Hollen the Soulless: A Fantasy Romance (Dokiri Brides Book 1)

by Denali Day

  A minute passed.

  Three more.

  Despite the coolness of the stable, Joselyn started to sweat. Where was her man? Had he double crossed her? Been found out, gods forbid?

  All manner of dire possibilities were cycling through her mind when a brown head of hair moved at the back end of the stable. She looked up. A boy, no more than thirteen, watched her with purposeful green eyes. Joselyn inhaled and nodded once. The boy nodded back. Joselyn looked around. The maid and stablemaster were still gone. Joselyn released Morningstar and went to the stable boy.

  “Milady,” the boy said, with more courage in his voice than Joselyn felt, “Fancy a look at the stars?”

  Joselyn nodded. She followed the boy through the stable, somehow avoiding all other workers. Perhaps that was by design. They shuffled into a dark corner near a supply entrance. The boy turned back and held a silencing finger to his lips. Joselyn nodded in understanding. There were guards about. Possibly, just outside the latched gate.

  The next vital task: slip out of the stables without being caught. The boy pulled back the leather tarp that covered the bed of the wagon. Joselyn’s hand flew over her face. The cart was filled with chilly manure. The stink was enough to put down an elephant. The boy twisted up his face in an expression that was half mocking, half anxious.

  “If you can’t stand the smell now, you’ll never make it out the village. You still want to go through with this, lady?”

  Joselyn squared her shoulders and dropped her hand to her side. Her mouth hardened into a determined line. This did not even approach the limit of what Joselyn was willing to do to escape this place and get back to Hollen. No one would think to search a dung cart for Lady Fury. It was an abysmally small price to pay for her freedom.

  The boy regarded her with an impish grin that reminded her of Sigvard. “Right, then, time to swallow the shite.” He jumped up into the back of the cart.

  Joselyn frowned at the indelicate idiom, but stepped toward the cart. This was it. She was almost there. Joselyn reached for the boy’s open hand.

  She froze.

  Shouts rose up from outside the stable. Dozens of them. More terrifying was the pounding of soldiers’ boots on hard stone. Horror whipped through Joselyn like a flash of lightning.

  The boy’s head perked up in alarm. Their wide gazes met. Feminine screams joined the pandemonium before a heartbeat of total silence. The doors at the front of the stable burst open. Joselyn whirled just as a snarling roar blasted from outside. Guards came pouring into the stable, their eyes frantically searching.

  Behind her, the stable boy hopped off the back edge of the cart and disappeared. Joselyn didn’t care. She was running. Running toward the sound that could only mean one thing.

  Hollen.

  He’d come for her.

  Ahead, Joselyn sensed more than saw the wall of guards rushing toward her from the opposite end of the aisle. In the last moment, she tried to dodge them. One of them seized her against his armored body. Her breath left her in a scream.

  She demanded to be released. The cacophony of panicked horses and shouting guards drowned out her voice. Joselyn was pushed to the packed-dirt floor of the stable. A guard practically straddled her hunched figure. In the time it took to blink, guards filled in the space behind her, circling around from the other end of the aisle.

  Joselyn continued to struggle, to issue demands, to do anything that would get her out of this stable and into Hollen’s reach. It was useless. She couldn’t move.

  Minutes seemed like hours until she was finally allowed to rise. More like yanked from the dusty ground. She tried to speak, but was silenced by a guard who clutched her arm like his own was a vice. Dragged to the front of the stable, Joselyn jumped when a dome of clanging shields was raised above her head and all around her sides.

  Joselyn tripped over the feet of the shield-bearing men. They were so close she could smell the gruel they’d just been eating. The men ushered her out of the stable and through the cobbled courtyard.

  Joselyn was desperate to break out of the mobile prison, to see what was going on. He’d come for her. She knew it. She had to see it. To see him.

  “Hollen!” She cried, her voice turned up to the shield-blocked sky.

  An arm encircled her chest and slid roughly over her mouth. “Quiet, milady!”

  The smell of leather and unwashed man gagged her. Joselyn struggled as a guard dragged her the rest of the way toward the castle entrance.

