Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  Liro’s fury boiled over. He threw his head back and screamed. The piercing sound surged through the entire length of the corridor and resounded off the high stone arches.

  Diddy winced. The Royal Guard would hear that. They’d arrive at any moment.

  He called to Aodan, “We should go—”

  “No!” Liro bellowed. He pointed savagely at the bodyguard. “You shouldn’t even be out of your cage, monster. I’m going to see to it that you and every other trace of the dead king’s failed rule are wiped from the slate. If anyone remembers Rishi Radek when I’m done, it will be as the worst misstep this kingdom ever took—”

  Aodan swung without warning. His closed fist crashed into Liro’s jaw and sent him sprawling back. The slam of the young lord’s hind end on the marble floor echoed almost as loudly as the racing footfalls of the guardsmen who’d just appeared around the corner.

  Liro scrambled to his feet, his cheeks blotchy with rage and humiliation. “Get out!”

  The guards retreated so fast Diddy wasn’t sure they’d actually been there at all.

  Aodan grabbed Diddy’s elbow and pushed him in the direction of the suite.

  “What were you thinking?” Diddy asked as they hurried down the corridor. “Neetra will have your head.”

  “I couldn’t listen to it anymore,” Aodan said, glaring at the marble floor. “I couldn’t listen to what he was sayin’ about Rishi.”

  Liro’s furious voice rang after them. “Stop where you are! Both of you!”

  Aodan’s arm tucked around Diddy’s shoulders. “Keep goin’.”

  “Stop or I’ll stop you!”

  Diddy hastened his footfalls. The doorway of the suite was within sight. “Stay with me. We’re almost there.”

  The steady hand slipped from his shoulder. Glancing back, a horrified gasp escaped the prince’s mouth. Aodan had turned to face Liro. Time slowed to a halt as Diddy’s mind scrambled through all of the terrible outcomes which might lie ahead. Would Aodan forsake his secret? Would he engage Liro? This could be the end of their family.

  Blue magic arced between Liro’s fingers as he stormed closer. He wasn’t stopping, and Aodan wasn’t backing down. The bodyguard bared his teeth. Magic sizzled in the static air, but he didn’t budge.

  “Aodan!” Diddy screamed.

  Liro lifted one glowing hand, preparing to swipe.

  “Liro Adelwijn, stand down.”

  Diddy swung around so fast he nearly toppled over.

  NezReth stood within the threshold of the suite, his own hands flickering with magic. His eyes were squalling globes, narrowed and glaring intently at the intruder.

  “I said stand down.” NezReth’s deep voice swelled, filling the entire corridor.

  Diddy put both hands to his mouth. Would Liro listen? Would he obey the command?

  Liro was a great many things, but he wasn’t stupid. Pausing in his approach, the electricity surrounding them vanished as Liro retracted his magic. He scowled at Aodan for a moment before turning his nose into the air. “I’ve done as you asked, mage. Now it would only be polite for you to disarm yourself as well.”

  A feather-light smile touched NezReth’s lips. “With all due respect, Lord Adelwijn, it will be a cold day in hell before I take lessons in etiquette from you.”

  Liro sneered. “Stand aside. I’m here to deliver a message to my aunt.”

  He pushed his way into the royal suite. NezReth didn’t try to stop Liro but followed behind him, fingers pooling with magic. Aodan let out a growl, and he and Diddy hurried inside as well.

  Dahlia already waited in the receiving room, holding Gudrin’s hand in a vice-like grip. The young princess eyed Liro with predatory intent that made even Diddy uncomfortable.

  Liro glared down at the little girl. “What do you want?”

  “Mama says all people reap what they sow,” Gudrin replied. Her eyes were all pupil, absorbing his every move. “I want you to get exactly what you deserve.”

  Liro drew back, growing paler. “Are you threatening me?”

  Dahlia tugged the princess’ hand. “Gudrin, enough.”

  “He shouldn’t talk to us like that,” Gudrin said. “Papa wouldn’t have let him.”

  “Well, Papa is dead,” taunted Liro.

  Aodan balled his hands. “Watch yer mouth.”

  Smiling smugly, Liro turned his attention to Dahlia. “Forgive me, aunt. I’m here to deliver news.”

