Songs in the Night: Book One

by Laura Frances

  “You know nothing of who I am. And how dare you speak of loyalty. Have I not shielded you the last years? Protected you from the punishment you deserved?”

  “Oi!” bellowed Aldred from across the flattened, soggy grass. “Save your quarrel.”

  “Why?” Carter called in response. “Are you afraid of provoking the beast?” His grin was ripe with wicked pleasure. “I’ll admit I didn’t believe such a lovely thing could be a vessel of evil. But then, you should have seen her dance. She’s bewitching.”

  The woman, shrouded in the haze of night, standing beside Aldred with his large hand wrapped around her arm, stiffened at his words. Her face lifted to the moonlight, giving her an unnatural, haunting glow. Shadows remained across her eyes, casting them as hollow, empty pits. Fear raced over my flesh; I felt her hatred emanating toward Carter. I thought of the handprints on the cage bars, of the power she’d released to leave her mark, and wondered what he’d done to deserve it.

  “Shut him up,” I said to Maledin before trudging across the grass to stand face to face with the diavok. I must have approached with too much aggression, because she shifted back, half hiding behind Aldred, who paused his conversation to shoot me a stern look.

  “That’s far enough.”

  I’d called for her death only minutes before; I understand why he held me back. But I only wanted to see the woman who’d caused such destruction. To challenge the fear I felt in her presence. My mother taught me that a person’s eyes are their most honest feature, but the diavok boy had deceived me. Though darkness hid her eyes from me, I braced myself for lies.

  “What do they call you?” I asked her.

  “Sithian,” she snapped from beneath Aldred’s shadow.

  The answer confused me, and I stammered for a response. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  Aldred finished instructing the men and led her to the horses. I followed behind, feeling a strange pull of grief.

  She wore hunting clothes, dark green and black, and she limped on bare feet. The closer we came to the horses, the more heavily she leaned on Aldred. I suspected it wasn’t voluntary; she didn’t strike me as a woman who liked to appear weak. But by the time he’d bound her hands and set her at the front of my saddle, she was near collapsing, grasping the saddle horn to stay in place.

  “She rides with me?” I asked in a desperate whisper.

  “Maledin is injured, so I’ll take the trader. She’s no threat to you. Look at her. She can barely hold up her head.”

  Some part of me believed it, but still I wondered what trick she might be playing.

  “You can thank me for that,” Carter put in. “It would seem my cage was good for something.”

  The woman made no reaction to his cruel words.

  A rattling of wheels came from the trees, and the cart emerged, fixed and driven by a soldier, followed close by the other two on horseback.

  “Is it not better for her to ride back the way she came?” I asked, gesturing to the cage, ignoring the prick of shame that followed. “She could lie down, could she not?”

  I hardened my jaw against the scornful look Maledin pushed my way.

  “It makes no difference how we move her. She could escape any prison should she wish it. Besides,” said Aldred, “I have other plans now for the cage.”

  He waited patiently for the words to find their mark. Slowly, understanding dawned on Carter, and he looked to his brother. Maledin stared at the ground, giving no protest to Aldred’s plan.

  “So, this is the way of it,” hissed Carter. “Am I so easily discarded?”

  “You’ve made your own bed,” answered Maledin gravely. “You must lie in it.”

  “And what of your part? You think you’re forgiven simply by confessing to your friend?”

  “The king is merciful,” Maledin said. “But I’ll take whatever punishment he gives me. As should you.”

  Carter’s tone dropped to malice. “You would betray me so easily? What of blood? Of loyalty?”

  “My devotion,” said Maledin, full of feeling, “is to my king. For only he has proven worthy of such a vow.”

  Carter turned on his brother with such violence, his hands tore free of the rope. No one saw him pull a sword from the nearest man’s scabbard. Still today, all who were present deny it was possible, claiming sorcery was behind it. Perhaps leeched by pure will from the diavok’s power. He lunged for his brother, and Maledin took the strike through his chest, the heavy blade thrusting up and out. His eyes bulged; his breath gone as the blade drove through his lung.

