Wraith King

by Argyle, Amber

  Sweat trickled down the back of Larkin’s neck and into her damp collar. She shifted her rain-damp clothes, hating how uncomfortable they were. She longed to take her armor off, to let the breeze touch her skin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten or slept.

  An enormous mandrill swam toward Larkin’s boat. The last time she’d seen one, it had swum under Larkin’s boat, seemingly carrying her to her wedding to Denan. The creature’s twisted horn disappeared beneath them, the flapping wings fanned out to the sides. Awed, Larkin stood to get a better look. The boat shifted in the creature’s wake.

  “What is that?” West asked as he adjusted his grip on his sword.

  “Mandrill,” Farwin said matter-of-factly.

  West backed away from the edge, his expression caught between terror and determination.

  “Maybe we can use your mustache to weave a net,” Atara mused.

  Larkin shot West and Atara a chiding look. “They’re gentle creatures.” She reached into the waters, her fingers trailing across the creature’s slippery scales, arcs of rainbow lights emanating from her touch.

  The creature bumped the bottom of the boat, jarring them enough that Larkin gripped the gunwale and sat back to keep her balance.

  West crouched. “I thought you said it was gentle.”

  “It is—” Atara began.

  Something splashed behind them, spraying them with water. Blinking the moisture out of her eyes, Larkin glanced back. The mandrill moaned, a mournful sound, its gleaming scales caught up in tentacles of the deepest red. The lethan. The two creatures thrashed. The mandrill swung its tail, the barb disappearing. Blood seeped into the water. Then they were both gone, as the lethan pulled the mandrill—a creature twice as wide as their boat—down to the depths.

  A large wave rocked the craft again. Larkin’s chest constricted. Unexpected tears clogged her throat. She’d been taken by the lethan once. She could still feel the tentacles wrapping tight around her ribs, forcing the air from her lungs. And suddenly, it wasn’t the lethan’s embrace, but the wraith’s. The smell of rot and the grave strong enough to make her gag. His vile arms like a vise around her. The shadows drawing her deeper and deeper into the cold nothingness.

  “The forest take me!” West cried as he stared at the waves rippling outward from where the creatures had disappeared. “Don’t tell me that thing won’t attack!”

  Larkin gasped in a breath. “Never swim after dark, West. Has anyone told you that?”

  He swallowed hard and shook his head.

  She felt Atara and Farwin watching her. Clearly, they’d heard the story.

  Larkin wiped the sweat from her brow. “The lethan hunts at night.”

  “It won’t attack the boat,” Atara repeated.

  West shot her a disbelieving look. “Just because it hasn’t happened since you’ve lived here doesn’t mean it’s never happened.”

  Shouts came from the boat ahead and to their right, but Larkin couldn’t make out the words.

  “Quiet, you two.” Braced against the gunwale, Larkin strained to hear what they were saying. The lap of waves against the boat drowned their words out. But the ships shifted toward a dark, textured shape rising out of the waters.

  “They must have found the ardent,” Atara said. “Get down.”

  Larkin, Farwin, and West obeyed, ducking as the boom passed overhead. Atara put all her weight on the rudder. The boat slowed a bit before picking up speed.

  In the dark, land was distinguishable by its flat texture against the liquid gleam of the water. Larkin knew this island. It was surrounded by marshy water full of reeds harvested to make rope and baskets. The interior held a vast fruit orchard, the trees tiny compared to the hometrees of the Alamant but large by Idelmarchian standards.

  It was also the island she’d been held captive on after she’d tried to escape with Bane the first time.

  Ahead, lampents hanging from the boughs shifted from rhythmic bobbing to jerky movements, which signaled that the boats had clearly beached and the soldiers now carried the lanterns. Within minutes, a ring of lampents surrounded the island. As they came closer, Larkin could make out the backlit forms of constables and soldiers spacing out along the shore to prevent the ardent from escaping.

  From within the island came the ghostly gleams of shield walls as groups searched for the ardent. They were close enough now that Larkin could hear murmurs and shouts and even a few shrill whistles.

  “He can’t escape into the lake now,” West said.