  “I see. And what news would you bring me?”

  “An update on the army’s progress in Shiraz, of course. Any day now they will battle outside the gates of Tahir.”

  “So you’ve come to gloat about the dire situation my son has been thrown into.”

  Liro laughed. “Well, had courage been a common trait in the Radek bloodline, perhaps he wouldn’t have needed to be thrown.”

  Aodan came at Liro so fast that everyone in the suite uttered a collective gasp. “You lyin’ sack of shit! I told you to keep yer venom to yourself!”

  Liro instinctively raised a hand to shield his already bruising jaw. “Get away from me!”

  Diddy watched in horror as Aodan crashed into Liro. They toppled back, both screaming and clawing at one another. Glass shattered around them as they struggled through the room and finally teetered out onto the balcony.

  “You father’s not here ta save yer rotten arse this time!”

  Liro tore at Aodan’s rusty hair. “Get your filthy hands off me! I’m going to purge Arden of you and every one of your little bastard monsters!”

  Aodan screeched, the pitch reminiscent of a wild cat, and his hands grabbed for Liro’s neck.

  Diddy clutched his own throat as he watched them stumble closer to the balcony’s edge. “NezReth, can you stop this?”

  “As soon as Aodan steps clear,” the Blessed Mage replied.

  Aodan had Liro pinioned against the balustrade. The lord thrashed, clawing at the bodyguard’s bare back. Magic seared into his skin, raising welts on Aodan’s shoulders. He flailed and shouted some indiscernible insult about goats and Liro’s preference for them. His grip around Liro’s throat momentarily loosened.

  It was all Liro needed to gain the upper hand. Grabbing Aodan beneath the arms, Liro lifted the smaller man off his feet, holding him precariously over the railing.

  “Liro!” Dahlia screamed. “Stop this now, or I’ll call for your arrest!”

  Liro sneered around Aodan’s dangling limbs. “A risk I’m willing to take. I will know the truth. What better way for the birdie to show me his wings?”

  Aodan’s boots scrabbled to find solid ground, to no avail. “Ya buffoon! What in hell do ya think yer doin’?”

  “Last chance, monster. Fly.”

  Aodan’s lone eye widened. “Are ya mad?”

  A crazed, victorious grin flicked across Liro’s face, and then he dumped Aodan over the edge of the balcony.

  Gudrin shrieked as the bodyguard’s floundering form disappeared from view. Diddy slammed his eyes shut. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t watch the chaos unfold. He couldn’t watch his family shatter.

  But nothing happened.

  Diddy opened his eyes in time to see Gudrin bound over to the balustrade. She let out a whimper and stretched her arm as if she could reach the courtyard below. “No! Da!”

  Oh gods, is he—?

  Shaking himself free of his stupor, Diddy lurched to the ledge. He clutched the railing and dared to peer over.

  Down below, Aodan sat in the grass, stunned and cradling his left arm against his heaving chest. Startled cries lifted around the courtyard. Servants were already running to his aid and calling for a Healer to be summoned.

  Liro stood perfectly still, watching the scene below. “Why—why didn’t he fly?”

  Gudrin whirled around. A feral growl resonated from within her chest. “Why don’t you?”

  She sprang at Liro, crashing into his torso and sending him sprawling backward. He was only just able to right himself before he toppled over t
he balcony, too.

  Diddy reacted without thought, grabbing for his sister’s hand. “Gudrin, no! Stop.”

  Gudrin roiled and howled as she was torn away from Liro. “I hate you! I hate you, Liro! You deserve to be hanged! Leave my family alone!”

  Liro’s blanched features twisted from fear to rage. Snarling a curse, he lunged forward with a raised hand. “You tried to kill me! You miserable little bitch!”

  Not even NezReth could react faster than Dahlia. In the blink of an eye, she swept between Liro and her children. Her own hand crashed across Liro’s face with a sharp crack. “Don’t you dare raise your hand to the princess of Arden. Have you completely forgotten your place?”

  Eyes wide with shock, Liro fell silent, touching a hand to his reddened cheek.

