Shattered Kingdom

by Angelina J. Steffort

  Nehelon’s fists tightened at his sides. This was what he had wanted. What he had promised Lord Tyrem. That he would find a way to bring back Joshua. And Gandrett was that way.

  And what a stupid fool he was. He couldn’t have just made sure the wolf didn’t kill her; he needed to let those strange sensations take over. Who was she but a mortal—?

  He rested his head against the tree trunk, closed his eyes, and dismissed the bird with a wave of his hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When Addie made it to the top of the tower this time, the sun was painting the courtyard in fiery orange. She had taken the water to Lady Linniue and made sure the lady had all she needed before she left to her sanctuary high up in the quiet north tower. Just a couple of minutes of peace and quiet.

  She blinked into the sunset from the highest window of the stairwell until the clattering of hooves disturbed her moment of silent rest.

  The shouts of men carried up, bouncing off the rugged stone walls, words incomprehensible but urgency obvious. Addie shielded her eyes against the sun and leaned closer to the window, trying to spy what was going on.

  Servants were emerging from the castle, running to meet the hunting party halfway into the yard.

  “Careful,” someone barked.

  Not someone. He. The young lord on his chestnut horse, his voice like a thread of silver.

  Addie spotted him at the center of the party, right next to Lord Hamyn, who cleared his path out of the group, and on the other side, a female shape on a bay horse, half-collapsing from the saddle as one of the servants helped her down.

  “Bring her to the west tower,” the young lord snarled at the man who gently lifted the woman. “And get a healer.”

  Addie watched the cluster of business disperse as he jumped off his horse, the image of spring, and handed the reins of his horse to one of the stable boys now buzzing between the riders.

  The young lord was already following the injured woman inside when he called over his shoulder. “Make sure to get the pelt of that beast in one piece.”

  Addie’s gaze followed the direction he was speaking and found, perched on a wagon at the back of the party that had hardly made it inside the gates, the lifeless shape of a massive gray wolf.

  So they had been successful hunting.

  Addie turned back to watch the young lord dash inside, the doors of the west tower bouncing closed behind him.

  There was a lot of whispering when Gandrett regained consciousness. Several voices, some upset, some confused, some concerned judging by the sound of it.

  “Ahh, there you are,” a wheezy, female voice greeted before she could open her eyes.

  The whispering went silent.

  “She’s awake,” the voice spoke to whoever had been conversing beside her.

  “She doesn’t look awake.” That voice, Gandrett knew. It was the same that had been speaking to her all the way back to Eedwood. And she could hardly remember a word other than the reassuring phrases he had thrown in between cocky comments. The voice of the man who had ridden beside her until she had blacked out.

  Hands touched her head in professional assessment. “She is lucky to be alive,” the wheezy voice stated and pushed something cold against the throbbing wound on the side of Gandrett’s head.

  Gandrett flinched, taking in her surroundings with adjusting eyes. Someone must have carried her to a bedchamber while she was unconscious she concluded from the deep blue curtains that folded around a four-poster bed at the other end of the room. Fading sunlight that filtered in through the narrow windows made the gold embroidery on the fabric lines of pale flame.

  “See?” the woman said. “I told you she is awake.”

  Gandrett grimaced and opened her eyes. Heavy. Her eyelids were so heavy.

  Perched atop the crimson armrest of a sofa at Gandrett’s feet, Armand Denderlain was grinning in welcome. “I can’t make up my mind whether I like you better asleep or awake,” he said, grin broadening.

  Gandrett frowned. It slipped onto her features before she could help it.

  To her surprise, Armand leaned forward, one hand braced on the backrest of the sofa and said, “Awake.” He nodded to himself. “I think I like you better awake.”

  Gandrett suppressed the urge to kick his face with her foot.

  Behind him, a woman, maybe in her forties, rolled her eyes as if asking, Will he ever stop talking?

  “I don’t care if awake or asleep, as long as I get you out of here.” The woman said grumpily and grabbed the young lord by the collar of his jacket. “My patient needs rest.”

