“There is plenty of time for us before we need to face it,” Surel reminded with a raised eyebrow.
“For me,” Gandrett admitted, “there might not be that much time after all.
The water mage sighed and padded across the room to take Gandrett’s sword from her hands. Then, she enclosed the still dirty fingers in her own. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes.”
And so, Gandrett told Surel about the conversation she’d had with Nehelon, the offer to escape Everrun a year earlier—and step into the service of the man who was responsible for her ending up here at all.
With enough patience to make Gandrett wonder if the girl had fallen asleep beside her, Surel listened, her golden-tan face serious.
Gandrett didn’t need to add that she hadn’t agreed to anything, and Surel’s reaction was similar to her own. Only Surel didn’t hold back her thoughts.
She cursed violently, words that would have the Meister punishing her for blasphemy, and Gandrett, for the first time this day, felt a real smile creeping on her face. She leaned her head against Surel’s and sighed.
“What will you do without me when you’re gone?” she asked and nudged Gandrett’s side.
Gandrett had to agree. Who would calm her when she was internally storming? Who would make her smile? Who would she confide in—if Surel and Kaleb were no longer available?
Chapter Four
The first light of dawn and a rumbling stomach had Nehelon sitting upright in his bed—a bed. How many days since he had slept in a bed? The softness of it was almost wrong in its feel after a long journey on horseback and sleeping under the stars.
There were no servants in Everrun, so he rolled out of the linens and folded them before he headed for the bathing room and got dressed. The night before, he had spent an hour in the bathtub, scrubbing off the dirt of his journey, and had ended up laying down in bed without dinner. A decision he now regretted.
His morning routine was simple: the same exercise every day to keep his body toned and breakfast after so he would function for the day. Today, the routine had to wait. He tied his leathers on the side, flung the Brenheran coat of arms into the basin to wash later, then picked up his sword from beside the pillow where he had stowed it the night before. On his way out, he glanced at the sky—the storm and rain had made way for a bright, orange sunrise—then snuck down the one flight of stairs and made his way to the back door, Unlike when exiting at the residential building’s front, this way no one would notice him slipping away.
The priory was just waking up when he made his way past the back of the citadel and through the lines of side buildings where Gandrett had locked him in a cell. The eastern gate lay just behind those, but he didn’t risk sneaking around them, instead hoisting himself up at a window to climb up the second floor with nothing but his fingers holding onto the small gaps between the stones. Years. It had been years since he had done that here in Everrun, but his hands seemed to remember as if it were yesterday.
It didn’t cost him much effort to reach the roof and the tiles, shabby as they were, held fast as he set one cautious foot after the other, ducking over the rooftops and toward the wall. The biting wind hit his face at almost the exact moment he reached his goal. Far enough from the eastern gate, Nehelon leaped over the gap between the last house and the wall and flung himself over so he hung from the top of the wall, just out of sight of the guard towers overseeing the ghost city at his feet. The drop to the ground let his blood heat. It was—as always—a combination of skill and luck that he didn’t break any bones and that he wasn’t discovered before he could make it to the safety of the withered buildings beyond the wall. A town once—a city with the priory adjacent in the west. He could almost hear the merchants in the ruins of the market he sought cover in, could almost smell the fruit and vegetables that had once been sold here. But even if it broke his heart to see this town—his town—in ruins, he didn’t let it slow him down.
On and on he moved, through the blacksmith quarter, toward the north-eastern end, the rising sun mercifully casting shadows over him as he made progress, keeping him hidden from the guards on the wall.
There, just before the last scattered ruins, he had left his two horses and his pack. He had made it to this shelter three nights ago and decided to stay in the ghost city of Everrun before he would seek out the Meister and find Gandrett. He wanted to take his time, learn about what had changed around the priory, how many people entered or left the wall these days—not many, he’d notice—before he came to claim what the Meister had promised: his best fighter to assist in the mission that lay ahead of him. A reliable fighter, bound to a code of silence just like him, and with no connection to the outside world. Someone uncorrupted.
The thought hurt as he became fully aware that bringing Gandrett back to Sives, bringing her into Lord Tyrem’s court would corrupt her in no time, and if he didn’t manage to secure her trust and her loyalty by then, she might as well become a liability. He shuddered.
Stomping hooves greeted him as he entered the centuries abandoned stables, and his black mare gave a grumpy huff as he came to her empty-handed.
“If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t eaten since I headed out yesterday, either.”
The horse gave him a disdainful look then gnawed on the mane of the slightly smaller bay gelding, who seemed marginally happier to see Nehelon and whinnied softly as if voicing a question.
“Yes,” he nodded at the horses, “I found her.”
The mare paused the social fur-gnawing to give him a warning look.
“And, yes, we can stay in proper accommodations for a couple of days.”
The mare blinked her depthless eyes before she shook her head, then her neck, followed by her whole body like a wet dog, making the gelding buck.
With quick fingers, Nehelon gathered his pack. Then, he rubbed the horses down with a fist-full of leftover hay before he threw on bridle and saddle and led them out the half- caved-in building. Thank Vala, what was left of the roof had provided enough shelter that neither horses nor belongings had gotten wet during the storm.