  Larkin wanted to growl in frustration. They were one of the last boats to arrive. The island wasn’t that large. The search would be over before they even beached.

  “Take the sail down,” Atara said.

  Larkin and West unwound the rigging. The boat slowed. They scraped through reeds and shuddered to a stop, throwing Larkin off-balance. West gripped her trousers and the mast to keep her from slamming into the bench in front of her. Farwin lay sprawled on the bottom of the boat.

  “Sorry,” Atara said. “That came on faster than I thought.”

  The four of them jumped out, the cool water a relief against the heat. Then Larkin started sinking, mud sucking her down. She tried to hurry, but she couldn’t free one foot before the other stuck fast. She ended up swimming and then crawling through the thick tangle of reeds to the shore.

  “You’re so queenly.” Atara laughed and gripped her arm, the two helping each other out of the muck.

  “You have a bit of mud”—Larkin motioned to Atara’s entire body—“just there.”

  West staked down the boat. “Women are strange creatures,” he muttered. But as he passed them, he suddenly flailed, grabbing Atara. They both went down, West somehow ending up on top of Atara.

  “Get your mustache out of my face!” she cried.

  “Sorry.” He pushed himself off her and hauled her up.

  All three of them were dripping mud. Larkin snorted. They really shouldn’t be laughing and teasing. Not with Raeneth dead and them hunting for the killer. But there had been so much death. So much worry. Laughter and teasing was as good a way to deal with it as any.

  Farwin led the way up the bank. A constable swung a lantern over them before reaching down to give them a hand. Larkin assessed herself in the lantern light. She was a disaster. She pulled handfuls of grass and used it to scrape mud from her face and clothes.

  “Queen Larkin?” the constable asked.

  Was she that much of a mess that he couldn’t even recognize her? “Yes.”

  The man straightened, offered a hasty bow, and waved toward the bluff. “General Gendrin has been looking for you.”

  She was immediately suspicious. His mother had made her opinion of Larkin clear. And with what Larkin’s father had done to his wife . . . But Gendrin had also promised Denan he’d keep her safe. “Where?”

  The man pointed inland. Larkin looked around for an extra lantern, but they’d left theirs back at their boat, and she certainly wasn’t going back for it. The constable offered her his. “Thank you.”

  “You should send your page to let Gendrin know you’re here,” the constable said.

  It was a good idea. Larkin handed Farwin the lantern. “Go.”

  The constable found them another lantern.

  Atara took it from him. “Have they found the ardent?”

  The constable shook his head. “But we have him trapped and on the run.”

  Larkin passed under trees. The shed, unripe fruit was hard and cumbersome underfoot and lent to the smell of sweet rot. The broad canopy shut out what little light was available, leaving them to the mercy of the lampent Atara carried—a lampent that seemed to throw more shadows than light.

  This was the very place Larkin had been held captive with Bane. She wondered where the cellarlike cages were.

  “Where is everyone?” Atara asked.

  “They’ve must have already searched this area.” Dried mud caked the ends of West’s mustache.

  They trekked
silently through the watchful orchard until Larkin made out a smudge of light ringing a tree. Two figures broke away from the main group. As they came closer, Larkin could make out Farwin carrying a lantern, Gendrin behind him. The general’s armor was every bit as muddy as hers, she noted with relief.

  Gendrin waved them on. “Larkin, we need you.”

  “Did you find him?” she blurted as she caught up to him.

  Gendrin walked beside her. “The ardent has taken an enchantress hostage.”

  “Why haven’t you killed him?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “We can’t put an arrow in him for fear of hitting the enchantress, and he won’t let her go. Just keeps telling us that he will only speak with the queen.”

  A wave of foreboding crashed over Larkin. “Who’s the ardent?”

  Gendrin’s lips pursed. “He’s kept his cowl up.”

  Larkin tripped over something in her path and would have fallen had Atara not grabbed her arm and steadied her. She didn’t immediately let go. Larkin was grateful; she needed the comfort of another’s touch.

  “And the hostage?” Atara asked.

  “An enchantress from unit six.”

  Which meant she wasn’t one of the leaders. Just an unfortunate woman. “What do you think I can do?”