  Gandrett coughed at the sight of no steel shooting up at the woman from Armand’s side. Instead, he laughed. Actually, he authentically gave a heartfelt laugh that brightened his hazel eyes into an amber tint.

  Behind her, someone cleared his throat. “He still acts like a four-year-old, doesn’t he?”

  Gandrett glanced up and found the middle-aged man from the forest behind her, lips pursed, not at Armand but at the woman who shook her head, eyes speaking that he didn’t know the half of it.

  “Ignore them.” Armand shrugged off the woman’s grasp and settled down on the edge of the sofa close to Gandrett’s knees. The smile was still there.

  A smile that reminded Gandrett of her little brother’s carefree laugh.

  Was this the man who Nehelon had called Hamyn Denderlain’s right hand? A man who commanded an army? Who was involved in the abduction of Joshua Brenheran?

  Could evil laugh like that? It was the only question she should be asking herself.

  “How are you feeling, dear?” The woman gave up on Armand and stepped past him, sitting by Gandrett’s hip, wiping her hands in her white apron in a subconscious motion before she reached for Gandrett’s hand and searched her pulse.

  Gandrett touched her head with her other hand and found dirt in her hair. At the priory, she had been used to it, hadn’t cared. Here, it was vital that she impressed. Nehelon, Mckenzie, Brax, and of course Lord and Lady Brenheran had made that clear.

  The woman crinkled her freckled nose as she spotted Gandrett combing it out with her fingers, her chocolate-brown curls dancing forward as she whispered, “The only thing that can help with this is a bath.” She straightened again, her greenish eyes still twinkling. Then she glanced up at the man behind Gandrett—“Go fill the tub.”—who bustled away at her words, murmuring something, and after a door was opened, the sound of running water filled the air.

  “Clean her up, Deelah,” Armand said, not an order but a request. “I’d like to take her to the dance tonight.”

  Gandrett cringed and silently cursed for not yet having mastered her reactions. She knew that a dance would be coming. Lady Brenheran had told her. And suggested Gandrett hurt her ankle so she had an excuse when she was asked to dance.

  Now she had a thorough headache to top the dull pain in her back and legs.

  Armand read Gandrett for a moment. “That is, if you wish, milady.” He raised one eyebrow in expectation of her response.

  No, or, gods no, was what she wanted to say. What she said instead was, “It would be my honor, Lord Armand.”

  Armand stiffened on the armrest. “I didn’t tell you my name.” His eyes tightened the slightest bit.

  “Your hunting companion called you that in the forest,” Gandrett hastily explained. She didn’t fail to notice the heat rising in her cheeks.

  From embarrassment. What Armand made of it seemed to be something very different.

  For he winked at her and got to his feet. “I’ll have someone bring you a dress.” With those words, he sauntered to the black, wooden door.

  Deelah waited for the door to shut behind him before she sighed. “Let’s get to work, then.”

  Gandrett swallowed the groan that threatened to escape her as she made it to her feet. A dance. That was good. Good. For some reason, she wasn’t able to convince herself. Even if a dance would present her with the chance to get an overview of all the faces a
t court. Eventually, she’d need a plan to find Joshua.

  So, first the trust and protection of Armand Denderlain. Everything else had to wait.

  With Deelah’s help, she got to her feet.

  “You’ll be fine in no time,” Deelah reassured her as the man met them at the threshold of the bathroom before he hurried out the door with a nod at them.

  Gandrett had no other choice but to believe the woman, so she let her guide her to the steaming tub and sit her down on a plain, wooden chair beside it.

  “Are you a healer?” Gandrett asked as the woman reached into her apron to extract a small bottle. She poured the contents into a bowl of hot water that sat on the shelf behind her. Then, she dipped a piece of fresh cloth into it and cleaned the wound on Gandrett’s head with professional lightness.

  The woman shook her head. “Just so long in this court that Armand comes to me with anything.” She smiled. “And he used to have injuries just like yours all the time—” She stopped as if she had said something she wasn’t supposed to. “The young lord asked me to clean you up—so here I am.”

