Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel

by E. A. Burnett

  "Damn shifters," the wizard with the sword muttered. He swiveled about, holding his weapon up to the curtains of rain.

  The hawk and Fletch had disappeared. Ember's heart thumped wildly in her chest. Had Kitt come to kill her? To kill them all? Seabird hadn't stopped him, and the fool had followed her here.

  A sob lodged in her throat.

  Fletch, somewhere under the canvas now, shouted orders. A shrill human cry erupted from beneath the canvas, and the camp exploded into chaos. Wizards, perhaps twenty of them, grabbed weapons and ran, stumbling, toward their horses.

  A bear's roar played drums with the thunder, beating a rhythm of fury through the forest and into her bones.

  The horses screamed with the men as the bear charged into the crowd. A giant paw swung out, throwing a wizard against the trunk of a tree. Another wizard was trampled underfoot, and a third crunched beneath a jaw as long as a man's face. In a blink, Kitt changed from a bear to a boar, tusks scattering men and weapons and embers as he charged through the fire and the camp's perimeter.

  Thunder cracked, snapping Ember's nerves out of paralysis.

  She lunged at the injured wizard and dragged his sword out of its scabbard with her bound hands. The wailing man didn't seem to notice or care.

  The rough leather hilt felt good against her palms, the blade heavy and awkward as she swung. The other wizard near her stood motionless, gaping at the scene beneath the canopy. She rammed into his back, smacking his head with the flat of the sword, and he fell.

  She charged into the scattering men, her arms and shoulders burning as she slashed at one man after another. They didn't see her coming, were too focused on Kitt's maddened game of chase-and-kill, and weren't suspecting an attack from a human.

  How many had she slain? Injured? Perhaps none. She was only certain of the impact of her spelled blade against solid muscle, the cries of surprise, the cold wash of rain over her face and eyes.

  Another wizard fell, and for a moment she stood alone.

  Through dripping strands of hair, she glimpsed a cougar tearing at a man's throat. The man's limbs jerked as though he still lived and tried to get away. And she spotted Gregory standing away from her, watching the same cougar, lifting his hands to his belt to touch two silvery hilts.

  The daggers rose like a pair of glinting stars. Familiar and lovely, her own gift to him all that time ago. His hands arched back, poised on the brink of a void she hadn't known existed.

  Despair hurtled through her.

  A clap of thunder swallowed her scream, and the stars flew from his hands.

  Something blunt and heavy smacked the back of her head. Ember crumpled to the ground.

  chapter thirty-seven

  The stench of urine and lilies woke her.

  Ember lay in dimness, her back pressed against wood that trembled and rolled beneath her. The wagon.

  The cords on her wrists chafed her skin raw. Sore arms and hunger pained her body, as did the lump on the back of her skull where someone had struck her, but the physical pain was nothing against the swarm of memories. Gregory's betrayal. And Kitt...

  She focused on her hands, bound to a large rod of steel bolted into the side of the wagon. The spell around her wrists, glowing silver in the dim moonlight, was too complex for her to undo, and the cords themselves too restricting to form the correct movements. She shifted her weight to see the rest of the wagon.

  Two patrolmen sat opposite her, wearing their proud violet garments, next to a third figure, nearly one with the shadows.

  Fletch sat on a bench beside her, close enough that his floral stench had soaked into her own skin.

  He smiled when she looked at him, and his empty, hungry eyes seemed to swallow her up.

  "I'm relieved to see you awake, my dear," Fletch said. "My friend here gave you a good knocking on the head that I wasn't sure you would recover from." He motioned to the third figure who sat across from her.

  The figure leaned forward, and Ember flinched. The archer. The twisting scar. The woman who almost killed Gregory at the race. How had she come here?

  "I thought you might recognize her," Fletch stated, sounding amused. "My friend Ashaki is the famous winner of three Red Morning races."

  Infamous winner, you mean. A person couldn't win that many races without shedding others' blood.

  "Where are we?" Ember asked, ignoring the chill from the archer's gleaming eyes.

  Fletch's smile widened. "On an old road used by the clans. Don't fret, my dear," he said, folding his hands over crossed legs. "We're heading back to Silverglen, as my lord requested."

