Wraith King

by Argyle, Amber

  Larkin shot her a disbelieving look.

  “Soren belongs with his mother,” Denan said.

  Caelia folded her arms across her chest. “I won’t have him raised by his father’s murderer.”

  What could Larkin possibly say to that?

  Caelia shot her a fierce look. “I want your word.”

  Larkin couldn’t take the child from his mother. And despite everything Garrot was, he’d been an excellent father to the boy.

  Denan saved her. “We’ll deal with that if and when it comes.” He gave Larkin a gentle push down the pier. “Go.”

  He shot West and Atara a look. “See she’s safe.”

  West puffed out his chest. “With my life, Majesty.”

  Larkin fought the urge to roll her eyes. Fighting the instinct to stay with her husband, she strode toward the boat Atara and Harben were readying. West kept close beside her.

  Caelia trailed after her. “I’ve heard the stories of what Garrot did to you. The deal he made with the wraiths. You can’t possibly want such a man around your nephew.”

  Rain had soaked Larkin through. It felt wonderfully refreshing after the oppressive heat. “Of course I don’t.” She jumped inside the boat.

  West blocked Caelia from climbing in after her.

  “Larkin?” Caelia said, frustration in her voice.

  “That’s not the right knot.” Atara took the rigging from Harben and retied it.

  Harben huffed in frustration and turned to Larkin. “What took you so long?”

  “You?” Caelia gasped. Her gaze locked on Harben, her chest rising and falling too fast.

  Gaping at the woman, Harben took a step back, tripped over a rope, and fell onto his backside. Larkin had seen that horrified look on her father’s face before. When the constables had come to take him to the stocks. When he’d been summoned to court. It was the look of a man who’d done something wrong. A man who knew he was caught.

  Dread seeped into Larkin’s body. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t . . . I can’t . . . Please,” Harben stammered.

  “Murderer.” Caelia’s voice was choked with emotion.

  Murder

  The rain came down harder, bouncing as it hit the lake, the sound drowning out the low murmur of the funeral goers beyond the dock. Larkin wiped water off her face. She wanted to deny Caelia’s accusation. To defend her father. But she’d seen the violence in her father’s eyes before. Knew what he was capable of.

  She stared at the man who raised her, the dread overwhelming her. Her father looked desperately about, but there was nowhere to go. Atara stepped closer to him. The boat drifted, bumping against the boat next to it.

  Caelia’s sigils came to life.

  West drew his sword. “Don’t.”

  Larkin looked down at her father. “Harben?”

  Harben’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

  Caelia pointed at Harben. “Murderer!” She pulsed, knocking West back, and leaped into the boat. Harben scrambled away from her.

  “Stop!” Larkin cried.

  Jumping in after her, West grabbed Caelia around the waist and held her. Harben tried to jump in the lake, but Atara snatched his collar and hauled him back. Caelia fought and screamed. Larkin tried to grab her hands and slipped on the damp dock, landing on her backside.

  “You pulse again, I’ll knock you flat,” West shouted.

  Pounding footsteps. Denan and the sentinels charged down the dock. The sentinels outran him. West managed to drag Caelia to the edge of the boat. She fought to get free, and they both fell in the lake with a splash. Larkin gave a shout of alarm and tried to reach them, but the boat was rocking hard.

  Two of the sentinels hauled them up and pinned Caelia down. Denan stood over them, panting, his face ashen.

  “He’s a murderer!” Caelia pulsed again, throwing the sentinels off her.

  Sopping wet, West stood over her, his sword at her throat. “I will kill you.”

  Panting, she glared at him, but she must have believed him, for she made no move. Larkin stepped up to the edge of the boat and flared her shield just in case. Two sentinels grabbed Caelia’s arms and hauled her to her feet.

  Atara pushed Harben next to Larkin, who didn’t release her shield. Nor did she look at her father. Blood soaked West’s upper lip and mustache—he must have taken a hit to the nose. He spat blood into the lake.

  Denan pointed to his pages. “Find Gendrin. Now!” All four of them took off at a run toward the White Tree. He rounded on Caelia. “Murdered who?”