  The pain in Gandrett’s head subsided as the woman worked away.

  “Can I go in this dress?” Gandrett asked, more to make conversation. Anything to learn more about Armand.

  “Silly girl,” the woman pursed her lips. “We’ll find you something worthy of being the young lord’s escort for the night.”

  Something in the woman’s eyes told her this wasn’t the first time she’d done this—patch up a girl and dress her.

  “Now, get out of that dress and into the tub.” An order. “You don’t only look like you slept on the forest ground; you also smell like it.”

  Gandrett felt her cheeks turn red again. She hadn’t had a chance to really clean up since the quick wash up in the stream, and she had ridden and run and sweated in this dress.

  She was about to reach to her waist to take off that wide band of gold then yielded, remembering that she was wearing blades in her bodice and beneath her skirts. Privacy. She needed privacy to hide the weapons now and put them under the new dress later.

  “Before I bathe, I need to—” She glanced around, stopping at the small adjacent chamber that stood open. Perfect.

  “Relieve yourself?” Deelah asked and dumped the cloth in the bowl. “By all means. Go ahead. I’ll be waiting in your room. Call me when you’re in the bathtub.”

  “My room?” Gandrett wondered if she had heard correctly, but Deelah just shrugged.

  “Today, it’s yours, tomorrow—who knows?” And with a thoughtful look on her face, she left the bathing chamber.

  Addie Blackwood rubbed her fingers dry on a rag before she picked up Lady Linniue’s satin robe. She should be wearing gloves when she touched it. The lady would not be pleased if she found stains or smudges of dirt on it. That’s why Addie had scrubbed her hands with soap for minutes before she came anywhere near it.

  “I hear my nephew has brought home another trophy,” Lady Linniue conversed with a breezy voice. “Hamyn visited earlier, and I tell you he wasn’t speaking about the wolf.”

  The other woman laughed. Addie had seen her in Lady Linniue’s chambers before. Isylte Aphapia of Ilaton. A trusted friend of Lady Linniue’s and almost as much of a gossip.

  Addie kept her head down as she smoothed out the gown and prepared it for wearing, unlacing the sides so Lady Linniue could fit it over her head.

  “They say he had to hit her over the head to get her here,” Isylte murmured and laughed.

  “A merchant’s daughter from the south of Sives,” Linniue wondered aloud. “Whatever made her go on that hunting trip, the gods were too busy to keep her out of Armand’s path.”

  Addie held her breath at the mention of the young lord’s name. She had seen him run after the unconscious girl. But…

  “I don’t know what has been going on with my nephew, but ever since Aphra’s death—”

  Addie remembered the months of darkness that had followed the unexpected passing of Lord Hamyn’s wife—of Armand’s mother. The weight of ruling had fallen on the young lord’s shoulders even if his father was still called Lord of Eedwood. Hamyn wasn’t a born Denderlain. Aphra had carried the bloodline, and now that she was dead, her only son had taken on her tasks.

  A shadow crossed Lady Linniue’s face as she stared out the window into the falling night outside. “My sister was the only thing that could have saved this court.” Her words were flat—almost as if she wasn’t noticing she spoke them.

  She turned, teacup in hand, all of a sudden a smile back on her face. “The dress, Addie,” she said across the room to where Addie was still, unnecessarily, smoothing out the skirts of the gown.

  With an efficient movement, Addie was on her feet, picking up the folds of satin in the process, and rushed to the lady’s side, who had set down her teacup and was now holding out her arms, allowing Addie to slip off her bathing robe.

  Isylte Aphapia watched her with mild interest as she stripped the robe off the lady until she was only in her underthings, then flitted the Denderlain-blue satin over the lady’s head, making sure it didn’t catch on the pearl-decorated pins in the lady’s hair.

  “Gorgeous,” Isylte complimented Lady Linniue. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

  Linniue turned on the spot, hardly giving Addie a moment to tie the laces along the sides of the waist, then clicked her tongue. “The shoes.”

