Dividing Eden

by Joelle Charbonneau

  Then he saw the man lying on the ground twenty lengths from the finish line. Blood oozed from the familiar silver stilettos sticking out of his back.

  For a second it was as if nothing moved. Then chaos erupted.

  Several guardsmen leaped over the fence separating the racing path from the spectators and hurried toward Andreus, swords drawn. Another grabbed a bucket that was being handed to him over the fence and sent the water splashing onto Carys.

  Carys screamed at the man to let her by, shoved past him, and raced down the course toward Andreus.

  “Are you okay?” she shouted above the din.

  Andreus looked around at the crowd, at the guardsmen, at the other five runners who were standing near the fiery coals appearing as stunned as he felt.

  “What did you do?” he shouted at Carys, trying to understand what was going on. One minute he was winning the footrace—and not because of anything his sister did to help him. It was his victory. His alone. The other competitors were racing for gold. But as hard as they ran, he was the one who crossed the finish first.

  Growing up, he’d watched his brother victorious on this very field. He’d listened to the cheers and saw how the girls ripped fabric from their hems to offer as favors to their champion. He’d seen Imogen’s eyes glow each time Micah sent a strong competitor to the ground. Even if she hadn’t loved Micah, she’d cheered him as if he were a hero.

  Today Andreus was the hero.

  In crossing the finish line, he realized how much he wanted the crown. How much he wanted to see Imogen watch him with glowing eyes and to hear the people of Eden cheer for him.

  Now the cheers were gone.

  “He had a knife, Andreus,” Carys said. “He was trying to kill you.”

  “Kill me?”

  Captain Monteros climbed over the fence and the crowd quieted as the head of the castle guard slowly walked to the fallen racer. He picked up the blade lying on the ground next to the dead man and turned it over in his hand several times before sliding it into his belt. He then grabbed hold of the silver stiletto handle, put his foot on the man’s back, and yanked the knife free. He did the same with the one buried in the base of the fallen attacker’s neck.

  No one made a sound as Captain Monteros examined both of the weapons for several long seconds, then looked up at the center platform and nodded to Elder Cestrum. Captain Monteros wiped both stilettos on his cloak and walked to where Andreus and his sister stood.

  “Princess,” he said, turning the silver weapons so that the handles were pointed toward Carys. “I believe these belong to you.”

  Carys hesitated for several long seconds before closing her hands over the stilettos.

  “Your brother owes you a debt of gratitude,” Captain Monteros said loud enough for those standing close to the fence to hear. “I spotted the man’s intent a second before your blades took him down. Had it not been for your excellent throws the Prince would certainly be dead.”

  Andreus’s chest tightened and his heart pounded harder than it had while he was running.

  “It was luck, captain,” his sister quickly said. “And the fates that guided my blades to protect the heir to the throne!”

  The Captain of the Guard smiled and flicked his gaze to the stilettos that Carys held with such command. “That is the kind of luck I would very much like to have. Truly, your skill is most impressive, Highness. Where did you learn to throw so well and why is it that no one has spoken of your abilities?”

  Carys glanced at Andreus and he could see fear. This time it wasn’t of a blade that might kill him, but of a secret being revealed. A secret that would lead people to ask questions.

  “I taught her,” he said, straightening his shoulders as if unconcerned that someone tried to put a blade in his back. “She used to watch me practice throwing and asked to learn. Since Father didn’t think girls belonged fighting with steel, we practiced in my rooms.”

  “Andreus lost a lot of pillows and more than a few vases and mirrors,” Carys said.

  “You must be quite a teacher, Prince Andreus.” Captain Monteros smiled. “Once the Trials of Virtuous Succession are over, I would be honored if you would come demonstrate your style to the guard trainers. Our guardsmen would benefit from your tutelage.”

  “Of course,” he gulped. Trapped by his own lie.