The sun had climbed the horizon in the east where far beyond the desert, the ocean seamed the continent when Nehelon hoisted himself into the saddle.
“Not far,” he announced and kicked the mare’s flank who, with the gelding in tow, fell into a steady trot.
Gandrett couldn’t remember when she had fallen asleep.
After what had felt like hours of tossing, Surel had tiptoed across the room and laid down beside her, putting one arm around Gandrett’s shoulders. It had always been like that. Since they had both been brought to the priory, they had watched out for each other. They had comforted each other. Even if emotions had no place in their daily training or during their chores, if it hadn’t been for Surel, Gandrett didn’t know if she would still be sane. She was the bubbly well where Gandrett was the fierce storm. And Kaleb—
Kaleb was the brother she had left behind in Alencourt when Lord Tyrem Brenheran’s men had come to tear her from her home. When she looked at Kaleb, she saw her brother’s gray eyes, his blond, curly hair, his freckles. Andrew probably didn’t even remember he had a sister. He had been too young, only four short years.
Beside her, Surel stirred then yawned and rolled to her side.
“You look like the dead.” She raised an eyebrow, her black eyes blinking against the morning sun.
Gandrett climbed out of bed with a frown. “I feel like the dead.” She didn’t stop at the small mirror in the corner next to the plain, wooden desk but scooped up two fresh sets of clothes from the chair by the door where Nahir dropped them every night.
Surel had made it to an upright position, her eyebrow still arched toward her hairline as she observed. “Do you want to talk about it today?”
She hadn’t last night. She hadn’t wanted to spill every thought, her anger, everything. And even though she had shared about the offer Nehelon had presented, her mind was still in too much tur
moil to verbalize her thoughts. “Thanks for the offer.” She tossed Surel a set of clothes and forced a smile. “But the only thing that will help is Nahir’s special recipe.”
Surel bobbed her head. When they had arrived that spring ten years ago, Nahir had heard them weep through the night, and in the morning, she had been waiting at their door with a tray of cookies. Plain raisin and oatmeal cookies. And they had tasted as if Vala herself had made them.
Gandrett headed for the bathing rooms and freshened up, changing into the practical linen pants and tunic before she combed through her waist-length hair and braided it back. When she returned to the bedroom, Surel was dressed and ready, her raven hair flowing freely down to her shoulders. Unlike the fighters’ brown belt, she was wearing a pale blue one of the Vala-blessed, symbolizing water.
Gandrett strapped her sword to her hip and stepped into her boots.
As they headed downstairs, she found the house was already buzzing with life, most of the acolytes swarming to the dining hall on the ground floor.
Kaleb waved them over to their usual table in the corner where the three of them were unbothered by the world, his eyes expectant, and straightened a little. But while Surel joined them at the table, Gandrett screened the room for the messy black-gray hair of the housekeeper and, when she didn’t find her, trudged to the kitchens across the hall where Nahir hid her secret stash of cookies.
“It is either that time of the month, or the talk with that visitor didn’t go well.”
Gandrett stopped her hand midair, reaching for the cookies, and turned around to find Nahir leaning at the stove, apron white with flour in places, a cup of tea in her hand, and gave her a knowing look. “Which one is it?”
The housekeeper pushed away from the stove and set down the cup before she brushed off her hands in the rag on her shoulder, immediately hurrying to the cupboard at the other end of the sun-lit room.
“I moved them,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder as she pulled a small, wooden footstool toward her with her toes then stepped onto it, too short to reach the top shelf without the extra inches. “Kids are starting to sneak in here during the night and emptying the box.” She produced a round, wooden container from the cupboard and shook it, which resulted in a soft rattle as if to prove a point.
She spoke in her heavy accent. The accent of the Nasha nomads, a people that had been living and striving in these lands long before Calma had turned into a desert. These days, the few Nasha left had retreated to the south to live at the feet of the mountains.
“With the new kids coming in in a couple of days, I’ll need to triple my production, or I won’t be able to do a thing for them when they’re homesick.” Nahir’s chubby cheeks raised as she smiled broadly, the gesture filling Gandrett’s stomach with mixed feelings.
The new ones… The novices. Each year, on Vala’s Day—the Fest of Blossoms as they called it in the north—when day and night were equally long, the four new ones were brought in. And every year, the crying and whimpering filled the residential building for days, if not weeks. There was nothing much anyone could do… other than to help Nahir hand out cookies and soothing words.
Gandrett did it every year since that first anniversary of her consecration. It didn’t change the fact that another four kids were torn from their homes and committed to a lifetime of service, but it helped her deal with the melancholy that hit every year as if someone set a timer for it.
Nahir reached into the box and handed her a cookie. “Don’t tell the others where I’m hiding them,” she whispered and pulled out two more cookies and put them on a small plate, which she placed on the counter, “For later,” before she stowed the box back on the shelf.
The comforting taste of sweetness and familiarity filled Gandrett’s mouth, wiping away the heavier thoughts—for now.
“The visitor,” she finally said, earning a knowing look from Nahir.
