Wicked Crown (Shattered Kingdom Book 2)

by Angelina J. Steffort

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Armand’s breath caught as he noticed the young woman beside Brax Brenheran. He had dreamed of her for weeks, not the way she looked now but the blood-smeared Gandrett who had sent a flood of fire across the temple of Shygon, the woman who had split the earth to save the woman beside him.

  “We should say hello,” Addie said as if she was reading his thoughts.

  Before them, the line of other guests who had come to show their respect to the Lord of Ackwood was long, and he had already had the opportunity to speak to the lord in private together with Joshua this afternoon. It wouldn’t be a break of protocol if they rounded the table and took a couple of minutes to speak to the woman who had rescued his prince and the woman who was now eyeing him with her sky-blue gaze, some worry etching a line between her brows.

  He held out an arm to Addie and waited for her to take it before he strolled back to the end of the table, not paying attention to anything but Gandrett’s smile—and Addie’s warm hand around his forearm.

  Gandrett met them halfway to the end of the tent, her eyes bright and her dress elaborate and classy, unlike some of the other women who seemed to attend Nyssa’s celebrations for one purpose only. His gaze drifted behind Gandrett at Joshua, who would, within the hour, be the most sought after bachelor in Sives—after the announcement, which was planned to take place after dinner and before the real celebrations began, the dancing and strolls between the torches he had seen in the quiet areas of the gardens.

  “Lady Starhaeven.” Armand bowed, chuckling at the mention of the false name she had used to snake her way into his castle, and Addie’s arm slipped out of his.

  Gandrett didn’t speak. She just stared at him with those moss-green eyes that were different. Not as guarded, not trying to flirt with him the way she had after the hunt. No—Gandrett waited for him to straighten, and before he could steel himself for it, she threw her arms around him and hugged him. It was the same hug she had given him at their leave in Eedwood, only this time, his heart didn’t throb with the sensation that it meant something different to her. Armand, over those past weeks, had realized that Gandrett had opened his eyes, helping him to realize he had to take his own life, his own court into his hands and start leading so a Sives of peace may exist. And she had paved the way for someone so loyal, so precious that he couldn’t believe he deserved her.

  His hand flicked to brush Addie’s—a casual gesture designed to appear like an accidental touch, but Gandrett noticed even while she was still embracing him and whispered in his ear. “I see you have used your time wisely.”

  Armand chuckled again, and warmth filled his heart.

  Dinner was different from Eedwood Castle, or from the prison in the north, or from the farm where she had grown up. Through the music provided by a small ensemble in the corner of the tent, Addie observed the neighbors to her left and her right, which were Gandrett and Armand, and tried to follow their lead, their pace with devouring the delicacies, which kept coming, served by men and women in black and burgundy uniforms and white gloves. More elaborate than Addie had ever seen in her life. Worthy of a royal court, not just a lord’s court.

  The warrior who had saved her from Linniue’s claws seemed to be less articulate with silverware than she was with her magic or her sword if she believed what Joshua had told her back when he had woken up in Armand’s room.

  Her hand still tingled where his fingers had brushed against hers. She was sure he hadn’t noticed. He’d been so busy crushing Gandrett against his chest—

  The woman hadn’t said much about how she had ended up back here at the palace. That she was a Child of Vala, Armand had informed her after the long sleep of rest when the symbol on her shoulder had scabbed over—as had the wounds on her back, all of them magically more healed than they should have during those hours. Armand had explained about the healing properties of the Dragon Water. He had trusted her with the damning secrets of his court, and she hadn’t walked away. Because she had nowhere to go and because she couldn’t leave the young lord who was also the worst poet in history. She smiled to herself and Armand cocked his head.

  “Isn’t it perfect?” he asked, so self-assured, so happy that his plans with Joshua were progressing, that the future for the kingdom of Sives as his mother and he had envisioned it was finally coming to life.

  Addie just nodded. However, she wasn’t thinking about Sives but about the light in his eyes as he held her gaze.

