Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  “Did you look inside the desk?”

  “I’m getting to it,” Kirk replied through gritted teeth, doing his best to ignore the other man’s condescending tone. He pulled on the brass handle. The drawer didn’t budge. Oh, for the love of The Two. “It’s locked.”

  Otho let out a groan and crept closer. “He’s hiding something if he’s gone through the trouble of locking it.”

  Kirk’s fingers traced the outline of the keyhole. “There has to be a key around here somewhere.”

  “Could be a million different places. Or in Neetra’s pocket, for all we know.” All but shoving Kirk aside, Otho went down on one knee before the desk, studying the drawer with a shrewd eye. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the key they’d used to enter the suite and jammed it against the keyhole. It was no use. The key didn’t fit. Otho spat a curse. “I’ll just bust the damn thing open if I have to—”

  “You will do no such thing! If you break the desk, he’ll certainly know someone was here!”

  “I didn’t come all this way to leave empty handed!”

  Kirk desperately looked about the room. He refused to accept Otho might have a valid point. It could take marks—marks they didn’t have to spare—to stumble upon a cleverly hidden key. Or worse, they could search all afternoon only to learn Neetra kept the key with him. Then what? This was their only chance. They had to find a way into that desk.

  His gaze lingered on a vase that sat upon the windowsill. Its silver shimmer brought back memories of the fine dishes Matron Antonina would bring out for special occasions at the orphanage. She kept them locked away in the pantry the majority of the year, along with everything else of value. Of course, many of the children managed to get inside away. She always hid the pantry key in the most obvious places…

  I wonder.

  Kirk reached for the vase without thinking, turning the vessel onto its side. A bolt of elation shot through him when he heard something rattling within. He gave the vase a shake and a moment later, a tiny key fell into his palm.

  Otho stared, dumbfounded. “How did you know—?”

  Kirk set the vase back onto the sill. “Educated guess. At the orphanage, the mistress kept the food pantry locked. But we quickly learned she always hid the key within reach of the door. We’d often snatch the key and sneak inside for a snack. Sometimes, it was the only meal we’d get that day.”

  “Orphanage?”

  Kirk smiled cryptically as he slipped the discovered key into the keyhole. “You’ll find there is still much you don’t know about me, Otho Dahkeel.”

  The weaponry apprentice fell silent. Whether he was reflecting on Kirk’s words or merely had nothing more to say, Kirk couldn’t be sure. At the very least, perhaps Otho would stop harassing him about being a “pampered Imperial.”

  None of that mattered now though. They had a job to do and limited time. Breath trapped somewhere between his chest and throat, Kirk tugged on the drawer. This time, it slid open with ease. And it was stacked with parchment.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Otho muttered.

  “We’ll split the stack,” Kirk said, handing part of the pile to Otho. “It’ll be faster to go through that way. Remember, we’re looking for anything odd, anything that could possibly incriminate him.”

  Kirk settled down on the rug with his allotted half and sifted through the parchment.

  There’s something in here. I can feel it. Blessed Son, please let there be something.

  The first cluster of papers he inspected were all bundled together. Kirk carefully undid the twine around them and spread what appeared to be a collection of letters across the floor. He picked up the first one; the parchment was so worn Kirk worried he might accidentally rip it in two, and time had lightened the ink from rich black to a faded, mustard brown. Kirk had to hold the paper close to his face to read the pale words.

  Lord Neetra Adelwijn,

  I arrived in Amsel this afternoon. The flowers alongside the streets were in bloom. After so long away, I’d forgotten how late spring arrives here. It would have been a beautiful homecoming if not for the sorrow in my heart. Perhaps it is a suitable punishment that I was sent back to Nales after failing to please you. I’ll forever regret we were unable to resolve our differences—if not for our own happiness, then for that of the children. Nawaz is not your flesh and blood, but he is a sweet boy, and I know if you allow it, he will love you as a father. I pray you will love him the same as Inan and Inez. Please write at your earliest convenience.

  Your loving wife,

  Lady Giselle

  Kirk frowned. Letters from Neetra’s wife? This all felt too personal to be reading, but he picked up the second letter in the bunch anyway.