  “He murdered Joy,” Caelia said.

  Larkin remembered the woman—curly dark hair, like her daughter, Larkin’s friend Venna. The woman had been Bane’s family servant when he was younger; he’d loved her like a mother. Larkin had the sudden taste of jam on her tongue, and the softest, butteriest bread melting in her mouth—a skill Joy had passed on to her daughter.

  Joy had been found in the middle of the night, her head split open from where she’d struck it on a rock. To think that Larkin’s papa might have caused it . . . she thought she might be sick.

  “Larkin?” Atara asked, clearly concerned.

  Larkin had a sudden memory. When she’d asked her papa why he had gone from a loving, caring man to a monster, he’d buried his head in his hands and said, “I did something awful.” He had refused to say what that awful thing was.

  Now she knew. “The forest take you,” she said to her papa. “How could you?”

  He turned away, as if he couldn’t bear for her to look at him.

  “Answer her,” Denan demanded.

  Harben flinched. “Larkin, I . . .” He trailed off.

  Larkin’s gaze locked with Caelia’s. “What happened?” She already knew the answer, but fool that she was, hope still wavered in her heart. And she needed Caelia to douse that hope if she was ever to accept this.

  Caelia pulled damp hair away from her face. “She refused to forgive his debt. He shoved her.”

  Denan motioned for West to lower his sword. Looking uneasy, he obeyed.

  Her father squeezed his eyes shut tight. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt her. I was angry. She demanded money I didn’t have. I—”

  “You meant to shove her!” Caelia tried to surge out of the sentinels’ grasp, but they held her tight. West’s sword snapped back into place. “She died in my arms. And when I threatened to tell everyone, you chased me into the Forbidden Forest! You would have killed me too if I hadn’t gotten away.”

  Harben hadn’t gone to Joy’s funeral. He’d disappeared for two weeks. When he’d returned, the first thing he’d done was throw Larkin in the river in a fit of rage. Only she couldn’t swim. Bane had dragged her out and, over that long, hot summer, had taught her how to swim.

  That was the first time her father had been violent with her and the first time Bane had saved her life.

  And now, she knew her papa was the reason for Bane and his father’s grief.

  Light. Oh, light. Larkin’s arms were suddenly too heavy. They dangled at her sides. Her magic stuttered and snuffed out.

  Larkin had always thought her father’s rage was because Mama had revealed she was pregnant with another worthless, unwanted girl. But really, he’d been racked with guilt over what he’d done. And he’d taken that guilt out on his family. For years.

  A small, helpless sound escaped Larkin’s throat.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Atara murmured.

  A lie.

  Gendrin jogged down the dock, which shook under his bulk.

  “What’s going on?” Nesha called from inside Larkin and Denan’s boat. The sentinels were blocking her in. She smacked their chests. “Let me go. Larkin!”

  Denan groaned and motioned to the sentinels. “Let her go!”

  She lifted her skirts and ran toward them.

  Gendrin took in the situation in a glance. “Caelia?” He glared at the sentinels holding her. At a look from Denan, they let her go.

 
; Caelia went boneless, all the fight going out of her. She collapsed in her husband’s arms. “Gendrin, it’s him. He killed her. He killed Joy.”

  Gendrin stared at Harben, violence hardening his expression.

  “What?” Nesha had reached them in time to hear the last bit. She pushed her damp hair out of her sweaty face. “No.”

  Gendrin gave Harben a look that promised death and pain. West and Atara tensed to stop him if he tried anything. Larkin wanted to slap her father, scream at him. But beneath her anger, a profound loss churned. The Alamant had no tolerance for the murderers of women. He would die for this.

  “Denan,” Gendrin said through clenched teeth. “Do something with this man or I will.”

  Denan wouldn’t look at her.

  “Papa,” Nesha pleaded. “Please tell me you didn’t do this.”

  Larkin had no hope of that. No hope of anything, where it concerned her father.

  Tears streamed down Harben’s face. “Every day, I’ve tried to forget. I’ve killed myself trying to forget. I’m sorry, Caelia. Sorry for what I’ve done.”

  Nesha’s hands flew to her mouth.

