With careful steps, he approached the doors, eyes scanning every turn, every alcove for potential ambushes. After what had happened, he wasn’t sure if there was anyone in this palace he could trust—anyone but the girl whom he had fought alongside the save Addie under Eedwood Castle. So he had no choice but to go in there, to set foot after foot over the sprawled corpses until he stood on the threshold to the great hall.
There was no living soul in the hall, all that was left, more bodies, severed heads—
Armand’s stomach turned.
Not Gandrett, he prayed to Vala as he gingerly searched his way through gore and blood and scattered weapons, not Gandrett.
Each step was more difficult than the last as he strode up to the dais, scanning for a familiar female shape, the chestnut braid that had dangled from her shoulder the last time he’d seen her, and Brax’s black waves, his usual black attire, or the chancellor who had been with them in this hall, facing the evil that had befallen Joshua—
To his relief, none of the bodies belonged to either of them … at least not the ones on the floor. He had reached the steps that led up the dais where one more body lay beside a carved chair resembling a throne—
Armand held his breath, heart beating violently as he reluctantly turned his eyes on that body.
The hair was dark and wavy … not Joshua, thank the Gods. Even if finding Joshua’s body would mean the Dragon King had been defeated, Armand wasn’t ready to let go of the hope that Joshua might still be in there, trapped in the same shell Raynar Leyon was now calling his home.
Armand’s chest tightened, and he took a step closer so he had a better view of the tan face beneath the shock of hair.
Not Brax, either.
Armand loosed a breath … and let his gaze drift with relief, only to find it catch at what he spotted there on the throne.
In the dim light of the great hall, discarded like a piece of trash, gleaming in the flickering light of torches, lay the crown of Sives.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The thick twilight of dawn was creeping through the corridors as Brax limped back to his chambers what seemed like an entire lifetime later, his chest empty from all the emotion that he had been wrenched through that night.
He set his leg forward and pulled himself up on the handrail of the stairs. The chancellor—chancellor was a mockery of what he truly was—a Fae. And could he believe the Dragon Kings words, he was far more than that. He had been involved in killing Raynar Leyon the first time, seven-hundred years ago. And Raynar had called him a prince. A Fae prince.
Brax had studied Neredyn history enough to know that there were only three Fae princes alive, and they should all be in deep sleep in the forests of Ulfray—Arryn Stesea, the descendent of the royal line that had once decided in Ithrylan, long before it had become human territory, and Valyn and Nehelon Idresea.
How could he have been so blind? How could his father have been so blind to bring a Fae into his service?
Brax had doubted at first that the chancellor could truly be Nehelon Idresea. The name Nehelon wasn’t enough to give anything away. Even with the Fae banished from human lands, their names were still quite popular wherever people believed in legends. So coming across a Nehelon wasn’t as uncommon as one would think.
But when Raynar had recognized him with all the cold and hateful words of vengeance … Brax didn’t need further proof. He had seen his Fae face, the perfect face that the male had hidden for over a decade, pretending to be the loyal servant of his father.
But for what reason?
He gurgled a curse as he put too much weight on his leg. Nehelon had done a great job healing the wound. He had done a gods-dammed wonderful job patching up Gandrett and saving her. So technically, holding a grudge didn’t seem right. And yet … with everything turned upside down in his life—father dead, brother gone, and his sister. He still needed to find Mckenzie and his mother—
He turned the corner at the top of the stairs, following the polished stone of the empty hallway, not to his own chambers but to his sister’s room where he hoped to find both Mckenzie and their mother. When Josh had sent them out of the room, he still had to be somewhat himself, or Raynar would have used them as leverage. Brax’s stomach still clenched at the thought of that terrified look on his twin sister’s face when Joshua had started speaking in foreign tongues—the tongue of the Dragon King, of Shygon’s magic to be precise. Even his mother, usually so even-tempered—so little upset her enough to get those emotions to spell clearly on her features—had stared in plain horror when Joshua Brenheran-Denderlain, the boy she had brought up, her stepson, had shown that he cared little for Sives, for ending the feud between the east and the west … and had yelled, shouted, screamed those words at his father, who had attempted with patient words to remind the heir of Sives what he had envisioned for the kingdom. What they had envisioned: When I am done with your Sives, there will be nothing left that you love.
