A flush of heat spread across Ronan’s cheeks. “Your Grace, it was nothing.” Ronan answered before Tyrell sparing his master the embarrassment.
Pride raised a hand. “Forget my station. Perhaps I can offer some counsel.”
Ronan searched Tyrell’s eyes before answering.
“Go ahead. Tell him the truth,” Tyrell said.
“Your Grace, this is awkward.”
Pride raised an eyebrow. “Please explain.”
“During the match, I saw you make eye contact with Bryson. You and he stared at each other for several seconds before you shook your head,” Ronan said. “After your exchange, Bryson gave up. He held his last strike over his head so long my dead grandmother could’ve avoided it.” Ronan’s palms began to sweat as he realized how crass the statement came out. “I’m sorry for that last bit Your Grace.”
“There’s no need to apologize. Are you finished?” Pride said.
“Yes sir. That’s what I saw.”
“You’re right.”
Ronan’s head jerked up, and his mouth fell open. “I’m sorry Your Grace?”
“I did make eye contact with young Master Bryson, and I did shake my head. However, I didn’t mastermind some grand plot to gain you one of Elan’s precious shards.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just-”
“I shook my head at the boy for two reasons. First, I wanted him to stop cajoling the crowd as well as taunting you. I found that rather distasteful. The second reason is that I didn’t want to see him hurt you. I can assure you, your victory came without my influence.”
Ronan slouched and dropped his chin to his chest as scarlet bloomed on his face. “Of course Your Grace, I don’t know why I doubted you, but I needed to be sure. I want the Order to accept me without any doubts. I don’t want any special treatment.”
“I understand. Perhaps Bryson is a superior warrior. However, as I heard Sir Alcott mention, his pride proved a far greater weakness than his ability with the blade. You earned the shard by exposing your opponent’s weakness just as Master Tyrell taught you. I think you’ll make a fine shard knight my boy.”
Tension drained from Ronan’s muscles, and a smile spread across his face. “Thank you Your Grace. I needed to hear that.”
Pride pushed against his silver cane and rose. “Treasure the gift you’ve earned today. Two millennia ago, Elan’s Orb shattered into one hundred and seventy-six separate pieces by those who would do Meranthia harm.” He reached over and squeezed Ronan’s hand. “Use Elan’s magic to protect Meranthia from those who would do her harm.” He shifted his weight to his cane. “Which shard did you win?”
“It’s the seventh enhancement shard Your Grace,” Ronan said.
“So you’ll take the mantle of battle knight.” A warm smile spread across his face. “I wish your father would’ve lived to watch you take the shard. He’d be proud of you today.”
“I’d love nothing more Your Grace,” Ronan said.
“But, you’ll have a fine master to further your training. Commander Tyrell is the greatest battle knight I’ve ever known. It’s too bad you didn’t earn a protection shard. I could’ve trained you in the art of shield magic myself.”
Sir Alcott shifted his stance. “I’ll stand by healing magic Ronan. A warrior that mends wounds while slinging a hammer makes a formidable opponent. It’s a blessed gift.”
Pride’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Yes Sir Alcott, Elan has blessed us all with his gifts. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to discuss details of your induction ceremony with the queen. Congratulations Ronan.”
Ronan bowed. “Thank you Your Grace. You’ve made me feel much better.”
Pride took Ronan’s hand and squeezed with a firmness surprising in the old cleric. “Good. That’s good. I’ll see you later this evening then.” He shuffled from the room with shard knights trailing him.
“I guess I overreacted,” Ronan said.
“I told you,” Sir Alcott said. “Let’s start celebrating. I’m going to check with Master McClaren on that shipment of ale for this evening’s feast.”
“Master Tyrell are you coming?” Ronan said.
Tyrell nodded and flashed a tight smile across his face. “Yes. Let’s go.”
The Queen
Ronan loosened the top button of his tunic as he padded along the thick carpet toward his room. He looked forward to an hour of quiet rest before the ceremony’s demands called for him.
