Chapter Thirty-Five
Summer hit in full about five days after the solstice, during all of which Gandrett had done what she could to help Addie build a portfolio of moves and hits allowing her to free herself from an opponent—maybe even hurt them to a minor degree, long enough to run. Yet, however much time they spent in the training ring, Gandrett felt it was never enough. Whatever she taught Addie wouldn’t be enough to save her if someone of Nehelon’s caliber attacked her—or someone with the evil power of Shygon in their blood.
It had taken a while for Gandrett to get used to having someone who understood—where she came from, what it was like to have lost a home, what it was like to be locked into a life they hadn’t chosen. Addie, however, mastered her sad story with infinitely more grace.
Addie was now even sleeping in Gandrett’s chambers every night, for lack of a second bed in Armand’s room and so she could keep an eye on her. It was almost like sharing the room with Surel back at the priory, only Addie was half as chatty, and when she talked about Alencourt, about the grain fields between which she had played as a child, Addie knew exactly what Gandrett was talking about, knew the houses, the people, the smell of the grains after a summer rain. It had been Vala’s merciful hand guiding the two of them into each other’s path even when Gandrett had more or less turned her back on the goddess.
Today, Gandrett and Addie were taking off training—at least Addie was, spending her day with Armand for a change. Gandrett hadn’t seen much of the Lord of Eedwood since he spent most of his time planning with Joshua, figuring out how to deal with the attacks of the Shygon cult, how to stop what seemed to be a spreading disease rooting deeply within the heart of Sives. Reports were trickling in from all directions of the kingdom, none of which bearing good news. A child missing here, a wife or a husband there, villages raided, burned down. “Almost like the reports about the Brenherans trying to convince central Sives to pledge allegiance to them,” Armand had noted, “only now, we know that it is the god of dragons reaching into our lands through his faithful servants.” And Joshua had agreed. “Like the Denderlains turning the people by force and flame.”
At least, the two heirs of the east and the west agreed that it was possible that between all those conflicts over the past years, the Shygon cult might have found the fertile ground and perfect disguise to start their evildoing.
Gandrett stretched out her legs on the grass where she was resting in the shade of a cherry tree at the back of the gardens, hidden from view, she hoped, of the prying eyes from the palace. The peaceful rustling of leaves filled the humid air while clouds towered in the far distance toward the Glistening Blue, promising storms and rain if they ever made it over the continent.
Inhaling deeply, Gandrett closed her eyes and let her mind drift. She hadn’t seen much of Nehelon since the solstice, and if so, then it had been brief encounters, barked orders, smirks at her slow, human pace that one time he had shared the training ring with her. But neither of them had spoken of that moment they had shared in the tent—or her impressive hurling after.
A bird chirped close by, a happy tune that so little matched her mood. These days, she no longer felt as though she was where she belonged, for her home no longer existed, and the priory, apart from Andrew, held little she could call home either. Like a leaf in the wind, she thought, only the wind that blew her back and forth, for now, was directed by a mightily annoying Fae male who failed to be the companion she had hoped he’d be, instead making himself scarce.
“Great minds think alike,” a satin-smooth voice shook her from her thoughts.
Not Nehelon—thank the gods.
“You found my favorite spot.” Brax was smiling down at her, somewhat proud that he had snuck up on her like that.
Gandrett, knowing that she should have heard him coming, noticed him through the vibrations in the earth, that she should have drawn her sword, didn’t bother to sit up. Instead, she shielded her eyes against the partial-sun that filtered through the leaves above her and flashed a grin at Brax. “Favorite spot to do what?” she asked, and he answered with a mischievous laugh that faded the moment he sank into the grass beside her and leaned against the tree trunk. Gandrett only noticed the book in his hand as he flipped it open in his lap.
“I really don’t know what kind of mischief you think I am,” he said over the side of the book. “I am a rather harmless guy if you ask the right people.”