Brax had watched his mother and sister leave, his heart a bit lighter to have them out of reach of that new version of Joshua that Brax only now understood was really Raynar Leyon—the last Dragon King.
He slid along the wall, using the cool stone to brace himself as he limped further down the hall, his sister’s room within view, double doors closed, the image nothing unusual, nothing different from what he normally found when he sauntered down here. Even the temperature was normal, warm in fact, driving beads of sweat onto his forehead, and no trace of the iciness of the great hall when Raynar had let his magic pour into the room. Had he not just slaughtered part of his father’s guards, seeing them fall—head apart from body—next to the Lord of Ackwood’s corpse, it would be easy to believe that everything was in order … that everything was normal, whatever that word meant these days. Brax no longer could tell. Things were changing … had been changing since the day Joshua had disappeared from Ackwood years ago, leaving behind a family that was lacking one essential member—as it had turned out the one hope for a free Sives. Which had now vanished, possessed by the Dragon King, and probably beyond saving.
Or not … maybe he had made the wrong call, choosing Gandrett over the Prince of Sives, over his own brother … his brother who had hesitated before plummeting that knife into his thigh.
Brax’s leg stung in response to the thought, to the wound that Joshua—Raynar—had inflicted on him. Yes, he had been under stress, exhausted, willing to give anything to buy the chancellor time to heal Gandrett enough to survive … and he had stepped into the Dragon King’s path, ready to sink his sword into Joshua’s body—not to kill but to injure him enough to stop him from either attacking or escaping.
But Raynar had grinned at him from Josh’s mild face, had distorted his brother’s features into that gruesome mask that had let death look like a merciful option. And he had hesitated. When Brax had held his stare, waiting, preparing for the pain of harming his own brother, Raynar had actually halted for a fraction of a second—Joshua had made the Dragon King halt, maybe even redirected the knife’s path. He had seen it in those emerald eyes—the emerald eyes that they all, Josh, Mckenzie, and he had from their father. Joshua was still in there.
And now, he was gone with Raynar, alone, trapped yet again, without hope, without anyone to help him remember he was still there. Brax swallowed the feeling of hopelessness that came with the thought.
Mckenzie’s door was only a few strides away, and Brax braced himself for what he might find behind the carved wood.
His hands were sweaty when he knocked … and found the door swinging open under the light pressure. It hadn’t been fully closed. And when Brax peeked inside, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other one reaching for his sword, pulse quickening in anticipation of another disaster … he found the room empty, windows open, and the warm light morning breeze lifting the curtains, letting them dance into the room like gossamer flags.
Brax loosed a breath. At least, there was no blood here, no evidence of violence or destruct
ion.
“Mckenzie?” On slow feet, he limped further into the room, finding that the emptiness was as much relief as it was alarming. For as he took a closer look, he realized there was something missing. The carved wooden chest that used to sit by the foot end of her bed was gone and the drawers of her dresser open as if she had left in a hurry.
Brax let go of his sword and wiped the sweat from his forehead, feeling the tightness in his chest growing, and spied a folded piece of paper on the carved desk by the window, the seal on it, even from a couple of strides away, unmistakably recognizable as Mckenzie’s.
Alright. Brax sighed and braced himself for the pain then made his way across the room, the once so easy path now tedious with the remains of his injury. The chancellor … Nehelon had healed him—enough to make sure his leg would get back to normal in time. But his powers had been depleted—just as Gandrett’s—and he had insisted the Fae keep whatever strength was left to screen the palace and put up wards if possible, even the tiniest ones, so if Raynar returned, there would be a warning bell going off.
