Ashes of Dearen: Book 1

by Jayden Woods

  *

  Nothing went according to plan.

  Worms infested the biggest batch of apples gathered for the feast, while several more bundles of food were found rotting. Eleanor could not explain why this had happened, and neither could anyone else. Meanwhile, several of the Synergists’ latest inventions had been found responsible for grave errors throughout the kingdom. Eleanor had approved the use of most of these inventions before she had ever left for Dearen. Therefore, the ultimate responsibility for these mistakes fell on her shoulders.

  “No ... no no no no no!” She closed herself up in her personal quarters that afternoon, pacing in circles while bells of celebration kept clanging in the distance. No matter how tight she closed her shutters, she could still hear them. Eleanor had sent messengers ahead to greet Byron at the port which had sounded the first alarm bell. She expected him to arrive by tomorrow night.

  To add to her stresses, she received word that Prime Synergist Deragon had returned and wanted to meet with her as soon as possible.

  “Very well,” Eleanor reluctantly told the messenger. “I will see him.”

  She met him in the dimness of nightfall, her mansion lit by soft glowing lanterns and a crackling fire in the brick hearth. The depths of Deragon’s hood were even blacker than usual, though an occasional flicker of firelight etched his face with red lines.

  “You have returned too late, Deragon,” said the king-wife. “I have already begun the search for your replacement. I will elect him or her tomorrow morning, in time for King Byron’s arrival.”

  “I doubt that would be wise.” Deragon settled himself in a chair across the fire, casting his robes across the arm cushions. Then he grew silent.

  Eleanor struggled to rein in her temper. “You’re in no place to judge me,” she snapped.

  “On the contrary,” he said. “I’m in a very good place to judge.”

  Her muscles turned to mush within her. She sank into a chair across from him, though the heat of the fire struck her with searing intensity. “I’m not sure what power you think you have over me. But if you think you can—”

  “I’d like your blessing to stay in Dearen indefinitely.” Deragon leaned back and folded his hands together in front of him. “I think you will see my reasons are not entirely selfish. Indeed, the Haze is gone, and my time there will be far from leisurely. The kingdom may crumble without proper support. I intend to provide some of that support, for the good of both Dearen and Yamair.”

  Eleanor forced a swallow down her throat. She realized that Deragon had probably been in Dearen more recently than any of her messengers. “How is Dearen faring now?”

  “The people are very confused,” said Deragon. “They upset easily, staging protests and discovering some new sort of violence amongst themselves every day. They are much like the lost sheep roaming the slopes of our Yamairan hills. They follow easily; they scatter easily. They will shape according to the hand that grasps them. So you see, this is Yamair’s chance to make a permanent mark on Dearen. Using me, you can make Yamair an integral piece of Dearen’s ministration. But more importantly, you can spread the rhythm of the Earth Mechanic to the pagans.”

  His points seemed valid enough, his intentions sound. Eleanor could not say why she doubted him. Perhaps she could never trust him, only because … she blushed and looked into the blinding light of the fire. “I told you. I have already arranged an election for your replacement. Tomorrow morning ...”

  “Cancel it.” Deragon’s voice remained calm and even. “I would have left sooner if possible. But I sensed that Dearen needed me, and I was right. Princess Fayr came to me for counsel after the disruption of the Vikand hordesfolk. Fortunately, the heathens are gone for now—they seemed plagued by disagreement and lack of leadership after the disappearance of Leonard Khan. In that we were all fortunate. But I counseled the princess, nonetheless, and even when the Vikand threat lifted, she continued to come to me for advice. I am the one for this duty, King-wife, and I will take it with your blessing, or without it.”

  Eleanor’s heart thudded against the bones of her ribs. Whether she imagined it or not, she sensed Deragon smirking at her through the shadows of his hood. He thought he had outsmarted her in some way. He thought he could do whatever he wanted, just because he saw her with …

  Eleanor stood suddenly, planting her boots against the floorboards. “I will not stand for insubordination. You did not obey me when I asked you to come back to Yamair. You confess now that you will remain in Dearen, whether I will it or not. Such recklessness has no place in the machinations of Yamair. You will do my will or none at all. My will is this: your name will be added to the list of candidates tomorrow morning. But you will not be guaranteed your place as Prime Synergist. You will be subject to a vote.”

