The Broken Realm

by Sarah M. Cradit

  He slammed through the doors leading to the kitchens, Kaslan not far behind.

  “Well,” Brandyn said. “Perhaps things will look clearer for us all in the morning.”

  * * *

  “I know my way. I donnae require an escort,” Jesse said as Arturo rode at his side, aimed toward the woods, and the keep. Arturo’s horse sat a foot taller than Jesse’s. It was bred for speed and for war, and for, as Jesse heard tell of it, the precision that could come only with a true bond with the one riding. Arturo would know his horse as well as himself, as the horse would know him the same.

  “You and I see things through common eyes,” the horseman said. “Easlan is right, the men are clamoring for war, and soon, we will have a problem to contend with if they aren’t given it. But what they want more than war is their land and freedoms restored. Their families no longer in fear. If we can do that before they go mad with unrest, we will be better for it.”

  “You look to the wrong man for answers,” Jesse said, as they came upon the end of the main road and the start of the forest path. “I have none. Even if I did, this isnae my fight.”

  “Ah, yes, you’re just a trader’s son, all salt and sand, no care for anything but,” Arturo said. “Or not. I know which I’d stake my gold on. Fair evening.”

  Arturo’s horse spun without being ordered and they headed back toward town.

  * * *

  “It’s too soon,” Gretchen said. She poured herself a second glass of wine from the jug. It was good wine. The last from the cask rolled out at her second wedding to Holden, the one thrown by the locals in Wulfsgate welcoming her to her new home. Dunwoode’s finest. She’d been saving it. For what, she couldn’t say, though it seemed to her the birth of her first grandchild might be an occasion worthy.

  Now, she saw no point in waiting for any such occasion to pass. Nothing was certain, not even her own feelings on matters she once thought decided.

  “Gretchen is right,” Holden said, nodding her way as if this agreement made up for all the arguments that came prior. “You brought enough provisions to tide them for another month, and another trip so quickly after your last will draw questions. They will wonder why you did not just stay with Aylen’s father, rather than subject yourself to the precariousness of the dangerous pass. No, you should keep to the schedule we discussed.”

  “It’s more than that,” Gretchen said, ignoring him. It felt good to ignore him, for him to know the slight was intentional. The balance of her love for him slid closer to hate each day, but these little rebellions, these pulls for power, helped stave off the utter darkness of a failed marriage little by little. Her marriage was saved in a thousand tiny cuts delivered by her tongue and intentions. “As you both have told us, the situation on the mountain grows volatile. Lady Blackwood and Princess Assyria await direction that we cannot give, and every time we remind them of that, we upset the delicate stability of their living situation.”

  “Why again are we waiting for Lord Warwick? Can we not decide for ourselves how to break this stalemate we have here in the north, and how to proceed with the matter of Stefan Rhiagain? He is our guest, not Khallum’s,” Christian asked. He watched her with the same look Holden often gave her, but there was something more in Christian’s eyes that kept her from worrying over it too much. His questions were meant to elicit conversation; this was the instructor in him, and why, she was loathe to admit, he must love it so.

  “Khallum Warwick should not decide the actions of the Northerlands,” Holden added. “They arrived on our shore, not his.”

  “Inaction is your weapon of choice,” Gretchen replied. To her son, she said, “The kingdom lacks unity. You were here when that Rush Rider, Blackfen, told us about the state of things in the Westerlands. We may think this is not our fight, but it is, just as it was ours when the Southerlands called for aid and those before us ignored their pleas. The king will only benefit from our discord now, and we should not deliver him that gift so easily.”

  “When will we send men to aid the Westerlands, then?” Aylen asked. “As Rider Blackfen said, they are all gathering now. They won’t abide Lord Quinlanden’s men on their lands much longer.”

  “It is not enough to send men into a cause lacking direction. When they have a way forward, they can be certain the Northerlands will join them,” Gretchen said.

  “And our men are still at practice. They are improving, but more is needed,” Holden said.

  Gretchen sighed before she could stop herself. “If you say it enough, perhaps it will be true. Let a man decide for himself if he is capable of defending what he most cares about. His answer might surprise you.”

  Holden shoved himself out from the table and stormed from the room.

  “Mother,” Christian said.

  “Don’t look at me to explain your father’s insecurities.”

  “You goad him. Endlessly. You never have a kind word. You can’t let a thing he says go without answer.”

  “Your father is a fool and a coward,” Gretchen said. “I won’t apologize for making it known.”

  “He knows how you feel about him. Is it necessary to grind your hatred of him into his flesh like glass?”

  Gretchen closed her eyes and focused her breath through a long exhale. “I don’t hate your father.”

  Christian threw his hands up. “Then I fear for the man you truly do hate.”

  “I will eventually overcome my anger for what his obedience to The Pretender drove your brother and sister to do,” Gretchen replied. “But his pride will recover. Drystan and Lisbet are still lost, our kingdom lies on the brink of war, and we have one of the keys to unlock all of that. Khallum has the other. For that, we must remain in alignment. But understand, Christian, Aylen, that I will not rest idly forever. The Westerlands won’t survive it. We might not, and my children will never be safe until Eoghan Rhiagain is no longer king.”

