“I’m sixteen,” Charon tells her, “Antila is fifteen and Astraea is the youngest at fourteen.”
“Oh,” Andromeda whispers.
Ceti laughs, “There is no escaping the crown, sister.”
“Great,” Andromeda mutters and the others titter in amusement. Andromeda thought gaining a family and a truth she did not want was bad enough, now she has a crown hovering above her head.
“Have you heard?” Astraea asks excitedly. “Mother is organizing a ball in your honor to introduce you to the kingdom and potential suitors.”
“Suitors?” Andromeda sputters. Near the door Daegan snorts. “It just gets worse and worse.”
“Balls are the best part of being a princess,” Antila says. “Beautiful gowns, the best musicians in the kingdom, and all the men you can wish for.”
Andromeda blinks slowly.
“Princess Andromeda is more comfortable with a sword than in a gown.” Daegan pipes up.
“Who are you?” Charon asks, noticing Daegan for the first time.
“I am Daegan Brykmaker,” Daegan bows to Andromeda’s sisters. “Royal Hunter and current bodyguard of Princess Andromeda.”
Ceti turns to Andromeda, eyes sparkling as she says, “He's quite delicious.”
Andromeda snorts as she surveys Daegan from head to toe dismissively, “He can hear you.”
“So?” Ceti raises an eyebrow. “He’s staff, he should be seen and not heard. We may feast on his appearance as much as we wish.”
“Stare away then,” Andromeda gestures in Daegan’s direction as she leans back against the soft pillows on the bed, feeling relaxed as she listens to her new sisters lapse into discussion about gowns and hairstyles and the like. Daegan keeps watch from his post at the door looking bored. That makes two of us, Andromeda thinks.
Finally, Andromeda feigns tiredness and yawns. Charon smiles guiltily at her, “Sorry, Andromeda. You must be exhausted, after all you are still healing. We’ll let you get your rest. Will you be at dinner this evening?”
Andromeda glances quickly at Daegan, who nods the slightest bit. Turning back to Charon she nods, “Yes, I will see you then.”
“Excellent,” Charon smiles and hugs Andromeda tightly, sending a shiver of pain through her ribs.
“Ouch,” Andromeda exhales sharply.
“Oh no,” Charon exclaims, “how stupid of me. I forgot about your injuries. Are you still quite sore?”
“A little bit,” Andromeda admits.
“Then you must definitely rest,” Ceti decides as she shoots a stern look at their younger sisters. “So you can be in full health for the ball.”
❖
Cygni
“Who are you?” Cygni asks the two men bowed before him.
“I am Rolfe, Your Majesty.” The first man answers. “I am a member of the Order of the Thorn. And this is my comrade, Elliyot.”
“It is an honor, sire.” Elliyot adds.
“That’s impossible,” Cygni shakes his head. “The Order is a dead society, it has been for generations.”
“No, Your Majesty,” Rolfe corrects him, “not dead, just deep underground. Your father King Pavo, may he Rest In Peace, was the leader of the order. He had members of the order inserted in every aspect of the ruling of Vacantia - from the Watierai Warriors to the Royal Army, and even within his own council of advisors.”
“Why did he never tell me of this before?” Cygni asks warily as he places his arms over his chest defensively.
“That I do not know,” Rolfe shrugs. “Perhaps he was waiting until he turned the kingdom over to you. Or perhaps he had written you a letter only to be opened upon his death. It’s impossible to tell with the viper that has clawed her way onto the throne.”
“So you have heard,” Cygni states as he rakes his fingers through his hair in agitation, “that Lyra has declared me illegitimate and the son of a slave.”
“Aye,” Elliyot spits on the ground. “That’s bullshe’et, Your Majesty. Your mother was never regarded as a slave by anyone. Rolfe and I and the entire order attended your parents’ wedding. Even the king of Shroudania was there to recognize the union! And you were not born until a full year later. You’re no bastard, your majesty.”
“Definitely not,” Rolfe agrees. “It was an outrage that the viper had you banished from Vanyia and stripped you of everything that was rightfully yours. We’ve been searching for you ever since we found out to let you know you have the full backing of the Order.”
