Ashes of Dearen: Book 1

by Jayden Woods

  *

  A large boom reverberated through the Princess’s chamber.

  She awoke with a start, her body tingling, her heart racing. The ominous sound rescued her from an even worse nightmare. Once again, she had lain in the Garden of Delights. The Wolven’s thighs clasped her stomach. His hand moved down her neck ...

  For many nights now, whenever Fayr closed her eyes, the face of the Wolven rose out of the darkness. More than once, she had already climbed back to reality to escape him. When she did, her breath came in shallow gasps and her blood tingled in her veins. But it wasn’t only from fear.

  She hated to admit it, but something about what happened to her that day had been exhilarating. She remembered the red eyes staring down at her, the strong legs pressing her to the earth. She did not think she had ever seen anyone so fit and muscular as that man had been, for who in Dearen bothered to exercise? The assassin could have killed her with a flick of his fingers. And she had never felt more alive in all her life than she did in that moment.

  The nightmare always left her feeling the same way: frightened, confused, and yet ... exhilarated.

  Weeks had passed since the death of her parents. Sometimes, she felt as if she had lived a liftetime since then. Other times, like tonight, she felt as if they had only died yesterday. She blamed this on the fact that to most of the outside world, barely anything had changed. Sometimes she couldn’t believe how little had changed. The kingdom carried on as it had for years: gathering safra from the Haze, consuming it, and selling it. Now people simply sought the Princess’s permission for this or that affair, rather than her father’s.

  Every once in awhile, disputes arose over who had the right to gather safra from certain locations. Sometimes trade issues arose, mostly concerning the haggling of prices. More often than anything, reeves from the four towns and Dearen city would approach her with a list of foreign immigrants who wanted to become citizens of Dearen so they could reap the benefits of its lifestyle. She would deny them, then give the reeves permission to deport them. The reeves would nod and go along their way. She did not know what process the reeves used to evict these wannabe-citizens. She suspected that like most things in Dearen, it posed no challenge, for people would be happy until they left the country and the Haze far behind. Only then would they remember what they had desired and never obtained.

  Thusly safra settled most problems for her. Nobles might seek her attention for permission for one thing or another, but in the end, her response mattered little. As soon as anyone entered the palace, the thickness of the Haze overcame them. Safra fulfilled all their desires for as long as they inhaled it.

  And therein lay the problem.

  She hastened to throw a cloak of velvet and ermine over her bare shoulders as another boom shook the door to her chambers. What on earth could anyone want at this time of night? She pushed back her purple hair, patted her cheeks, and approached the door.

  Before she opened it, she took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and yanked it open with a firm hand. “Who dares awake me from sleep?” She struggled to discern his face through the glare of a torch.

  “Princess?”

  “Gornum!” The fat guard usually watched over her during the day—not during the night. For this reason alone he had survived the Wolven’s attack. “What are you doing here?”

  “I, uh, I think this is what Cayleb used to do.”

  Fayr gulped. Cayleb had once served as Master of the Royal Guard and was the king’s most trusted soldier. The Wolven killed Cayleb the night he killed Fayr’s parents. “What did he do? Speak sense, Gornum!”

  “When the High Reeve brought the people on the list, Cayleb would come here and get the king. And the king would deal with it.”

  “What people? What list?”

  “You know. The list of people to go to the dungeon? That’s what I think, anyway.”

  Fayr’s heart pounded like a hammer in her chest. “I don’t know what in high heaven you’re talking about.” And yet she did know—something. She knew that this might have been her father’s biggest secret. She knew it related to the creation of safra. “I ... I ... I don’t know what to do!” she burst at last.

  Gornum just blinked a few times with his big groggy eyes. “Oh well. They seem happy enough for the time being. But they’re eating all the grapes. Oh well. There are other things to eat.”

  He turned to go, but Fayr reached out and grabbed him. If he had a clear head, he would have seen the panic in her eyes. But if he did see it, he didn’t seem to care. “How many people?”

  “Thirty, I think.”

  “Thirty.” In the past, she had glimpsed her father walking to the dungeons only a few times. But it had always been in the dead of night, and there had always been about thirty people trailing after him. People who never came back out.

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to crawl back into her bed and pretend that none of this was happening. Keeping herself together required all her will and effort. “Where did the list come from?”

  “The High Reeve.”

  There was one High Reeve in charge of Dearen City. There were only four reeves beneath him, one for each of the smaller cities of the Dearen kingdom. “Is he still in the palace?”