  “Father said you called off the search party for Drystan, Lisbet, and Eavan,” Christian countered. “Forgive me, but I cannot understand that. They could be home with us now, part of this very conversation, even. With our borders closed, they would be safe.”

  “I called them off because they had better chances out in the wilderness than they did in the hands of Eoghan Rhiagain,” Gretchen answered, tempering the venom for the son who was building to the levels of the father. She didn’t want to feel this for Christian, now or ever. Anger at his choice, yes, but never this. She sighed. “But as it is, I agree. Things are different now. And your father does not know this, but I have sent them out once more. They’ve found their trail, but it goes cold just before the Hinterlands, and our men won’t enter the Forest of All.”

  Christian gasped. “You think they’re in the Hinterlands?”

  “They must be. And if they are, they are either safe, or they are dead,” Gretchen said plainly, looking away from the shock on her son’s face. “No, they are not dead. I would know if it my own babies had gone from this world. And they have Ravenna with them. Her protection kept them safe up to that point, I have to believe it will continue to do so.”

  “What do we do, Lady Gretchen? For now, while we wait?” Aylen asked. Her calming voice was solace upon the charged conversation that consumed their words and thoughts, day after day. “How can we continue to be of aid?”

  Gretchen placed her hands over Aylen’s. “Ember has lost her father and sister, and been denied her mother. She is forbidden from her own home, and she may never see her other siblings again. With the kingdom on the brink of war, I feel as if I’ve not been able to give her the attention she deserves. It would be a great service to me, and to Lady Blackwood, if you could help ease her through this.”

  * * *

  “Ahh, thank you,” Jesse said, accepting the mug of tea from Esmerelda. She returned to the chair by the fire and curled her legs up under her, wrapping both hands around a belly now betraying its truth.

  “I tried something new tonight. See if you like it.”

&nbs
p; He settled into the chair across from her. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired,” she said, sighing the word. The dim light of the fire showed only hints of the darkness under her eyes, but he’d seen these changes in Esmerelda when he’d return home in the evenings. She’d always be there, waiting, with his tea, and an ear for what little he had to say.

  “You seem troubled,” she said. She pulled a quilt from the back of the chair and wrapped it around her. “More than usual.”

  Jesse nodded. He brought the steaming mug to his face and let the warmth wash over him before drawing a sip. “I’ve told you how the men grow restless. Tonight, this was brought to discussion. I’m afraid no one can agree on how to move forward. Fight. Sit. Wait. No matter what we do, there willnae be accord, though, of that I am certain.”

  Esmerelda dropped her head to the side, regarding him through the bleary eyes of one who should have turned in hours ago. “And what do you think should happen?”

  The way she looked at him was a far cry from the disdain he saw in Easlan’s eyes not even a tick of the moon earlier. She wasn’t making conversation, or entertaining his need to get his troubles out; she thought he might have answers, and more, that they’d be worthy of considering.

  Her faith in him left Jesse feeling emptier than he had been in a long time.

  “I... I don’t know, Esme, but I cannae help but think of where we’ll go when the Abbey is no longer safe for you.”

  “Maybe you have it all wrong, Jesse. Maybe we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. My father always said the Guardians don’t make mistakes.”

  Jesse half-chuckled. “I heard a man say those very words tonight.”

  “There’s comfort in them,” Esmerelda said, stifling a yawn. “Even if they turn out not to be true.”

  “These men would bring battle to their doorstep.”

  “It would be hard to blame them, after what has been done against them. After what happened to my uncle.”

  “It is their right, and I cannae say a word against it. I haven’t. I won’t. But I can’t protect you here, if they do.”

  Esmerelda dropped the blanket and moved toward him. With a slight kneel, she leaned in and kissed the top of his head. “Release your worries to the stars for the evening. The problems of the kingdom won’t be solved tonight, but the problems of your sleepless nights might.” She stepped back and smiled, and an invisible hand fell softly over his eyes as the gentle lull of sleep beckoned. Esmerelda took the blanket and laid it over him. “I told you I tried something new. Consider it a small cup of my gratitude.”

  * * *

  Christian walked with his wife in the Wintergarden. Each step revived old memories of the two of them playing here, before there was love between them, when the joy of imagination was bigger than the potential of any future bond. It was painful, at times, to remember how happy he’d once been in Wulfsgate, but the memories of Aylen from that era were the source of his youthful joy.

  “How do you think Brandyn and Storm have fared?” he asked her as they stepped under the winter blossoms of the cherry and plum trees. He didn’t ask the question often. The lack of answer concerned him. “I didn’t expect them to send a raven, but hearing nothing at all has me wondering if we shouldn’t have found a way to bring him here with us.”

  “Have you not seen anything? Anything at all?”

  “Nothing,” Christian said. “But I think... I hope, if he were in danger, I would know it. My visions seem most closely connected to those I care about.”

  “But you’ve seen nothing of Drystan or Lisbet, either.”

  Christian shook his head.

