Wicked Crown (Shattered Kingdom Book 2)
Page 38
She didn’t respond to his statement with anything other than a fact. “I am no longer needed in the House Brenheran’s service. Lord Tyrem is dead.” Her stomach tightened as she thought of the lord’s mangled body in the great hall. Where was he now? Had he been buried? “Joshua is technically no longer Joshua.” An image of icy emerald eyes flashed through her mind. Not Joshua’s or Brax’s or even Mckenzie’s eyes but Raynar’s eyes. “And Brax—”
“Brax will be alright. He has his mother here, and some of my best men weren’t on duty when Raynar attacked. He will grow into his role as Lord of Ackwood and rally the west.”
Lord of Ackwood.
She didn’t respond to his added words but focused on what was right. What she should be doing.
“The Meister will expect me to return.” She said it with less distaste than the last time they had discussed Pete Nemey. If he truly was protecting Andrew and helping him become a fighter good enough to defend himself during the times that were coming, she ought to give the man who had scarred her for a decade more credit—even if it went against all natural instincts. “If my assignment is over, as a Child of Vala, I am still bound to return to the priory,” she thought out loud. Even if I have renounced the goddess of life, she added in her mind and painfully thought of the sparkling wine and the solstice.
“Let Pete be my problem,” Nehelon said, his mouth twitching at one side as he, too, leaned back in his chair, eyes still on the window.
When Gandrett followed his gaze, she spotted Riho perched on the windowsill, examining her with beetle black eyes.
From the highest tower of Ackwood palace, Gandrett was observing Nehelon as he inspected the remains of the sentinels who hadn’t been corrupted by Raynar Leyon. The comparably small number of men was now warded with a spell which, Nehelon had explained, had been used seven hundred years ago to buy the human armies a chance against the Dragon King. “As long as Raynar isn’t back at his full strength, this should suffice to prevent the mind control,” he had told Brax who, with Lord Tyrem dead, Joshua gone, and Mckenzie on her way to Phornes, was now rightful Lord of Ackwood. Gandrett’s chest filled with sympathy as she remembered the look on Brax’s face when he had realized what his new role was.
It had been ten days since the attack on the palace and the disappearance of Raynar—and the Prince of Sives with him. Ten days, of which Gandrett had slept too many. The emptied cache of her magic had left her exhausted—as had the near-death experience from which the Fae male had brought her back. Now that she was studying him from afar, his glamour back on, his movements still too fluid, too graceful to be those of a mere human, she no longer knew what to think. He had healed her instead of keeping Joshua—Raynar—trapped. He had given up the chance of trapping the Dragon King for her. While his decision still seemed utterly absurd to anyone who had been trained in logic, strategy, and combat tactics—and Nehelon had at least seven-hundred years of such experience if he had been there to kill the Dragon King the first time in Ulfray, probably longer—he had made that choice anyway. Knowing the risks, knowing the consequences when Raynar escaped.
Nehelon was shouting orders, informing the guards of the new situation and their roles, his voice that of the commander and chancellor, not the gentle melody that had greeted her as she had woken from the blackness. After the first couple of days of confusion and fear that Raynar would strike again—and fast—to finish what he had started, a temporary peace had moved into the palace.
Black flags were billowing from each spire and window, reminding the city that their lord had died and Brax had taken on the succession quietly, deciding for now that it wasn’t yet the time to announce what horror had taken his father but to merely warn his people about the rising power of the Shygon cult. To keep an eye out for themselves, for the city of Ackwood, and for all of Sives.
With a sigh, Gandrett turned away from the window and stared at the floor where Addie’s blood was now nothing more than a pale rusty stain, big enough to know that it was unlikely they would find her alive—even if they left to search for her right now.
Gandrett forced back the urge to grab her sword and run to hunt down the monster who was behind Addie’s suffering, behind Joshua’s torment if he was still somewhere in his own body—Brax had mentioned he believed he might be—and even Mckenzie’s absence, the circumstances of which tore a hole into Gandrett’s chest. Nehelon was right. They needed to think strategically, find the right allies, learn everything they could about Raynar’s plans, his footholds in the realms of Neredyn—and then … then they would be able to rectify what Nehelon had failed to do seven-hundred years ago: kill Raynar Leyon for good.
“Pack your things,” Nehelon had said up in her chambers before he had headed out to inspect the guard, those diamond-blue eyes sparking with anticipation as he had tossed her the empty pack in his hands. “We are leaving tomorrow morning.”
And Gandrett had asked him for a favor—a condition, really, if she were to leave with him for Ulfray.