  Lord Neetra Adelwijn,

  Six moonturns have passed since I last wrote, yet I’ve received no word from you. I hope all is well and that the children are healthy. I miss them dearly. I understand you are a busy man, but if you would be so kind as to tell Nawaz his mother loves him, it would bring joy to my lonely heart. I trust you’ll send correspondence soon.

  Your devoted wife,

  Lady Giselle

  Kirk skimmed the rest, some dozen or so letters. As time advanced, the tone of each grew more desperate, more hopeless. Had Neetra never responded to any? That poor woman! What kind of monster could force a mother to abandon her children and then never allow contact with them again?

  Kirk shook his head in disgust and picked up the final letter in the bundle. This one was penned recently. Neither parchment nor ink had lost any of its shine. The writing style was different from the others as well. Kirk read it with more attention.

  Lord High Councilor Neetra Adelwijn,

  I regretfully am writing to inform you that my sister, Lady Giselle Dagrun-Adelwijn, has crossed The Veil. By the time the Healers discovered the fever, it was too late to save her. She will be laid to rest beside our loving father and mother, inside the Dagrun family tomb. In her will, Giselle has requested her estate in Amsel be sold and all proceeds be divided equally among her three children, whom she loved with all her heart. Please respond at your earliest convenience so further arrangements can be made.

  My greatest condolences,

  Lothar Dagrun, Overlord of Dassel

  “You find something?” Otho asked.

  Kirk shook his head. He imagined he must have been making a horrified expression. “Nothing of use to us, at least I don’t think. Were you aware that Neetra’s wife is dead?”

  “No. But for as much as anyone’s ever seen her, I wasn’t sure she even existed.”

  “Should I tell Dean Marc?”

  “Can’t hurt. There must be a reason why Neetra hid it from everyone.”

  Otho’s attention drifted back to the document in hand, and the way his brows elevated suggested confusion.

  Kirk cleared his throat. “Did you find something?”

  “Birthing records.”

  “Neetra’s children?”

  “No.” Otho’s frown deepened. “Princess Gudrin and Tular Galloway’s.”

  “Why would Neetra have those?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Kirk chewed his bottom lip, mind spiraling as he tried to find some sort of connection. “Well, we know he’s trying to discredit the Radek family. Is there anything in Princess Gudrin’s file of—sensitive content?”

  Otho was silent as he skimmed the first page. “No. Just ‘minor but expected complications’ after the princess was born. It’s noted Marc oversaw the birth. We could ask him about it.”

  “That seems odd. Isn’t birthing babes typically the job of a midwife?”

  Otho flipped to the second page. “It is odd. But Marc was always the King’s personal Healer. I guess the royal family trusted him over a midwife.”

  “Does Dean Marc even know how to birth a baby?”

  “How in hell would I know?”

  Kirk took a deep breath and pressed politely, “I only mean to say this doesn’t seem to add up. And what ab
out the other record? The one belonging to Tular Galloway. Isn’t he the son of the Queen Mother’s new husband?”

  “Right. Aodan Galloway.”

  “Well, why would Neetra have his records?”

  Otho brought the second paper to his face, examining it more thoroughly. “Huh. Says here Marc oversaw Tular’s birth as well.”

  “Is Tular’s mother someone important?”

  “Just a palace servant. But she’s also Hasain Radek’s mother.”

  “The King’s bastard son?”

  “Right.”

  Kirk felt dirty for even asking, but—“So both the King and his bodyguard had—relations with the same—”

  “Careful,” Otho warned.

  “I’m just trying to figure out why Neetra would have two seemingly unrelated birthing records hidden away inside his desk.”

  Unless they’re not unrelated at all.

  Kirk squirmed uncomfortably. “What if Princess Gudrin’s parentage isn’t what they claim? I mean, that day in the royal suite, you heard just as well as I did the way they all spoke about secrets and discrediting the King.”

  Otho speared Kirk with a glare that confirmed he’d treaded into forbidden territory. “I think you’re just grasping at straws now. And frankly, it’s none of our damn business.”

  “But you can’t deny the possibility.”