  A part of Ember sagged in relief. But what about the two wizards at the Lachian village? Would Fletch pick them up on the way back? Or would they all stop to search for more shifters? Assuming that he knew about the other shifters, which she was sure he did. That boy at the village had likely told someone of the wolves he saw. Why else had those two wizards in the village planned on setting up an ambush there?

  "I'm so glad," Fletch went on, "that your friend Gregory told my lord that you went missing, and that you might be in Orion looking for a faction. It seems that you found at least one other like yourself." His voice slithered into the dark, cloistered space. "He's a feisty one. And stupid. Still, I'm curious to see how you two will get along as breeders. It should be so interesting, with you half a wizard and half a shifter, and him so—hmm—vigorous."

  Ember sat up. Searching the shadows, she thought she saw the outline of a cage, with a bulky mass within. Those shadows didn't move. Surprised, she noticed he wore the familiar Binding spell around his neck, which she hadn't seen or felt. Perhaps he was unconscious, or under a Freeze, which prevented him from moving while stuck in cougar form. Her stomach twisted.

  Had Gregory missed killing him on purpose?

  She turned back toward the wall so that Fletch couldn't see her expression. Willing fingers and wrists to bend at painful angles, she fought against the cords in order to get to the spell.

  The wagon jerked to a stop, and she sprawled over the floor. Fletch grunted and vaulted over her, striding from bench to the end of the wagon in two quick paces. The other wizards stayed. Ember curled back against the side of the wagon and eyed them, wishing she could call out to Kitt.

  A chorus of howling dogs broke out near the wagon, and a loud man greeted Fletch in false cheer. Ember recognized the man's voice from when she spied on the village.

  "Sorry about the bitches, sir," the loud man apologized. A door closed, and the barking hushed.

  Another voice spoke up, so quiet she could barely make out the words.

  "...have her?"

  "I do," Fletch replied. "She is secure."

  A short pause. "...bound her?"

  "She attacked us, my dear Bram. Her and another, rather interesting shifter. They are both quite feisty, if not dangerous."

  The Escort scoffed, and anger amplified his small voice. "You are the one who is dangerous, treating...like an animal. Lord Arundel...to ensure the safety and comfort—"

  "Lord Arundel is misinformed. And thus, so are you," Fletch said, sounding satisfied.

  "I demand to see her," Bram said, his voice rising. "It is my duty as Escort to—"

  Bram shouted in pain, and the sound of clashing metal rang out once, and again, followed by a grunt. After the noise, the succinct sound of a door closing.

  Ember's throat constricted. Arundel had sent an Escort to take her safely home, which meant only one thing.

  Arundel didn't know she was a shifter.

  She sagged against the wooden wall and waited for other sounds to emerge from outside the wagon. A horned owl hooted, bullfrogs thrummed, and the river's song trickled through the wagon's canvas. Closer, horses snorted and shook their bridles, and riders creaked in their saddles. She counted four, at least. Had the others gone ahead? Or had Fletch left them behind to find the camp?

  Please be gone, she wished to Seabird. Far, far away.

  Moments later, the door
opened and closed again, and Fletch strode back into the wagon, his expression hidden by the shadows of his hooded cloak. A new cloak. Velvet purple, lined in gold. A statement of powerful servitude that only the Escort could display.

  Bram, dead. Arundel would be displeased.

  Ember tucked herself against the wall, the cords delving too deep into her skin, feeling the odd fabrication of a spell wall around her. She drew her attention away from it. She needed to come up with a plan. There was a chance Fletch had tried to convince Arundel of what she was, and that he hadn't believed him. It might also be the case that Fletch hadn't yet told him, and that Arundel had no idea.

  Closing her eyes, she listened to the passing hoot of another horned owl. Camouflage. Fierce silence. Deadly surprise. Her blood pulsed through her limbs, remembering the strengths of the owl.

  The night deepened.

  chapter thirty-eight

  "Home sweet home."

  Ember jerked away as Fletch's face loomed over her shoulder. She gagged at the smell of his breath.

  Fletch chuckled and used a small knife to slice the cords that bound her to the metal rod of the wagon. Beneath the cords more spelled ropes locked her wrists together. "Come now, up with you."