  Beside her, Gandrett was chatting with the younger Brenheran heir and his sister, who was a force of nature in her own right the way she wore that dress of pure burgundy with delicate embroidery—like a queen rather than a prize to be given to the highest bidder. Addie had overheard what awaited Mckenzie Brenheran and why the heirs of the most reputable noble houses of Neredyn were seated across the table from them, some stealing peeks at the fair-haired beauty and some outright staring.

  Addie couldn’t tell how the young lady kept her composure, for the words she had spoken to Gandrett under the cover of music told exactly what she thought of that arranged marriage Lady Crystal was seeking for her daughter.

  A different sort of prison, Addie thought and didn’t envy the stunning woman for a second, not for the gold and jewels wrapped around her delicate neck, not for the attention she got from the lords and heirs or the life that awaited her one her mother had made up her mind.

  Addie hadn’t gotten the chance to speak to Joshua again since he had left with the messenger. The gods knew she wanted and dreaded to talk to him. It was a quite ambivalent sensation that made the scar on her shoulder weigh more heavily than usual, tingle a bit even.

  The music stopped as the servants cleared the table of the empty dessert plates and bowls, and Addie only understood why when Lord Tyrem Brenheran got to his feet and surveilled the tent until the last hushed conversations in the corners fell silent.

  “It is,” he said, spreading his hands to each side like a priest of Vala, “my honor, my pleasure, and my duty to announce that this year’s solstice is unlike any solstice in history.”

  Beside Addie, Armand shifted in his chair, and when she peeked at him from the side, she found excitement in his eyes, his usually pale cheeks flushed, and one hand had wandered to the collar of his tunic to open the topmost button. She smiled.

  “Tonight, we celebrate the solstice, the goddess Nyssa, and”—He dropped one arm, extending the other one toward his son—“the return of the Kingdom of Sives. The future of Sives. Prince Joshua Brenheran-Denderlain.”

  A gasp ran through the room. Addie wasn’t entirely certain it was of agreement, but Lord Brenheran didn’t let it impress him.

  “My firstborn, Joshua, my heir, and the heir of Lady Linniue Denderlain. A child of both houses and the rightful heir to the throne of Sives.” An official-looking man approached with a scroll showing both crests, the Brenheran’s and the Denderlain’s, and some writing that wasn’t identifiable from a distance. “This is proof that Joshua is who we claim him to be.”

  Joshua had risen to his feet, gracefully enduring the stares and the whispers and murmurs that were now filling the air. He stood like the prince he was. Tall and elegant, a thrum of power emanated from him as he glanced around the table, holding the gazes of one after the other as his father continued to speak, announcing that together with the new lord of Eedwood as chancellor, his son would shape the future of Sives—Armand rose to his feet at the mention of his name, and Addie considered darting under the table to hide from the glances that were now coming their direction, some of the guests giving her an assessing look as if to try to understand what her role was in this charade.

  None. Her role was none. She was just Addie and had never been meant to be there. It was by Armand’s grace that she had a bed to sleep in and food to eat.

  Her shoulder was no longer tingling but hurting by now as she looked at the man for whom she had put herself in danger. Joshua stared right back, and the carving in her shoulder was abla
ze with fire.

  Gandrett listened to Lord Tyrem’s speech and couldn’t bring herself to care—at least not for the pompous words, for how he made the announcement about himself rather than the heir to the throne of Sives, who stood and waited, dignified like a young king, and seemed particularly intrigued by the young woman beside her.

  Addie had been quiet most of the evening, which was something Gandrett understood better than anyone else. Neither of them belonged here—a servant of Vala and a servant of the dragon-god-worshipper Linniue. Thank Vala—no, thank Nyssa, tonight were Nyssa’s celebrations—no one knew their dark secrets. No one but those few select who had committed to silence. They were all here: Joshua, Armand, Addie, and—

  Gandrett looked around, no longer paying attention to the lord who had given the command for her to be committed into the Order of Vala. Her eyes were scanning the tent, all exits, and the darkening space beyond as far as she could see, for the missing individual who was protecting the secret of her magic. The movement of heads as they were stuck together in hushed conversations, the shifting of hands to hidden weapons. Gandrett could feel it, the air of something big that was about to happen.