Gandrett frowned at him. “Not according to the ladies at court.”
A chuckle, low and light, escaped his lips. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” His black waves shifted onto his forehead as he lowered his nose into the book.
Gandrett felt a smile settle on her own features as Brax’s subtle grin lingered on his sensuous lips.
For a while, they just coexisted under the tree, Brax reading, Gandrett listening to the sounds of summer, her eyes closed again. It was peaceful, easy. No taunting, no thrumming powers that threatened to destroy the world around them as she had felt those weeks in the clearing with Nehelon. Another life, another self. A mage, not a girl.
She blinked her eyes open and watched the wind tug on strands of Brax’s hair, his eyes wandering from side to side as he devoured the words on paper.
“What are you reading?” she asked just to make conversation. She hadn’t had a real chance since the solstice. To say thank you for the ominous red juice, yes, and brief superficial talks in the hallway, but not an actual conversation. Gandrett played with the grass beside her face, angling her head slightly.
At first, when Brax didn’t look up, she thought he hadn’t heard her, too captivated by whatever he was reading, but then he started speaking, his voice a carpet of smooth velvet.
“If the gods were merciful, then I would find you clad in nothing but the pale shine of the moon, your touch the whisper of stars, and your lips the gate to Nyssa’s realm.”
Gandrett’s breath caught at the words he recited, his tone as if he had never done anything else in his life. Meaning. There was meaning in those words, and Gandrett couldn’t pretend there wasn’t.
“But the gods are cruel, clothing you in night. Endless and vicious and darkest night.
Beyond, you are naked as the gods made you, yet I cannot see, for they veiled you. I cannot touch, for they placed you in the skies where you disappear between the bright and mocking suns that blind me.
There and not, you are.”
Brax stopped and looked up, meeting Gandrett’s gaze, his eyes full of a longing that Gandrett had never noticed there before. “I haven’t seen you much since the solstice,” he murmured, his eyes on her face, drinking in her features, sweeping over her mouth before they returned to lock on hers.
“I’ve been busy,” she said mechanically, only half-aware she was speaking at all, her fingers still fiddling with the grass.
“So I’ve heard.” His gaze, driving heat into Gandrett’s cheeks, didn’t falter as he lowered the book and rested it open on his lap, freeing one hand. “And yet, I find you here, doing nothing but listening to my voice.” He slid his hand off his thigh and over the grass until it was right there beside hers, knuckles brushing against her fingers.
Gandrett stilled—her heart, her breath, all of it stilled as Brax’s fingers wound around her hand, gently, as if he were grasping a star made of glass. “There and not, you are,” he repeated, his words a mere whisper.
Gandrett didn’t pull her hand away, the warmth of his a sensation so new, so … strangely comfortable that she didn’t want him to let go. His eyes … emerald depths that were trying to read hers, intent as he leaned down so close that she could see the silver flecks surrounding the wide pupils. Another inch, and another, until they shared breath. And Gandrett yet didn’t shy away. She just studied him … the angles and planes of his face, the arches of black that were his eyebrows, the pale freckles that lay scattered over his nose and cheeks. Details she had never before taken in. His eyes closed as if he meant to lean in furthe
r and close that gap between their lips where the air had become heated from both their breaths—
“Read to me,” she whispered and waited as Brax halted … opened his eyes, holding her gaze from so close up that his face swam in her vision. He slowly began drawing his hand from hers, a hint of disappointment crossing his features, but Gandrett tightened her fingers around his and smiled. “Please.”
And Brax straightened up and read.
In his bedroom—no longer Addie’s, for she had moved in with Gandrett so the Child of Vala could watch over her, protect her during those long nights—Armand fingered a bundle of cloth from behind the mantel of the fireplace.