  My sword was not the only one to fell Carter in the seconds that followed, but mine was the fastest. I grew wild in the shock of watching my friend run through, and they had to pull me off to bring me to sense.

  “Push the cage from the cart!” Aldred called to the men. “Lie him there. There’s a road not far from here. It’ll be faster to travel without the extra weight.”

  Still hot with adrenaline, I lifted Maledin at his shoulders, and Aldred took his legs. Together we carried him to the empty wagon bed. It was a fool’s hope to think he’d survive the journey. With the blade gone from the wound, his blood left him in pools. Climbing onto the back, I gently eased him onto the hard wood. A saddle blanket was brought to cushion his head.

  My name tumbled forward, falling with a gasp, and his fingers grasped at my tunic. I dropped to my knees at his side with a painful beating in my chest.

  “She’s not what you think,” he rasped at me. “I’ve looked in her eyes. There is goodness there.”

  “But she’s a diavok,” I answered as I pressed to his wound. “Cursed with evil to do the bidding of sorcerers. You told me this.”

  He coughed, cringing at the pain it caused him. Eyes rolling as death dragged him deeper. “You have to trust me. Tell the king.”

  I gave no answer. Were it not for the diavok, none of this would have happened. She was the cause of all of it.

  He took hold of my wrist. “Etan, you must do this for me. Right the wrongs I’ve done.”

  Tears stung my eyes. I grasped his hand. “Right your own wrongs. It’s nothing a good ale won’t cure.”

  He laughed, and blood leaked from his mouth. “You were never a liar, friend. Don’t waste your pity. It makes no difference for me now.”

  I couldn’t speak past the ache in my throat.

  “I mean it, Etan,” he urged. “Help her.”

  Another took my place tending to Maledin, and the wagon rolled forward. I jumped from the back. Maledin fought to hold up his head...to hold my gaze in an urgent plea until the strain grew too heavy. Still, I looked on, confused by his words. Whatever measure of goodness lived in the woman, whatever Maledin saw in the moments they shared, she was still guilty. I moved my eyes over the scene of destruction, feeling the weight of death and carnage from the last days, until finally my gaze landed on her.

  She sat upright on my saddle, her back straight and head turned away to watch the wagon leave. There was a sway in her posture, a chance she may fall at any moment. But she held there, staring off until the trees took him.

  “Get her to the king,” came Aldred’s rough voice. “He’ll want to speak with her.”

  “And what of the dead and injured?” I asked, lifting a hand to wipe the burn of tears from my eyes. But it was stained in Maledin’s blood.

  “We’ll take what’s ours, but we cannot take the Sithians. Surely a village sits nearby, and they’ll have heard the noise. Let them gather their own.”

  “They’re on Omarian soil, Aldred. We should move them at least.”

  “It makes no difference. They’re dead, and that alone will raise suspicion. Leave them be. Take her back by the fastest route.”

  He signaled three to ride with us.

  “And what if she has another...fit?”

  Aldred’s face turned stone, and I wished to retract the stupid words. His tone deepened, and his eyes wore grief like mine.

  “Do I need to find another, Etan, or ca
n you handle this task?”

  Humiliated by my own cowardice, I bit my mouth and trudged to my horse. Seldom did I feel the decade that stretched between Aldred and I. Only when my youth slipped in, reminding him that I was still a foolish child in many ways.

  As I approached, I felt the woman’s gaze on me before lifting my eyes. But she quickly faced forward again, her body rigid and tense.

  I stood beside my horse and grabbed the reins, a silent warning that I would mount. The diavok shifted forward, making room for me—though never looking. She faced the woods with tight shoulders. I worried again what she might be plotting, but I need only look her over to see she had no fight left, no strength. Blood slowly seeped from a crude wrapping on her arm. And her feet bled too, fresh drops falling to the ground in silent beats.

  So...she could not heal herself...