  Rage frothed in Dahlia’s dark eyes as she took Gudrin into her arms. “Liro Adelwijn, you are under arrest—and you’re lucky I haven’t the power to call for your immediate death. You will be taken into custody, tried, and no doubt found innocent by Neetra’s saving grace—but make no mistake, you are dead to me, as you already are to the kingdom.”

  Liro’s shoulders sagged, and his foggy eyes shifted to the floor. The lord’s stillness was unsettling. Diddy would have expected rage, indignation, or even cold laughter but never this hollow mist. Liro had fought for the last word for so long his silence now was unnerving.

  Diddy watched, feeling oddly displaced, as royal guardsmen poured onto the balcony and led Liro away in shackles. Where was the joy of victory? Where was the warm rush of euphoria? Diddy couldn’t feel either. In his heart, he knew this tiny win would be short lived. Neetra would see to that.

  Diddy glanced over the balcony. The servants had helped Aodan to his feet and were leading him along the path, back into the palace. He limped along, never uttering a word.

  A tear slipped down Diddy’s cheek. How many more days could they go on like this? How much longer could the secret be contained? Liro had been foiled today, but he would try again. He’d keep trying until Aodan slipped. And then what?

  Diddy took Gudrin’s hand, small despite its strength, and wondered how many more times he’d be able to do so. “He wasn’t badly hurt. Let’s go to him.”

  The princess raised her face. Her teary eyes spoke the words in Diddy’s heart. She knew as well as he did: their family stood on sword’s edge. It was only a matter of time before they would be pushed onto the blade entirely.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The crimson sun loomed just below the farthest dune in Kezra’s line of sight, its tendrils staining the sky in a garish premonition of the day to come. She watched from where she sat atop her sleeping mat, unable to tear her gaze away.

  Around her, soldiers adjusted their armor and collected their weapons. Some knelt in various forms of prayer. Others saddled and tended their horses. Frantic remnants of life skittered around her as the camp goers made their final preparations. At a glance, it could have been any other morning on this long journey—except for many, this would be the last. This morning was the last promised to any of them.

  Zandi fidgeted nearby, gathering their things. He was unable to stop the tremble in his hands as he wrapped a sash around his slender waist and tucked loose strands of raven hair beneath his turban. Kezra frowned as she watched him slip an ornamental dagger into one of his boots. She wished he would carry a sword, even if he’d never been trained to wield one. Relying on magic alone seemed a fool’s mission.

  Dwelling on such a thing at this late hour was futile, however. Her brother’s magic had always been considerable. He would be fine. Kezra wouldn’t allow herself to think otherwise.

  Exhaling deeply, she slid a leather bracer onto her forearm. It took her even longer to don the other. The leather pauldrons she’d worn a thousand times suddenly felt like rocks atop her shoulders, and the brigandine wrapped around her trunk threatened to crack her ribs. She still hadn’t mustered the strength to retrieve her boots. Would she ever be ready for this battle?

  Zandi’s shadow fell across her just before he took a seat. A familiar jar and pouch rested in his hands. “Ready?”

  Nodding, Kezra sat still while Zandi applied the paint to her forehead. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Never before had the mark felt so heavy on her brow. She’d always been confident in her ability to use her head and to think critically. The mark had always been a comforting reminder that she possessed a higher wisdom—that she wasn’t a mindless animal, nor a fool, and that if she trusted herself, she could conquer any problem.

  How had she failed so miserably with Nawaz then? When had she stopped thinking clearly? When had she allowed her emotions to cloud her better judgement? If this was what thinking with her heart did to her, then perhaps the only rational thing to do was lock it away entirely.

  Zandi’s smile was timid as he handed Kezra the jar, awaiting his own adornment. “Tell me you’re all right. No matter how tightly I hold you, you keep drifting further and further away.”

  Kezra dabbed a bit of wax between his eyebrows and then dipped a finger into the cinnabar powder. “The tighter you clench your fist, the quicker the sand escapes. So maybe I’m sand.”

  “Please don’t mock me.” Zandi looked away, tears in his eyes. “I’m being serious. Promise you’ll be careful out there today.”

