Shattered Kingdom

by Angelina J. Steffort

  Riho clicked his beak with impatience.

  “Is she all right?” he asked unnecessarily. The absence of the small scroll of parchment was indicator enough that Gandrett had gotten his message.

  Riho stalked up on Nehelon’s shoulder until his beak was close to his ear and started whispering.

  He loosed a breath. “Are you certain that’s what she said?” he asked the bird. “Beneath the castle?”

  Riho cawed as if offended Nehelon would even consider he could have misheard.

  If what the bird said was right, that there were frozen caverns under the castle, then there was more to worry about than simply getting Joshua back. He cursed violently and creatively then pulled a piece of parchment from his pack and a pen from his breast pocket and started writing.

  Don’t go investigating in those tunnels again. Find Joshua and escape.

  He didn’t add the words pressing on his heart, that he would rather she stayed away from Armand, too. With the practice and control of centuries, it was easy to dismiss them. Almost like the dormancy the rest of his kind had fallen into.

  He tied the message to Riho’s leg and watched the bird take off, head resting against the tree trunk behind him.

  It had been a long time since he had last heard of caverns like that—icy cold despite spring weather. The last time had been when the dragons of Lands End had befallen Neredyn. He shuddered. Those days lay in the past—centuries in the past. And what he remembered of the attacks wasn’t pretty. Sacked cities, fields of dead soldiers who never even got a chance to lift their sword before the Dreads of the Skies rained flames upon them. It was still a miracle that they had been defeated.

  Lands End was nothing more than a myth by now. A small settlement by the Northern Mountains that hadn’t been repopulated after the dragons had died out. If Gandrett had encountered frozen tunnels, it could mean only one thing: someone was worshipping the god of dragons, attempting to summon the Dreads of the Skies

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Addie sat in the servants’ dormitory, knees pulled to her chin, and prayed that Vala would forgive her. Joshua Brenheran had sought her help—even if their encounter had been mere coincidence—and she had left him there in the hallway with little more than a pointer toward the gates. What had she done?

  He had pleaded with her, had been on his knees. And she had chosen her own skin over his escape. Her own peasant skin.

  Now, two days later, she hadn’t seen any sign of him—neither in the hallways nor in Lady Linniue’s chambers.

  She had prayed to Vala in the prison in the north, and the goddess hadn’t given a hint she cared—until that day Lady Linniue had marched into her cell, by the icy plains of the Northern Mountains, and brought her to Eedwood castle. And not one minute late. She might have frozen to death up there.

  So now she had chosen the lady over Joshua Brenheran. No matter his pretty face. She had heard the rumors that Tyrem Brenheran was seeking to reign over all of Sives, that Ackwood wasn’t enough any longer. And that his reign may be one of terror. At least that was what Isylte Aphapia of Ilaton said whenever she brought news from Ackwood. The lady seemed to travel a lot, given that her homeland was south of the mysterious and sleeping forests of Ulfray.

  It didn’t make her feel less guilty. She hadn’t asked what it was he was scared would happen again. All she had done was calculate what Lady Linniue would do to her if she helped a Denderlain prisoner escape. But her conscience had kept her from informing the lady that her late-night visitor had tried to make a run for it.

  Maybe he had even made it… But in that case, she would have probably heard about it by now.

  With a grunt, Addie curled up on her side and blocked out her thoughts as best she could—the way she had learned to do during the freezing nights at the prison by Lands End.

  Armand had made himself scarce over the past couple of days, and Gandrett had taken that as a sign that she could take the liberty to explore more than the obvious areas where her snooping didn’t seem suspicious. There was nothing worth looking for in those parts of the castle anyway.

  So Gandrett had decided to take a different approach and head down the corridor where Addie had brought her and see what the servants knew.

  The guards at Armand’s door smiled widely as she strolled past, playing with a lock of her hair and fluttering her eyelids at them. She had perfected that move over time, and it seemed it secured their lack of questions about where she was going or where she was coming from.