Almost a week had passed, and it would soon be time to return to Eedwood where his father was probably already trying to bring all of Armand’s men to his side. They had discussed a lot, had laid out plans for the near future, for desirable alliances and trade opportunities with other territories, for a common Sivesian army that would protect the kingdom long before the king was crowned. Yet, there was one thing left to do that he had been putting off. Not because he didn’t want to do it but because he had hoped for a more ceremonial setting.
Yet, it was time to hand the Sivesian crown over—the crown the last Dragon King had once stolen from Joshua’s forefathers and which needed to return to the future King of Sives.
He clutched the bundle in his hands and crossed the room to join Joshua by the window front where he was gazing to the ocean in the distance.
“Sometimes, I wonder what lies beyond the Glistening Blue,” Joshua said, a hint of longing in his voice, and turned to Armand. “One day, I want to sail out and see for myself if those oceans are truly limitless like the gods’ realms.”
Armand watched the Ackpenesor as it wound west, out of the lively city, carrying blood and sweat and secrets as it raced to kiss the ocean. “It might be a while, Prince,” he said in response and lifted the bundle to hold it out between them.
Joshua glanced at the cloth with a curious look. “What is this?”
Armand just smiled and pulled off the fabric, revealing the object of shining gold and jewels which would one day be a heavy weight on Joshua’s head. “One day, my friend, you will need this, and until that day comes, I want to rest assured that it is in the hands of the only person with a true claim to it.”
And he handed the Prince of Sives his crown.
Chapter Thirty-Six
That same night, the Prince of Sives climbed the highest spire of Ackwood palace with swift feet, the bundle his future chancellor had handed him tucked safely under his arm.
The crown of Sives.
He padded into the circular room with silent steps. His stealth had improved so much since he had returned from Eedwood. Since he was of his own mind again. One day, it might come in handy. When someone came after him for the sole reason that this kingdom now belonged to him.
The sounds of night filled the space as he stopped in the center of the room and unfolded the bundle with careful fingers to retrieve the golden crown that would need to bide its time a little longer—just a little.
It gleamed in the moonlight like the symbol of power it was. Wicked. Eternal.
“Well, that’s certainly a surprise,” he breathed at the crown, “holding you in my hands so early on.”
He more felt the presence before he heard it, and when Joshua turned around, in the shadows, a familiar face was awaiting him with a smile that made him want to vomit his guts up.
“Is this where you have been hiding all these days since the solstice?” the visitor said, her voice bringing back nightmares.
Joshua lowered the crown he had been holding up to examine and stepped forward. “I thought you’d left.” It was all he had to say to her, covered in the gray hood of a traveling cloak.
“So did I,” she said with that same sweet voice that made him want to throttle her. “Then I felt it.” Lady Isylte Aphapia lowered her hood and stepped into the light. “Can you feel it, Joshua? The power of the Crown.” She lifted a hand as if to touch the gold before Joshua’s chest. “Can you feel him?”
Joshua turned away, ignoring the magic pulsing under his skin where he touched the crown.
“It is time, Joshua.” Lady Isylte placed a hand on his shoulder where the twin scar to the one on Addie’s shoulder was throbbing, and then Joshua Brenheran forgot his name.
In the gods-damn desert, the summer was even worse than in Alencourt. At least there, the heat had a purpose, the grain ripened, the harvest was secured. Not in the Calma Desert. Here, even with the water thundering from the citadel … Drew looked around and watched the pathetic Vala-blessed, how they let threads of cool liquid run through the tiny fields they had created inside the protective walls of the priory. A sanctuary in the barren land. A shit-hole with a lot of kids playing with weapons too big and dangerous for them, led by a Meister who had no interest in their wellbeing—just in the money that they would earn him once they completed their training and went on missions.
“You know you need to earn your keep within these walls,” the dark-skinned beauty who had made him forget speech the first time he’d seen her reminded him and wove another line of water into the soil Drew had been shoveling.
He picked the shovel up from where he had stuck it into the dry ground. “What are we even trying to do here?”
“That is not for you to question,” she responded with a smile like berries and chocolate.