In this case, Brax couldn’t care less about what and who the chancellor truly was but only for what gave the innocent under this roof a chance to survive if the Dragon King chose to return. And the Ulfrayan Prince had gladly done it, offered even to improve the wards, strengthen them once he had rested and refilled his cache.
Nehelon had taken Gandrett to her chambers, made sure she lay down in bed before he had set out to fulfill his task, and was hopefully already weaving some form of protection into the structure of the palace.
A day ago, had someone told Brax he would sanction something like this, he would have threatened that someone and let them rot in the dungeons. Now, it seemed, magic had become his last resort to provide some protection for his court—for that was what it was now. His and his sister’s court. And the latter had left a note with his name scripted in black ink.
So Brax picked up the brass letter opener from where it was sitting on a stack of parchment and carefully broke open the seal on the letter, not at all ready to read the contents.
He read anyway, folding open the delicate parchment with nimble, bloodied fingers—he hadn’t even taken the time to wash up after he left the great hall—and turning his gaze on the narrow, elegant script that was, without a doubt, his sister’s.
My dearest brother, it said, I hope you get this letter. If you do, it means you survived today.
I wish I had more time to explain, but the only thing I can say is that our mother seems to have made a deal without consulting Father or Josh. I am leaving, Brax. I am forced to leave. My things were packed when I returned to my chambers, and an escort is waiting at the door, ready to take me to a carriage, which will then take me to Phornes.
A cold shudder ran down Brax’s spine. It was likely this meant Taghi Saza Brina had come to an agreement with their mother. That Mckenzie’s hand had been sold in exchange for an alliance with the Phornian royal house. It could also mean the house Dumcon had bought her as a slave the way they treated all their women.
Brax continued reading, eager to find any indication whether it was the former or the latter.
I didn’t agree to this, but Mother leaves me no choice. And with Father gone, with Josh possessed by the Dragon King … I can hardly believe it’s true, but if it is. Maybe it’s for the best that I’m leaving.
At least, Mother says it’s for my own protection, and somehow I believe her … I believe that is what she intends to do with her rash action, protect me. Only, it feels more like I am cattle sent off for breeding.
Brax breath caught in his throat at the words he was reading.
Prince Taghi promised that I will be allowed to write to you—Brax sucked in a breath of relief at that piece of information. Taghi Saza Brina, not the House Dumcon—and for what it’s worth, I believe him.
Even if I am not happy to be shipped off with someone I didn’t choose, at least when I’m not in Ackwood, no one can use me against you or against Josh.
It hurt Brax to see such calculated words, such rational thoughts from the usually passionate and erratic woman that was his twin, and he paused for a brief moment, trying to reassure himself that she was right, that she was better off in Phornes, that this way, both of them—all three of them if he included his brother—were safer. And it broke his heart.
Promise me you’ll find a way to free Josh from that monster … so I can return home.
I hope to see you again one day.
I love you.
Mckenzie
The last lines were smudged as if water had been spilled over them—tears, more likely. And Brax knew that Mckenzie had known, the same way he knew, that this wasn’t a temporary solution. That their mother must have signed documents to seal the alliance—and hence an engagement—or she would have never let Mckenzie leave. Their mother loved the fair-haired, storm-tempered girl too much.
Sudden emptiness filling him up from head to toe forced Brax to sit down on the elegant chair where Mckenzie had formulated that last message to him—and where her tears had already splattered onto the paper, his now followed.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The girl’s even breathing was all Nehelon needed for his weariness, his fear to ease into plain exhaustion. He stepped into her room, not bothering to knock. After centuries of living with his own powers of training others in theirs, he knew exactly what an empty cache of magic did to both human and Fae alike. So he wasn’t surprised to find Gandrett in the exact, same position as he had left her, tucked under the covers of the soft, broad bed, fast asleep, the same way she would be for at least a day or two.