  Caelia took a ragged breath, clearly trying to bring herself under control. “Tell that to Venna. Only, Venna is lost to the mulgars.”

  Nesha began to cry, tears mixing with the rain on her face.

  Why did Larkin feel like all this was her fault? Why was her family such a mess? Harben’s head hung low. His shoulders stooped. Denan stared at the man, his fists clenched. Harben had confessed. Denan had to decide the fate of his father-in-law. And he couldn’t show mercy. Not with how divided the Alamant already was.

  “Normally, you would be sentenced to death,” Denan’s voice rasped. “But in these perilous times, we need soldiers to fight against the wraiths. And so I condemn you to serve the rest of your days in Ryttan. May your death spare one of our soldier’s lives.”

  Larkin felt a beat of relief—her father wasn’t going to die—followed immediately by a beat of dread.

  “What does that mean?” Nesha asked.

  “What’s Ryttan?” West asked.

  “A city in the Forbidden Forest,” Atara murmured. “The Alamant often sends criminals there.”

  Nesha held her hands over her mouth as if to keep the sobs contained within.

  Ryttan had fallen centuries ago when the wraiths had destroyed the kingdoms. The pipers had rebuilt the curtain wall. The ruined city now served as a way station between the Alamant and the Idelmarch. It was a dangerous place—constantly under attack.

  Denan turned to Caelia. “His life will be spent saving the lives of others, which serves more good than outright killing him. If you disagree with my ruling, you may appeal in one week’s time.”

  Caelia nodded.

  Denan frowned at Gendrin. Silent communication passed between the two—communication that Larkin couldn’t read. Denan looked away first and motioned to a pair of the sentinels. “Take him to the constables. Have him transferred to Ryttan. Tonight.”

  Larkin stepped in front of Denan. “Not until we know for sure.”

  Denan’s head came up, and he slowly nodded. “Hold him until I give the order for him to be sent.”

  “Know what for sure?” Harben asked, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “Where Raeneth is,” Larkin said smoothly.

  Harben knew she was hiding something—he was her father, after all. But he didn’t protest as the sentinels stepped into the boat, took Harben over from Atara, and bound his hands. He only paused when he drew even with Nesha. “I’m not the man I once was.”

  She reached out and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I know.”

  Larkin ground her teeth. How could Nesha forgive him so easily? But then, she always seemed to forgive even the most horrible people.

  He turned back to Larkin. “Promise you’ll find my Raeneth.”

  She reluctantly nodded. The sentinels prodded Harben. He walked past Caelia and Gendrin, who watched him with righteous indignation. He kept his head down as the sentinels led him to another boat. Caelia leaned against Gendrin, who murmured and stroked her hair.

  Nesha sidled up to Larkin. “There has to be something you can do.”

  “He’s guilty, Nesha. If Caelia wants, she can have him hanged.”

  Nesha shot a pleading look heavenward. “Do you— Do you think she’d drop the charges if I let her spend time with Soren?”

  Larkin hadn’t thought of that. “Caelia can only make this worse for Harben. Not better.”

  Nesha wrung her hands. “Why don’t you call him Papa anymore?”

  Larkin wasn’t having this conversation. She had other things to deal with. She motioned Nesha toward the sentinels. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  Larkin felt the disapproving glances of the sentinels. Their queen, the daughter of a murderer.

  Denan rubbed his forehead. “Larkin, I’m sorry. I—” He listed to the side.

  One of the sentinels steadied him. Larkin launched out of the boat and was at his side in an instant. West ducked under one of Denan’s arms, Gendrin the other. An instant later, Denan’s legs went slack, his head falling back.

  “Take him to our boat,” Larkin said. Someone else would have to deal with identifying Raeneth.

  West and Gendrin started in that direction.

  “Ready my boat,” Larkin called to Atara. “We’re taking him to the healing tree.”

  “No,” Denan managed. “Take me home.”

  “Denan—” Larkin began.

  Rain ran down his face. “I’ll rest better in my own bed.”

  Larkin pursed her lips. But their hometree was closer. “All right, but I’m going with you and sending a page for Magalia.” And this time, the healer would come.