As he reached for the brass doorknob, he froze. The knob twisted, and he jerked his hand backward jumping away from the door. He’d passed Mistress Pell not two minutes ago, and she’d made no mention of anyone waiting in his room. In a single swift motion, he slipped a steel blade from his boot and readied himself for combat.
The heavy oak door swung open, and a blue-eyed blond woman who could’ve passed for Ronan’s older sister stood framing the doorway. She glanced at the knife in Ronan’s hand and raised a single eyebrow. “Do you plan to use that knife on your own mother?”
Tension drained from Ronan’s body, and he slipped the knife back in his boot. “Most people knock first.”
“It’s a mother’s right to worry. I had visions of you lying unconscious in your room unable to speak. Now let me look at you.”
As she reached for his face, Ronan stepped away. “I’m fine mother. Sir Alcott looked me over himself.”
“Sir Alcott isn’t your mother. Now stop fidgeting.” She grabbed Ronan’s chin and moved his face in a slow arc inspecting every inch of exposed flesh. “How’s your back? That boy treated you like a criminal.”
“My back’s fine mother.” If he tried cutting short her inspection, she’d grow suspicious and call for a healer, so he held his tongue.
Arianne stepped back and inspected the rest of his body like a penny-pinching old maid sizing up a cut of sirloin. Satisfied, she stepped aside and allowed Ronan space enough to enter his room.
Ronan squeezed past his mother and slipped into his room. “I thought I’d see you after the match. I’m surprised you didn’t come down to the changing room.”
Arianne followed Ronan inside his room and shut the door. “I didn’t want to embarrass you. You’re almost a man, and I didn’t think you’d want your old mother doting on you in front of your classmates.”
“It’s okay. You could’ve come.” Ronan wanted to tell his mother what he’d seen pass between Bryson and the archbishop in the arena, but he didn’t want her to worry.
Arianne’s shoulders eased, and her eyes brightened. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek before embracing him in a tight hug. “Congratulations on earning your shard Ronan. I’m so proud of you.” She stepped back and held his gaze for a long moment.
“What’s wrong mother? Why’re you looking at me that way?”
“I don’t recall giving you permission to grow into a man. When did that happen?” Her eyes welled with tears, and she pulled free a handkerchief. “Your father would be proud of the man you’ve grown into. I’m sorry he couldn’t be here.”
Ronan’s chest tightened. He hated to see his mother in pain. “It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re here. I never knew him anyway,” Ronan said.
“Ronan, I need to speak with you about your father. I want to explain about his disappearance. It’s past time I told you. Come sit with me.” She led him to a small ornate couch near a large bay window that offered a spectacular view of the citadel, the arena, and Freehold’s sprawling skyline. A few stragglers lagged toasting the prince’s victory, but nothing stirred on the arena floor itself.
Ronan wrinkled his brow as he took a seat next to Arianne. “You’re worrying me mother. You don’t have to explain anything. Between Sir Alcott and Master Tyrell, I’ve filled in the missing gaps over the years. I’m no longer curious.”
Arianne’s eyes went wide. “What have they told you?”
Ronan let out a long sigh. “When you took over the throne after grandfather’s death, Meranthia was on the brink
of war with Ayralen. You were pregnant, but hadn’t married. Master Tyrell said grandfather would’ve been furious had you told him.” He paused watching for any change in his mother’s expression. “Father’s unit disappeared patrolling the border near Ayralen. Tyrell told me he found the shard himself. He searched for days, but never found father or any other man in his unit.” He shifted in his seat. “If you’re worried that I won’t approve, don’t. I understand.”
Arianne’s expression softened. “They’ve told you a lot haven’t they. I’ll have a word with them about loose tongues.”
“Please don’t mother. I begged them to tell me. I-”
“I’m joking Ronan. It’s okay.” She dabbed the corner of her eye. “I know I haven’t been forthcoming with many details over the years. There’s more to it I’m afraid.” She fidgeted with the handkerchief and averted her gaze. “As you mentioned, right before your birth I’d inherited the crown from your grandfather. The times were dangerous because of his foolish treatment of the Ayralens.” She paused for a long moment, and her eyes lost their focus.