  Oddly much freedom for a stranger in Denderlain court, but then, here she was nothing more than a merchant’s daughter who liked to be called milady. Here she wasn’t Vala’s Blade. No one feared her for her fighting skills or her cunning. She had done her best to keep her head down except for those few times when she had run into Lord Hamyn, who always snarled at her, asking her if she didn’t have some bedchamber she needed to attend to.

  And she kept nodding every time he asked, making his eyes gleam with fury. She never failed to curtsey, to use the politest version of her fake smile—anything to help in the endeavor to keep Armand entertained. Even if it was in a very different way from what the rest of the court thought.

  Gandrett went over the maps in her mind before she turned into the servants’ corridor. She checked back over her shoulder three times, making sure she had taken the right path even though her training wouldn’t betray her like that.

  It was Nehelon’s last message that had cautioned her to double-check every single door she stepped through, just to make sure it wouldn’t disappear the second it closed behind her.

  Through Riho, she had been able to inform Nehelon about the frozen tunnels beneath the castle, the whispering shadow, and that she was almost certain Armand wasn’t going to kick her out after all—not after that first night. Secretly, she wondered if Nehelon would spend even half a thought on what may or may not have happened during that night. She also found herself contemplating that kiss that may or may not have happened in the forest and kept shoving the thought aside when her lips started tingling.

  Busy chattering greeted her as she approached the kitchen. Servants in different uniforms darted in and out, carrying foods and ingredients in one or the other direction. No one heeded her a look until she passed by the storage room which led her even further than where Addie had led her.

  “Need anything, Lady?” A short man with a heavy southern accent stopped on his path to the kitchen, a basket of eggs in his hands.

  Gandrett seized the opportunity. With the same, polite smile she wore on all of her strolls through the castle, she laid one hand on her stomach and said, “What do I need to do to get some of that fresh bread I smelled on my way down here?”

  The man chuckled. “That would be Poul’s bothenia crust.” He leaned a bit closer, apparently entirely at ease with the friendly guest strolling through the servant area. “He makes that for us only.” His free hand waved at the buzz of people that were filing in and out of the kitchen.

  Bothenia bread. Gandrett’s stomach grumbled for real. She hadn’t eaten bothenia bread since her childhood.

  “It smells lovely,” she grinned. A real grin. “Do you think Poul would make an exception for me?”

  The man beckoned her to follow him, so she did, returning to the kitchen where she’d been warmed by its stove after the intermezzo in the frozen tunnels. She fashioned an impressed look at the sight. Everyone was going about their business, cutting vegetables, washing and slicing fruit, and in the corner by the stove, a man with little gray hair and a bemused smile was talking to the dough he was kneading on a wooden board. Steam rose from the pots on the stove beside him, spreading the smell of something sweet and spicy.

  The man beside her called, “Hey, Poul.”

  Poul looked up, his hands remaining invested in the dough.

  “I have someone who wants to try your secret bread.”

  Poul laughed at the sight of Gandrett’s fine dress, the golden belt around he
r waist. “You can try, milady, but you might need to ditch that if the taste is to your liking.”

  Such bold words. Poul must feel at ease in this castle or he wouldn’t speak to a stranger like that. Especially when her clothes clearly identified her as one of the inhabitants of the fine rooms in the higher floors.

  Gandrett didn’t mind. Only wondered.

  Addie hadn’t seemed that content. She’d even had a hard time looking Gandrett in the eye. Also, those servants were dressed way better than Addie’s rags. Instinctively, she scanned the room, hoping to spot the girl and be able to ask some indiscrete questions. They already shared one secret, so maybe the servant girl was the only person she could truly trust in this court. Even if Armand had opened up to her about his frustration with his father, his suspicions. That didn’t make him an ally. He was still top on the suspect list of keeping the Brenheran heir in the dungeons of Eedwood castle—

  “I warn you,” the man with the basket of eggs said as Poul abandoned his kneading, strolled over, and picked up something small and round which’s crusty surface showed every imaginable shade of light brown. Gandrett’s mouth watered. “It’s addictive.”

