Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel

by E. A. Burnett

  Ember wasn't sure he would ever stop trying. Did he understand the risks he posed to the faction by giving her away?

  But that wasn't entirely fair. She was the one who went to them in the first place. She was the one who told Gregory, over the past few years, of her suspicion of where the faction hid based on years of rumors. She was the one who had left without a word of goodbye.

  A slight tremor ran over Gregory's hand.

  Lifting her chin and masking her expression with stoniness, Ember placed her bound hands in his. His firm grasp lifted her out of the boat and onto the step as though she weighed as much as a crow's feather. Gregory stepped out himself, and for a half a moment the archer’s eyes left her while she herself climbed out. Ember tugged Gregory close.

  "Did he leave men behind?" she whispered.

  Gregory's brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to reply.

  "I will escort you myself," Fletch called. His voice slithered across the lake and over the steps as his boat emerged from beneath the arched walkway. Fletch stood at the front, as steady as if he stood on solid ground.

  Ember glared at him, but breathed a bit easier when she saw caged Kitt and Norman gliding in the boats behind him.

  "My lord will be relieved to see you," Fletch continued, stepping from his boat to the step just as it tapped the stone. He floated up and wedged himself between Ember and Gregory, effectively pushing Gregory aside while pulling Ember close. "And your lady mother, of course." White teeth gleamed behind a charming smile as he wrapped a cold hand around her arm and guided her up the steps.

  It took all of Ember’s will not to shove him into the squelkin-infested waters.

  "I'm not sure about your brother and sister, however," he said in her ear. "I think they've always known you are rather different. An animal, no?" He hummed a chuckle. "Unlike the others, I see you, my sweet. All your fears and longings, and your other deliciously human sensitivities, swirling and blossoming along with your womanhood." A bony thumb glided down and up her arm.

  Hair on her neck prickled. She tugged her arm, and to her surprise he released her.

  "Escorts," he greeted the two guards as they reached the top step.

  The Escorts didn't miss Fletch's—or rather, Bram's—cloak. One scowled and the other raised a lip of disgust.

  "Lord Arundel wishes us to escort her to the great hall," the scowling man said.

  "Of course," Fletch replied, offering her with a wave of his hands.

  Ember found herself in front of the two Escorts, with Fletch lost behind them and Arundel's iron arcade twisting overhead. Mangled shadows chilled the warm flagstones beneath her feet and chased the light from her eyes. On either side gathered the silent gardens, appearing empty of their usual visitors. Behind her, the sound of a cougar's snarl rose above the measured tramp of booted feet. Ahead lay the wide glass doors of the great hall, nearly lost in the wall of leaded glass. She glanced up at her curving balcony, where she once stood to eavesdrop, and where she had always returned after a night of spying. And where Fletch had seen me shift. If he hadn't, would she be here now?

  The doors opened, and Ember stepped in.

  Rays of sun melted through the spotless glass wall, cascaded down over empty trestle tables and pooled onto the scrubbed stone floor, filling the great hall with raw gold. Intangible and temporal gold. Did it bother Arundel that he couldn't capture it? That he couldn't melt it down and turn it into something solid and permanent that he could call his own?

  Glamours on the three painted walls moved as though alive. Drogons, a boar, and a firebird. She didn't bother looking at them, but moved instead toward the dais at the left end of the great hall. The sunlight stretched there to illuminate two seated figures.

  Ember steadied her breathing. I am the daughter of Lord Arundel, and no one else shall pass my lips and eyes.

  He sat on his chair, a simple throne cushioned by purple velvet lined in gold. Dark leggings, leather boots, and a scarlet tunic lined in black gems. A matching cap offset the dark brown of his hair and softened a sharp nose and heavy brows.

  Salena sat beside him, her hair like braided copper, pale skin and blue eyes ghostlike next to Arundel's dark solidity. Exhaustion etched her face like an old parchment crumpled too long in a pocket. Had Salena thought her dead? Harmed?

  She shook off the impulse to reassure her mother with a smile.

