Shattered Kingdom

by Angelina J. Steffort

  “Now,” Hamyn Denderlain tore him from his thoughts.

  Armand nodded at his father and turned on his heels, some of his guards falling in step behind him.

  As their commander, he wasn’t concerned about his tail, but he would rather have some moments to himself to check in on Gandrett. She hadn’t been in her chambers when he’d returned from the last turmoil his father had asked him to smother. Not that he had truly smothered it. Not the way his father would have wanted it, with heads rolling and limbs missing. He had long outgrown his father’s view of things. Armand wanted peace. And peace was not gained by bullying your people into submission with a sword and a torch.

  He rushed down the main stairwell then took a sharp turn into the courtyard where his eyes scanned every corner for Gandrett.

  It was only hours later, and he hadn’t seen a trace of her. Neither had he had a chance to inquire with Deelah how his guest was doing.

  Something tightened in his stomach. The bile-raising sensation of missing some detail. Of failing to ensure her safety.

  He had brought Gandrett here. It was his responsibility to keep her safe. Even if his father would probably not mind one bit if she disappeared into thin air.

  And then there was the questionable presence of Joshua Brenheran.

  And the way he had eyed her at the dance… The way he had gazed at her through the corridor when he had delivered the message the day before…

  Armand balled his hands into fists as he strode right for the stables, guards at his heels.

  “Do you need us to ride out with you, Lord Armand?” one of them asked.

  But he shook his head at them, reaching for the reins of his already saddled horse before he hoisted himself into the saddle, eyes already at the opening gate. “I’ll do this on my own.”

  And with a nudge at the horse’s flanks, he was riding out to right what his father had done wrong. Even if it took him farther from the first spark of hope he’d felt in twelve months.

  “I’ll be back for breakfast,” he whispered as he gazed over his shoulder at the west tower.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  She had tried. Not only once but several times until warm liquid dribbled down her hands and the blood started spilling anew from her nose. Every time, the hinges had groaned, but they had not moved even remotely enough to break them apart as she’d hoped they would.

  Gandrett was leaning against the door, calming her breathing, her legs unstable as she heard the noises outside. Footsteps. Light footsteps. Too light for Joshua Brenheran’s tall frame or for the heavily-muscled guards she had spotted all over the castle.

  She balled her hands into fists, sucking back the hiss as they closed around the blisters and scratches, and turned around.

  Her fists landed on the heavy iron with a thud.

  Outside, the footsteps yielded.

  “Who’s there?” Her voice almost brought tears to Gandrett’s eyes.

  Not Deelah’s voice but the only other female voice she had listened to long enough to mark its accent—the accent of central Sives—and its cautious melody.

  Gandrett heaved a breath. “Addie.”

  Addie Blackwood took the shortcut down to the well since Lady Linniue wanted the water without delay. It wasn’t one of her planned walks down the spiral staircase, but she had been woken in the dead of night by Linniue’s chambermaid, whose eyes had been red from either lack of sleep or tears, Addie didn’t dare be the judge of it.

  So she had gotten to her feet, sleep beckoning her to do the opposite, and had taken the shortest route to the north tower. She had made it halfway down the corridor that led to the entry to the well when a noise stopped her dead.

  No one ever came here. Sometimes she even found herself talking to herself in these hallways just to fill the air with sound. To make the descent into the darkness less sinister.

  “Who’s there?” She held her breath, heart in her throat as she waited for a response. Anything was better than the looming threat in the silence that followed. The type of silence she had lived through too many times at Lands End.

  “Addie.” The voice was muffled, barely audible, yet it had clearly spoken her name.

  Addie gasped. It was a female voice, so it wasn’t Joshua Brenheran. She had been spending the past days glancing over her shoulder at every turn, dreading to find the young man spying her in the hallways.

  Shame. Deep, heavily-weighing shame tightened her chest. And even if she was a coward for hoping she could avoid him, she had no words to say to him that could justify that she had denied him assistance. Even if she had only hidden him, bought him time…

  Another thud. “Addie, I’m here,” the voice repeated. “Help me.”

  The corridor was lit by torches stuck in metal hoops on the walls in irregular intervals, but there was no sign of whoever had called her.

  “It’s me,” the voice said, “Gandrett.”

  Gandrett. What was she doing down here?

  “I am locked in a cell.”

  Addie swallowed. There were several doors down here, each of them so ancient they could hardly be functional. “Keep talking so I can find you,” was all Addie said and started walking again.

  Gandrett spoke something about bothenia crust and tea and about Armand, but Addie could hardly understand a word as she continued down the hall until the voice was so close it could be only one of the two doors she had halted before.

  Addie looked them over. Both solid iron, rusty on the outside and handle missing. But gravel was leaking from one of them through the slit above the threshold.

  “I’m here,” Addie informed Gandrett and set her bucket down. Linniue would have to wait another minute.

  It took a short moment until Gandrett’s fingers appeared under the door, pushing the gravel forward. “Get me out of here.” Her voice, clearer from up close, sounded tired, strained. “Please.”

  Addie ran her gaze over the rusty iron. No doorknob. Just one dark keyhole and no key within sight.