Ronan searched his mother’s face, but she appeared lost in another time and place.
She turned her gaze back toward him and squeezed his hand. A single teardrop fell from her eye and rolled across her smooth pale cheek. “Please don’t be angry. We wanted to protect you. We did all we could.”
“We? What’re you talking about? Do you mean Master Tyrell?”
A loud knocking rattled the heavy silence of Ronan’s bedchamber, and Arianne jumped with a startled surprise.
Ronan’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll be right back mother, don’t go away.” He crossed the room and opened the door.
Patron Tyrell stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry for the intrusion Your Highness.” His eyes flickered past Ronan to the queen who stepped up behind him. He bowed. “Your Majesty. I apologize, but I wanted to make the prince aware of the time. The first guests are arriving in the reception hall.”
Arianne nodded. “Of course Commander Tyrell. Thank you. We’ll come downstairs shortly.”
Tyrell nodded, bowed, and pulled the door closed.
Ronan’s stomach fluttered. In the next hour he’d wear the title of shard knight joining Master Tyrell and Sir Alcott within the Order’s ranks. He still needed to change into his dress uniform.
Arianne dried her tear-stained face. “I must look a mess. I’ll need to fetch Mistress Pell and have her fix my makeup before I go downstairs. We’ll speak after the ceremony?” She gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and paused opening the door. Arianne glanced over her shoulder letting her eyes linger on Ronan. “I love you with my whole heart. Always have. Always will.”
Ronan smiled. His mother hadn’t used that phrase since she’d tucked him into bed as a little boy. “I love you too mother,” he said.
A slight smile crossed her face. She blew him a kiss and pulled the door closed behind her.
***
A muffled scream of terror split the silence of Ronan’s bedchamber.
Ronan froze with his hands hovering over the gold buttons of his dress uniform. A tingle that started in his brain spread through his neck and into his fingertips. With his mind locked, his mouth fell open, and he stared without focus at the buttons in the mirror. The scream conveyed mortal danger, and it hadn’t come from the party four floors below. He couldn’t even hear the orchestra play from the first floor let alone a single voice. The scream came from inside the royal wing.
Ronan cocked his head and perked his ears.
Another scream rocked the stark silence of Ronan’s quarters. It sounded like a short guttural command.
Ronan’s chest tightened, and a wave of numbness rolled through his body that ended with a tingling in his toes. The voice triggered an instinctual response. It belonged to his mother, and she told him to run. He spun and sprinted toward the open closet. As he entered, he pulled the door shut behind him.
As soon as the door closed, the sound of splintering wood preceded a large crashing noise. A pair of heavy footsteps lumbered against Ronan’s hardwood floor and stopped. “Look under the bed. He’s hiding here somewhere,” a muffled voice said.
Ronan’s breathing came in labored pulls as he made his way through the dark closet. He recognized that voice, but couldn’t place it. The trunk appeared along his closet’s rear wall, and he flipped open the lid.
“He’s in here. You didn’t see him come out. Did you?” The voice spoke closer this time. “Check the closet.”
Ronan pressed a trembling hand onto a thick stack of books piled high inside the trunk. He held back a scream as his subconscious mind gave him the answer. The voice belonged to Bryson Slater.
The layer of books gave way beneath a heavy spring connecting a false door to the trunk’s bottom. Ronan slipped into the footlocker and pulled the trunk lid closed behind him.
As the closet door creaked opened, light poured through slits and tiny cracks in the trunk’s walls. “Where in Elan’s seven hells is he?” Hangers clattered and banged against the closet floor as Bryson rummaged through Ronan’s clothing.
Ronan held his breath and eased the trunk’s false bottom back into place.
“He’s in that trunk along the wall. See it there? I’d bet my mother’s life on it,” the second voice said. As the trunk’s lid opened, a sliver of Bryson’s pale face appeared through cracks in the false bottom.
Despite the onset of painful leg cramps, Ronan dared not move a muscle.
Bryson’s face shifted, and his right eye moved into a position that looked straight into the space Ronan occupied.
“Books. Leave it to Ronan to have a pile of books in his room,” Bryson said.