  When they stepped onto marble-carved floors, the mobile fortress broke off all around her. Joselyn threw the assailing guard’s arm off her face and spun just as the deep creak of the entry doors began droning.

  There, in the courtyard, lying motionless on the icy ground, was her savage.

  37

  Mark of the Captive

  If Joselyn had first entered Castle Arland feeling like a war prize, she now felt a condemned criminal. Huge, armed guards flanked her on either side. Each had a meaty hand on her shoulder. They pushed her up the massive staircase of the grand foyer. Normally she might have reprimanded them for their outrageous handling of a noblewoman, but all she could think of was Hollen.

  He’d come for her. Just as he’d promised. And it would likely cost him his life. Unless Joselyn could change it.

  Lord Arland, a short, balding man, stood at the inner balcony, surrounded by his bodyguards. He directed the commotion in his household with all the finesse of a child attempting to herd frightened cats. He contrasted steeply with the cold, still figure standing just behind him. Lord Fury.

  Her father’s gaze landed upon her. At that look, her stomach felt like a shattering ball of ice. Indignation saved her from flinching. She met his gaze full on, chin raised. The captain of House Fury’s guard brought Joselyn to her father.

  “We have her, milord. She’s safe.”

  “The rider?” Marcus growled.

  “Apprehended.”

  Marcus’ eyes didn’t leave Joselyn. “Take her to my chamber. Secure the castle.”

  Joselyn knew better than to speak just now. She needed a moment alone with her father. For better or for worse, she was about to get exactly that. She was shoved into the empty room. The doors slammed behind her before she could turn.

  Joselyn flew across the room and pressed her hands against the windowpane. Though it faced the courtyard, it was too dark, and she was too high up to see what was going on below. All she could make out were the scurrying shapes of men on the ground. Her gaze searched frantically for Hollen. The whine of the door pulled her mind back into the room.

  Her father strode in, scarlet robes swaying behind him. As the door swung closed, Joselyn pushed off the windowsill and walked toward him.

  “Father, please!”

  Marcus’ spine went straight as a sword. His eyes flashed with warning. “You called that barbarian here?”

  Joselyn stopped in her tracks. “No. Of course not.” She’d never have called Hollen here. “How could I, Father?”

  Marcus’ furious eyes searched hers. Despite her pulsing fear for Hollen, Joselyn shrunk a bit. She was unaccustomed to seeing so much emotion on her father’s face. He bared his teeth.

  “And yet he’s come for you. Rode his foul beast to the roof. Made his way to your window. Gods know how he knew where to look.”

  Joselyn didn’t have to fake her confusion. It was genuine and wild. Marcus must have sensed it, because his accusatory tone shifted to conspiracy.

  “We’ve been inordinately fortunate. He’s the one who took you, no?”

  Stuttering, Joselyn wondered how to answer. Would she seal his fate to speak truly? Would she condemn him if her father sensed she was lying? In the end, she didn’t need to speak. Marcus nodded. Her hesitation was confirmation enough.

  “Good. His presence here proves the truth of your ordeal. We can expect no further suspicion from House Viridian once he’s been executed.”

  Joselyn’s vision narrowed. Trying not to sway, she pr
essed a hand to her stomach. “Father, you can’t.”

  “Can’t I?” Marcus cocked his head, his voice full of challenge.

  Joselyn scrambled to form an argument. “There must be a trial. What of the proper channels?”

  Marcus scoffed. “As if the king’s justice could be extended to savages.”

  Joselyn shook her head and did her best to still her trembling knees. “Justice applies to all. That’s what makes it just.”

  Marcus’ expression darkened. “You would defend your captor? Or is he your lover, after all?”

  Joselyn’s limbs went numb as a sense of impending disaster overtook her. “Father, I beg of you. Have mercy. Spare his life.”

  The distance between them evaporated. He floated toward her like a vengeful specter. Joselyn tilted her pleading face back and made no attempt to hide her desperation.

  “No.”

  No.