  They reached their boat. Larkin and Atara jumped in and helped Denan down. “You promised your father,” Denan panted. “A little rest, and I’ll feel much better.”

  “Someone else can identify her body,” Larkin said.

  West and Gendrin hopped in and stood ready in case he fell again. He collapsed on bottom, wincing at the puddles of water that had accumulated. Larkin grabbed a wool blanket and wrapped him up tight.

  Nesha knelt beside Denan. “I’ll take care of him. You go.”

  A page ran up to Gendrin and handed him a letter. He scanned it and looked up at them. “Another enchantress has been murdered. The constables saw a man running away. They’ve cornered him in the tree.”

  The ardent who’d most likely murdered Raeneth? To get to Larkin. That’s what this was all about. Had the ardents known that her father had murdered Joy? That if they kidnapped and killed his wife, it would send him running to Larkin on the one day Caelia was sure to be present, the one day her father would be condemned? They were ripping her family apart. Would they keep going until she had nothing left?

  She didn’t need to see Raeneth’s body. She knew, deep down, that the woman was dead.

  Denan must have seen this in her eyes. “Go, my warrior queen.”

  “He’s strong,” Nesha said gently. “He’ll be all right.”

  “All right,” Larkin finally relented. She kissed his damp forehead. “I love you.”

  “You two, go with the queen,” Denan said to his pages, one of whom was Farwin. “Atara, West, keep her safe.”

  “Her life for mine,” West said.

  Talox had said something similar to Denan once. He’d died that same night. A beat of dread pulsed through Larkin.

  Atara rolled her eyes at West. “Must you always be so dramatic?”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her as best I can as well,” Gendrin said to Denan. He motioned for Caelia. The two of them took off toward their own boat, probably to join the search.

  Larkin, Atara, and West climbed onto the dock. Four sentinels piled into the boat with Denan, unmoored, and took the oars. One of them let down the sail. The boat pulled away from the dock.

  “Make Magalia come if you have to,” Larkin called to
her sister. “And see Viscott sends a steady supply of tea. If he gets any worse, send one of the pages to me right away. About Sela too.”

  Nesha nodded. Denan lifted a hand in farewell as the boat picked up speed.

  West touched Larkin’s arm. “We need to go.” Reluctantly, she followed him. “Fetch his mother,” she told the page who was not Farwin. If Larkin couldn’t be there, then Aaryn should.

  “Aaryn will be leading the enchantresses in the search,” Atara said.

  Larkin pursed her lips. “Fetch his father, then. Requisition a boat if you have to.”

  The boy ran toward a pair of sentinels.

  Feeling like she’d made a major mistake, Larkin dropped into the boat Denan had gifted her father. In the distance, Harben watched her from inside a constable boat. She had an aching, sinking feeling that she would never see him again. An impulse to call goodbye, at the very least to wave, cut through her. Then shame heated her cheeks, and she turned away.

  Hunt

  The storm eventually passed. Night fell quickly, and the moon rose, leaving the world in various shades of gray, except for the fish that glimmered a rainbow of colors in the inky waters, as well as the violet glow of the tiny creatures disturbed by the wake of the boat containing Larkin, West, Atara, and Farwin.

  A pair of swaying lampent lanterns hung like curling antennae from the bow. Insects rammed over and over into the glass, making a gentle tinkling sound. Below, fish churned the waters, wet mouths appearing as they made a feast of the insects. Some jumped, their scales a quick shimmer that ended with a splash. Each time, Larkin tensed for the feel of damp fingers latching onto her and dragging her down.

  Working together, the enchantresses and enchanters had cornered the ardent twice. He had escaped both times. Once, by jumping from the high boughs, a fall that would have killed a human, and escaping along the bridges. The second time, they’d surrounded the hometree, but he dove into the water and hadn’t come up again.

  Turns out ardents could hold their breath for a really long time—maybe they didn’t need to breathe at all? Neither time had Larkin been able to spot the thing’s face. Only the black cloak and deep cowl.

  Sword in hand, Larkin searched the dark water for something that didn’t belong. The flash of bony fingers. The glint of human eyes. The undulation of hair or clothing.