Ashes of Dearen: Book 1

by Jayden Woods

  *

  Sir Gornum encouraged Fayr to stay in her chamber, and for once, she complied to his wishes. Something had changed in Gornum since that morning, perhaps when the last of the safra in his system wore off. He moved with a sense of purpose, even though his body was bulky and awkward, his gait imbalanced. He reacted to every situation that arose with a sort of focus, even though he usually didn't know a solution. Rather than giving up immediately or turning to Fayr for help, he actually paused to think about it.

  Was this what it meant for people to live without the Haze?

  She could not dare remain so optimistic. Gornum seemed like an exception to most others, perhaps because of the responsibility placed upon his shoulders. After coming out of his safra state, he’d already witnessed most of his inferior guards die on the blades of the hordesfolk. He’d seen chaos spread throughout the palace as the Vikandese gained a foothold. Then he’d heard that the Wolven had been spotted leaping over rooftops and even running between buildings. The Wolven’s appearance had worked somewhat to Gornum’s benefit, as the Vikandese withdrew from the palace in pursuit of the assassin. Fayr attributed this reaction to the request she’d made of the khan family, albeit obsolete, that they capture all Wolvens in order to win her favor. Whatever Picard’s and Richard’s reasons, they had left Dearen city for now. But just Sir Gornum had begun to feel like he might be able to breathe a sigh of relief, he and Fayr had discovered Kyne’s remains within the dungeon.

  Fayr was grateful that she could place some hope and trust in Gornum at a time when everything else in her world seemed to flip over and crumble apart. But Gornum wasn’t enough. Her brother was dead. The Haze was gone. Her small kingdom roiled with confusion. And she might have had the strength to endure all this if Darius had been here to hold and comfort her, to help her through this.

  Darius was dead. Darius would never hold her again.

  She stayed in her room for long many hours, even as the sounds of chaos reverberated from beyond, even as Gornum appeared periodically to update her on palace security or ask her for advice. The day passed beyond her awareness, for she could think nothing, feel nothing: to feel anything at all would be too painful. To Gornum she could offer no advice, no wisdom, no hope. She stared at him in a daze, and by late the next night, when his eyes sagged and his limbs shook with exhaustion—because, like her, he had gotten no sleep the night before—Fayr was tempted to tell him to gather his things and run away. As he gave her his dreadful report of riots and arguments in the streets, she nearly interrupted him and said, Let’s give up. It’s useless. Dearen is done for. Let’s get our things and run away. Leave this palace to this wolves. There’s nothing left for us here but misery and hardship.

  The words lay on her tongue when Gornum said, “But the tigers ... they seem to be helping us.”

  Fayr blinked a few times. She swallowed her dreadful thoughts. She ran his words through her head a second time, but still failed to makes sense of them. “Tigers? Helping us? How?”

  “No one’s really sure.” Gornum shrugged helplessly. “But it’s almost like what the legends say: that bad things happen to those who stay in Dearen unwelcome.”

  “But what are they doing? Where are they doing it from?”

  “From the edges of Dearen, I think, where the tigers tend to be: along the mountains of Yamair. beside the cliffs of Vikand, and near the shores to the north and south. I hear that when some people approach the tigers, the tigers chase them back into Dearen. Others, the tigers chase out of Dearen.”

  “Do you think it’s random?” Fayr scratched her purple hair helplessly. “Or do you think … ?”

  “I think Friva protects you, Princess. At least I hope so. I hope Friva protects all of us.”

  Fayr gulped. She had never given the gods much thought before. To do so made her uncomfortable. After all, her family had claimed the power of the gods. She lived her life expecting to be worshiped like a divine being, herself. And yet without the Haze to protect her, she was nothing—lesser, even, than most people. Today she had not even garnered the strength to leave her room since discovering Kyne’s death.

  For once, she hoped that Friva was as real and powerful as people believed, and if so, that she did in fact protect Dearen.

  Fayr got up and paced around the room. Her dirty dress dragged along the stones beneath her feet. Her purple hair, long and tangled, flowed wildly about her shoulders. She felt the stir of the night air through her window: crisp, clean, Haze-less air. She took a deep breath of it and knew she could not sleep until she had made a decision.

  “If Darius is—” Her throat caught. She could not bring herself to say it. “If I cannot marry Darius,” she tried again, “I must find someone else to marry. And I must do it soon, before I announce to the kingdom what happened to Kyne.” She covered her mouth a moment, stifling a groan of dismay. She managed to swallow it back down long enough to continue. “I must choose another suitor.”

  “That seems like a good idea, Princess,” said Gornum, although regret weighed his voice nearly as heavily as hers. “Do you have someone in mind yet?”

  “I … I don’t know.” From the moment she’d met Darius, she’d never truly considered anyone else. Darius should be the next king. Her heart had been sure of it, even if she had never confessed as much to herself, or said so aloud. How could she even begin to consider anyone else?

  Her mind raced desperately through her memories of the past few weeks. She could hardly even remember the other men’s faces. But she had to pick one.

  “Abrax,” she said at last. “Wasn’t there a Vikand chief named Abrax?”

  Gornum nodded. “Yes. You seemed to like him.”

  All Gornum really meant that Fayr had liked him enough to invite him during the royal table during the feast in Friva’s Hall. His purpose there, of course, had only been as placeholder. “If I remember correctly,” said Fayr, “he was a high chief. His personal army was only smaller in size than Richard’s, and he has commanded a large number of successful battles in the past, so he probably has the loyalty of much of the Royal Horde.”

  “I suppose so,” said Gornum desperately.

  “Bring him here first thing tomorrow morning,” the princess relinquished. “I will discuss with him the possibility of moving forward in marriage.”

  Neither of them spoke for awhile. Then the Master of the Royal Guard suddenly sniffled and wiped his eye.

  “Gornum?”

  “I’m sorry, Princess.” But he could not hide the despair in his voice. “It has been a long day, and I … I’ve never felt like this before.”

  Fayr bowed her head in acknowledgment. “You should get some rest, Gornum.”

  “But I wouldn’t forgive myself, Princess, if something else happened to you while under my watch.”

  The princess smiled sadly. “Then get someone else to guard me, tonight, Gornum. You’re of no use to me in your current state.”

  He looked at her in horror at first, misinterpreting her comment as a reprimand. Then he saw the the gentle twinkle in her eyes, and he nodded with relief. “Yes, Highness.”

  He left to obey her. Fayr finally collapsed in her bed, knowing she had done the only thing she could gather the strength to do.

  Then her tears unleashed, and she cried herself to sleep.