  A scuffle rose from behind her, and suddenly Fletch strode ahead, leaving behind a trailing stench of lilies as his cloak billowed in haste. He reached the lowest step of the dais and bowed.

  Arundel frowned, and Salena waved an orange pomander under her nose.

  "Fletch," Arundel greeted. "How did you find my daughter?"

  "I caught her just outside our camp, my lord. Sneaking through the rain—"

  "Are those Bindings?" Arundel interjected. "Remove those at once," he barked.

  Ember came to stand behind Fletch. Her heart hammered her chest, and her palms sweat fiercely, but she focused on standing straight, with a raised chin and an unmoving mask.

  Fletch obeyed, a sneer tugging one side of his mouth as he undid the Binding. Ember studied his careful finger movements. He winked at her before turning away.

  Was he fool enough to think she would shift in front of Arundel? Gritting her teeth, she rubbed the soreness from her wrists.

  "Why do you wear that cloak?" Arundel asked. "And where is Bram?" Arundel searched behind Ember, his brow furrowing deeper.

  "Bram had an unfortunate accident, my lord," Fletch began eagerly, but Arundel no longer listened.

  Ember knew the moment he saw Kitt. Sparking his gaze was a familiar fire that pulled like an anchor at her heart. Norman, no doubt, caused that second wave of curiosity and a clench of Arundel's hands against the armrests of his throne. With great control, he rose to his feet and ambled down the steps. His new smile didn't reach his eyes.

  "You brought me something else, too?" he asked Fletch, interrupting the man mid-sentence. "I am very pleased. The bird stays here, but you may go. Take the cat."

  Fletch bowed, almost mockingly, and a metallic chain twinkled from beneath the folds of his cloak.

  The key.

  Ember dug her fingers into her palms. She could steal the key and free Kitt. Maybe even the bear, if he was still down there—

  "Ember."

  Her attention snapped to Arundel, who stood watching, too, as Fletch and his men carried the cage out a set of wooden doors. Her father—her false father—stretched over a foot taller than herself, dark and solid as a mountain. As the doors thudded closed, he ran a hand down his face.

  She hadn't noticed the fine lines there. Had missed the stubble, the great circles beneath his eyes, and the way the grooves had deepened between nose and mouth. He looked haggard. Hazel eyes, bloodshot and too wide, stared at her with a mixture of relief and anger.

  "Ember," he repeated, lifting her hands with his. The touch reminded her of her childhood. He stared at the bruises on her wrists. "We are glad you are home. But," he said, letting her hands drop, "we need answers."

  He stepped back and clasped his hands behind him, haggardness receding behind an emotionless mask. Was this how he looked when he interrogated the shifters in the dungeon? "How did you come to be in Orion?"

  Ember took a deep breath and licked her lips, not daring to look at Salena, who continued to sit on the dais. "I went of my own accord. I heard rumors of a faction there."

  Arundel's expression didn't change. "Did you find any faction?"

  "I found a group of shifters, yes." Behind Arundel, Salena shifted. Ember kept her eyes fixed to Arundel, her stomach tightening. "I stalked them, Father. I took them out one by one, using the methods you taught me. They were stupid creatures." It wasn't difficult to sound genuine. Lies flowed like breath from her.

  Arundel's eyebrows lifted a hair's breadth. "Why didn't you tell me where you were going or what you were doing? It was dangerous and foolish of you." His spoke in a flat tone, h
is expression almost neutral.

  It wasn't enough. She needed more. Fletch had hinted to him of what she was, planting a seed of suspicion that would no doubt gnaw Arundel alive. He wouldn't want to believe Fletch. She merely needed to provide something small that he could devour, something to quash any seedling of doubt within him.

  Her head buzzed with sudden lightness, and her pulse fluttered in her temples like a moth around a candle-flame. I am Lord Arundel's daughter, she repeated. The web of lies stretched into her muscles until she felt as light as a moat of dust, and the sticky facade was no longer a facade but something real and solid that weighed down her stomach like stone. She did it for Riggs and Lexy and the children. She did it for Seabird and Norman. For Kitt...

