Shattered Kingdom

by Angelina J. Steffort

  Armand waved a lazy hand at her. “You, I suppose, dear Gandrett Starhaeven, are one lucky girl that your father doesn’t care what happens with you.”

  With all the force of will she had, Gandrett sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap. “And why would that be so, milord?”

  He looked her over with the lackluster eyes of a desert mole and raised a hand as if saying, Isn’t that obvious?

  It wasn’t.

  “You know what my father expects of me?” He didn’t wait for her to think up an answer before he continued. “Slay the enemy.”

  Gandrett hid the thrill his words induced. The enemy. House Brenheran. She didn’t speak for fear her words might stop whatever rush of words may come from his lips.

  “Over and over again. And I, being a good soldier—” He swallowed.

  Gandrett knew that look. Armand Denderlain was deeply unhappy. It wasn’t just that he made his father responsible for his mother’s death, but that he despised anything and everything the man asked of him. She knew because that was how she felt about the Meister.

  Gandrett saw two paths before her: one shining bright. The path of pretending to be something less than she actually was. To hide her strength, her skill, her mind. The path Mckenzie had taught her, the path Nehelon and Lord Tyrem would push her to take. The other—

  Gandrett sighed through her nose, besieging Vala for her guidance before she got to her feet and crossed the room to sit on the sofa beside the frustrated Denderlain heir. “Why are you telling me this, Armand?”

  His eyes found hers when she addressed him by his name rather than his title, warmth returning to his face, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “Because you’re the only one in this court who couldn’t care less who or what you are.” He laid his fingers on her hand, which was resting on her knees. “That kind of freedom—” He stopped himself, scanning her face for emotions that weren’t there. “The freedom to choose who you want to be.”

  Gandrett’s face almost twisted at his words. Freedom. That was the reason she was there. Not because she had it, but—

  “You are a lord’s son…” She considered Deelah’s words. “A lord, actually. Can’t you make your own rules?”

  He weighed her words, his eyes on her face, searching.

  “No matter what rules I make, it won’t stop the hatred, the loss of innocent lives.” He brushed his fingers across hers once before he pulled back his hand and leaned back, resting his head against the sofa. “That war has been going on for too long.”

  “So make your soldiers stop threatening the people of Sives in order to ensure their loyalty.”

  “My father does that.” He rubbed the bridge between his eyes with a blood-crusted hand.

  Gandrett shuddered at the thought that he hadn’t even taken the time to wash off the blood of whoever he had fought—or worse, killed—before storming into her room. “And you gladly follow his commands,” she pushed. She wanted to know if it was true. If he was part of the groups who burned down houses and villages who defied Denderlain.

  Armand stopped rubbing and turned his head, eyes wide. “I should lock you up in the dungeons for the way you speak to me,” he said with a solid gaze. Then a smile cracked over his face. “I should have after the dance.”

  The memory was still fresh in Gandrett’s mind. The music, the horrible fish… The young man who had smiled back at her from across the dance floor, his eyes so familiar—

  Gandrett launched to her feet as it struck her. Familiar. Green. Emerald. Brenheran eyes.

  She hadn’t been close enough to be able to say for certain, but… She rubbed her fingertips against her temples, pacing the space before the sofa.

  Armand pulled his feet closer so she wouldn’t stumble over them.

  Forgotten were Armand’s words. His confessions of the person he wanted to be. The person he probably already was.

  “You don’t really think I would lock you in the dungeons,” he remarked from the sofa as her pacing didn’t stop.

  But Gandrett was already trying to figure out if it could be true. “Why not?” she griped at him, letting more sharpness into her voice than any of her tutors in Ackwood would appreciate. “You already have a history of locking up nobles.”

  She held her breath, feet still restless as she waited, waited, waited for him to reply.

  He didn’t.

