The Shard of Elan, Book 2
Laura VanArendonk Baugh
Copyright 2019 Laura VanArendonk Baugh
Cover design by Damonza
ISBN 978-1-63165-013-0
www.Aeclipse.com
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations as in a book review.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Blood & Bond (The Shard of Elan, #2)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
CHAPTER NINETY
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
To Be Continued
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Also By Laura VanArendonk Baugh
For Luca’s ladies,
Becky, Bethany, Kate, and Kayla,
for always keeping the support flowing.
CHAPTER ONE
SHIANAN HESITATED IN the shelter of an empty trellis, a dozen paces from the palace entrance. Guests streamed steadily through the brightly lit doors, oblivious to him in the dark as they shared conversation and called greetings. He tugged fretfully at his unaccustomed clothing, making the metallic gold and silver geometric bands in his doublet flash with reflected firelight. Overlapping black leather belts, one tooled with indigo and one with burgundy, shifted unfamiliarly over his hips without the weight of a weapon.
It was too much, really. The entire ensemble had been a gift from his majordomo and new estate of Fhure when Shianan had come into possession of a title, but it was too extravagant. Even as a count, Shianan had little reason to wear formal or rich attire; he appeared at court functions rarely and briefly, more often present in a military capacity than in his comital rank. He had put away the fancy trappings and nearly forgotten them.
But he could not appear in his usual serviceable gear to such an invitation as this, and he had retrieved the bundled outfit from the rear of a chest. It fit well enough and was not far out of fashion, and it was his only hope to be admitted gracefully. But...
He adjusted the cape’s textured edge and fidgeted once more with the pointed collar, his fingernail flicking a tiny dangling stone. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be here at all, in these clothes or any other. But royal invitations were not to be spurned. He straightened, exhaled, and started for the entrance.
“Commander,” said a familiar voice. “Good evening.”
Shianan peered over the collar at General Septime with a weakening stab of relief. “Oh, sir, good evening. I’m glad to see you.”
Septime nodded at the guards flanking the door as they passed together. A second rush of relief swept through Shianan; he’d been half-afraid someone would challenge his right to enter. But the general was unconcerned. “You, too, commander. I didn’t know if you’d be here.”
“I received an invitation,” Shianan answered too quickly. Steady. No need to be defensive.
“Of course.” Septime paused as a brightly dressed slave appeared to take his cloak. “I only meant I hadn’t pegged you for a dancing man.”
Shianan chewed at his lip. “Perhaps I only haven’t had the opportunity.” There had been few dances at the plains outpost, after all, and few women to partner.
But there were women here. The great hall was filled with people, dazzling in their finery and bright with laughter. In the center, the elite swayed and dipped to the merry music provided by liveried musicians in the balcony above, as encircling courtiers joked or gossiped or complimented or politicked or observed or posed. It was a brilliant and terrifying scene.
Septime had already moved into the crowd, greeting and laughing with acquaintances. Shianan blinked into the hall, suddenly quite alone. A part of him wanted to flee, to return to the dark night and grieve for Luca and stay safely away from this unfamiliar gaiety. But another part of him wanted to remain, to see what might be in this strange and fascinating society.
He moved hesitantly through the crowded room, smiling faces gliding past him on either side, and took refuge in the lee of a decorated column. Around him the music played, and people laughed and called to one another. He pushed his shoulder against the column and watched, trying to look as if he were waiting for someone.
“YOUR HIGHNESS!” A LADY gestured for Soren to join their group. “Come and see what Glynde has brought!”
Soren allowed himself to be drawn in. “What have you found us now, Glynde?”
“Look at this.” Glynde offered a stiffened paper to him. “What do you see?”
It seemed to be a mash of black and red, dots and lines swirled together. Soren frowned. “Nothing much. Perhaps an accident at the colored glass workshop.”
“Ha, the glass workshop!” Several in the group giggled more than the weak jest deserved, and Soren found himself annoyed.
Glynde shook his head with a smile. “No accident, and how curious that you mentioned colored glass.”
“Now try these!” urged a girl—young Lady Fanshawe?—as she thrust binocles at him, set with pale red glass.
Soren held up the binocles, feeling faintly foolish, and looked at the paper. The colored glass muted the red ink, and now he could see a leaping horse. He was impressed despite himself. “Very clever. Where did these come from? Who thought of such a thing?”