  She eyed the small knife before it disappeared in his cloak. Fletch turned away and leapt from the wagon, leaving her with the two armed patrolmen and the archer. The rest of the wagon was empty.

  Ember raised her chin and looked the patrolmen in the eyes. "My father will not be pleased with the way I've been treated."

  The first smirked and waved his sword at her to stand. "Don't bother with your lies, girl. Fletch told us what he saw."

  "I saw your mother myself," the second patrolman said, nodding. "Rollin' in bed with a shifter. Feathers and fur and teeth everywhere." He spat.

  The archer said nothing, but stared at her in a way that made her skin prickle.

  Clenching her jaw, she grabbed the metal rod and pulled herself up. Her limbs felt heavy, as though lead had been poured into her bones, and so stiff that her joints cracked like a brittle tree in a fierce wind.

  She straightened her spine and ignored the bruises forming on her wrists.

  Today, I am Ember Thackeray. Daughter of a lord.

  One step, then another, and she climbed down the steps of the wagon. Brilliant shafts of midday sun struck her momentarily blind. The day was warm, and birds sang. It was the type of early summer day that she once would have spent with Gregory at the stables, or sneaking handfuls of fresh strawberries, or playing chase in the dappled shade of the pear orchard. She would have stayed away from the gardens to avoid Salena, and would have stayed out of the fields to avoid Arundel's hunting returns.

  As Ember's eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that they stood near the edge of Mirror Lake, high up on a cliff where their road ended. The lake sprawled wide beneath them, curving around to meet the three stone arches that marked the only entrance into Silverglen. The arches were mounted by a walkway that spanned between two slender towers. Beyond this, a wall of leaded glass reflected the blue sky.

  "Perhaps the lady can be kind enough to lead us to the great stair," Fletch said from behind her.

  Ember whirled, and saw that Fletch stood motionless beside a great iron cage. Kitt, still a cougar, had two deep wounds in one shoulder, preventing him from putting his weight on it. Scarlet whiskers stretched back in a snarl, narrowing two gold eyes and flattening his ears. He pawed the side of the cage, and two-inch claws protruded through the iron to catch on Fletch's cloak. Her chest tightened.

  A flash of orange behind Fletch. Norman. Fletch had secured the bird by both feet to a wooden perch, just as Ember had seen the falconers do when the birds were to sit out of their mews. But Norman's colors had already begun to fade. Even now, he didn't attempt to fly, but sat, silent and resigned, with flattened crest and drooping tail.

  "Unless you would like to speak with your friend? Or is he a lover?" Fletch continued, his black eyes digging into her as he removed his cloak from Kitt's claw with an insouciant tug.

  Ember suddenly found herself wishing that Kitt had wrung the vile man's neck.

  She repressed a shudder and turned away.

  The ancient, wide steps had been cut into the cliff-side by Arundel's father, Doune. They had been placed as a way for him and his son to access the northern forests for hunting, and for transportation of iron from the smelter to the smithies in Silverglen. Arundel had told her this once when she was very young as he helped her climb up the steep steps, and she remembered how strong and warm his hand seemed then, and how pleased he had been once she reached the top.

  But that was before her shifting abilities emerged. When she was simply a lord's daughter; a blink of time in her life.

  "Down we go!" Fletch scaled the first few steps before pausing. "Let's protect her from falling, shall we?"

  Wordless, four patrolmen formed a tight circle around her. Ember glared at Fletch. Did he really think she would throw herself down the stairs? Or did he think she would try to escape by running across them? The Bindings made her useless for shifting, and she would only be able to run so far before the patrolmen caught up to her.

  Not that she considered running. She wouldn't this time, even if she could, and it wasn't just Kitt or Norman that solidified her resolve.

  Fletch continued down the steps like an impatient child, leaping down from one step to the other, as if a missed step wouldn't result in a messy, neck-breaking plunge into the water. She hoped that his carelessness would bring him down.

  Ember took slow steps and focused on the guard just ahead of her rather than the quick descent to the lake.