He had asked one of the female servants to clean her up and put her into a fresh set of clothes—would have done it himself hadn’t it felt wrong to him to strip her naked and hang her under a shower. Luckily, most of the servants seemed to be uncorrupted by the magic of the Dragon King. Raynar had probably not bothered wasting time and effort on anyone who couldn’t fight. So Eugina, the woman who had initially taken care of Gandrett upon arrival all those months ago, had taken the chore of removing blood and gore from the fighter … from the girl who had been ready to give her life for the future of Sives—of Neredyn.
Not at all living up to any image of a Fae, Nehelon slouched across the room, his glamour the only magic he could muster by now, after hours and hours of weaving wards on the palace.
Brax had asked him for it. Much to his surprise, the Brenheran boy hadn’t kicked him out as the topic of Nehelon being Fae had come up. Brax had been too grateful for saving Gandrett that he had swallowed that piece of information with a mildly sour face—also the heritage that Nehelon had denied for so many years that now that someone had called him by his true name, it was as if they were addressing a stranger.
Prince Nehelon Alleyan Idresea.
He sighed and pondered laying down on the couch but spotted a plain wooden chair by Gandrett’s bed where Eugina must have been sitting earlier when she had been sitting with the girl until she fell asleep. Nehelon had asked the woman to not leave her alone until she was deep asleep, and he had positioned one guard outside the door. One of the few who the Dragon King hadn’t claimed with his spell.
He forced himself a few strides further … just a few, until he sat down by Gandrett’s side, his body, usually so full of immortal strength, so tired that he wondered if he would ever get up again.
What had happened in the great hall was a disaster of a dimension that would thrust the entirety of Sives into panic—should they learn from the wrong lips the details of the tragedy. The announcement about the Prince of Sives had just left the palace after the solstice, reaching villages all over the realm and instilling hope in the Sivesian people. And now—
Nehelon could hardly think of what it meant … of the consequences of having chosen Gandrett over the Prince of Sives. Thank the gods he had an excuse, that the girl had a role to play in the future of Ulfray, and Ulfray would be indispensable in defeating Ray
nar should he rise to power again. The truth was that none of it mattered, that he had been selfish, not ready to let go of the strong-headed, clever, and skilled fighter whom he had come to care about … more than care, he admitted to himself, grinding his teeth together as he did, and instantly sought a way to smother the feeling.
He couldn’t allow himself to care about her this way, to find her interesting beyond her skill and mind, to see the morning dew of the Ulfrayan forests in her tears and the pink of the flower petals at the Midsummer Solstice celebrations in her flushed cheeks. Not now that he knew that he had been right about her all along … that Gandrett Brayton was the first girl in over a century who qualified to break the curse that kept his lands, his people dormant. That with her by his side, he could finally return home.
The air was too warm for early morning when Gandrett awoke, too heavily scented with that miraculous perfume that could only mean the Fae male was within touching distance.
She shifted in her bed—right, she had somehow made it upstairs to her chambers with Nehelon stabilizing her, using one arm as he led her up the stairs, and with Eugina’s assistance, cleared away all traces of the battle and slipped into bed. Not all traces. Where the guard had sliced her flank and Nehelon’s hands had healed the worst so she had stopped bleeding, an angry, red scar was now running from her hipbone up to the edge of her ribcage. It still hurt a little as she tried to lift her head, checking the room for Nehelon.
Much to her surprise, she found the male half-sitting in the chair by her bed, his forearms crossed on the edge of her matress, eyes closed as he rested his cheeks on his stacked hands, and—for all she could tell by his even breathing—deep asleep. His glamour was back in place, ears hidden beneath his tousled hair, thick, black lashes throwing shadows on his tan cheeks in the pale morning light.
For a moment, this image of peace let the heart in her chest swell with an emotion—she couldn’t exactly tell what it was—
Wicked Crown (Shattered Kingdom Book 2) Page 36