  “He left a few days ago.”

  “A few days ago?”

  Gornum nodded dumbly.

  “Have the people been here that long?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know what to do with them at first so they’ve been staying in the Garden of Delights. I rather like one of the women. Her name is Dylla. She’s very beautiful. But a lot of the other men like her too. That’s okay. We take turns.” His face turned all red. His eyes wandered. A whimsical smile fell over his face. But he must have seen Fayr’s shocked expression in the corner of his eyes, for then he said, “Eventually I remembered that Cayleb would handle them, but he would never go immediately to the king about them. He would always tell them, ‘wait here until midnight.’ But I only just remembered. You’re not going to take Dylla away, are you?”

  Fayr didn’t know. She didn’t know anything. She searched her brain, over and over and over, trying to find a solution. What if she took them down to the dungeon? What then? She had never been there before. What if something inside revealed the solution? What if it didn’t? Or what if something terrible happened, simply after taking someone inside? Did she want to know? Could she bring herself to risk these people’s lives without understanding why or how?

  But she had to. The Haze thinned every day. She could see this happening visibly, but she could sense it in other ways, too. She glimpsed it in people’s expressions or subtle mannerisms. Like Gornum, right now. He worried. He worried that Fayr would take Dylla away from him. People in Dearen shouldn’t worry about anything.

  “The key,” she said at last. “I suppose we need the key to the dungeon.”

  Gornum shrugged. “I suppose so. Do you have it?”

  Fayr took a deep, shuddering breath. “I, uh ... I know where it is. Give me a moment.”

  She retreated into her room and pulled on a dress with trembling hands. The key lay in a drawer in her parents’ bedchamber. In the past, King Joyhan wore the key around his neck. After his death, Fayr told the servants to put the key in his desk.

  Fayr had not entered the royal bedchamber since she walked in and found her parents dead.

  She wrapped her purple hair in a knot on her head and considered pouring herself a glass of vino. If only she could enjoy the benefits of breathing the Haze like everyone else. Instead she remained a prisoner to her terror. She could not depend on a magical drug to whisk her towards happiness. She could only rely on herself.

  So be it.

  At last she strode down the hallway to the royal bedchamber, Gornum following behind with a torch. The shadows moved across the stones like ghosts. Or perhaps like the Wolven himself, creeping through the darkness to come get her. Again she remembered him on top of her, holding a blade to her throat, even as h
e caressed her.

  You think I am mad at you? she had asked the Wolven. I am not as mad as you think.

  I despise the Violenese, my own ancestors, she had said. I hate them for this curse they’ve given me. I hate my father for raising me in their shadow, never even giving me the knowledge to choose a fate for myself. I am glad that … I am glad that he’s dead and I want to thank you. I want to thank you for freeing me.

  “Wait here,” she told Gornum, and took his torch.

  The door to the royal chamber opened with a creak. The blaze of the torch made her cheeks flush with heat. Its red light gleamed off the jeweled decorations on the wall, candlesticks, and weaponry. All of it remained as it had been before. A tiger hide lay across the stones. On top of the soft orange fur, she could see a few drops of blood, dark like little holes into another dimension, gaping into the realm of death.

  She pushed her heart down her throat with a swallow and willed herself to keep moving. She walked past the spot King Joyhan had sprawled with a sword sticking out of his back. She kept walking.

  She set the torch in a bracket and pulled open the heavy velvet curtains. Moonlight shoved away the darkness. A cold breeze crawled across her neck and arms. Fayr looked up into the bright silver orb hovering in the heavens, remembering how it looked the night of her parent’s death. It shone much more brightly now.

  The Haze had thinned, indeed.

  With new resolve, she walked to the king’s desk and pulled open the drawer.

  The key wasn’t there.

  She searched one drawer after another, fumbling through parchment, ribbons, wax seals, and feathered pens. She nicked her finger on a knife and had nothing but a spot of blood to show for her efforts.

  For a moment she thought she might faint. She should have been more careful. She should have put the key somewhere safer, somewhere hidden. If she did not have the key she would never open the dungeon. She would never learn the secret of her ancestors. She would never make more safra and the Haze of Dearen would vanish forever.

  The spell of safra would dissipate.

  People would become more ... like her.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it of her confusing, conflicting emotions. She must think rationally now. If the key was not here, where might it be? Who would be next most likely person to know of its whereabouts?

  She picked up her torch and turned her feet toward Kyne’s room.