  “Would it really matter? The princess was never in line for the throne. If it could somehow be proven the King wasn’t her father, nothing would come of it. She’d be declared a bastard and life would go on. Why would Neetra go through all this trouble if it wouldn’t prevent Prince Deegan from claiming the crown?”

  Kirk crossed his arms over his chest and gave Otho a scathing look. “Fine. I’ll let it go—for now. Let’s keep looking.”

  “Yeah, so we can get the hell out of here.”

  “Yes, and you can go back to skulking under your bridge and eating small children.”

  Kirk winced. He hadn’t really meant to say that aloud. Otho might have actually grinned as he went back to rummaging. It was the first time Kirk could recall seeing the weaponry apprentice smile.

  “Now here’s something,” Otho said suddenly, snatching up a new file. “Looks like Neetra made a generous donation to the Armorer’s Guild a few moonturns back, ’round the same time he was elected steward. Funny coincidence, that.”

  “Isn’t it normal for guilds to have noble patronage?”

  “It is, but remember which councilor Marc said has been voting out of character?”

  Kirk reflected for a moment. “Lord Aldino?”

  “Joaquin Aldino,” Otho confirmed. “Head of Silver City’s Armorer’s Guild.”

  Kirk sucked in a sharp breath as the realization dawned on him, but he was quick to play the role of skeptic. “It’s wartime. With thousands of soldiers to supply, it makes sense the guild would need extra funding.”

  “Maybe, but something smells fishy about this.”

  “If the donation was meant as a bribe, it would be difficult to prove unless we can trace the funds—or somehow convince Lord Aldino to admit to it himself.”

  Otho laughed. “Good luck with that.”

  Hope wavering, Kirk’s hand instinctively went to the place where his mother’s pendant usually rested against his throat, but it wasn’t there. It was with Joel. Joel. He was counting on them.

  In the distance, the midday bell began to toll. The melody was soft and lulling yet an insistent reminder they were in a race against time.

  Otho’s gaze grew darker as he glanced toward the window. “We need to hurry. No telling when Neetra will be back. Keep looking.”

  Kirk tried to focus on the stack of parchment, but his thoughts kept leaping from one dreadful place to another. As he’d expected, this mission was proving to be much more involved than either Marc or Joel had initially alluded to. Just how deep did Neetra Adelwijn’s deceit really run? Even if they could prove he’d done wrong, had he already gained enough power that such allegations wouldn’t matter? And what of the royal family? Yes, Joel and Marc trusted them wholly, but could Kirk? What was it they were so intent on hiding? How tangled was this web of lies? Kirk was beginning to wonder if he even wanted to further unravel the truth.

  As he flipped through the parchment, sunlight caught a fleck of gold, drawing Kirk’s attention. Knitting his eyebrows, the mage sifted through the pile with more care, until he found the source of the radiance. A folded document stood out from the others, not only by the fine vellum it had been crafted from, but also the blotch of golden wax pressed into its center. The seal, even broken as it was, was chillingly familiar. Kirk’s stomach churned as he brought the document to his face for a closer inspection.

  Oh gods, please don’t let it be—

  He sucked in a sharp breath as his darkest fears were confirmed. Imprinted into the waxen seal and glistening like a whetted dagger’s edge, was the image of the Imperial dragon. The sight sent a bolt of terror straight through Kirk’s heart.

  No. Not the Empire. Not here.

  Somehow, even though his fumbling hands weren’t cooperating, he managed to unfold the document. Rich black ink flowed across the parchment, but Kirk skimmed past the words. His eyes were immediately drawn to the signature at the bottom: Lord Adrian Titus, Archmage of Teivel.

  Kirk dropped the correspondence as though it had just scalded him. Maybe it had. Seeing his former master’s name just about stopped his heart. Suddenly unable to breathe, Kirk let out a gasp and plopped onto his backside. What had he just discovered? Why was the Archmage writing to Neetra? Arden wasn’t supposed to be in contact with the Northern Empire. The Empire had tried to murder Arden’s envoys.

  “Damn it! Kirk? What is it?”

  How long had Otho been speaking?