  His name floated away from her like a feather on a breeze. Forgotten, all forgotten but who she must be in this very moment.

  Her fingers pulsed with adrenaline.

  "I was afraid of failure." She let her voice crack, her head dip in shame. "If I had failed, I couldn't bear to look you in the face again. I've only ever wanted you to be proud of me." She met his gaze and held it, and the tears sprang to her eyes, as though they had been held back for too long. She hated those tears, hated the words her lips formed. Hated them for what they were, and because a part of them was true. "The cougar was the last of them. I tricked him into barging into the patrol's camp, which I discovered two nights ago."

  Heat fled her muscles and she swayed.

  Arundel gripped her by the shoulders, steadying her. His gaze gleamed as he nodded and his breath resounded through his lungs like an ocean tide.

  "I am proud of you," he said in a strained voice. "You were always motivated to learn more. To do more. Always striving to be better." He squeezed her shoulders. "You remind me of your mother. And of myself."

  She wanted to smile and cry at once, and loathed herself for it. She despised that she should desire anything at all from him. So she stood motionless, her anger and hatred strangling a strand of warmth that curled in her chest.

  He clenched his jaw, his eyes wide glassy mirrors, and released her.

  Ember noticed Salena standing behind Arundel, her blue dress crumpled and her hair mussed in its coils.

  "Mother," Ember croaked.

  Salena pulled her into an embrace, surrounding Ember in a cloud of rosy perfume, soft damask, and silky skin. Any resentment toward her melted away. Her mother understood her, knew what she was and the secrets she kept. She knew the most important truths and forgave her the lies. "You're home now, my love. Safe and home." Her mother felt more frail than she remembered, and her voice sounded weak.

  Ember pulled back. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you—"

  "Sshh, now. Dry your tears." Salena handed her a piece of cloth, her own eyes wet and rimmed in pink.

  Ember dabbed her face, scrambling to think of how to excuse herself. She must follow Fletch, presumably down to the dungeon. If she had convinced Arundel that no shifters remained, Kitt was her only problem. She glanced at Norman, who sat bedraggled on his perch by the thrones. Sorry Norman. You'll have to wait just a while longer.

  She opened her mouth to ask for dismissal.

  "While you were gone," Arundel spoke up, causing Salena to flinch. "A guest arrived to speak with you. He has been waiting here for days for your return." Mild irritation in Arundel's tone, but something else, too. This person was important.

  "Who...?"

  Arundel waved a hand toward the wooden doors, and an Escort bowed quickly before pulling one door open.

  Into the light of the great hall strode a heavy young man wearing boots, trousers, and a gaudy yellow tunic lined in silver. A pelt lined his cloak as though they stood in the dead of winter, and his upper lip shone with sweat.

  The man bowed long and low. "My lady. I have come to ask for your hand in marriage."

  Ember's feet froze to the stone floor.

  "Eawart?"

  chapter thirty-nine

  Emitting a coolness she didn't feel, Ember walked to the door and gave Eawart a slight curtsy before going out. Did the man even notice her hide dress and dirty, bare feet?

  She strolled into the first corridor that began the maze of halls leading to the dungeon steps. If she ran headlong, she might lose him in the corridors. Except the daft man would probably try looking for her, and she didn't want to risk him interfering with her plan to free Kitt.

  She spun around, catching Eawart's gaze on her legs before it darted away.

  Ember folded her arms. "I have no wish to marry you."

  Eawart gawked before giving a slight shake of his head, ruddiness tinging his plump cheeks. "Will you even listen to what I have to say?" A polite pause for an answer.

  Ember tightened her lips.

  Eawart released a breath and continued. "When I met you, I was astounded by your beauty, and dancing with you was like dancing with a queen. I felt myself loving you that night as I've never loved anyone before—"

  Ember snorted, causing Eawart to flinch. "Did Dev put you up to this? I know you know her from the Academy—"

  "Devondra told me of you, that's all," Eawart said. His blush deepened. "I wanted to meet you, and when I did... Ember, we could be great together. You and I, dancing in my castle. I could give you much—"

  "Do you expect me to believe you have a castle?"