  Eighteen years, and still it was the only word her father had for her. The old bitterness reared to life with frightening vigor. This time, however, instead of tearing at her insides, Joselyn turned the demon outward. Wielding it.

  She took an abrupt step backward. “You will spare his life. You will spare him, or I swear on the gods I will refuse to marry Dante Viridian.”

  Marcus drew back, aghast. Never had she defied her father. Not once. And now she was giving him an ultimatum of the direst variety. Surely he was wondering what had happened to his daughter on that mountain.

  I outgrew you.

  When he’d recovered, Lord Fury’s face went neutral. “You will marry Dante Viridian tomorrow. If I have to order you bound, you will appear before the marriage altar.”

  Joselyn shook her head. “No. I think not.”

  Without giving him a chance to respond, Joselyn’s hands went to her broach. Unpinning it, she let the heavy cloak fall to the ground in a pile behind her. Whatever Marcus had been about to say, he held his tongue, too confused to speak.

  Joselyn let fear and anger fuel her boldness as she reached for the neckline of her bodice. She gave it a tug until her tanshi mark was on glaring display.

  Her father’s eyes fixed on the darkened ridges of the intricate carving.

  Joselyn flashed a scornful smile. “No legitimate priest would marry a sullied noblewoman. Not for all the gold in Ebron.”

  His gaze came up to meet Joselyn’s. Hatred. His eyes blazed with it.

  “So,” he said. Every muscle in his body went still. “My daughter is a slut and a heathen.”

  A month ago, she would have been crushed by those words. Not anymore. Now she knew who she was, and his vitriol only fueled her daring. She narrowed her eyes in defiance.

  Marcus glared back. “One of those can be rectified.”

  A shimmer of uncertainty made her release her dress. The neckline popped back over her chest. Marcus turned only his head to shout for the guards. The doors cracked open.

  “Two men. Now,” he ordered.

  He looked back at her. “Breathe one word to them or anyone else, and that nurse of yours will serve my hounds their breakfast.”

  The blood drained out of her face and pooled into her feet. The guards appeared in an instant. They hovered near the door as if they sensed the maelstrom of tension hanging in the air and were reluctant to come close. Marcus turned toward them. “You are sworn to silence.”

  They nodded their understanding without hesitation.

  “Bring her to the hearth.”

  Joselyn stepped back in alarm as the men approached. She made it all of two steps before their large hands were upon her. She tried to bat them away, but they had their order. They would carry it out, no matter what it was. That truth went screaming into the front of her mind as they tugged her toward the large hearth alight with flame.

  The guards turned her so her back was to the heat and faced her father, who crossed the room to retrieve a jewel-encrusted knife. The weapon was meant for show rather than any practical purpose. Still, the filed steel glinted in the light. Instinctively, Joselyn began to struggle.

  On either side, the guard’s grip tightened. Joselyn thought she could see trepidation in her assailant's eyes. Confusion, certainly. But there was no yielding in their wary glances.

  Marcus stopped inches away, bringing the knife up between them. Joselyn’s gaze widened with horror when he brought the shining tip to her neckline.

  “Look away, you idiots,” Marcus barked at the men holding her. “She’s a lady, not one of your village whores.”

  The men jumped to obey, turning their entire faces out to either side. Despite the blade’s showiness, it made short work of the delicate material encasing Joselyn’s panting ribcage. Tears of shock ran down her cheeks.

  “Father?” she gasped, unable to make sense of what was happening. Lord Fury’s cold gray eyes met hers.

  “In all your life, you’d never made a fool of yourself.” He frowned as though with genuine disappointment. “Tonight you’ve made fools of us both.”

  Joselyn’s heart pounded against her naked chest. She could hear its frantic beating in her ears as her father chucked the knife aside and turned toward the fire. From it, he pulled a glowing red iron.

  The guard’s hold on her tightened so severely she might have heard her own bones cracking, were it not for the sound of her screams.

  Joselyn’s chest blazed with pain. Still, the searing ache above her skin wasn’t half so potent as the agony beating just beneath it. The man who’d been her father branded her. Her tanshi mark was gone. Replaced instead with a searing, scarlet burn.