  So Gandrett brought her legs to slow, her mind to stop racing, and eventually, her feet halted right before the young lord. “Is it not true, what the birds whisper?” She couldn’t help but think of Nehelon and the crow he had sent. She would go on a trip with him all over again if that would relieve her from her duty to the House Brenheran, if it paid off what they had offered the Meister for her service.

  Armand eyed her cautiously, and Gandrett quietly cursed. Damned be Demea and her hunt if she couldn’t control herself enough to get Armand to speak.

  “What do they whisper, exactly?” Armand had gotten to his feet, scanning her with lazy eyes. He stepped closer. And another step. Then leaned in until his lips were at her ear, hot breath tickling as he whispered. “You should know better than to think I’d ever lock you up, Gandrett. There are better things I could do with you.”

  Gandrett shuddered. It was a sensation like nothing she had ever felt before. Her blood started pounding in her veins. If she played his game, maybe she could coax something of value from his lips.

  But, Vala help her—

  What if this led down a path she wasn’t ready for? A path she could never be ready for. Consecrated in Vala’s name.

  And she thought of something to say. Something that would draw a line so she wouldn’t get tempted to inhale his scent…

  She did.

  And as she inhaled, her senses returned. Blood and sweat and dirt.

  “You should take a bath.” There was the line.

  And Armand started laughing. Roaring with laughter as he pulled back. Then he turned on his heels and sauntered to the secret door, lifting one hand to wave as he pulled it open.

  “Where are you going?” Gandrett demanded, fallen out of role completely, and Armand chuckled again.

  “To take a bath.”

  He was half out the door when Gandrett remembered she even had a mission to accomplish.

  “Can I have a tour of the castle tomorrow?” she asked, forcing enthusiasm into her voice.

  Armand glanced over his shoulder, still smiling. “I will make myself available to entertain you, Gandrett.” He sketched a bow then hurried out before she could respond.

  Gandrett waited a solid minute before she soundlessly cracked open the secret door, straining her ears for suspicious sounds from the other end of the corridor as she gazed into the half-light.

  There was nothing suspicious about it. At least no drop in temperature. So Gandrett set one foot after the other, the hem of her dress lifted an inch so she wouldn’t make noise on the loose stones on the floor.

  It took her about ten steps before she got to a turn, then she could already see the door she remembered led to Armand’s chambers. No other door within sight, and no other turns where she might find the old, spider-webbed door that had led her into her-freezing.

  The walls, all rough stone, were flat without any dents that would indicate there had ever been a door as she ran her fingers over the spot where she had entered the tunnels the other night. No door. Not even a hint of torn spider webs.

  So Gandrett turned on her heels and snuck back into her chambers, closing the door behind her, settling for a hot bath instead.

  A corridor, dark and cold. Her heart slowed so much that she was hardly capable of a clear thought. Her limbs felt so heavy. Gandrett made her way further and further, beckoned by the whisper that was waiting for her near the light.

  It spoke in a language Neredyn had long forgotten.

  Symbols, sharp as ice, drifted through Gandrett’s mind, leaving her gasping for breath. They had no meaning to her other than pain. />
  The whisper got louder, and Gandrett’s feet slipped as she groped her path through the darkness.

  A heartbeat of silence. Then a scream—

  Gandrett sat up in her bed, one hand on the knife under her pillow, the other one on the pendants around her neck. The scream still echoed in her mind.

  Not her scream. A dream.

  Bright sunlight greeted her from the windows, and the smell of bothenia crust filled the room.

  “You look oddly awake for someone who was deep asleep two minutes ago,” Armand, perched at the foot end of her bed, said by way of greeting.

  With all her force of will, Gandrett managed to tune out the noise in her head and focus on the young lord in front of her. She left her hand under the pillow until he lowered his gaze to the tray sitting on his knees. Then she grabbed the blanket instead and pulled it up to her chin.

  “Should I call the guards?” she wondered aloud only to get his boyish laugh in return.

  “You would only summon my guards, which wouldn’t be very helpful if you wanted someone to defend you from me.” He smirked.