  Gendrin frowned. “We’ll keep you safe, Majesty.”

  Atara and West shared a concerned glance.

  They were close enough now Larkin could make out disembodied pieces of the enchantresses and enchanters ringing the tree—a flash of an arm, a cheek, a breastplate. Never the whole person, so the whole group seemed a many-limbed creature instead of a collection of men and women.

  Dread skittered up Larkin’s spine.

  “Aaryn,” Gendrin called out when they were a couple dozen paces away.

  A shadowy figure broke away from the rest. Aaryn’s face appeared in the light from one of the dozens of lampents. Did she know how sick Denan was? Well, if she didn’t, Larkin wasn’t going to tell her. The woman had enough to worry about.

  Larkin hurried to her mother-in-law’s side.

  “Have your guards wait here.” Aaryn motioned to a group of enchantresses. “My women will see us safe.”

  Larkin nodded for West, Atara, and Farwin to step back. None of them seemed happy, but they didn’t protest. The enchantresses surrounded them.

  Gendrin stepped up beside them. “I’m going as well.”

  Aaryn shook her head. “One of us needs to remain in charge.”

  Gendrin seemed about to argue before nodding. He left them without a backward glance.

  “Who is the hostage?” Larkin asked.

  Aaryn frowned. “Natyla. She’s a mother of four.”

  Larkin had never heard of the woman. She felt guilty for the relief cascading down her body. “As soon as this ardent has delivered his message to me, he will kill the woman. You know that.”

  Aaryn handed Larkin a lantern and took another for herself. “We’ve men in the trees. Just get the ardent to reveal enough of himself to give them a shot.”

  Larkin nodded grimly.

  Hostage

  The enchantresses surrounding them, Larkin and Aaryn stepped through the collection of soldiers. Beyond the men, a group of enchantresses had created a ring of shields to trap the ardent inside. Beyond them was an open space, a large tree in the center. At its base, an enchantress with too-wide eyes watched them, pleading in her gaze.

  A shock of recognition burned through Larkin, which shouldn’t be surprising, considering there were only a thousand or so enchantresses. But it was more than that. This was something important. Larkin just couldn’t figure out why.

  Aaryn motioned to four enchantresses, who spread out before them, their shields overlapping. Larkin waited for the signal to move forward before realizing she was the ranking member here. Aaryn was waiting for her. It should be Denan. He’d been training for this for years. Larkin hadn’t even known the Alamant existed a year ago.

  Steeling herself, she stepped forward. The ring of enchantresses parted, letting her and Aaryn through before closing behind them. Five steps in, Larkin could make out the dark blood soaking Natyla’s chest. One of the ardent’s arms encircled her shoulder; the other held a knife to her throat.

  Larkin didn’t like Natyla’s chances of surviving this.

  “That’s close enough,” said a deep, rasping voice. A voice that didn’t sound human. Whoever this ardent was, he was only a puppet for the Wraith King.

  The ardent pressed the knife in, and fresh blood trickled down Natyla’s neck. The woman gasped, but she didn’t beg. There wasn’t a point to it. Ardents didn’t know mercy. He wouldn’t bargain with them. He only knew the will of his master.

  And right now, the Wraith King wanted Larkin.

  “I will speak with your queen,” the ardent said.

  “I’m here,” Larkin said.

  The ardent peeked out, his face still shadowed by the cowl. A hand reached up, pulling it back and revealing a sliver of his face. But a sliver was enough to recognize the round cheeks, thick blonde hair, and one brown eye.

  Raeneth.

  “Light,” Larkin gasped. Everything was too big and too small, and she was hot and then cold. Raeneth had been in the Alamant for over three months. She’d nursed Kyden. What would that milk to do a baby? Her father. Light, they’d shared a bed.

  This will kill Papa. He’d throw himself down the bottom of a bottle and never come out again. She knew it as she knew that the wraiths had chosen Raeneth on purpose. They must have gotten to her when they’d fled through the forest. Poisoned her with their corrupted blades.

  She was suddenly aware that Aaryn was speaking to her. She turned to the enchantresses around her. “We’re going back.”