  Trumpets blared. Chief Elder Cestrum stood on the center platform, waiting for the crowd to settle down. Standing just behind him was Elder Jacobs with his black falcon perched on his gloved fist and most of the other Elders. Elder Ulrich, however, was standing far to the side in what looked to be an intense discussion with Lord Garret.

  After a moment, Elder Cestrum spoke. “I am certain I speak for all of us when I say that I am relieved Prince Andreus is unharmed after this dramatic footrace. Captain Monteros has verified the would-be assassin is dead. The guard is watching for anyone else who might be so brazen as to hurt our Prince or Princess, and I promise all of you that we will hunt down any who may have plotted with this attacker and the Kingdom of Adderton to once again strike at the very heart of our kingdom. They will pay for their actions.”

  A swell of approval rang through the tournament grounds. As Elder Cestrum waited for the sounds to abate, Andreus noticed his sister slide the stilettos into slits on either side of her mud-stained dress. She had never mentioned that she carried the stilettos with her. And she certainly didn’t say they were on her person today.

  The Tears of Midnight, and this. Two secrets now she had kept from him.

  “The next trial,” Elder Cestrum announced, “will be held later tonight in the castle. Prince Andreus and Princess Carys will entertain the court, the visiting dignitaries, and winners from today’s tournament at a ball.”

  He saw Carys stiffen. She hated the public pageantry of balls where her every word and gesture were judged. It was at the last ball two years ago that everyone had become aware of her need for their mother’s drink.

  This next trial was designed to give Andreus the clear advantage.

  “But before we can move on to the next trial, we must complete this one,” Carys pointed out. “A winner has not been chosen.”

  Elder Cestrum scowled. “Quite right.” He cleared his throat. “I ask the audience once again to pledge support to the successor they believe won.”

  Andreus straightened his shoulders as Elder Cestrum called his name, grateful for the guard standing close in case any other attack came.

  Yellow banners waved for him. People shouted his name. But perhaps not quite as loudly. They must be more subdued because of the assassination attempt. He had almost died. He could appreciate that.

  “And who here at this tournament supports Princess Carys for her efforts in the final event?”

  The words were barely out of Elder Cestrum’s mouth when the crowd roared. Strips of blue fabric were hoisted into the sky. People stomped and waved to Carys, whose mud-streaked face looked pale as she turned in a circle while the tournament spectators chanted her name softly, then louder.

  His sister hadn’t won the race, but she’d won the event by saving his life.

  So he did the only thing he could do. He applauded, too.

  He forced himself to smile and to praise his sister’s skill, but he couldn’t help the spark of resentment that flared.

  He was supposed to be ahead three to nothing on the enormous scoring board above the steps leading to the entrance of the castle. Instead, there were two yellow pegs in the board that had room for ten pegs from one side to the other. Beneath his two points was one peg painted bright blue. For Carys.

  When he arrived at the white steps that led to the castle, Andreus handed his horse’s reins to a groom and hurried over to help Imogen climb off her horse.

  “Your Highness.” She looked over her shoulder then back at Andreus with eyes filled with warning. Behind her Elder Jacobs stood next to his horse with the hooded falcon on his arm, waiting to dismount. “I failed you. I should have seen the
danger. After Micah’s death, my visions have been blocked by my sorrow. I promise that I will not fail you again.”

  She curtsied deeply. He reached down, took her hand to help her up, and felt her squeeze his fingers tightly.

  “I have news. I will come to your rooms as soon as I can,” she whispered as she rose. Then she turned, gathered her skirts, and hurried off into the crowd. When he lost sight of her, Andreus headed up the steps. While there were guards all around, he would feel better when he was inside the castle walls.

  His would-be assassin could have been part of the same plot that killed his brother and father. If the man had succeeded—

  “Prince Andreus,” a voice yelled from up above. “Prince Andreus, you’re okay.”

  Max. Andreus looked up and saw the boy barreling down the steps toward him. A guard stepped in front of Andreus and put a hand on his sword.