  Gandrett didn’t mention there were about twelve different ways to bring him down right now if she wanted, the cleaner ones involving a knife to his throat, the not so clean ones involving the steaming pot of tea and the red sash that had been wrapped around a small vase holding a yellow flower. She cocked her head, letting go of the pendants.

  “Deelah mentioned you liked these.” He picked up a bothenia crust and flipped it in the air, catching it with one hand before he took a ravaging bite.

  “Why are you here?” Gandrett was still pushing back the nightmare as Armand set down the tray on the covers and slid an inch closer.

  “You asked me for a tour of the castle. Here I am.” He inclined his head. “At your service, milady.”

  Gandrett loosed a breath and extracted one hand from under the covers to pick up a bothenia crust, her smile half-real.

  She couldn’t help it. Despite the unsolved mysteries around Armand’s person, there was something comforting about his presence.

  “Breakfast first,” she said and blinked at him, reminding herself that despite the growing familiarity with Armand, she should at least try to remain in character. Especially with the information Deelah had entrusted to her. “Then I want to see every last corner of this fortress.”

  Armand grinned, the sorrow of their last conversation forgotten. “I’ll send Deelah to help you get dressed,” he said, his glance wandering down to where Gandrett had failed to keep the blanket at her chin as she bit into the bothenia crust. “As much as I enjoy the view, the rest of the court shouldn’t be so lucky.” With those words, he got up and strode to the door—the one to the hallway.

  Gandrett glimpsed down, finding the strap of her nightgown had slid down her shoulder. She cursed and leaned forward, pouring herself a cup of tea, and waited.

  This way of living—people who brought breakfast to her bed, a hot bath at any time of the day, bothenia crust—it was more than Gandrett could have ever hoped for after all the hardship of her childhood, the years of fighting and honing her skills, the pain of the Meister’s wrath…

  And yet, even as she was a slave to the House of Brenheran, with a Fae male ready to snap her neck with a gust of air if she defied the orders of Lord Tyrem, she got a glimpse of what real freedom could be like. The freedom from the oath to Vala, freedom to think of a future for herself, maybe even with some nice man in her company…

  Her mind drifted back to the powerful Fae who may or may not have kissed her, his eyes like blue diamonds, his silky, dark hair covering those pointed ears even when his glamour slipped. She didn’t even let herself think of the force of nature he was when they sparred, how his muscles played under his shirt when he wielded his sword in his hands. No.

  The door clicked and Deelah walked in, a conspiring grin on her lined features and a flowing chiffon gown slung over her arm. “You’ll be spending all day in Armand’s company,” she said by way of greeting. Then, as she spotted the tray on the bed, she continued, “So he listened to my advice, for a change.”

  It was hard, so hard, to see how Armand and Deelah acted as if Gandrett had always been in their lives. It made her task even more difficult—because eventually, she would betray them.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Armand helped her down the stairs—she let him. After half a day of meandering through the hallways, most of which she had already seen, her stomach growled more from boredom than real hunger. She had devoured at least four bothenia crusts and ignored Deelah’s comments about how she wouldn’t fit in the delicate, dusty-blue gown now flowing freely like the ocean in the east they had been watching from the battlements on the north tower.

  “I wish I could go there one day,” she said, half a thought still on the glistening waters beyond the land that lay cleaved between two courts.

  Armand grinned sheepishly and tugged lightly on her arm—a motion which would have a less trained girl sent stumbling into his arms. “I can take you—one day.” He watched her descend step after step in graceful balance.

  The balance of a fighter, not a lady, but she didn’t let his thoughts wander there and said, “One day,” and batted her lashes the way Mckenzie had shown her. The way that had made Brax stare. A smile stole itself onto her lips. “But first, I’d love to see the more secret places of the castle…” She felt her own heart pounding as she spoke. “The ones where no one will disturb us.”