  She allowed herself one glance back at Kitt's cage, and saw with horror that it tilted to one side as two patrolmen, white-faced and sweaty, carried it down. They clung to the very ends of two slats of wood driven through the iron grate for handles, and flinched as Kitt lashed his paw at whichever man neared too close.

  To the right, Norman fared better. A single patrolmen carried his perch like a torch. The patrolman glared at the bird as a mass of white dung plopped on one shoulder.

  At its base, the long staircase sank down into the murky lake. Had the water been lower when Doune's men built it all those years ago? Or had he forced his men to work underwater, slowly against the water's thickness, and playthings to a squelkin's massive jaws and suckered tentacles?

  Black water lapped the steps, where three of Arundel's boats waited. A violet-clad patrolman sat in each one, except the third, where Gregory sat with a look of hardened patience.

  Ember headed for the first boat.

  Fletch stopped her with a wave of his hand.

  "You can go in that one," he purred, tilting his head to Gregory's boat. "Ashaki will escort you."

  Ember didn't wait for the archer. She strutted to Gregory's boat and stepped in, violently rocking the vessel. Gregory leapt forward to help steady her, but she lurched to the right, taking two more unsteady steps before careening into the opposite end of the boat. She gasped as the edge of a wooden seat drove into her ribs and her arm banged the side of the vessel. The boat's ledge dipped near the surface of the water, and she caught shadowy movement not far below.

  A hand touched her arm.

  She flinched away. "Leave me."

  Gregory straightened, his expression loosened by surprise, but a moment later his features hardened again.

  Ember scrambled up to her seat as the archer came on board and sat at the opposite end of the boat as her. To her dismay, Gregory sat between them and faced Ember. His hands turned white as he gripped the oars.

  Without waiting for the others to board their boats, Gregory swung his boat around with quick efficiency. The oars bit deep into the water, tugging them rhythmically toward the castle. Gleaming, the hilts of Gregory's throwing knives drew her attention. Scarlet smudged their surfaces and stained the top edges of the leather sheaths. He had hurt Kitt, yes, but he hadn't killed him. Had it been inte
ntional? Ember longed to look back, to be sure Kitt's cage had been safely loaded. Instead, she focused on the castle ahead.

  Graceful curves of dark stone and ironwork. Wide windows, curving balconies, and speared towers. For all the beauty, it appeared smaller and bleaker than she remembered. Memories lurked in those leaded windows and impenetrable walls. Her old life, her old self. A shadow. A mouse.

  "I didn't betray you," Gregory said in a husky voice.

  Ember froze, shooting a wary glance at the archer, whose eyes were mortared to her like stone.

  Ember spoke without emotion. "You mean you didn't tell my father of my mission. I don't wish to speak of it."

  Gregory stared at her for a moment, confusion overcoming the hardness of his face. His frown shifted to the oars before coming back to her.

  "I didn't mean for you to be hurt. For you to be treated this way. I was worried something had happened when you disappeared, that you had done something rash after..."

  "How is your lady friend?" Ember asked in a frosted tone.

  Ruddiness flushed beneath Gregory's tanned cheeks, and he stayed silent, his gaze on the water.

  After what seemed like an eternity, they neared Silverglen and glided beneath the stone arches. Moss had crept farther up the inside walls of the arches since she had left, but otherwise the reek of fish and squelkin hung in that damp, dark space as much as it ever had.

  Their small boat emerged from an archway and pointed toward the smooth crescent steps chiseled into the castle’s cliff-side. Other boats floated at the base of the steps, tied to iron rods that disappeared into the black water. Two Escorts stood waiting at the top of the steps where the path to the great hall began, their gilded cloaks stirring in a faint breeze as their hands rested on the hilts of their spelled swords.

  Gregory aimed the boat at the steps and secured it to a rod. He then offered her his hand to step off.

  Ember glanced at his tan, steady hand. She had loved that hand once. Surprises, pleasure, and comfort. And many times, too, she had seen them clenched in anger. He had always wanted to protect her, but couldn't; she was a shifter and very capable of protecting herself. But he had always tried, and he had tried this time by revealing her probable location in Orion. By bringing her disappearance to Arundel's attention. By helping Fletch to find her. Had he also thought to protect her by harming Kitt?