  Eawart wiped the sweat from his upper lip. "I do have one. Or at least, I will, since my cousin is long gone—"

  "A castle?" Ember's nails sank into her arms. Perhaps she could cast a Freeze on him and run for it. "Only the lords are allowed to own castles."

  "Well, perhaps it isn't a castle outright, but it's nearly half the size of Lord Thurstun's in Pemberville. Please, you should come see it, see what you could be a part of, what I could give you—"

  "I want nothing from you, Eawart, except to be left alone."

  Eawart shook his head in refusal, his face as red as a cherry. The sweat had returned to his lip and glistened along his hairline. Would the man never give up?

  "I am sure there's another woman who deserves you better than I," she said, resorting to politeness.

  "No, I am sure there is not." He reached for her hand, but she stepped away. Chagrined, he smoothed his palms over the pelt lining of his cloak. "I would feel better about your decision if you would agree to see the castle—ah, estate—first. You really must see it."

  "Fine, I will go see your estate," she snapped. "But right now I must leave." She turned to go when he nodded. "I must be alone to think about your request," she said over her shoulder, just for good measure.

  She suppressed a twinge of guilt at the hope in his eyes and dove through the corridors. Right, left, and left. Vacant, forgotten rooms lined either side of the stone walls. The last corridor had no rooms at all, only cold stone dropping down a drafty stair. A heavy iron door at its base stood cracked open, with no spells she could see or sense.

  She rushed down the steps.

  How long had Kitt been in cougar form? The hours had stretched to days now. How much of him remained?

  Heedless, she shoved through the iron door and flew through the open room with cavernous cells. The table and chair remained in the same positions, but the moldy bread had been reduced by several bites. Swallowing, Ember pressed on and ignored the shadowy movements from behind iron bars. At the end of the room, the small corridor with wooden doors lining each side lay as she remembered, and the sense of complex spells lingered beyond it.

  Behind the stone wall.

  She looked back but saw no one, and there was no flicker of torchlight this time.

  No spells lined the door. No locks that she could see. Perhaps it wasn't a door after all, but just a wall with another room on the other side?

  Nerves buzzing, she lay her hands flat on the stones and allowed the warmth to spread over her palms. She pushed.

  Yellow light sliced into the corridor as the wall cracked open.

  Too easy.

  Warm air and a putrid
smell of feces, urine, and rot streamed from the opening. She heard scuffling noises, rustling, and a throaty growl.

  Kitt?

  She forced her way past the door and froze.

  Silencing and Insulating spells spanned the high ceilings and thickened the stench of the chamber. Walls brimmed with iron cages. Writhing pythons, wailing cats, and sleeping badgers. Bloodied coyotes, mangy fox, and another lying still, so scrawny and dark from its own feces that she almost didn't recognize it as a rabbit. More cages dangled from the ceiling, and others hunched in precarious piles in the middle of the room.

  Each cage, each animal, bound by the spelled collar.

  All of them, shifters.

  Ember's stomach roiled, and she retched onto the floor, heaving up the little left in her stomach. She spit the sourness from her mouth, pushed her hair back, and stumbled deeper into the room.

  A low growl from the far left corner drew her eye.

  "Kitt!" She rushed to the cage, stacked beneath another cage with a sleeping—or dead—wolf.

  Kitt sprawled in his cage, his leg wound matted and swollen. He panted and gave another strangled growl as she neared. "I'll get you out of this mess." She knelt to inspect the spells around his neck. The hardest part might be getting close enough to do work on the collar. "I need you to—"

  In a blink, a metal loop fell around her neck and choked off her sentence.

  "Your foolish friend is dead inside," Fletch said from behind her. "I hope you like mating as a cat." He tugged the loop, hauling her back.

  She sprawled and kicked, clawing at the loop and restraint pole that tightened it. She tried to scream, but only a hoarse cry escaped the pinching metal. Dizziness swarmed her vision.