“There’s a craftsman in my march who first brought them to me,” Glynde explained. “Very clever, as you say. Here, look at this one.”
Again, viewed by itself, the card was an uninteresting blur. But with the colored binocles, Soren saw a lady having her hair coiffed by a slave.
A surreptitious nudge at his arm interrupted his viewing and he glanced over his shoulder to glimpse Ethan. He nodded and turned back, presenting the card and binocles to Glynde with a smile. “Duty calls,” he said lightly, and he withdrew from the group amid a flurry of bows and curtsies.
Ethan waited a short distance away at the edge of the wide stair landing. He handed Soren a fresh goblet of wine and murmured, “He’s here, my lord.”
“Where?” Soren looked over the hall from their vantage point. It was hard to distinguish a single face in the blur of dancing and socializing.
“At the far end. Near the oak leaf column.”
“There! I see.” Soren took a drink of the wine. Shianan looked lost, even at this distance. “How long has he been there?”
“He came only a few minutes ago. I had his arrival from a slave taking cloaks.”
Soren nodded. “I have another task first. Keep an eye on him, if you would, please. I’ll want to find him later.”
Ethan made his typical small bow and Soren left him. He threaded his way down the stairs, as much a gathering place now as a means of ascent or descent, and moved through the crowd. Along the way he smiled and nodded and promised to return, never pausing as he worked toward the knot alongside the dancers.
“Your Highness!” A hand landed on his arm, a bit forward for catching the attention of the prince-heir. “Will you join us? Bansbach has just wagered that Barstow will ask Lady Selina to dance, and Barstow swears he will but he’s as reliable as a skinny chef or a fat mage—”
“I beg your pardon,” Soren inserted politely. “I’m on my way to my lord father. Could I come back to you in a few minutes, perhaps?”
He slid into the cluster of courtiers that marked the king’s presence and smiled his way to the center. He seized a moment when his father was taking a drink and leaned conspiratorially close. “That was well done, Father.”
King Jerome glanced at him. “What’s that?”
“Bailaha’s here. That will clear up any questions regarding your faith in his innocence and his commission.” Soren nodded approvingly. If manipulation was a tool of royal governance, he would use it toward his own end and general benefit. “I was perplexed as to how to reassure the court and troops of your trust in him after the trial, but this will quell any rumor. That was brilliant.”
“He’s here?” King Jerome’s eyes jerked about them. He kept his voice low. “Where—”
“Didn’t you think he’d heed your invitation? He’s there, at the end, by the column. Waiting for someone to join him, by the look of—"
“I didn’t send for him,” whispered the king.
Soren knew that. “You didn’t? Someone must have supposed you meant to. And it will only help—”
“Get him out.” Jerome’s hand fell heavily on Soren’s arm. “Your mother’s here.”
Soren went suddenly hollow. “I—she came? After all?”
“She did.” The king’s voice was tight. “If she sees him...”
“I’ll watch him,” Soren said quickly.
Jerome nodded. “And be sure that—”
“Your Majesty,” someone gushed drunkenly, turning to them, “may I tell you how lovely this occasion is?”
“I’ll see to it,” Soren murmured, and he withdrew.
He fled toward the stairs, ignoring the greetings and cheerful hails. His mother had come? He hadn’t expected it—not this time of year, not without letting him know, not tonight—
He took the steps two at a time, heedless of the startled glances as he passed. If he had any luck at all, she would be in the north wing. He glimpsed Ethan at a distance as he spun around the balustrade at the top of the wide stair.
The door was open to admit the hall’s music. She was in what had once been her favorite room, waiting as a maidservant sponged a spot from her gown’s skirt. She glanced up in surprise as he burst through the door. “Soren! How good to see you—but what’s wrong?”
He shook his head to calm her worry and took a few deep breaths. Surely his condition wasn’t that poor; he was only breathless with alarm. “Nothing’s wrong, my lady mother,” he answered, and he approached her, making a courtly bow before taking the hands she offered him. He kissed first her knuckles and then her forehead. “I ran because I only just heard you had come. I did not know you would.”
She gave him a fond smile. “How could I not come? Celebrating the renewal of the shield that protects us—it’s a worthy cause, at least, unlike so many silly balls.” Her face took on a resigned look. “And I’d thought, when I set out, they were trying the bastard for it. I heard on my arrival that he’d been released.”