  “Perhaps it doesn’t work that way, after all, then. The other Magi would tell us visions are a random gift of magic with no reason. Some even believe that the magic is a gift from the Guardians themselves, and that faith and mysticism are intrinsically linked. If that is true, it explains why you were sent the vision of Brandyn and Storm in peril. It was something you had the power to act upon.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I don’t know,” Aylen said, with a dreamy look. “Nor am I sure it matters. We get what are given, nothing more.”

  “I worry for my mother. Her hostility will eat her from the inside out.”

  Aylen stopped. “Christian, I feel I need to say something to you. About this.”

  “You know you can say what you feel with me.”

  “I, too, have sympathy for your father and how she speaks to him. I’ve witnessed her do it before his own men, and that is wrong,” Aylen said. “But... I also understand what lies behind her words.”

  Christian folded his hands over his torso. “How do you mean?”

  “I have a great respect for your father, as does my father,” Aylen went on. “But he does not seem ready for what’s coming. I find myself in solidarity with Lady Gretchen on most things, actually, though her methods are only driving further enmity where we need amity.”

  “I see.”

  Aylen folded her arms. “You’re cross with me.”

  “No, I—”

  “You say I can speak my mind, but I have, and as it does not match your view on things, you’re preparing to tell me why I’m wrong.”

  Christian stepped forward. He wrapped his gloved hands around her shoulders. “Aylen. That’s not it.” He kissed her. “That’s never it. Not with us.”

  Aylen relaxed some. “It better not ever be. Our marriage was not some contract beyond our control. I chose you.”

  “As I chose you. And I promise you. Your mind is your own, no matter what mine is thinking,” Christian assured her. “We’re not in disagreement here, anyway.” He sighed. “The truth is, I know my mother is right. But, as you said, it’s her methods. A leader must inspire, not separate, and if she sees herself as the leader of this, as it were, then she needs to consider that she will need my father at her side, if not in deed then in body. Most of his men will not follow a woman. She may be the power, but he is the face, and she is pushing him to break from her and I’m terrified of what that might bring.”

  Aylen nodded, considering his words. He loved this about her, that she didn’t vie for her chance to speak, but rather, understood when to listen and when to talk. He tried his best to be the same for her.

  Christian dropped his voice lower. “And... what troubles me all the more is, I see so much of my father in me. It’s why I couldn’t stay... why I couldn’t...”

  Aylen cradled his face. “I know why, Christian. I know your fears. But you’re wrong. You are very much like them both. You are what Lady Gretchen should aspire to be if she desires to be the one leading the Northerlands through whatever is to come.”

  Christian brought his forehead to hers, and they remained that way until a distant sound drew their attention.

  “Is that Ember?” he asked as they both watched a bundled form storm through the perimeter of The Forest of All.

  “She’s hunting, she said, when I saw her leave the keep earlier,” Aylen replied, but there was something else she wasn’t saying.

  “You seem unsettled.”

  “About Ember, yes.”

  “Why?”

  Aylen watched the young woman until she was out of view, before speaking. “Your mother asked me to look after her, and I’m happy to oblige. I’ve already been spending time with her, and I’ll give more of myself, as much as needed.”

  “But?”

  “I know you agreed to take her with us across the pass next time. You said she seemed very mature for her years, and very aware of herself and what she’s asking for. And I see it in her, too. But I see something else, something that terrifies me.”

  “What do you see?”

  Aylen looked at him. “I see a fire burning deep within her, and when it erupts, it will consume her and everyone else who chooses to follow.”

  13

  What He Does in the Shadows

  Argentyn darted down the stone halls with furtive glances every few st
eps. He did not want to be seen, and Alasyr wanted to know why. Nothing made sense anymore, not since Ravenna left. The secrets and lies from those closest to him drew a tight circle around his heart like a vise, squeezing so tight that at times he couldn’t breathe.

  Alasyr gingerly removed his boots as he drew closer to his father, cautious of any sound that might give him away.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d followed his father. Before Ravenna ran off, Alasyr hadn’t cared at all about the High Priest’s strange winged jaunts to the land of men. Ravenna had always been curious, too. It was natural to wonder about those things that were different from your own world, even if many Ravenwoods frowned upon paying such trivialities any mind. When Alasyr wasn’t angry at them all, he understood that curiosity himself. The world of men had always been a mystery, one that intrigued him even if he reviled it.

  But where before Argentyn had made his journeys only seldom, he now daily took to the skies. Sometimes he’d leave both morning and night. He must have known how unusual and suspicious it was, for he only turned to flight once he was certain he was alone, always retreating to the far edges of the castle before making his transformation.

  Alasyr froze and pressed himself against the cool wall when his father stopped. With an inward breath, he rolled his head slightly toward the corner, and his father again came into sight.

  Argentyn looked left and right, his cheeks flushed with nervous excitement. Seemingly satisfied, he looked toward the sky and then erupted into feathers and night, soaring up and out.

  He quickly disappeared behind the darkening storm clouds. Snowbolts tonight, then. If his father felt pulled to go out in weather like this, then whatever was ahead for him must be important. Something even the threat of death couldn’t keep him from.