  “It’s all right. I know him,” Andreus said as the sweaty, panting boy gave the guard a steely-eyed look and then bolted to Andreus’s side.

  “They’re saying someone tried to kill you,” Max said, eyes wide with worry. “I heard that you were winning all the events at the tournament and that you even knocked the Princess into the mud and then when you were running the footrace a man tried to kill you just like someone killed King Ulron and Prince Micah.”

  Clearly news of what happened at the tournament had run ahead of his return.

  “But they failed, Max, and in doing so revealed themselves. Now the castle guard will be on high alert. Whoever would wish me harm, it seems, has lost their chance.” Andreus put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and urged him to walk up to the castle where they could speak without half the court trying to listen in. But as confident as he sounded, he couldn’t help looking at everyone he passed as they reached the top of the steps and headed through the castle’s arching entrance. Could any of his subjects have something to do with the man with the knife? Were they plotting his death?

  “Sebastian said that Princess Carys pulled swords out of thin air and saved your life,” Max reported. “But I told him that wasn’t possible because no one can make a sword come out of the air. Not even Lady Imogen.”

  “No one can pull weapons out of thin air,” Andreus confirmed as he veered away from several castle workers who were glancing in his direction. “But someone can pull stilettos out of hidden pockets and kill someone by throwing them with a great deal of skill. Which is what Princess Carys did to save my life.”

  “Wow.” Max stopped walking, put his hands on his hips, and cocked his head to the side. “My sister Jinna could hit a rat with a rock at fifteen paces. I wonder if she could learn to do it with a knife.”

  The sad, wistful sound that crept into Max’s voice as he spoke about the sister he hadn’t seen in a year struck Andreus. Max knew that even if he saw his older sister again, their parents wouldn’t want her to speak to him. They believed he was cursed.

  “Maybe someday you’ll find out,” he said to Max.

  Then Andreus allowed himself another thought. Maybe if things worked out the way he and Carys planned, Max’s parents would be happy to have a son who had the ear of the King. Maybe they would welcome him back with open arms. He glanced down at the boy. “Isn’t there something you should be doing instead of talking to me?”

  “I was helping carry water to the Hall of Virtues for the fountains they built for the ball, but after I spilled a bunch on Mistress Violet, she screamed at me to get out of her sight so I came to find you.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure there is something else you can do to help out.” As fond as he was of Max, Andreus didn’t want him hanging around when Imogen arrived. Max was too curious and talkative.

  And Imogen’s position was perilous. By short-circuiting the Council’s plan to replace the ruling family with another, she may as well have drawn a target on her own back. Andreus would do nothing to further draw the ire of the Council. The idea of losing Imogen when she had finally admitted she was his was unthinkable. Andreus would not take the risk.

  Max scrunched up his face with concentration. “I guess I could bring water to the Princess’ rooms. Although someone probably already did that. Ladies don’t like being dirty and she was really dirty after the tournament. She looked unhappy, but the lord walking with her into the castle didn’t seem to mind.”

  Lord? Carys had done her best to reach the castle before anyone else. “What lord was walking with the Princess?”

  “I don’t know his name,” Max said. “But he looked like a devil.”

  “A devil?”

  “I know you said devils aren’t real, but I saw a picture once and the huge man’s black cape and red hair looked a lot like it. Devils are the doom.”

  Devils certainly were the doom. But so was the only man Andreus could think of who had red hair and might be hurrying after Carys.

  Garret.

  Carys used to be fascinated by Micah’s best friend. After that last ball, Garret had stayed nearby her chamber. When she finally woke, he stormed into her bedroom to tell her how stupid she’d been. Andreus had tried to get Garret to leave, but he’d pushed Andreus away and shook Carys hard, telling her she had no right to throw away her future. Carys had slapped him. Because she was shaking and weak from the Tears of Midnight wearing off, the strike had little force behind it. Garret had actually laughed at her, and when she pulled away from his grasp, he didn’t go to assist her when she fell backward onto her cushions.