  The ride would be hard; I knew I should bind her wounds. Her body trembled, though from pain or fear, I didn’t know. But I believed she deserved her pain for what Maledin had suffered. He’d been beguiled into compassion...persuaded to fight for her.

  I swung on, narrowly missing her with my boot. How much simpler this all would be, I thought to myself as I guided the horse toward the trees, if a swift blow to the head would end her.

  We lurched forward, and the diavok fell back, her shoulders hitting my chest. It angered me; I would have preferred she fall. But as we blew past the trees, her hands gripped tight to the saddle horn, and I sensed her fear. As powerful as she was, she was not invincible. I began to formulate plans, how I would kill her if she attacked me during the ride. What pleasure I would find in vengeance.

  Unfortunately, time passed quickly, and no attack came. Campfires blinked in the distance, and the sight of my comrades brought sweet relief. I wanted to be rid of her. To have the king find her guilty and punish her.

  She said nothing. Did nothing to fight her fate. On occasion, I thought I heard the soft gasps of crying.

  My thoughts ran in an endless dialogue, an argument with myself over how I’d treated her. But she was the villain, not I. And it was her fault that Maledin fought for his life. She deserved what was coming.

  We reached camp, and I urged my tired horse steadily on, making for the king’s tent. Tired men stood at our approach, their curious eyes on the battered woman before me. I assumed they believed she was the victim, but they would soon learn the truth of her.

  As would I.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ERIS

  They judged me, though they did not know me.

  I hardened my jaw, tear streaks staining my face, and kept my eyes stern ahead. A gnawing burn drove through my heart, as it had the entire ride from the field. From the moment my eyes confirmed what my ears had heard.

  I turned my neck and urgently whispered behind me, “I know your name.”

  Etan’s body shuddered, but he didn’t answer. I was a threat to him. An evil that must be extinguished. I grew desperate, wishing to latch on to the one person in my company who was once my friend. Even in our fleeting moments, he’d not changed in goodness toward me. If he saw me as I was, would he defend me before the king?

  “Etan,” I whispered again over my shoulder. “Do you not know me?”

  Had Aldred not addressed him so loudly, I might not have recognized him, as rain soaked as he was. I should have spoken then, but I was afraid.

  “Eris!”

  My flesh chilled at the voice behind us. Etan reined up hard, halting the animal at the call of my name. He didn’t move but sat utterly still.

  “Eris, what did they do to you?”

  I twisted in the saddle. There stood Danior, surrounded by soldiers, a look of horror across his ashen face. His eyes hardened when they slid to the rope around my hands.

  “You found the woman I sought, and then you bound her?"

  A soldier swiftly took hold of Danior, pulling him back. My childhood companion fought to free himself—but failed.

  “If they’ve seen fit to bind her,” growled the soldier, straining to hold the drifter back, “you’d be wise to leave it be.”

  I was too weary to send Danior signals. To warn him that he ought to listen. Instead, I looked on blankly, stunned to be seeing him at all.

  Awareness swept over me, jolting my chest, and my eyes shifted around farther, meeting with Etan’s astonished face—only inches from me. Close enough that I felt his warmth. Near enough that, had the rest of the camp been silent, I might have heard the beating in his chest. Confusion clouded his gray eyes.

  He’d made an effort on the ride not to touch me more than necessary, and even now he leaned away, pushing as much space between us as possible. In the seconds our eyes held, the rest of the camp fell away to blur, and I couldn’t think. No words would come. But then, what would I say? He’d wanted me dead on the field, and for all I knew, he still did.

  Etan broke away first, and in a swift movement, stepped down from the horse. I prepared to be lowered, but he simply handed the reins to another and walked away in long strides, fists clenching and unclenching, hands still stained by the blood of his friend.

  I watched him weave around fires and tents, until not even his shadow remained. I was left to the masses of king’s men closing in around me and Danior’s shouts calling for my freedom. The soldiers who rode with us dismounted, and in hushed tones reported the events to a soldier of rank.

  “The king rode east to inspect the camps,” said the man. “Bring her for questioning.”