  Kirk was still in a fog, but he collected the scattered remnants of his mind enough to respond. “I—it’s—it’s a letter of correspondence. From the Archmage of Teivel.”

  Otho’s eyes bulged. “Teivel? The Empire?”

  “Y–yes.” Kirk reached for the parchment once again, taking it into his shaking hands, and closed his eyes, a means to stop the room from whirling and also to prepare himself.

  Blessed Son of Light, don’t let it be an alliance. Please not that. Not here. Arden is doomed if Neetra treats with the Empire.

  “Come on,” Otho groaned. “What’s it say?”

  Kirk’s chest deflated as he finally released all the air trapped inside his lungs. Nodding, he opened his eyes.

  “To Lord Neetra Adelwijn,” Kirk read aloud. “As always, it gives His Grace, Emperor Lichas Sarpedon, ruler of all the North and favored by the Blessed Son of Light Himself, great pleasure to receive your correspondence. Let me be the first to assure you that you need not worry about retaliation from our great Empire, now that the true enemy—Rishi Radek—is dead. However, justice still awaits his traitorous Right Hand, who had the audacity to accept the hospitality of His Grace—to dine from his table, to make false promises of comradery—all the while plotting his murder. It dissatisfies His Grace to learn that Koal Adelwijn has not yet had to answer for his crimes. Are you not the head of state? The seneschal should have been prosecuted the moment Rishi Radek met his demise.

  “There is also the issue of the heir. Deegan Radek is a mere child, but do not underestimate him, nor how far those loyal to the Radek family will go to protect him. Deegan needs to be disposed of swiftly—as do his cohorts—if you wish to retain the crown and stay in the favor of the Northern Empire.

  “You have done well by ensuring both seneschal and prince have gone to war. But His Grace prefers nothing be left to chance. I cannot divulge further now, but rest well tonight knowing that neither seneschal nor heir will return to Arden. The sands of Shiraz will consume them, along with all who are foolish enough to come to their defense. This I guarantee.

  “With no Radek heir, and without the seneschal’s lies to convince them otherwise, the people of Arden will embrace your lea
dership. You will soon be king, and the marriage of your son and Princess Claudia Sarpedon will be the beginning of a promising alliance between Arden and the Northern Empire. The plan is in motion. Very soon we will all reap the fruit of victory.”

  Kirk placed the letter on top of the others and dropped both hands to his sides. He parted his lips but couldn’t find his voice, so he sat there, feeling numb and disconnected. This couldn’t be real. None of this was real. He blinked, shuddering when the letter didn’t disappear. It perched atop its pedestal of parchment, the golden dragon seal gleaming.

  Angry tears welled in Kirk’s eyes. He glared through blurry eyes down at his hands. This was madness! He’d risked his life to flee the Empire, and now Neetra was finalizing an alliance with them? And what was this about Seneschal Koal and Crown Prince Deegan? Neetra had already alluded to the fact that General Morathi would do anything he could to see the heir killed, but this sounded worse than anyone had anticipated. Much worse. The seneschal and prince could be in horrible danger if the Empire was plotting their demise. And Joel! Joel was out there with them. He could be at risk as well. Gods, the entire Ardenian army would be!

  “Seems we won’t be returning to Marc empty-handed after all,” Otho said with a scowl. He had picked up the letter and was scrutinizing it for himself.

  “This—is—this can’t—”

  Damn it! Why can’t I speak?

  Kirk let out a frustrated groan, swallowed, and tried again. “Crown Prince Deegan—Seneschal Koal—Joel—their very lives may be in jeopardy! Oh gods, this can’t be happening! What are we going to do?”

  “All right, calm down. Now’s no time to lose your head. It’s still a long walk back to Marc’s office.”

  “But someone has to stop this! All of it! Arden can’t align with the Empire! You think things are bad here now? Just wait until Sarpedon dispatches his ‘diplomats’ and suddenly we’re all being crushed beneath Imperial tyranny. What will we do?”

  Otho was already gathering the scattered parchment and reorganizing it. “I’ll tell you what we’re doing. You’re going to take a deep breath, pull yourself together, and we’ll put everything back the way we found it. And then get the hell out of here.”