  “I can’t,” Addie noted outside the door. “We’ll need a key.”

  Gandrett’s head pounded as she rested her cheek on the ground. The bottom of Addie’s worn, leather boots was the only thing she could make out through the slit. But at least there was air, and she sucked it in between gritted teeth. “You need to hurry, Addie,” she urged.

  “Move away from the door,” Addie warned and left Gandrett with barely enough time to roll to the side.

  There was a brief silence followed by the thud of Addie’s shoulder slamming into the door.

  But the door didn’t move.

  “I tried this already,” Gandrett chuckled darkly, strength leaving her.

  Addie cursed lowly outside the door.

  “What?” Gandrett prompted. “What is it?” How she wished she could peek outside to see what Addie saw, to hear what Addie heard.

  Addie let her wait another moment before her voice appeared in a whisper near the slit under the door. “Someone is coming.”

  The gods have mercy. If Joshua was coming back for her…

  There was only one person in this castle who might be able to help her. So Gandrett damned the consequences of asking for him because the alternative was so much worse.

  “You must get Armand, Addie,” Gandrett whispered, crawling back to the door. “Do you hear me?”

  Addie murmured her affirmation.

  “Find Armand, and bring him here.” Gandrett swallowed the curses that brewed on her dry tongue and, instead of releasing them, added, “Go, before it’s too late.”

  Addie’s footsteps were bustling away just in time as the clicking of polished boots approached from a distance.

  Up. She needed to get up so she could meet whoever would open the door head-on.

  Mobilizing whatever was left of her strength, Gandrett grabbed for the chain again and lifted it with her as she stumbled to her feet.

  Closer and closer, the footsteps came, and Gandrett’s heart was beating too fas
t. She needed to calm and gather her strength.

  One deep breath. Two. Three. The fourth time she inhaled deeply, the boots halted before her cell. Gandrett took a step to the side so whoever would open it couldn’t see her right away but would find a heap of debris in the center of the cell instead.

  The metallic sound of a key scratched against the door, then the click as it turned in the lock.

  Gandrett exhaled, air blowing from her lips in a slow, steady flow. She had stopped shaking.

  Chains in hands, she squinted her eyes, readying for the light the opening of the door would allow inside and the handsome face of Joshua Brenheran, which she was going to strike with the rusty metal between her hands.

  The door slammed open with a bang and bounced back from the stone behind it, rattling in the damaged hinges until one of them gave way, and the door tilted back and came to a halt, leaning against the wall.

  Armand returned with blood on his hands. As happened so many times.

  And as with so many times, he despised himself for having to do what he had to do. For a peaceful Sives. He kept thinking it, kept saying it to himself. It was the last thing his mother had asked of him. Peace for Sives.

  And then his father had let her die like an animal. His father who had sworn an oath to her, to protect her, to love her, to…

  His father, who he allowed to keep the title of Lord of Eedwood so he could pave the way for something greater than his own lordship. That’s why he had helped his mother to retrieve Joshua Brenheran from Ackwood. Because she had wished for a better future for Sives where neither House Brenheran ruled nor House Denderlain, but both. That’s why he had agreed.

  Lord Hamyn Denderlain held no love of a Sives that was ruled by any other than the house he had married into. And for a little while longer, he could let his father believe he was in control, that he ruled, that his son made his people bow at his feet. Armand shook his head to himself. If his father knew what he was doing whenever he was sent on a mission out there, he would hang. That’s why he rode alone or took only his most trusted soldiers—the soldiers who had already been trusted by his mother.

  He climbed off his horse and handed the reins to the stable girl who was on duty in these ungodly hours of the morning. She swished back her braid and gave him a smile then led the horse back into the stables where she took off saddle and bridle and rubbed it down.

  Armand watched as she worked, her young hands barely reaching the neck of the horse.

  “That one has been restless, Lord Armand,” the girl said as she noticed him leaning at a pillar in the shadows.

  Armand followed her gaze to the stall which contained Gandrett’s gelding. The horse stomped his hooves as if noticing the attention.

  “Is he sick?” Armand asked, sauntering to the stall, and laid his hand on the beast’s neck. It cringed.

  “I cannot tell, Sir, but the stable master says he has been like this for the past two days.” The girl didn’t stop working on Armand’s horse as she spoke but grabbed a fresh piece of cloth and cleaned the horse’s face. The worn, gray fabric turned red as it touched its forehead.

  “Not his blood,” Armand commented as her eyes widened with concern. “Not mine either.”

  The girl didn’t say a word after that, and Armand made to leave. However, a movement in the stall’s corner caught his eye. A fat crow was hopping along the edge of the wooden feeding trough.

  He reached to the side where they kept dried corn for the horses and extracted a fistful.

  “Here.” He tossed it past the gelding right into the feeding trough. “Make sure you get some before he,” Armand jerked his chin at Gandrett’s horse, “eats it.” And with those words, he took his leave, giving a short nod at the stable girl.

  The guards at Armand’s chambers barked at her when she claimed she needed to speak to the young lord. But Addie Blackwood didn’t let them turn her away that easily. Not once she had made up her mind.