“I knew the second you marched him past the guards that he was trouble.”
Gandrett cocked her head, wondering if there was something she hadn’t noticed. But again, the elderly woman nodded and gave her that look.
“If you’d been wandering the lands for as long as I have—if you’d seen what the world is like outside those walls,” she nodded toward the window beside the shelf that gave a clear view of the western gate and the cobbled roads that led past the citadel to where she had locked Nehelon up, “you’d know that there is more to him than just that pretty face.”
Gandrett felt her brows rise.
“And I am not necessarily speaking about the good kind of more.” Nahir pushed the plate of cookies toward Gandrett, who hadn’t noticed she had finished the palm-sized one she’d held in her hand a moment earlier. “That man has secrets.” She gave Gandrett a conspiring glance.
The next cookie was gone in two bites.
Gandrett was aware that it was one thing to tell Surel about the Meister’s intentions to lend her to Nehelon, but to tell Nahir… Even if she loved the woman like a mother—because of the lack of the latter. Nahir was the only person living and working in Everrun not because she’d been sacrificed, but because she chose to. She had spent her childhood with the nomads at the border to Phornes, and at some point—she had never shared the full story, but Gandrett suspected a man had something to do with it—she had shown up at the order’s doorstep, and the Meister had taken her in, given her this job, this new life. For all that is worth, the Meister had a humane side buried deep down somewhere. She had seen it with Nahir, and she had seen it with Nehelon the night before.
“The Meister seems to trust him,” was all that Gandrett said.
And the shrug she earned from Nahir was enough to tell her she didn’t.
The blond-curled boy wasn’t at the gate this time, but the second one was and had, together with a broad-built acolyte, taken up their positions in the narrow towers.
The sight, familiar as it was, made him sick. Children. Even if they were almost of age by human standards, by his own standards, they were little more than fledglings. Even if they had trained for ten years within these walls, none of them had seen a battlefield. None of them had killed or seen their loved ones being slaughtered. Nehelon’s face hardened as if it could change the memories in his head.
“Nehelon, guest of the Meister.” He inclined his head an inch, unpacking his manners for a moment.
While the new guard returned his nod and waved him forward, the other one scowled. He remembered that yesterday he had behaved like scum—only to challenge Gandrett, to see how she handled things. But the guard didn’t know that.
“So I’ve heard,” the boy said, voice more controlled than his face, and pulled the mechanism to open the gate.
A gust of wind followed Nehelon and the horses into the priory where everyone had taken up their chores once more. While some acolytes were sawing grains, water mages were manipulating the rainwater in the soil to pool around the seedlings. It brought back memories of his years in Everrun, in this very priory. A time when the Meister had just started his own journey in the Order of Vala.
Nehelon didn’t bother climbing off the horse as he steered the mare toward the stables on the right, followed by the second horse, nose close by his thigh. No one asked why he was here, or why he had brought two horses, as he halted and slid off his mare then led both animals inside. Instead, two acolytes were ready to take the reins, leading each mount into a shack with stacks of hay and buckets of water. The Meister had probably instructed them. Nehelon smiled.
He hadn’t had to sneak out this morning. The guards would have let him pass to get his things and his horses, but it was so much more fun to sneak out like the old days. He caught one of the acolytes returning his smile and barked something at him, sending the boy running off with his mare’s bridle.
Gandrett played with the pommel of her sword as she walked up to Nehelon’s door. The tenth hour, sharp, the message had said, and knowing how fast word got around here at the priory, she m
ade sure she arrived a good time earlier just so the Meister wouldn’t have a reason to punish her.
She had long been done with her oatmeal cookies when one of the younger acolytes came running with a piece of paper with the Meister’s zig-zaggy handwriting speaking of urgency. So Gandrett had dropped her book—prayers to Vala—and anxious to be on her way, she had almost run over Kaleb, who had come to check on her after she had ditched him at breakfast. A few awkward words had been the result, and his cheeks had burned as she promised to sit with him at dinner that night. Empty words, she knew, for if Nehelon had it his way, she might no longer be here for dinner. A shudder ran over her back as she approached the carved door on the first floor, footsteps muffled by the thick rug that was unique to this level of the building.
She hadn’t even lifted a hand to knock when Nehelon’s voice sounded through the wood, beckoning her to enter, the cold tone of it making her hair stand.
What was the worst thing that could happen? She straightened her back and smoothed her tunic. Nothing—nothing could happen. At least nothing worse than what had already happened. The Meister had lent her to the man with that taunting gaze.
She took a steadying breath and brushed back a loose strand of hair then opened the door with more force than necessary, only to stop dead on the threshold—
There stood the man who had almost defeated her, the man who had glanced at her with glacial eyes, who had wielded his sword as if it was the only thing he’d ever done in his life, and—
And he spoke to a bird. Crouching on the floor, one hand resting on the windowsill, and perched on one finger sat a fat, gray bird, tweeting cheerily.
Gandrett was about to turn on her heels and leave when Nehelon, his face hidden by a curtain of dark hair, whispered something at the bird then flicked his hand and watched the creature take flight.
Shattered Kingdom Page 4