“I want to reclaim my throne,” Cygni tells them.
“As you rightfully should,” Rolfe nods.
“How many men are part of the Order?” Cygni asks.
“Several hundred scattered throughout Vacantia.” Elliyot estimates.
“That will barely make a dent against the royal army.” Cygni frowns in thought. Pacing across the cave and rubbing his chin he thinks aloud, “I had planned to travel to the Watierai Warriors and ask for the help of Lyra’s daughter Andromeda and the rest of the Warriors. Surely their numbers thrown in with the members of the Order would be beneficial.”
“Indeed,” Rolfe nods. “We will gladly accompany you there.”
Cygni stops pacing and looks back and forth between Rolfe and Elliyot, “Do you have an extra horse?”
❖
Garlyn
The rebellion against General Cruelseas and the majority of the Watierai Warriors may have been squashed but Garlyn and his men were far from giving up.
They traveled as one toward the capital city, Vanyia. Most of Garlyn’s men had sustained major injuries at the hands of their former allies and there had been more than a few casualties but instead of losing hope, it made the men and women angrier and more determined to someday prevail and make everyone see that they were a force to be reckoned with.
Three days had passed since Garlyn’s failed uprising and his people had made camp in the mountains.
As Garlyn stood at the mouth of the cave in the mountainside waiting out the latest thunderstorm a massive bird appeared in the distance. The bird flew at a brisk pace, its’ impressive wingspan beating powerfully in the downpour. As the bird drew closer Garlyn could just make out the long gold tail feathers marking the fowl as a royal courier.
The bird landed at Garlyn’s feet, the creature’s intelligent eyes staring into his own as it dropped a cream-colored missive at his feet.
Garlyn swept the missive up and broke the vermillion wax seal on the back of the envelope.
Garlyn,
By royal decree, I order you to bring me the head of the Mistborn imposter, Andromeda Mistsplitter. In reward for bringing me the traitor’s head, I offer you and your allies positions in my personal guard. Any Mistborn scum or Mistborn sympathizers you may encounter in your hunt for the traitor are to be assassinated on the spot, no exceptions. I trust that I am not wrong in entrusting this important task to you and wish to convey that disappointing me in this matter would not be in your best interest. I expect a status report delivered in person at the palace in a fortnight.
Yours very truly,
Lyra, Queen Regent of Vacantia
Chapter 15
Andromeda
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Andromeda hisses as she’s led up to the double doors leading into the palace ballroom on Daegan’s arm like a goat headed for the sacrificial altar.
The corner of Daegan’s mouth twists up in a smirk, “A wee bit.”
“Jerk,” Andromeda mutters under her breath.
Inside the ballroom trumpeters sound and the music and laughter emanating from the room only seconds before ceases. The doors are thrown open and Andromeda is momentarily blinded by sparkling light.
A guard just inside the door taps his staff on the marble floor and announces, “All bow down for Princess Andromeda, restored to us at long last.”
Men and women, young and old, ugly and beautiful and more curtsy and bow on cue as Daegan drags Andromeda inside. Andromeda curses as she steps on the he
m of the ridiculously opulent gown Carina had delivered to her from the royal tailor.
“Manners, your highness,” Daegan whispers in her ear as Andromeda is paraded before the subjects of Carina’s court.
“This skirt is too poofy,” Andromeda bites back a grimace, remembering to smile like Carina told her. “I can barely walk in it.”
Yards and yards of blue netted fabric bells out from Andromeda’s waist, shorter, teal blue handkerchief layers drape dramatically over darker underskirts. The pain in her ribs has returned to her by way of the bony corset her handmaids laced her into until her breath abandoned her and her head felt woozy. The bodice is obscenely tight, as if the lace covered fabric were molded to Andromeda’s skin like one of the Watierai Warrior’s uniforms. The neckline swoops down into a deep vee leaving Andromeda’s shoulders naked for all to see. A teal and gold mask inlaid with pearls hides half Andromeda’s face from the people of Faeloria but it feels as if they see right through it. The entire ensemble seems to glow as if stars have been plucked from the land of the gods and sewn into the fabric.