Drew frowned at her, ignoring the urge to fling the shovel across the field. He hated pointless work. Hated it so much that he hadn’t repainted the front of the farm back in Alencourt this spring, no matter how much his mother had urged him. Pointless to put color onto cracks to cover them up—it wouldn’t stop the decay, just make things prettier. And life wasn’t pretty. He had learned that in his short fifteen years.
Drew turned to Surel, wondering if her pretty face was just another layer of paint covering up something broken, and fueled by his anger, he plunged the shovel back into the soil, heaving dead soil for no apparent reason.
Addie couldn’t remember when she had last felt this shaky. Probably not since those initial days after the prison in the north when she had tried to get back on her feet at Eedwood Castle.
Her scar was stinging and throbbing as if it was open anew. Sweat beaded her forehead, shivers driving her to shift and fidget on the spot as she waited—patiently waited—for it to pass. Her stomach turned for the fifth time in the past quarter-hour, making her double over into the bushes. Gods, she needed to make it to the building without spitting the remains of dinner and bile all over the place—that was the first step. How she would tackle the stairs while she could hardly make it two steps without retching was another challenge she was not ready to consider.
She let the bile drip from her mouth until it stopped flowing then wiped her lips with the back of her hand before starting a new attempt down the line of night-cloaked greenery. She had made it a good five steps, wincing at every movement when, again, her stomach lurched. Addie cursed in words she would never use in public, and she knew even Armand would blush if he heard her.
It was the second week since the solstice, the second week since Joshua Brenheran-Denderlain had asked them to stay and work out the details of how to bring peace to the kingdom of Sives. Addie rarely participated in the meetings. Not because she wasn’t interested to know how things were developing, but because Gandrett was now babysitting her since the shoulder-incident after the solstice. And since Addie had ended up mopping the tears of the woman when they had figured out they both were born in the same village, spending time with Gandrett, even through the tough training, was almost like spending time with a friend.
Almost, because Addie wasn’t sure if Gandrett allowed anyone close that way. She had encountered the fearless warrior at Eedwood and seen just how closed off she was. Even now, with the person she had been traveling with all those weeks, the chancellor, she didn’t open up lightly. And as for the chancellor—he
, too, could do with a confidant to talk his issues through, whatever they were to make him so broody. They clouded his face in a way that sometimes had Addie wondering if he would just rip out the throats of the people surrounding him with his bare teeth.
Another surge of pain made her stop and brace her hand against a tree trunk as she sought to distract herself with her thoughts. It would pass in a moment … just a moment. The chanting in her mind hadn’t returned—for now—so that was a good sign. At least, that was what she hoped.
The chancellor had ordered Gandrett to train her. Just the basics so when that summons rang like a dinner bell again, or the next time someone would try to whip her and carve her up, she could at least put up a fight—which, judging by the searing pain in her shoulder, might be sooner than she’d thought. So that was how she spent her days.
Her nights, she spent on the broad couch in Gandrett’s chambers that were better than any bed she had slept in except for when Armand had set her up in Gandrett’s old rooms in Eedwood. A nice side effect of staying with Gandrett was that she could avoid facing Armand alone in the evenings when he got ready to slip under the silken covers, looking like a young god.
But she also didn’t want to impose on Gandrett, make her feel uncomfortable through her presence.
“I’ve never had a room to myself all my life,” the warrior girl had said with a grim smile. “It was getting lonely here anyway.” And a familiar kind of sadness had filled her eyes. One that Addie knew came with great loss—and great sacrifice.
Addie knew she shouldn’t be out in the gardens alone, but she had walked with Armand for a while, feeling perfectly fine and confident that she could make it up to Gandrett’s chambers by herself. But then, the nausea had hit her—and the stinging—and since then, she had been out here by the bushes and trees, hoping no one would witness her.
Wicked Crown (Shattered Kingdom Book 2) Page 26