  Maybe it was also the second glass of sparkling wine she had downed, and now everything seemed to slow in her mind. A minor part of her wondered if she could throw the silver knife that she had slid into her sleeve a while ago in time to protect the Prince of Sives from harm should one of the people in the room decide they couldn’t live with the revelation.

  Another part of her kept gazing at those exits and wondering where he was—the final missing member of their group of secrets. Since Brax had dismissed him in her chambers, Nehelon hadn’t given a sign of life—or that he was still in the palace. He could be gods-knew-where, for all she knew. He was Fae, and if she didn’t slow him down with her human speed, he could be at the border of Ulfray, for all Gandrett knew.

  Why it bothered her, she couldn’t tell. Why that gods-damned Fae male couldn’t just have told her he wouldn’t be here. Not that she would have cared—but somehow, after weeks of his annoying, pretty face, the first and last thing she saw every day … she somehow—Vala help her—missed him.

  No. Vala couldn’t help her. Vala would turn her back when she noticed Gandrett was emptying her third glass of that sweet, tingly liquid that the Order forbade its members. So she lifted her gaze to the gossamer ceiling, trains of fabric moving in the breeze, the torches that had been lit up outside tinting the canopy in a pale orange light, or maybe it was the moon, or the stars, or Nyssa herself. Gandrett no longer cared. Her head was light, her body, too, itching to move, to spin and dance—

  A hand on her forearm brought her back from her minute just as she was raising the glass back to her lips.

  “Should you really be drinking this?” Brax whispered, his words tickling her ear as she cringed away too slowly to avoid his mouth so close by.

  A giggle escaped her, and she more felt than saw a couple of heads turn their direction, thinking probably Nyssa herself had inspired them.

  At a glance to the head of the table, she noticed Joshua had sat down again as had Armand on her other side. The room moved way too slowly for how fast she had turned her head.

  And was it hot? Gandrett fanned her face with her hand.

  There was applause, cheers. “Long live the King,” they were saying. Not all of them. Gandrett spotted foreign faces whose delight seemed questionable. Someone even pushed away from the table and darted out through the billowing gossamer that was moving too heavily…

  As Gandrett was about to get to her feet and follow the person in the pale dress, music filled her ears, and she remembered Brax’s hand on her forearm. When she glanced down, it was still there, his fingers like ivory on her midnight blue sleeve. She ignored him and led the glass to her lips, draining it.

  Mckenzie’s laugh sounded through the music, and somewhere, Joshua Brenheran’s voice carried toward her. She found him leading his sister on a dance floor, which had been created within half a minute that had slipped Gandrett’s attention. The gossamer had been draped aside like curtains on one end of the tent, and there was a circle of torches framing an area where the moment Joshua and Mckenzie had started to dance, others joined in and moved with the music. A nice tune that reminded her of her childhood. She had danced to this during her lady-lessons with Mckenzie and Brax before, and now that Brax’s hand was already resting on her arm, she turned to him, finding his face full of amused concern. “I promise not to step on your feet,” she said instead of asking him to dance, but Brax understood anyway, and with a grin, wide with mischief, he led her to the dance floor.

  Brax’s hand on her waist was a familiar weight as was his hand around hers as he guided her into the first spin of their dance. A spin that made Gandrett’s mind wobble the tiniest bit—and her feet, usually so sure on any ground, had trouble keeping up. Brax chuckled and pulled her a bit tighter to him. “So you don’t fall over your own feet,” he explained as she raised an eyebrow in promise of violence if he so much as breathed at her the wrong way.

  But something about the way he was holding her was comforting. Almost as if the full weight of ten years didn’t rest upon her shoulders. Gandrett leaned into his arm and half-closed her eyes, letting the music wash through her, the soft gentle urge of the strings as they played their alternating melody.

  His arm tightened around her waist.