  Kezra’s temper flared. She should have been worried for her own safety, but instead her mind kept fluttering back to their mother, imprisoned inside Anders’ house, and to her siblings. Harper had only just managed to escape their father. Kezra’s younger brothers were still trapped with him. And Tamil—she could lose her husband in battle today. So many people in Kezra’s life needed help, and she was powerless to do anything for them. She couldn’t even help herself.

  “I’m to be stationed on the front line,” Zandi muttered, still staring hopelessly into the distance. “Is it wrong of me to be afraid?”

  Kezra touched his white sleeve. “No.”

  “I’m not even afraid for myself so much as the others. Mostly you and Gib. He’ll be with the prince and Blessed Mage, at least.”

  Kezra’s eyes grew large.

  Gib.

  She hadn’t gotten to speak to her friend today. How could she have forgotten?

  “I’ll be right back,” Kezra said, jumping to her feet, bare as they were. “Get the horses saddled, will you?”

  Zandi might have called after her, but she was on a mission. Wax and cinnabar in hand, she tiptoed over sleeping mats and past soldiers in various states of dress. She had to find Gib.

  Thank the Goddesses, he wasn’t difficult to locate. As soon as the seneschal’s tent came into view, so did Gib.

  He sat on a crate, clothed but not yet in his armor. His sword rested across his lap, but his focus was on the sky. Indeed, Kezra was nearly able to reach out and touch him before he noticed her.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

  “I could say the same to you.”

  Gib stared blankly at her. “At least I have my boots on.”

  She felt a smile curling one corner of her mouth, but given the circumstances, it hardly seemed an appropriate time for foolery. “Look, we have to leave soon, so I’m going to say this fast. Do you remember me telling you about the heritage mark on my brow? The one from my mother’s homeland?”

  “Yeah. It makes you wise or something of the sort, doesn’t it?”

  The smile might have won this time. “Well, that’s stretching it.” Kneeling in the sand, Kezra set down the pot and pouch so she could take Gib’s hands. “You’ve been my friend from the first day of sentinel training. All the people who told me I couldn’t do this because I’m a woman, all the people who hated me when I excelled, all the people who still won’t listen to me when I give a command on the streets—none of them matter because of you and the others like you. You accepted me for who I am, Gib. You protected me. I always swore I’d do the same for you. But today—”

 
Gib squeezed her fingers. “We only have just so much control over today. Don’t worry yourself over what may or may not happen to me, Kezra. Keep yourself safe.”

  Every beat of Kezra’s heart was agony in her core. Why did love have to hurt so much?

  “I will,” she replied. “But I can’t be by your side the entire time we’re out there. Nor by Zandi’s.”

  Gib squirmed at the mention of her brother’s name, and Kezra worried whether or not she’d ever get to tell Gib precisely what she thought of him settling.

  Later. That would have to wait until later. There would be a later.

  “I’ll do my best,” Gib said. “And Zandi’s a good mage—great even. We’ve as good a chance as anybody.”

  “I know. But I protect what I love. It’s what I do. And I can’t promise I’ll be able to protect either of you today. So I have something for you.”

  Gib watched as she opened the pot and pouch. He laughed. “Did you bring me a snack?”

  Kezra couldn’t help but chuckle alongside him—and damn, it felt good. “Mark my words, Nemesio. You’re going to be a fat politician one day. No, this isn’t food.”

  Kezra’s hands trembled as she gazed down at the wax jar and cinnabar dust. Her mother had taught her how to apply the mark. It was one of the only traditions Odessa had been allowed to keep when she’d married Anders, one of the last traces of Shantar she still possessed. But this wasn’t about Kezra’s mother or her homeland. This was about what the mark meant—to Kezra and to all else who bore it.

  She took a deep breath and dipped her finger into the pot. “We all observe the world around us. We see with our eyes. Listen with our ears. Taste with our tongue. Feel with our hands. Smell with our nose. But there’s more than that. We sense when something’s amiss. We feel when someone’s watching us. We judge what’s safe, what’s good, what’s dangerous, and what’s wrong.”

  Kezra pressed the wax to Gib’s forehead. He didn’t flinch and never let his attention wander.

  “This is our higher awareness, guiding us and keeping us safe. I can’t promise to stay with you today, but I can give you the mark. You might not need it—the ultimate truth seems to show itself to you often already—but just in case.”