“Books? Are you sure? Let me see,” the second voice said.
Ronan’s pulse raced so fast his temples throbbed in time with his heartbeat. The breath he’d held since entering the trunk demanded release causing small stars to appear at the edge of his vision. In the next thirty seconds he’d pass out.
“What you’ll see is that your mother’s life isn’t worth a bucket of piss.” Bryson slammed the trunk closed.
Ronan released the spent air and breathed creating as little noise as possible. Spasms of pain shot through his leg as they begged for release.
“Let’s check the other rooms. Maybe the little piss ant went down the hall.” Bryson’s voice trailed off as he left the closet.
His mother screamed again, this one a bloodcurdling screech that made Ronan’s flesh crawl. He reached behind him, found the small metallic lever near the base of the trunk’s rear wall, and pulled.
An audible click echoed through the cramped space, and the rear panel dropped open.
Fresh air rushed into the cramped trunk providing Ronan a strange sense of relief. He pushed himself backward through the panel, stood, and shook the cramps from his legs.
Darkness pervaded the hallway that offered a stealth retreat for every room located inside the royal wing. Occasional pockets of light spilled through the odd crack casting twisted shadows along the tight passageway.
He crept along the corridor until he reached the hidden door to his mother’s room. Beyond the door, muffled shouts and the sound of combat did little to put his mind at ease. As he twisted the knob set low on the wall, he pushed in, and his mother’s dark closet opened in front of him.
Amid rows of formal gowns, day dresses, handbags and jewelry trees, the queen’s middle shoe rack provided cover for the door on the closet’s interior.
Ronan pulled free the knife hidden in his boot, stepped into the queen’s closet, and pushed on the shoe rack until it clicked shut behind him. He moved past dressers, gowns, and a full-length mirror until he stood in front of the door to the queen’s bedchamber. With his hand gripping the doorknob, he sucked in a few short breaths and pushed the door open.
Chaos reigned in the queen’s quarters. Arianne crouched behind a long walnut desk tipped onto its side. Her face held an expression of stark terror. A transl
ucent blue spirit shield shimmered around her providing a barrier of magical protection.
In front of the desk, blood spread outward beneath a shard healer’s corpse. Next to his head, a small glowing white shard sat perched on the plush carpet.
From the shard’s milky center, swirls of white light weaved and intertwined bouncing off its glassy surface.
Knight Kristin Delamar who had earned her shard during Ronan’s first year at the citadel stood next to the fallen shard healer in front of the desk. A translucent spirit barrier surrounded her, and in her outstretched palm blossomed a small orb of bright blue magical energy. The ball shot from her hand, crossed the room within a second, and struck the magical shield of Knight Orren Reuben.
Ronan staggered backward and tried to make sense of the pandemonium spread across the battered room. Knight Orren had taught Ronan the basics of small group battle tactics. He considered the man’s moral fiber unblemished, and couldn’t understand why he attacked his mother.
Next to Knight Orren, Knight Clement Tarbell, a battle knight known to frequent Freehold’s brothels readied his steel kite shield and shard blade. One of Knight Orren’s magical shields surrounded the traitor making him one of the deadliest creatures to ever walk the world’s surface.
Ronan could understand a man with Clement’s code of ethics committing treason, but not Orren.
Another knight, a shard healer, lay flat on his back staring through glassy eyes into empty space.
Ronan recognized the dead healer.
Knight Aldric Morefield studied at Freehold’s seminary and had plans on rising to priesthood. From his position among the combatants, Knight Aldric had fought alongside the traitors. The white shard of the healing sect shimmered inches from his outstretched arm.
In a blurred flash of motion, Knight-Sergeant Phineas Brunte leaped over the desk and landed next to Kristen. The veteran knight led the citadel guard and remained one of Master Tyrell’s closest friends. He wielded a two-handed double bladed shard ax. Yellow energy traveled up the handle and swirled around the twin blades lending the weapon a menacing presence. Brunte’s eyes went wide when he caught sight of Ronan standing outside the queen’s closet. “Your Highness! Run!”
Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) Page 2