At Andromeda’s side Daegan, acting as her escort, is clad in teal boots made of seal skin, soft blue pants that hug his muscular legs, and a teal tunic embroidered with large mint leaves. A teal satin dress cloak fastened with a silver broach of his family’s crest and thick seal skin gloves complete his outfit to perfectly compliment Andromeda’s gown. She’d stared at him for a full minute when he stepped into her bedchamber to retrieve her until he opened his mouth to make some obnoxious comment and ruined the moment.
Now, as Daegan stands at Andromeda’s side, she sees the flash of steel fixed to his waist. A dangerous looking sword that makes her heart skip a beat and warns all who look at him that Daegan is ready and more than capable of stepping in and protecting Andromeda at any moment.
On either side of Andromeda courtiers are attired in various shades of blue, their faces obscured by masks concocted from feathers and leaves and a few from shimmering metals and jewels. At the end of the aisle Daegan is leading Andromeda down Carina sits upon her throne in an indigo high-necked gown with voluminous skirts that flow out before her, blanketing her in a sea of stars. The gown reminds Andromeda of living in the mountains and gazing up to the sea of stars in the sky. Carina’s beautiful, youthful face is free of mask and it only makes sense that she remains uncovered. She is, after all, the queen.
Ever hovering at Carina’s shoulder is Ajax, his face blank and unreadable, his hand on the hilt of a golden sword. He’s wearing a dress uniform of rich leather dyed teal and maroon, belying his former occupation as the head of the royal guard.
Carina smiles at Andromeda as Daegan delivers her before his queen and offers her hand for Andromeda to kiss. Andromeda obliges and Carina beams as she raises from her seat. Clutching Andromeda’s hand in one of hers and her billowing skirts in the other Carina glides a few steps onto the dance floor and raises their joint hands into the air. “To my daughter and heir, Princess Andromeda!”
The courtiers applaud as Carina shows Andromeda off. She motions for Andromeda to lower her head before her and waves over a servant who is suddenly at Carina’s elbow holding a plush golden pillow atop which sits an intricate gold and sapphire circlet.
Placing the circlet upon Andromeda’s head Carina says, “There. Now your outfit is complete. May you wear the crown well and be as beloved by your future people as I was at your age.”
“Thank you,” Andromeda murmurs as Daegan appears at her side once more.
The ceremonial crowning complete, Carina returns to her throne and plucking a glowing blue drink from a passing servant’s tray she waves her free hand at the courtiers and says, “Resume!”
At her word the musicians sitting off to her left resume playing their low sensuous song and the courtiers disperse back into dancing and gossiping.
Andromeda fades to the right of Carina’s throne, hoping to fade right into the walls and become a wallflower observing the festivities. Dancers twirl and swirl before her eyes, each step perfectly synchronized as the couples lock wrists, the women arching backward, their hair cascading like waterfalls toward the floor and their arms extended in a flowing line behind them and the men lunging forward to support their partners.
As the song drifts to an end a young man approaches Carina and bows deeply before her. He says something to her but Andromeda is too far away to hear his words but Carina turns and smiles in Andromeda’s direction before responding to the man.
The man rises and heads in Andromeda’s direction. Her stomach clenches as she takes in his broad shoulders and shoulder length black hair. Extending a hand as large as a dinner plate he bows before Andromeda. “Your highness, my name is Harcule. I was wondering if I may be permitted the honor of the next dance? I’ve been told I’m a good partner and I’ve never stepped on a woman’s toes.”
Daegan nudges Andromeda sharply in the back, momentarily knocking the wind out of her when she doesn’t immediately respond to the courtier’s request.
Swallowing hard, Andromeda finds her voice and chokes out an acceptable reply, “Well then, I shall have to be the judge of your dancing skills. We’ll see if you’re as good as you say you are.”