  They lowered me, planting my bare feet on the rocky ground. Pain blossomed up my legs, searing as the thorns dug deeper into my soles. I didn’t fight the hand that shot out to help me. Or the other which took hold of my arm and held me up. I was startled by the consideration in their training. I deserved my pain.

  The tent was large and wide, decorated with blue flags that snapped in the remnant winds. Ropes tied the entrance open, and torches cast uneven light across the fabric room. It was a gathering place where men of power planned and schemed against their enemies. They led me to a center rug, large and once ornate beneath the scuffs and mud, but the questioning never came. At least not directed at me. Bodies pressed in, shrinking the room, and voices rose in speculation, all shouting to be heard above the rest.

  The noise disoriented me, and in my exhaustion, I collapsed to my knees. I’d lost not only the will to fight, but the strength. Yet no one stopped to aid me. The kindness had been spent, and now they fought over what to do with me. What threat I held for their army.

  An older knight, bearing a gash across his face, spoke first.

  “What were you thinking bringing this witch into our camp? I’ll have Aldred’s head for this!”

  “He believes the woman is no threat to us,” spoke one of the men who rode in with Etan. “If he’s seen this to be true, I trust his word.”

  “And what of the king? Did it not occur to you she might have devised this plan all along? Are you so thick-headed you cannot see she’s manipulated her way to his doorstep?”

  On and on they fought, and I remained silent, palms to the floor and head bowed. Maledin was surely dead. As was Briar. Innocent lives had been wasted on my account, and Etan had abandoned me to the wolves just as Danior had done.

  Were all friendships futile?

  My body quaked, and I felt the tension rising again...the untamable surge of grief. How many years had I longed to find him? How many hours had I spent searching my memories for his name? I balled my hands, grinding my fists into the soiled rug beneath me. Anything I could do to contain it. But their shouts only fueled me.

  I’d nearly surrendered to another explosion of power when a single voice shattered the noise. It was soft and high, a gentle sound calling the room to silence. From the doorway, he humbly announced, “The king approaches. Make way.”

  The space fell quiet, leaving nothing but the wind whispering against the walls and the soft crunch of boots as the lord of the camp neared the entrance. The soldiers moved back,
pressing to the fabric to make way for their sovereign, leaving me alone in the gaping middle.

  I shivered in the silence, afraid to lift my eyes from the ground. I could not fight my way free. Not against an army and their famed leader. Not in this tent, confined to this space with no weapon or strength to wield it.

  The air came alive when he entered, filling the room with his presence. His steps made little noise as he passed beside me, but the earth shook. The forest rumbled. I closed my eyes. If I did not see him, would he cease to be there? If I tried hard, was there enough power in me to let me leave? I feared him, feared his voice that had not yet spoken, and I would have fled had I known they wouldn’t catch me so quickly.

  The soldier of rank spoke first. “We believe she is one of them. A diavok, sire.”

  Large boots stopped before me. Not shrouded in gold, but muddy. Decorated in dead leaves and grass. I could have stretched my fingers and slid my palms only a short length to touch them.

  He did not fear me. From the start, he made no effort to hold me at a distance. But my fear only grew. Reality settled over me, drowning me in the things I’d done. I was a Sithian...yes. And a diavok it would seem. But those words were not screaming through my thoughts.

  Instead, I heard: murderer.

  “What is your name?” he asked me, and his voice toppled mountains and settled seas.

  Why did they always want to know my name? It would tell them nothing of who I was, for it tied me to no one. I didn’t even know my father’s name. Or my mother’s.

  When I said nothing, he crouched before me and asked again. Still, I couldn’t say it.

  Had she known of the Wretched Queen when she decided what to call me? Did she do it on purpose? Naming me after one so vile and dark? How could she have known I would end up this way?

  “I see,” murmured the king. By his tone, I believed he did. I sank further to the ground, pressing my forehead to the coarse fabric. My wet eyes squeezed at the pain radiating through my body.

  “There was another with her, my lord,” came a voice from the gathering. “Briar of Loryn.”