  Gandrett didn’t hesitate as she took the bothenia crust from Poul’s floury hand. She only took the time to murmur a quick thank you, hypnotized by the smell of a happier childhood.

  Poul chuckled as she groaned at the taste. “Don’t get anything this tasty at your fancy dining table, do you?”

  Gandrett wanted to strongly agree but held back when her gaze fell on the embroidered hems of her sleeves. No, she wasn’t one of them even if she sure felt like it. At the priory, she was nothing more than a servant of Vala. Standing in this kitchen reminded her painfully of how much she missed Nahir’s helpful advice. What would she say if she knew Gandrett was flirting and batting her eyelids at nobles to win them over?

  “What are you doing down here?” It was Deelah’s voice that brought her back to the present. The middle-aged woman cocked her head, brown curls sliding over her shoulders in disarray. “Does he know you’re down here?”

  Poul grinned at Deelah’s frown. “Don’t worry. She is in good hands.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about,” Deelah growled and headed over to grab one of Poul’s bothenia crusts. “It’s what the young lord will think when his guest,” she dragged the word out, giving it more meaning than Gandrett would like to hear, “prefers the company of some kitchen brutes rather than his refined company.”

  Poul roared with laughter as he returned to his dough. “Says the brute who used to be his babysitter.”

  They all laughed, and Gandrett ached to join in. Only, there was more in Deelah’s words than she had spoken. She wanted Gandrett out of that kitchen.

  So Gandrett thanked Poul for the bothenia crust, which she nibbled on her way out the door, closely followed by Deelah, who showed more sign of relief on her lined features than Gandrett had felt when Armand had informed her he was going to keep her at the castle for a while.

  “What’s wrong, Deelah?”

  The woman wiped her hand in her apron then grasped Gandrett’s forearm with a firm grip. “Don’t you dare go wandering down there alone ever again.” The woman’s green eyes gleamed with fear as she spoke.

  “Why?” Gandrett simply asked, trying to not let show that she had registered the emotion.

  Deelah pulled Gandrett to a halt at the corner where Addie had sent her off to her chambers. “Armand is a good boy—man,” she corrected. “I’ve known him his whole life, and sometimes I was more of a mother to him than Lady Aphra, the gods cradle her soul.” Her fingers dug harder into Gandrett’s skin. “But there are others here at court who don’t like seeing him settle for someone.”

  She started walking again, glancing back and forth along the corridor as if anxious they might be overheard, and didn’t stop until they, passing Armand’s door—the guards positioned there inclining their heads—made it to Gandrett’s chambers. There, Deelah pulled Gandrett on the couch beside her and stared her down with a look that reminded Gandrett intensely of Nahir. “Armand hasn’t been the same since Lady Aphra’s death,” she said in a hushed voice.

  Gandrett didn’t interrupt. Any information was better than having to search the entire castle for a captive whose face she’d only know from the similarities to the Brenherans with whom she had spent a month.

  “Lord Hamyn…” Gandrett couldn’t suppress the mention of that thought.

  “Not only him,” Deelah whispered.

  Gandrett raised an eyebrow. This was a conversation she hadn’t expected. Deelah was actually worried about her.

  “I haven’t kept my position in this castle for over twenty years because of Lord Hamyn’s kindness but because of Lady Aphra, the gods cradle her soul. And after her death, it is by Armand’s will only that I am still here.” The woman held Gandrett’s questioning gaze. “Armand doesn’t deserve to carry out his father’s bloody orders. Especially not when the only reason he is still Lord of Eedwood is because Lady Linniue declined the offer to rule long ago, giving her sister the throne instead.”

  Those were secrets, weren’t they? How could she spill them in front of a near-stranger?

  Gandrett studied the woman’s eyes, the sparkle as she spoke of Armand with the affection of a mother rather than a servant.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Gandrett asked truthfully.