  She’d been locked in a new chamber. One without windows. It was impossible to know the precise hour, but she guessed it was sometime in the early morning. The night before, her wounds had been tended by a wrinkled old chambermaid. She’d pinned Joselyn with questions. When it was clear no answer was forthcoming, the maid resorted to offering long, pitying glances. That had been the extent of Joselyn’s comfort. When finished, she'd been left completely alone.

  The solace of sleep evaded her.

  Where was Hollen? Was he alive? In pain? Afraid?

  Joselyn had seen Hollen afraid once. The day he took her hunting, and she’d nearly been destroyed by the blood-seeker. He’d been afraid then. Now, she fully understood what it was to be afraid for someone else. He was here because of her. Because of her foolishness. Because of his duty to her.

  Sitting on the bed, Joselyn scoffed through her silent tears.

  What had duty accomplished for either of them? Her love awaited a death sentence and she was hours away from marrying a monster. A new, bitter conviction rose up. Hollen had been right all along. Duty to the unworthy was no strength at all.

  The door’s iron lock scraped from the outside. Stiffening, Joselyn wiped at her face and called up a steel wall of composure for whatever she was about to endure.

  A guard crowded the opening of the doorway before stepping aside, revealing Lord Fury. Joselyn’s hands bunched up the bed’s coverlet. She stared him down. It was possible he’d not slept either. Beneath his robes he wore the same clothing as the night prior. His red-streaked hair, while not wild, was unkempt. He entered the room, his gait proud and steady despite the fatigue that hung around him.

  “Daughter,” he said when the door had shut behind him.

  Joselyn blinked.

  Silence.

  Lord Fury regarded her. His gaze dipped down to her bound chest before jumping back up. “I’ve come seeking your forgiveness.”

  Joselyn would have fallen over at those words had she not already been sitting. Forgiveness? Lord Marcus Fury? Regretful? Never.

  “I acted rashly,” he said.

  You acted as the beast you are. That you’ll always be.

  “Surely a woman as sensible as you can understand why. What with so much at stake, and the rampant chaos last night.”

  Joselyn had to force her head to stop shaking. That he would try to justify his actions brought on a fresh wave of incredulous
rage.

  Lord Fury went on. “All we must do now is decide how we will proceed.”

  “Proceed?” Joselyn’s mouth stretched into a miserable smirk.

  Darkness eclipsed Lord Fury’s expression. “Yes, Daughter. You’re to be wed at sunset. Or have you completely forsaken your duty?”

  Joselyn went to her feet and laughed, a dark, sharp sound. “My duty? What of your duty, Lord Fury? What of your oaths of fealty sworn to our king? What of your vows to forsake all interests to protect and prosper the lands of Tirvine?”

  As Joselyn stepped forward, the man who had been her father seemed to rise in height. It was no matter. After last night, there was little he could do to frighten her.

  “What of your duty to me?” she asked, stopping when she could feel the heat of his body. “What of your duty to your only child?”

  Lord Fury stared down at her. His eyes took on the cool calculation years of use had made natural on him. “You believe I don’t care for you.”

  Joselyn’s gaze could have frozen him solid. “You care for no one.”

  He arched a brow. “Oh? And do you mean to throw your loyalty away along with your virtue?”

  Loyalty was an illusion to Lord Fury, a fine trick he performed to suit his own ends. At last, she’d seen the sleight of hand. Joselyn reached up and ripped the clasp of her pendant’s chain. Like a candle in the rain, she let the flame of her hatred snuff out. There was a reason Lord Fury had always been the victor. Her spite had never mattered to him. Instead, it had been one more means with which she’d let him control her.

  Never again.

  All her life, her need to prove him wrong had been a chain around her neck. With empty eyes, she dropped the pendant at his feet. Let the charlatan have his gold.

  Lord Fury stared at the pendant. Slowly, he looked back up. His eyes flashed steel. “Indeed.”

  The drums of war echoed in that one word. The hairs at the nape of Joselyn’s neck prickled.