  Was that what freedom felt like? Gandrett kept her half-lidded gaze on Brax’s emerald eyes, on the groomed lines of his brows, the black waves that were falling into his forehead. They shimmered like ebony in the torchlight. And his steps, so sure as he led her in circles, her own feet following now that his arms supported her weight. Light … she felt light. Not like the lightness that came with a leap when she pushed herself into the air in an attack. It was different. Effortless. And she didn’t want it to end.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Nehelon had debated for hours whether he should attend the party. Mortal solstice was an embarrassment in comparison to what the celebrations looked like in Ulfray. When he had still resided in Lei’Vreah, the capital of the Fae lands, he had looked forward to Midsummer Solstice—to the longest day and then the night after…

  It had taken him everything to not rip apart the finery he hadn’t worn in years as he had spied Gandrett during his surveillance of the gardens instead of finishing up his letter to Pete. The Meister of the Order of Vala had sent another message. One that was meant for his eyes only, while the last time, Nehelon had just known that Pete would have agreed to let Gandrett see his letter.

  Remember your role, Nehelon Idresea.

  It had arrived in time to heat his inner debate whether or not it was safer for him to remain in his quarters and dedicate his night to some light reading. The book he’d picked was still sitting on the table next to the note he had crumpled so thoroughly that he wondered if it would disintegrate at a stern look.

  “What are you looking at?” He glowered at the bird who had hopped onto the windowsill, ready to balk from Nehelon’s temper. The bird had seen him rub too many carved figurines into dust to know the mood on the male’s face.

  He smoothed out his jacket—black, threaded with silver along the lapels and the collar, inconspicuous, not identifying any alliance with any court in Neredyn. Also, a timeless model that he wouldn’t need to update every two years according to the fashion of whatever territory he was roaming.

  “Good?” He gestured at himself as he waited for Riho’s caw of confirmation, but the bird hopped closer to him and clicked his beak at the small round item Nehelon had been carrying in his pocket for the past weeks. With a quick stride, Nehelon was there and pocketed it into his finery, thanked the bird, and left his chambers with shaky hands.

  Just as he made it to the gates, he heard them cheer, many of them, more than he had expected when Joshua had shared his plan to announce his heritage and claim to the throne at the solstice. It was a good first st
ep. An official one. Now that things were in motion, there was no going back, and that meant that his presence at the solstice was no longer optional. Pete had reminded him with his note—unnecessarily reminded him. How could Nehelon ever forget?

  Gandrett was heavier than she looked, but it didn’t surprise Brax as he let her lean into his arms. Her muscles were well hidden under the elegant gown that left too much to the imagination. It was easy to forget that before dancing in Ackwood, she had spent ten years of training to become Vala’s Blade.

  He hadn’t believed his eyes when she had emptied the glass of sparkling wine earlier. At first, he hadn’t realized, but then—

  He was still wondering if it had been right to point it out, that maybe she shouldn’t have been drinking it. But Gandrett had ignored his words and was dancing with him. Not to learn how to impress the Lord of Eedwood, who was now in deep conversation with Joshua, but because she wanted to—

  Joshua. If Joshua was there, who was dancing with Mckenzie?

  With a swift movement that made Gandrett grasp his shoulder so tightly it hurt, he whirled her around to get a clear view of the dance floor … and found his twin in the arms of Leonidas Aucrosta, who himself looked more like he was going into battle than executing a civilized dance with the woman he might want to marry—for whatever unsuitable reasons.

  Brax swayed Gandrett from side to side, trying to catch his sister’s eye to inquire if she wanted him to step in. He had promised, and he would. Even if it meant letting go of the lovely creature in his arms. He cursed inaudibly at the gods in general and Nyssa in particular.

  If Nehelon joined Joshua and Armand for a moment, it was to keep up the appearances of his position as the chancellor of this court. Lord and Lady Brenheran were dancing—a picture he hadn’t seen in a long time. Probably since the year Joshua had disappeared. There was something else holding his predatory focus, and it wasn’t the whispered words about the Prince of Sives which seemed to come mainly from the other side of the table where the two female heirs of the House Aucrosta were engaged in throwing ambivalent glances at Joshua. It was the pair that was dancing with such grace that he wanted to go there and snap Brax Brenheran’s neck.