  Her lips curled in response. “Because in all these months, you are the first and only one worth talking to.” She pursed her lips, hesitating before she continued, measuring Gandrett’s face.

  Gandrett willed polite emptiness onto her features.

  “If Armand is to choose a bride to continue the Denderlain line, I want her to know exactly what she is getting herself into.”

  Gandrett’s heart pounded. “Bride?” She panted, for once unable to keep her calm.

  Deelah knitted her forehead into horizontal lines. “Lord Hamyn is not a Denderlain by birth but by courtesy of Armand, who is the true heir to his mother’s title and throne.” She studied Gandrett with a careful, yet warm smile. “He could have taken it right after Lady Aphra’s death, but he chose to drift into a life of too many girls and few true friends, isolating himself even more than his position demands.”

  Gandrett swallowed. She had heard it before from Mckenzie’s and Brax’s lips why they didn’t envy Joshua for being the one to inherit the West of Sives. But with Armand—

  “If you are to be his bride one day, you will learn that Hamyn Denderlain doesn’t exactly look forward to being replaced on the throne.”

  The throne. The way she said it reminded Gandrett why she was here. Why it was crucial she found Joshua and brought him back to Ackwood. Hamyn Denderlain was putting pressure on Lord Tyrem and Lady Crystal by holding their son hostage. That might clear the way for him to extend his reach even further west, once all those central-Sivesian villages had changed allegiance and hung blue-and-yellow banners from their windows instead of burgundy-and-gold.

  So Gandrett let the woman believe what she wanted to believe and reached for her neck where the necklace Brax had given her hung alongside her mother’s, pendants hidden beneath her dress.

  “I haven’t seen Armand this cheerful in a long time,” Deelah said with a knowing look, folding her hands on her apron. “So whatever you are doing to him, keep it up.” She winked, but her lips were tight. “And watch out who you trust in those halls. The kitchens have ears of all kinds, and you never know where a servant’s loyalties lie.”

  “How do I know with you?” It was the first and only answer Gandrett could think of.

  Deelah nodded in approval. “I want what’s best for Armand. He’s like a son to me, and if he has set his eyes on you, I want to protect you from harm so he can be happy.”

  Gandrett huffed, taken aback by the simple truth of the words Deelah had spoken.

  And the implications for Gandrett.

  If Armand really was looking for
a bride—

  “Thank you for the warning.” Gandrett weighed the risk of asking, deliberating for a long moment before she spoke, “What kind of ruler would Armand be? Would he want east and west to unite?”

  Deelah’s face filled with pride. “After decades of bloodshed, Armand would want peace.” It was a simple answer so full of hope that Gandrett didn’t dare ask any further.

  So she made a mental note to give Armand more credit the next time she saw him.

  Even if the memory of the frozen tunnels still leaked into her bones.

  Nehelon be damned. She needed to figure out what was going on under this castle. Gandrett waited until Deelah had closed the door behind her before she jumped to her feet and wheeled around, darting for her pillow to get the Fae male’s knife.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  With quick fingers, she checked Nehelon’s dagger, which was strapped to her thigh, then changed into the emerald gown Deelah had put in her room last night. The one that had enough space to accommodate the extra knife in her sleeve where she wrapped a piece of cloth around her forearm and bound the blade to it before she pulled the sleeve over it.

  Not one minute late, for the door bounced open, and in came Armand Denderlain, face frosty as the mountain ranges in the west and north, no hint of the good boy Deelah had just talked about. He didn’t bother to give her a look before he flung himself on the crimson couch. “Will there be a day when being a Denderlain will get any easier?” he said by way of greeting, smoothing out his bloodied tunic. A sword hung by his side, the tang of iron still fresh from whatever battle he’d fought.

  Gandrett, petrified by the fact that he had almost walked in on her hiding a smuggled-in blade, eyed him with what she hoped was more surprise than fear as beads of moisture were forming under the mass of hair that covered her neck.