughter, but the urge to know, to understand was too strong. “The power… Does Shygon truly grant power?”
Nehelon’s gaze snapped to her face, lingering, and he pursed his lips as if debating how much he should share. “I have seen people emerge from those rituals with magic strong enough to threaten a seasoned warrior like me.” A muscle in his jaw flicked as if to enforce the image.
Not the image of the Shygon cult praying for dangerous magic but Nehelon, a warrior. A seasoned warrior. Him facing swords and magic on a battlefield—
“Shygon magic is nothing you want to encounter,” he said icily.
But Gandrett shrugged, thinking back of Linniue’s little ritual with Addie. “I know.”
And the realization in Nehelon’s eyes was almost painful to watch. It was there between them like an invisible wall, yet tangible, and his glance beheld her as the first rays of sunlight touched her face. His throat bobbed. “I’ve failed to protect you, Gandrett.”
She shook her head, her breathing becoming harder as his glamour-free eyes bore into hers. “I am Vala’s Blade,” she said, voice hoarse, “I don’t need protecting.”
Vala’s Blade. Nehelon bit his tongue, for every word that would come wasn’t meant for a servant of Vala. And what a fool he was to indicate she needed protection.
“Of course you don’t,” he murmured and turned his face toward the sun.
The nights were getting shorter, and it wouldn’t be long until Midsummer Solstice.
“And, are you intending to free me any time soon?”
He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the sour edge in her tone, but he pulled up his glamour, hiding the vulnerable layers beneath. Gandrett had every right to distrust him. After all, he had set that impaled corpse on fire—and Gandrett’s magic had responded like the answer to a century-old call.
Chapter Nine
Gandrett cursed as Nehelon let the irons snap open from her wrists. The locks were simple, mechanical ones. No magic would work on them. It left even powerful Fae Nehelon with a key or simple lock picking technique. And he was so strong he had set the woman on fire from afar as if she were little more than cinder in his hands. Blue fire, he had chosen for the effect it would have on those who spotted it. A warning. A reminder that there were consequences for those who followed down Shygon’s path.
“Happy now?” Nehelon grumbled as he stowed away the shackles in his pack. But she could feel his attention lingering on her, his magic probably sneaking through the air around her for signs of a coming outburst.
Gandrett rubbed her wrists, the angry rash the iron had left behind another thing she put on the mental toll she had for Nehelon.
One day in shackles had been enough in Nehelon’s opinion, even if he didn’t trust her to control herself. Maybe he had gotten tired of Gandrett’s threats to attack
him with the iron chain if he left her locked up one more minute. Maybe it was the lack of angry creature in her chest. But eventually, after a long, tormented sigh, he had pulled the keys from his pocket and freed her from the bonds.
“If we ride south immediately, I will be.” Her little brother was still out there, alone, making his way out toward Everrun, and his path may lead him uncomfortably close to the Ulfrayan border. Gandrett had spent enough time in Nehelon’s presence to understand just how dangerous Fae were.
“You need to learn to control your power before we go anywhere,” Nehelon snarled. His gaze, as he glanced over his shoulder, suggested that he was more than serious and willing to prove it.
“He is all by himself,” Gandrett reasoned. Her hand was casually sliding to her hip where her sword was hanging on her belt.
If he wouldn’t go, she would whether he liked it or not.
She backed away a step, then another, all that time innocently studying Alvi’s shiny fur beneath Nehelon’s hand. He had turned his head back and was now petting the horse’s neck, murmuring something impossible to understand over the distance.
Just another step, and she could slip behind a tree. Lim gave her a disappointed look from where he was nibbling leaves next to Nehelon’s black mare.
“Don’t even think of running,” the Fae male hissed by Gandrett’s ear, sending a jolt of fear through her. One second of letting her attention drift to the bay gelding who was carrying her pack, and Nehelon had snuck up on her on speedy, silent Fae feet. She loosed a breath before she turned around, finding his blue eyes not as faceted as diamond but hard and unyielding.
“I am no longer in your service—Lord Brenheran’s service,” she corrected, “I can do as I please.”
Nehelon’s lips twitched. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He didn’t step back, leaving all but one foot of space between their chests, glaring down at her as if she had mortally offended him.
Bastard. “I fulfilled my task. I brought Joshua home. There no longer is a family in Alencourt to spend a year with, so technically I am free until that year is over, am I not?” She didn’t shy away from his gaze, from the scent that filled her nose… Even after days without a bath…
Her hand reached her sword effortlessly, and she drew it halfway, ready to fight her way out if needed.
But Nehelon’s hand was on hers before the blade was halfway out. Not a brutal, forbidding touch but a gentle weight, asking to halt.
So she did.
His features softened, his glamour once more thinning, letting the stunning Fae beneath shine through. “You may be free of your obligations toward Tyrem Brenheran”—his fingers folded around hers, slowly pushing the sword back—“but you hold a new responsibility now. One you will never be free of.” He lifted her hand up between their chests and ran a finger along her wrist where the band of iron had sat, his touch like a balm to the irritated skin. “You have magic, Gandrett. Strong magic. And if you don’t learn to control it, it will destroy you and whoever gets too close to you.” Sadness filled his features. “If you run now, chances are high you will hurt yourself or your brother with your magic. And I can’t let that happen.”
Gandrett studied her own wrist under Nehelon’s touch, his callouses scraping as he traced back and forth with his fingertips.
“He’s all alone out there, untrained for fights, even less ones involving magic.” She thought of Andrew’s blond curls and his dimples and how he wouldn’t stand a chance against a monster like Nehelon.
And yet, that monster kept stroking her wrist as if he was sorry he had hurt her.