  “He’ll want to know about this. Trust me.” She squared her shoulders, ignoring their disdainful looks at her rag-dress.

  “Lord Armand had a long night,” one of the guards—the kinder one—said, and it wasn’t amusement on his face but some apologetic frown.

  Addie didn’t let her mind wander to what might have kept the young lord up all night—most certainly not Gandrett. She clasped the handle of her bucket more tightly.

  If nothing else, their words reassured her that he was indeed behind those black double doors.

  She considered her options against the two heavily-armed men and decided words had to do. She wouldn’t stand a chance if she tried to fight her way past them.

  “Please, let him know I am here.” Pleading was as much against her nature as it was to pick up a sword and fight, but Gandrett needed help, and her best shot at being able to speak to the young lord was if she convinced the guards this was about life and death—because it was. “Someone who he seems to be quite attached to is in danger.”

  The kinder guard, the one with the heavy eyebrows, raised one of the latter. A question and a sign of understanding.

  “What does a servant know about the young lord’s… attachments?” the other one asked with a sneer.

  Addie considered screaming, but that would only make her less credible. She needed to keep her calm the way she had in the prison in the north when they came to mock her. The more she fought, the worse it would go. Only when she outsmarted them with words did they stop. That might have been the reason why they had handed her over to Lady Linniue eventually. Because she was no fun, as they had called it.

  “Tell him his guest is in need of his aid and I know where to find her.” It was all she really had to say.

  “You are not the first of our servant girls to try and make their way into our lord’s chambers,” the sneering guard countered, making Addie’s head pound with anger.

  “Never,” she said lowly but not weakly. “Never.” And with a motion so quick she was surprised neither of the guards saw it coming, she yanked her bucket back and propelled it between the two gaping men, the iron hitting right between the silver stars on the doors as if she had aimed there.

  It clattered to the floor, filling the hallway with the thunder of iron on stone before it rolled to a halt in front of the kinder guard’s feet. His other eyebrow rose while the second guard had already darted for her, one arm restraining her around shoulder and throat.

  To all of their surprise, the door sprang open, and a sleepy young lord stood barefoot on the threshold in silken pajamas, face half-hidden by his tousled honey-gold hair. Addie suppressed the urge to stare but focused on the guard behind her who was now pulling her forward and pushing her to her knees before the young lord.

  Her kneecaps protested as they hit black stone.

  “What’s going on here?” Lord Armand asked, his gaze inquiring with the guards before it fell on the bucket and then on her.

  Addie internally cringed. This was not how she had imagined it would go when the young lord noticed her for the first time. Not at his knees, in dusty rags, forced to bow by a guard who tugged her head down by her black braid. Not like this.

  “This creature wouldn’t give up,” the guard said to the young lord. Then to Addie, he said, “Here he is. Now take a good look at him while he tells you that he has no interest in scum.” He chuckled by her ear. “It will be the last look you get.”

  Addie didn’t dare glimpse the young lord, but she had to. There was no other alternative. Not if she wanted to buy Gandrett a chance of getting out of that cell.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Addie’s heart all but stopped as the young lord spoke to her, voice not harsh as she’d expected, as she had heard him speak to his guards; or arrogant as he spoke to his aunt, Lady Linniue; but a tired, troubled voice that made her cringe all over again. Not from fear but from worry over why the young lord might feel that way.

  “Gandrett,” was all she could muster with the breath left in her lungs as
he crouched before her, measuring her face.

  “What is wrong with Gandrett?” Alarm now rang in every word, and Addie gathered all her courage and looked him in the eye.

  His eyes, hazel and gold, a mirror of the emotion in his voice, stared back at her.

  “She is in trouble,” the words fell out of Addie’s mouth. “She asked me to come get you before it is too late—”

  Armand studied her as if making up his mind whether to believe her or laugh out loud. Then he shot back to his feet and turned on his heels. “Release her,” he said to the guard as he walked back inside his chambers, voice the calm before a storm.

  And they did.

  All three of them eyed each other—Addie looking at the two guards, and the two guards considering each other and Addie, neither of them having the answer to what was going to happen.

  Then the young lord returned, wearing boots this time, carrying a bloody sword in his hand.

  “Lead the way,” he said, and Addie started running.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Gandrett’s mouth fell open in a silent scream. Had she remained where she had been standing a few moments ago, she might now be dead—either from the impact of the door on her skull or from breaking her neck being pushed back into the debris in the cell.

  A long shadow flickered in the now fire-lit space, and Joshua Brenheran’s voice carried inside like a promise of pain, “I hope you’re not under that heap of gravel. It would be a shame if I didn’t get to kill you.”

  Gandrett tightened her grip on the chain and dared a glance around the room, just to know her surroundings, to know of the traps, the potential additional weapons. The walls were black stone covered with some purplish moss that didn’t seem to depend on daylight, and where the chain had been lodged in the ceiling, a crater remained, big enough to fit her head in. But there was nothing but the rocks on the ground and the chain in her hand that would help her overpower Joshua Brenheran.