Gandrett patted her pocket, feeling for the small object that she had asked Nehelon to enchant, and nodded to herself before she tore her gaze away from the evidence of Addie’s anguish, to face the chalk marks on the rough stone floor—the same one where Addie had vanished, where Armand had dirtied his clothes with white chalk the day he had come to her chambers to inform her about what had happened up here.
After he had given her all details, she had come up here to study for herself if the marks made any sense to her. Some of them were familiar, winding in swirls similar to the altar in the temple of Shygon under Eedwood palace. Others were entirely strange to her, appearing to not even be the same language, if one could call those runes a language.
However, none of them gave any indication of where they had taken Addie. And given that some of them had been used as portals, together with the new Lord of Ackwood, Armand, and Nehelon, they had decided that it was best to rid the palace of any markings of that kind—just to make sure Raynar or the Shygon cult—which were unquestionably related, judging by Isylte’s involvement—couldn’t use them to invade the palace again. Thank the gods the marks had stopped zinging everyone who touched them, the effect of whatever dark magic had been used with them wearing off.
So Gandrett crossed the room and dipped the cloth in her hand into a bucket of water she had brought. Then, she got to her knees and started scrubbing at the smudged runes until there was no sign they had ever existed.
Brax released Gandrett from a careful embrace, her shape, full of life and warmth, fueling a quiet joy in his heart. Despite everything—despite the pain of the last days, of the horrors Raynar had brought upon this palace, would be bringing upon Sives—this fighter, this warrior with her steel will, her brave heart, her bright mind, was also in this world because of the choice he had made. And as naive as someone may think him to be … for him, it made a difference. Maybe it would for Neredyn, too, one day.
“I’ll see you around, Brax,” Gandrett breathed and placed a kiss on his cheek, her lips gone so quickly he hardly had time to memorize the sensation.
“Be careful, Child of Vala,” Brax said pointlessly. For a Child of Vala, she was no longer. Somehow that was the only thing he was sure of when he looked at her.
She halted for a moment before she let her arms slide off his shoulders, and he was tempted to catch her hand, to cradle it in his for a moment.
But her gaze—the obvious farewell in the moss green depths—told him that now was not the time. It might never be the time for them.
The Fae prince standing with his back to them, adjusting the bridle on his black mare’s elegant head, and giving them what privacy he could with his superior senses, was the other reason he didn’t dare wrap his fingers around hers. He had seen how the chancellor of the House Brenheran—no longer chancellor—had nearly broken watching the warrior girl bleed out and fade into death.
Just ten days ago, he had been hoping … hoping to have more time with her, have time
for her to get to know him—the real him. The Brax who existed beneath the arrogant noble son who only had mischief in mind. Had hoped to spend a couple more nice days with Gandrett. Things had been going well after the solstice even with him resorting to just holding her hand there in the park under his favorite tree. It had been enough for him. Enough to feel the warmth of her fingers, that she had allowed him to be that man who whispered poems to her for a blessed hour—even if she didn’t, by far, return the feelings that arose within him whenever he thought of her. That was why he had chosen her above Joshua. Above Neredyn. That she would live to one day find someone who evoked those same emotions in her. Someone who would keep her up at night; or if she slept, her dreams would be filled with that someone’s face, his voice, his scent—
Brax considered letting sadness settle in his heart. But there was truly no sadness in order. Not when it came to Gandrett. She was a flower already blooming. Not for him, not for anyone other than herself. And she deserved that … now that she had clearly chosen to drop the path Vala had predestined for her.
Maybe one day, someone would make that same choice for him. Maybe someone would one day choose him over the world.
With the empty palace gaping behind him, he watched Gandrett and Prince Nehelon Idresea ride out into the pale pink light of the rising sun, one hand over his heart, wondering if, when that choice would be made, there would still be a world to sacrifice.
Thank you for reading Wicked Crown!
I hope Gandrett’s journey through Neredyn gave you some exciting hours of reading.
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Angelina
About the Author
“Chocolate fanatic, milk-foam enthusiast and huge friend of the southern sting-ray. Writing is an unexpected career-path for me.”
Angelina J. Steffort is an Austrian novelist, best known for The Wings Trilogy, a young adult paranormal romance series about the impossible love between a girl and an angel. The bestselling Wings Trilogy has been ranked among calibers such as the Twilight Saga by Stephenie Meyer, The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare, and Lauren Kate’s Fallen, and has been top listed among angel books for teens by bloggers and readers. Angelina has multiple educational backgrounds including engineering, business, music, and acting. Currently, Angelina lives in Vienna, Austria, with her husband and her son.
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