  His answering grin was imperial, and Gandrett wondered if she was playing with a sort of fire that Vala wouldn’t be able to quench with her water.

  But she still had her dagger strapped to her thigh. If Vala wouldn’t help, she would.

  So he led her down. Down, down, down. Until they reached the empty hallways of the north tower, accelerating Gandrett’s pulse with every step they descended. The light grew fainter as they entered the lower floors, and what chambers they passed were empty, not even a piece of furniture left.

  “What happened here?” Gandrett’s tension originated from something more than Armand’s hand, now clasped tightly around hers.

  As they moved past empty room after empty room, the castle felt less and less like the inhabitable space her chambers provided but like a tomb.

  “What you see is the tower of the last Dragon King.” Armand spoke as if that was something to be proud of. “What’s left of it,” he added with a grin.

  Gandrett stopped dead. She had heard it in the countless lessons from the Meister that the dragons of the north had played a part in why the Calma Desert existed. Why the lands, once lush and fertile, now lay barren, hostile to any sort of life.

  But there was more. She remembered bedtime stories about the Dragon King. How he had ridden on his snow-white beast. How he had bent the territories of Neredyn to his terror. And even Nahir had spoken of the legends. The Dreads of the Skies.

  “He resided here for a short while during his reign,” Armand continued, gently tugging on Gandrett’s hand in encouragement to keep walking.

  “That was a thousand years ago,” she said flatly.

  “It was.” He laughed at the concern in her eyes. “There is nothing left of the Dragon King. My ancestors made certain of it.”

  Had Gandrett thought the tour boring before? She could now feel her muscles tighten as if they were readying for battle.

  “How long did he…” She searched for the right word. “How long did he stay in Eedwood?”

  “Just a few months,” he responded, his voice melodious as he studied her from the side. “As we know from history, he had bigger plans than Eedwood. Than Sives.”

  It sounded so simple. And yet, the meaning of it was tremendous.

  “No one ever comes here.” He gave her a meaningful look. “We don’t even need to shut off the corridors that lead to this tower.”

  As if to mock Armand, footsteps filled the hallway.

  Armand stopped, pulling Gandrett to a halt with h
im. His free hand was at his sword before she could think about digging up her dagger. No. Not yet. She would see first if there was danger before she exposed her disguise.

  The footsteps came to a sudden stop. As if they had followed the sound of their own, and whoever it was, was now trying to localize them again.

  Gandrett saw him first. Like a beam of light, he was staring down through the partially-lit corridor. His clothes a shade of golden brown as was his hair. She didn’t need to see his eyes to know it was him.

  Then, Armand spotted him and drew his blade. “What are you doing here?”

  Joshua Brenheran. She knew it was him not from his eyes alone but from the way he walked—like Brax. Thank Vala, he didn’t seem hurt. On the contrary, he appeared well—too well.

  Also, he didn’t run from Armand even if the latter approached him with a blade in hand.

  “Stay here,” Armand hissed at Gandrett, who had little time to even consider what was going on.

  But she remained where she was, her eyes absorbing every detail, every last one of Joshua Brenheran’s graceful steps, as he walked up to Armand as if they were companions rather than enemies.

  “Lord Hamyn asked me to deliver a message, Lord Armand.”

  Gandrett’s blood froze, and Armand stopped a couple of steps away from Joshua Brenheran, his sword at the ready. “Speak,” he ordered, voice all commander and nothing like the Armand she had gotten to know, the one who grinned and smiled and joked, who disdained his own father for what he did to their homeland.

  “He is waiting for you in his study,” Joshua said flatly. “He says it’s urgent.”

  Armand nodded and dismissed the man, waiting for him to disappear behind the corner before he sheathed his sword and returned to Gandrett’s side. “I am sorry for the interruption, but it seems this cannot wait.”

  The look on his face told her that he wasn’t at all in the mood to respond to his father’s call, but some part of him still had to be loyal despite how differently he saw things from his father.