“I know,” was all he said before he reached for her second hand—Gandrett didn’t object, too stunned by the tenderness with which the monster was holding her—and brought it up beneath the other one. Warmth spread through Gandrett as Nehelon closed his eyes, and the uncomfortable sensation stopped, her skin turning like new under his touch and the scabs on her hands falling off as his magic healed her.
For a moment, she marveled, too absorbed in how his power had done good on her. The same power that had let the woman go up in flames. The same person so cold and cunning and then … kind.
“He needs me,” Gandrett whispered, not yet pulling away and Nehelon’s hands not yet letting go of hers.
“I need you,” he whispered absently as he held her gaze, the blue facets playing in the morning light. Gandrett involuntarily coughed at his words and pulled back her hands, stumbling a step or two away from him, very much convinced she had misheard. But Nehelon cleared his throat, hands still midair where he’d held hers. “I need you to learn to control your magic, Gandrett.” His features smoothed over, glamour back in place as he grumbled, “Neredyn can do without another rogue mage who will end up the prey of magic-haters.” He returned to his horse and swiftly climbed into the saddle. “Your brother grew up on a farm. He knows what plants can be eaten. He knows how to slaughter a rabbit, and I am convinced he can hunt well enough to trap one.” He turned Alvi north and glanced back at Gandrett over his shoulder. “He will survive the journey south, and if it makes you feel any better, I can send word to the Meister that Andrew is on his way. I can send scouts to find him and guide him. I can even send Lim if you think that would make his journey safer.” Nehelon took a deep breath and whistled then watched Lim trot over to Gandrett as if to prove he could truly do what he’d offered. “But there is one thing I am not willing to do, Gandrett.” Lim stopped by her side, eyeing her with impatient, black eyes. “I am not willing to let you loose on Neredyn just because you are too stubborn to trust anyone but yourself.”
Gandrett swallowed as Nehelon’s words hit her like a blow in the face.
Every word he spoke, no matter how full of annoyance, of impatience, was an honest offer to help, and if she dared listen, she would know that he was right. Andrew was no longer a child. And no matter how hard she wanted to jump onto Lim’s back and just gallop south until she’d left the forest behind her and crossed the Penesor, chances were the Fae male would chain her up again if she didn’t cooperate. And if he didn’t and she ran… Well, Nehelon had painted a pretty clear picture of how dangerous her magic was, and she wasn’t ready to hallucinate going up in flames again—not yet.
“Send the message,” she said softly but not weakly, her pride keeping her tone from gaining more volume, “and the scouts.”
Nehelon whistled again, and a fat gray bird appeared from the sun-lit branches above them, cawing, and ungracefully landed on Nehelon’s shoulder.
Riho. The bird eyed her from the distance, beetle-black eyes blinking as if he was saying, About time you made up your mind.
“Here’s some paper”—Nehelon tossed a small bundle at her without bothering to look in her direction—“and a pen.”
Gandrett caught both from the air with little effort, which gave her a moment of victory in the tight regiment he posed.
“Write whatever you want to tell Andrew.” He scratched Riho’s head with one fingertip and smiled at the bird. “I’ll make sure he finds your brother on the way to the priory.”
Gandrett didn’t comment but opened the pen and pulled a piece of paper from the leather pouch before she started writing.
“Or if you prefer, I’ll send Lim—” He didn’t wait for her response but turned to the gelding. “If I send a scout with you, you’ll find him, right?”
Lim huffed his approval and stomped his foot.
“How does it work?” Gandrett wondered aloud as she observed the conversation between the Fae male and his animals. “Is it a Fae-thing?”
Nehelon glanced at her for a moment, apparently unaware what she was talking about.
“The birds, the horses—” Gandrett gestured at Lim with the pen in her hand.
“Immortality can certainly get boring if you have to pretend you are something you are not.” He didn’t stop scratching Riho’s head, and the crow clicked its beak with something Gandrett identified as humor. “Animals certainly don’t judge
as easily.”
From the look on his face, it was clear that was all the information she would get.
“So do you want me to send him?”
Gandrett eyed the horse, who nudged her with his nose as if to tell her, I want to go. I want to help.
“Send him,” she agreed. “Please.”
Lim whinnied and shifted closer for her to pull down her pack. But Gandrett just opened the leather straps and pulled out her spare clothes and the necklace Brax had given her, leaving her blankets and some provisions behind, then carefully placed the note she had scribbled and the necklace her mother had given her that day Brenheran’s men had taken her to the Order on top before she closed the pack and patted Lim’s croup with her free hand. “Take it to my brother. He needs it more than I do.”
Lim gave her a solemn huff and nudged her shoulder.
“If I send Lim to find your brother, he will. And he will make sure to arrive in Everrun safely.”
Nehelon nudged Alvin’s flanks and steered her toward where Gandrett was standing and waiting with somewhat awkward anticipation. He held out his hand, jerking his chin at the pouch and pen, features tight. Gandrett didn’t hesitate to hand over his belongings, and so fast she almost missed that his fingers had closed around the utensils she’d placed in his palm, he was already pulling out a piece of parchment and scribbling away.
From where she stood by Alvi’s shoulder, she could make out his familiar elegant script, but none of the words were readable from the distance.
“This”—he held up the paper before he rolled it up and tied it to Riho’s willingly outstretched leg—“will ensure your brother safe entrance into the priory and the Meister’s protection.” He whispered something to the bird, who then took off and soared through the leaf-canopy. Gandrett watched until Riho disappeared then stumbled into Alvi when, on her other side, Lim wheeled around and, in a gallop that seemed too fast for the forest, followed the bird’s direction on the ground.
Wicked Crown (Shattered Kingdom Book 2) Page 6