  Deragon put his hands down. He looked up at her, bringing the mauled folds of his face into light. “I am sorry that the election of the Prime Synergist is so … trivial to you.”

  “Trivial?” Eleanor shook her head helplessly. “Of course it’s not trivial. The vote is a traditional method of selection!”

  “The vote should happen once every five years, after a great deal of preparation and campaigning. Not in a matter of weeks. You might as well spin a wheel and pick a candidate at random. I might expect this behavior of lesser Synergists, but not of you—you, who does not even have an heir of her own to replace the kingship, and probably never will.”

  “I will not debate this with you.” Eleanor shook from head to foot. “You are dismissed, Deragon.”

  He stood calmly, coldly. “I used to wonder why you couldn’t produce a child. I used to feel sorry for you.”

  Eleanor’s mouth fell open in shock. How dare he mention such a thing?

  “Now I understand,” Deragon continued relentlessly. “The Earth Mechanic sees all things, and he rewards sexual deviancy as it ought to be rewarded.”

  “Deviancy ... !” Eleanor rocked on her feet. The tiniest nudge would have knocked her to the floor. Deragon bowed his head, turning to go. But she couldn’t let it end like this. She had to find some way to justify herself, both to him and herself. “I ... I saw who you spent your time with in Dearen,” she gasped. “She was little more than a child.”

  “But she is old enough to impregnate, as we have already received indication. That is the purpose of copulation, is it not? Moreover, our union betrays no prior ... commitments, especially of a nature so important as yours.”

  Eleanor could barely speak or think. She clutched the chair for support once more. Why was this happening to her? She had never thought Deragon to be a cruel or conniving man. Was he? Or did he merely say what any Synergist should? Deragon brought her deepest and darkest thoughts to light, thoughts she had buried since the night she gave in to safra.

  “King-wife Eleanor.” Deragon stared at her levelly. “We all make mistakes, as I know better than anyone. You have already made a big mistake. All I ask is that you do not make another.”

  He left her thus, drowning in her own inner torment.

  Was it a threat? Was it blackmail? Or did Deragon serve as little more than a confirmation of the terrible truth?

  She lost track of how long she sat in her own living room, listening to the deafening roar of her own whirling thoughts, failing to make sense of them, unable to see right from wrong.

  She thought of the strange Merchant and his haunting words to her. If you seek the way of the balance, you must cast away all deviations immediately. How could he know such a thing? Who was he? What was his motive? Whatever the case, she feared he was right. He had known that King Byron would return soon to Yamair. He had known that Eleanor strayed from “the balance.” Was it too late now to correct her path?

  You must leave your mistakes in Dearen and cross into Yamair before the end of today, he had said. If you do not return to the balance immediately, then the price you pay for your transgressions will be very, very high.

  She listened to the ticks of the clo
cks around her, noting how drastically their rhythms varied, how every clock clashed in a meaningless cacophony of sounds. She had not tuned them of late. She had not served as metronome to her kingdom.

  Her emotions had taken control of her over the last few weeks. Her feelings distorted rational thought, making it entirely illogical. She could not decide how to move forward in her current state of mind—not when so much of her future, as well as Yamair’s, depended on what she did next.

  The time had come to drink some Discipline.

  She gagged after the first gulp. The sweetness of safra had made her quickly forget the bitter taste of Discipline. She barely managed to keep it down, then she waited on her hands and knees for the drug to take effect.

  The potion worked more slowly than in the past, perhaps because it faced more opposition within her than usual. Gradually, like a weight easing from her shoulders one pound at a time, the pressure of her emotions lifted off. Her anxiety dissipated. Her doubts melted away. Like the sun rising over a hillside, light fell suddenly upon the path of the balance.

  Eleanor’s deviations revolved around safra and Rebeka. The wise Merchant had told her to leave those behind in Dearen. But Eleanor had brought them both into Yamair.

  The source of all her problems was Rebeka. Rebeka led her down a path of chaos. Rebeka engaged in fruitless activities, including consumption of safra. Rebeka caused her to betray her husband. Because of Rebeka, Eleanor could be subject to blackmail. Because of Rebeka, Eleanor had ceased to see clearly what she should or shouldn’t do.

  Rebeka must be eliminated.