  Larkin straightened her spine, her eyes narrowing into a hate-filled glare. “No. I will speak with the Wraith King.”

  “Larkin, Queen of the Alamant, Princess of the Idelmarch,” Ramass said.

  How dare he be here. How dare he steal another life. How dare he invade the one place that was supposed to be free of him. How dare he hurt another person she cared about. Because in that instant, she realized she did care about Raeneth.

  “Come to the forest, Larkin,” Ramass said. “And I will give you back Venna and Talox and Raeneth. I will give them all back.”

  His words were poison.

  She studied Raeneth’s gentle, rosy face, then the terrified face of the hostage. “Let the enchantress go, and I will consider it.”

  Ramass chuckled, a terrible sound. “Then the archers you’ve hidden in the trees will destroy my vessel.”

  Light, how had he even seen the archers in the dark?

  Aaryn swore under her breath. Natyla blinked hard, her jaw tight. When she opened her eyes, they had gone from hopeful to resigned. She knew that her usefulness to the wraith was nearing an end. That she was about to die.

  Her mouth moved, her lips forming the words, “Tell them I love them.”

  Larkin had to draw Raeneth out so the archers could kill her.

  Denan’s words echoed through her. We do what we must.

  “You have until sunset tomorrow, Larkin. And then I will take what’s most precious to you.” Raeneth’s arm tensed.

  “Kill her, and I swear I will kill myself!” The forest take her, what had she just said? But the wraiths had proved one thing repeatedly: they wanted her. She was no good to them dead.

  Through Raeneth, Ramass considered her suspiciously.

  “What are you doing?” Aaryn whispered.

  “I’m the only bargaining chip we have,” Larkin whispered back. She could practically feel West and Atara’s eyes boring holes into the back of her head. Larkin had to draw him out. A plan came to her. A stupid plan. But she couldn’t think of anything else.

  “Let the shields down,” she called to the enchantresses guarding her.

  Aaryn gaped at her. “You can’t mean—”

  “Let them down!”

&
nbsp; “Larkin,” Gendrin hissed.

  Aaryn shot a look back at the crowd, her gaze locking with Gendrin’s. But Larkin was the queen here. Not them. She stared Aaryn down until the woman made an unhappy sound and nodded to her enchantresses. The shields shrunk down to normal size.

  Larkin crossed the space slowly, carefully. She held out her hand. “Take me. I’ll go willingly. Just let Natyla go.”

  Ramass chuckled, low and harsh. “Mortals will make impossible sacrifices for those they love.”

  Did that mean he would free Natyla? She held her breath.

  He shook his head. “But you do not love her.”

  In one quick motion, Ramass drew the knife across Natyla’s throat. Blood gushed, and her mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

  “No!” Larkin took a step forward.

  Aaryn snatched her arm from behind and threw them both to the ground. The enchantress guard piled on top of them, their shields over their heads.

  “Loose!” Gendrin roared.

  From beneath three bodies, Larkin watched as Natyla’s eyes went unfocused. She slumped to the ground. A dozen arrows impaled Raeneth, pinning her to the tree. Raeneth didn’t react; ardents were oblivious to pain. Her gaze never wavered from Larkin’s.

  “Remember, child,” Ramass panted, black blood running from Raeneth’s lips. “You brought this upon yourself.”

  Half a dozen pipers darted forward.

  “No!” Larkin cried. Raeneth was already dying. Larkin didn’t want her body maimed worse than it already was. She deserved better than that.

  But West reached Raeneth first and decapitated her. Larkin pinched her eyes shut and turned away, but the memory had branded her mind. Like the deaths of Venna, Bane, Talox, and so many others, nightmares of it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  Atara helped the enchantresses off Larkin. Farwin peered down at her worriedly.

  West came back, blood dripping from his sword, and pulled Larkin to her feet. “I’m sorry, Larkin.”

  She couldn’t look at him.

  Aaryn gripped Larkin’s forearm. “Raeneth was dead the moment the wraith’s blade touched her. As for Natyla, she never had much of a chance, and she knew it. You did what you could.”