His lavender eyes twinkle at Andromeda’s reply as he leads her onto the dance floor. Andromeda only looks back once, expecting to see a smirk on Daegan’s face, but his lips are thinned into a hard line and his eyes are troubled.
“How are you adjusting to your life in the palace?” Harcule asks as he sweeps Andromeda into his arms and leads her into the steps of the dance as the musicians begin a new song.
“Very well,” Andromeda replies vaguely. “Thank you for inquiring.”
“I hear that you were found on the shores of Vacantia,” Harcule continues.
“That I was,” Andromeda confirms, not elaborating further.
“I was born in a small coastal village not far from Vanyia myself,” Harcule confesses as if to draw a connection between them.
Andromeda stares, shocked, “So then you were one of the children taken in the night?”
“You could say that,” Harcule grins sheepishly. “Truly I was too young to remember much before I was brought to the palace and placed with my parents. Perscesia has always been and will always be my home, even if I can return to the surface for brief periods of time.”
“And you don’t wonder about your birth family?” Andromeda asks.
“Not at all,” Harcule shrugs as he twirls Andromeda under his arm. “The parents that raised me are the only family that matters to me. Besides, I have heard too many horror stories about families who live on the Vacantian coast, how they’re so poor they can barely feed themselves and how a third of the children never survive to see their thirteenth rain season.”
“It is a hard life,” Andromeda admits. “I lived in the mountain villages before the man I’ve always known as my father moved my sister and I to the coast.”
“I am sorry for any hardship you endured,” Harcule looks genuinely remorseful and in that moment he reminds Andromeda of someone, yet she cannot fathom who.
Before Andromeda can reply the song draws to an end and Harcule bows briskly before her, “Thank you for the dance, your highness. I look forward to conversing with you further.”
Andromeda wrinkles her nose as she watches him walk away. She senses Daegan beside her before she realizes he’s left his station near the throne and stands hovering at her back.
“Your dance partner is one of the halflings,” Daegan’s voice rumbles in her ear sending a shiver down her spine.
“Is that what you call them?” Andromeda spins around, “Halflings?”
Daegan shrugs, “There is no true name for them. They are neither landborn nor Perscesian, what would you have me call them, Princess?”
“Halfling seems a bit harsh,” Andromeda crosses her arms over her chest.
“It is a harsh world at times, Princess.” Daegan replies and looks away.
An
dromeda feels a prickling on the back of her neck and looks about, seeing more than one courtier glance in her direction then quickly look away and whispering to the person standing next to them. It felt like all they were looking at were the scars on Andromeda’s face. For a moment she’d nearly forgotten them, camouflaged beneath the powder on her face but the covert glances made Andromeda feel bared to them. Her palms sweat and she wipes them on the thin material of the top layer of her gown’s skirt. As Andromeda looks about she sees her sisters Charon and Ceti flirting with several young men, Astraea filling herself on sweet cakes, and Carina and Ajax engrossed in conversation with a weathered looking older man similarly dressed like Daegan. The royal family pays Andromeda no mind but it feels like every other eye in the room is on her and she feels the room pressing in on her.
“I need some air,” Andromeda announces, gliding away from Daegan and the center of the ballroom until she reaches a set of double doors leading outside the palace.
Her sweaty fingers slip on the doorknobs twice before Andromeda manages to pop one door open and slip outside. The door clangs shut behind her and she gathers her skirts and runs down the path as she gulps down as much water into her lungs as she can. Anything to relieve the pressure from all those eyes being on her off her chest.
The path dead ends at another set of double doors on a wing of the palace Andromeda has yet to explore. The room beyond the doors is cloaked in darkness as she slips inside. As if controlled by some sort of magic the sconces on the walls flicker to light as Andromeda steps further into the room.
The room is massive with bland beige walls and a soft, forgiving floor. Swords, mace, and a strange contraption that resembles a harpoon gun hang on one wall, their steel glowing in the light of the sconces. On the opposite wall lay a set of targets and a row of quivers and bows. Andromeda sighs, feeling at home for the first time in days.
❖
Daegan
Monsters & Mist Page 20