  “You are too important to throw your life away, Carys,” Garret had said, standing over her. “Your father and Micah might be blind, but I understand the person you are meant to be. Don’t disappoint me.” Then Garret turned to Andreus. “I will hold you responsible if she ends up like this again. And you will not like the consequences.”

  Andreus had put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw it, Garret turned on his heel and left. Even though Garret loomed over half a foot taller and weighed a good six stones or so more, Andreus would have welcomed the opportunity to duel his brother’s best friend. He’d always despised him. His sister said it was jealousy that fueled his dislike. And perhaps she was right. Their father had treated Garret as though he were better than Andreus and made Andreus watch when Micah and Garret sparred on the training field.

  Jealousy, Carys told him, had always made him overreact.

  Perhaps that was why he felt the same need to pummel Garret now. Why was he here in the castle? The Council of Elders wanted to put him on the throne instead of Andreus. Was he measuring for new draperies, certain that all would end the way the Council intended?

  Maybe Garret was behind the tournament attack. Eliminating Andreus would put him one step closer to the throne. And if Garret could convince Carys to marry him, the entire kingdom wouldn’t just accept his authority, they would celebrate it.

  “Max! Before you go, did you hear anything that the devil-looking lord said to my sister?” he asked.

  Max shook his head. “The Princess was walking really fast and the devil man was calling for her to wait. But she didn’t. She went inside the castle. I didn’t see him after that.”

  Good for Carys. She always possessed a will of iron.

  But that will was straining, Andreus thought.

  The Tears . . .

  “Instead of helping with the ball,” he said to Max, “how about you help me with something instead?”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “Do I get to work with the windmills?”

  “No.” He’d forgotten that he needed to check in with the Masters to find out if they’d learned anything new about the sabotage. “It’s not the lights. I’d like you to find Lord Garret—the devil—” he said at Max’s blank look. “Once you find him, I want you to follow him for as long as you can without drawing his attention. Then let me know where he went and who he talked to and whether he spoke to my sister.”

  “You want me to be . . . a spy, Prince Andreus?”

  Andreus winced at Max’
s enthusiasm. The stakes in this game were higher than the boy could fully comprehend. “What I want you to be is careful. Stay out of sight and make sure you have something in your hands—an errand you will say you are running if anyone questions you. If you think for a second anyone is watching you and wondering why you’re hanging around, act as though you got lost in the castle and get away from there. These are dangerous times, Max. I don’t want anything to happen to you. So, if you don’t want to do this, I will understand.”

  “Will this help you win the Trials and become King?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then I want to do this. Your sister is good with throwing stuff, but you should be King. And I won’t get caught. I promise.”

  “See that you don’t,” he said, then told Max to come to his rooms as soon as he learned anything. Leaning down, Andreus pulled the boy close. Max leaned into him for a moment then started to wriggle and Andreus let him go. With a flash of a smile, Max bolted off to play spy.

  Sending Max to trace Garret’s moves was risky, but Andreus knew nobles rarely noticed servants going about their work. Even if Max was spotted, Garret would most likely assume the boy was avoiding work and shoo him back to the Hall of Virtues to help with the ball preparations.

  The ball.

  Andreus looked up at the sun that was no longer shining as brightly. They only had a few hours before night arrived and with it the ball that the Council of Elders would somehow turn into a trial. As much as he wanted to check on the lights, Andreus knew he had to prepare. Winning the Trials had to be his first priority. The sooner they were over, the sooner he would be King and be able to get to the bottom of whoever was responsible for the damage to the wind power, track down anyone else involved in today’s assassination attempt, and see to it that he and Imogen were never threatened by the Council of Elders or anyone else ever again.

  Andreus headed for his rooms. For most of his life he’d been worried about dying, but it had always been the curse that made him fear his own mortality. Now . . . he had no choice but to compete. No choice but to keep trying to win no matter who might want to kill him in the course of the Trials.