  Addie knotted the last lace in a hurry then dove for the blue satin slippers that sat by the fireplace.

  “I suppose we’ll find out if this one lasts longer than the last one,” Linniue dryly said and gave Isylte a knowing look.

  “If he even brings her to the dance tonight,” Isylte added.

  Addie knew those talks. It seemed to be the young lord’s hobby to collect pretty women somewhere in the streets of Eedwood—also in the forest, as she’d learned today—and bring them back to the castle for a while. His way of distracting himself from the darkness that she still sometimes spotted in the young lord’s eyes on the rare occasions when he rushed by in the hallways. The rare moments her heart gave a short sting of despair.

  “Let’s hope this one doesn’t talk as much,” Isylte prompted.

  Linniue just picked up a necklace of silver and pearl which she draped around her throat before she hooked her arm in her friend’s—“Let’s see.”—leaving Addie behind to clean up and prepare the bedchamber for the early hours of the morning when Lady Linniue would return, drunk with the thrill of the night, and Addie would have to climb back into the hidden well to refill the bucket.

  No matter where Gandrett looked, there wasn’t a spot in the bodice of this gown where she could place that knife. She had discretely stored the dagger at her thigh when Deelah had left her in her chambers after draping her into a low-cut, midnight-blue gown made of thin velvet for the bodice and chiffon for the skirts, which were a lighter shade of blue and glittered like stars with little crystals that had been sewn onto the delicate fabric.

  The thought of laying the knife into the thin wrapping around her breasts without any protection from the sharp blade made her hair stand for more than one reason. It was his blade—Nehelon’s. While the thought of carrying his weapon made her feel that she was not as alone as she truly was in this court, the idea of his blade on her naked skin came with the thought of his hand there as well. Gandrett eyed herself in the mirror and made a face.

  So Gandrett gave up, discarding the blade in her pillowcase, shoved the string-like strap back up her shoulder, and paced the room, eyes scanning walls and windows for anything that may be useful should she need to flee.

  She had glanced out the windows earlier, finding herself to be at least two floors up in the castle with the Eedpenesor flowing by the foot of the walls like a raging snake. There was no way out of here.

  She went through the floorplans and maps in her mind, trying to remember every line on the scroll that had sat between her and Mckenzie, first, and then Nehelon. For s
ome reason, the features of his face dug their way to her consciousness first.

  Damn Fae male. Gandrett flung herself on the sofa and pouted at no one until a knock at the door had her shooting upright.

  She didn’t make it to the door before it sprang open, and Armand Denderlain’s elegant shape sauntered in, nothing less graceful than a desert lion, his face bright with anticipation.

  “I am at a loss for words.” He placed his hand on his chest as if she’d just fired an arrow at him and blinked. Once. Twice.

  Gandrett wanted to scream at him to get the hell out but smoothened the thought—as entertaining as it would be to kick his ass—and said, “Milord is too kind.”

  His smile widened.

  Perfect. She thanked Mckenzie for telling her what to say, when to smile, how to act. Her natural instincts would have had her ripping open her skirts and challenging him to a duel to know if he was worthy of even one of her smiles.

  Not if she believed the hints Deelah had thrown her in the bathing chamber.

  He walked right up to her, close enough to touch her, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace with a crystal the size of an eyeball.

  The first thought that came to Gandrett’s mind was that if she had this, she wouldn’t need a knife at all. One strike in the face with a jewel that size would take out even Nehelon.

  Argh. Nehelon. There again was the Fae male, prominent right where her focus should be on the enemy before her—the smiling enemy. With lovely, hazel eyes.

  Gandrett sighed through her nose. The only relief she allowed herself.

  “If you don’t like it,” Armand said with a raised eyebrow, “I can run back to the family trove and fetch you something different.”

  Gandrett surveilled him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was serious—she’d have loved to have sent him running just to get the chance to give him a vulgar gesture as he turned his back.