Soren nodded. “I was at the trial, Mother, there was no evidence for it. He’s the one who recovered the Shard, in fact.”
“I know, I know.” She sighed. “I only hoped it was true.” She glanced down at her skirt. “Is that spot gone yet? I want to go out.”
“I’m just finishing, mistress.”
Soren fidgeted inwardly as the maidservant blotted the skirt dry.
“There, mistress, bright as new. Is there anything else you require?”
“No, thank you, Eve. My son will see me downstairs.” She glanced toward Soren as the maid gathered the cleaning items. “You will escort me, won’t you?”
“Of course, my lady mother.” Soren bowed and offered her his arm. “It’s been too long since our last visit.”
He was fond of his mother, though now he saw her only rarely. He did not want to have to deceive her now, and concealing Bailaha felt like a kind of deception. Still, having her encounter him unexpectedly might be worse. She had left Alham when he had been called to the city. Any interaction between queen and bastard would be a public scene, no matter how stiffly formal she might be.
They moved down the corridor and to the stair. Soren glanced down to the wide landing and saw Ethan waiting, nodding. Becknam was still visible below.
Someone jostled Ethan, throwing a dark look, and Ethan bowed his head respectfully as he tried to press further into the worked stone balustrade. Soren frowned. “Ethan!”
The slave worked his apologetic way through the crowd and came to Soren’s side. “Bring Her Majesty a drink,” Soren directed. Ethan bowed and disappeared, safely out of the disdainful crowd.
They descended slowly, smiling and nodding around them, and paused on the landing. Queen Azalie looked over the bright hall, smiling. “Such a glad group. Happy, and with reason. I’m afraid I don’t know everyone as I should, though, as I’ve been so long at Kalifi. Who is the gentleman in red, down there?”
“That’s the Marquess of Stowmarries. He came into the title only last year; before that he spent little time at court.”
Soren glanced toward the end of the hall and saw Shianan, now picking a path through the crowd, a mostly-full drink clutched in his hand. He paused and spoke briefly to someone who laughed, nodded, and then moved on. Shianan rotated slowly to look across the room, fully visible from the landing. Soren swore mentally. “Mother, did you know that—”
“One moment, Soren, I’m enjoying the view. We don’t have so many balls at Kalifi, and you should let me enjoy my ogling. That’s a pretty couple, don�
�t you think? It’s too bad he’s contracted to wed her cousin.”
Ethan arrived with two iced drinks on a tray, and Soren handed one to the queen before seizing the other. He gulped too large a mouthful before catching himself. Should he simply tell her Bailaha was present? Would that be worse than hoping she somehow did not see him?
She was sipping the drink, gazing over the hall. “You’ll have to dance with me, Soren, at least twice. Everyone else is so unpleasantly formal, and of course he’s an awful dancer. Always has been.” She smiled.
“I’ll be glad to dance with you, Mother.” Soren took another drink.
“Are you all right?” She gave him a concerned glance. “You seem nervous.”
He forced a smile. “It’s been an eventful few days.” Would it be better to escort her to the main floor, where her vision was less sweeping, or to keep her here, where she would not meet him as they passed? Perhaps he should simply tell her. But not here. He’d have to find a private area.
“I suppose so. I heard you went out to find Alasdair, too, when he was lost.” She shook her head. “Somebody ought to do something about that boy.”
“Well, you are his mother.”
“He wasn’t my idea.” She raised an eyebrow at Soren and then laughed at his dismay. “These things happen.”
Soren chuckled. “Spare me the sordid details, Mother. I trust we were born, and that’s as far as I care to know.” He turned his head and caught Ethan’s eye before glancing significantly toward the main floor. Go and take him out of sight. Find an excuse.
Ethan understood—there was a reason he had been with Soren for a dozen years—and started down the stairs.
“Who is that? In the dark doublet, standing apart?” Queen Azalie nodded toward Shianan Becknam, standing alone below them. “Handsome man. He favors you a little, which helps of course.” She laughed.
She did not know him! But of course she wouldn’t. She had not seen him since he was a child.
Soren hesitated, but he had to give an answer. “That—that’s...”
She looked at him, caught by the change in his tone.
“He’s no one, Mother. No one.”
“No one?” Her lips thinned. “You seem oddly upset by this person of no consequence.” She looked toward Becknam again. “He is—but I said he favored you, didn’t I?”
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