The Story Hunter

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  “Of course,” Frenhin said. “A masterful strategy, carried out with few hitches.” Her gaze hardened. “You were one.”

  Defiance sparked in Braith’s heart. “And Yestin Bo-Arthio was certainly another.”

  “Do not speak his name to me!”

  The thunderous shout echoed about the chamber, and Braith winced.

  But Frenhin’s next words were calm—measured. “That man simply refuses to die. No matter. They all do eventually.”

  They all do eventually.

  Braith’s breath caught. “It was you? You murdered Father in his cell.”

  “Murder is an awfully strong word.” Frenhin looked affronted. “It was a bit ruthless of me—I grant you that. But it was a necessary step. And when you think about it, his blood is on your hands too. All had gone according to plan for so many years. When the plan became corrupted, I was forced to take corrective action. You certainly had a hand in corrupting the plan.”

  Braith willed herself not to attempt to defend her actions to this madwoman.

  “I have never understood where you get it from, Braith. Perhaps I ought to have educated you myself and not left you in the charge of so many tutors and advisors. I’m afraid they filled your head with things I’d rather they hadn’t.”

  Braith’s control over her tongue slipped. “Like honor? A concept of duty and caring for our people? What it truly means to be a leader?”

  “Ah, there we are.” Her mother smiled. “There’s a little fire from you, darling. I can almost see myself in your eyes when you unleash it.”

  Braith tried to cool her temper. “I have always known I did not meet your expectations, Mother. Though to be frank, I no longer feel the need to apologize for that.” She eyed her mother’s black robes.

  Frenhin sneered. “Amusing.” She rose and swept back to the other side of the room. “No matter the disappointment you’ve been, you’re here now. We may as well make the best of it, don’t you think?” She held up her hands again. “It’s been many years since I had this little hideaway made. Do you like it?”

  “As lairs go, it’s lovely.”

  “You will become well familiar with it before we’re through.”

  “And when will that be, exactly? Why have you brought me here? Surely you know that, whatever you want, I won’t do it.”

  “Oh, I believe you would do whatever I asked. But, truly Braith, I don’t want anything from you.”

  “No?” Somehow this was worse.

  “Not at the moment, at least. I have uses for you yet.”

  Dread swallowed Braith, but she remained silent.

  “For now,” Frenhin continued, “you’re here as an observer. I thought to kill you first—do away with you, once and for all.”

  An icy dart pierced Braith’s heart.

  “But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” Frenhin’s voice softened a touch. “You are still my daughter, after all. You deserve to see me take it all back. Everything you lost for me, for this family, will be reclaimed.”

  “You want me to watch while you destroy our kingdom?”

  “Yes, dear, kingdom now, not empire, thanks to you. How long did you wait? Was it an entire moon before you gave back the land your father fought for?”

  “It wasn’t his to take.”

  Frenhin rolled her eyes. “Really, Braith. Are you still this naïve? This is how realms are formed. It’s been the rule of the world since the beginning of time. Who are you to overthrow it?”

  “I’m a queen who believes in a better way.”

  “Noble. Noble and foolish as ever.” Frenhin tilted her head and regarded Braith. “What shall I do with you?”

  “I will never help you.”

  “Oh, but you will, dearest. You will do whatever I ask. Trust that.”

  So many questions still begged for answers. How had this happened? Was her mother born with such evil in her veins, or had some trauma shaped her into this monstrous shell of a person who discarded the lives of others as if they were nothing? But one question shoved its way to the front of Braith’s mind, propelled by Frenhin’s insistence that, if she wanted to, she could bend Braith to her will.

  Braith had spent enough of her life in politics to know why her mother would make such a claim. The only way she could make such a claim.

  Leverage. The only way Frenhin could be sure Braith would bend was if she had some sort of leverage. And Braith knew exactly what it was.

  Braith steeled her nerves. “What have you done with Kharn?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TANWEN

  Brac flexed his jaw and shook his head. “Sakes, Tannie. I don’t remember you hitting so hard.”

  “That’s because I’ve never punched you before, Brac, but believe me, I mean to make a habit of it if you don’t start giving me some answers.” I repeated my question, anger punctuating every word. “Where is Braith?”

  Brac half shrugged in that sheepish way that might have been charming under entirely different circumstances. “She’s safe.”

  “I rather doubt that!” I punched at him verbally instead. “Been outside lately, steward? Seen what’s happening in Urian, that city under your care?”

  He shrugged again. “She’s well away from all that.”

  “You better tell me she’s tucked away upstairs somewhere. Safe in her own bed. That better be the next thing out of your mouth, or I swear to all those rotten goddesses, I will pull every yellow hair off that stupid head of yours.”

  The tips of his ears tinged red. “Oh, calm down, Tannie.” Then he quieted his voice. “You’re making me look bad, you know. Could do with a little less shouting.”

  I lowered my voice to match his. “Could you, now? I could do with a little less epic betrayal.”

  Any hint of sheepishness or remorse disappeared from his expression. “You ain’t one to talk about betrayal, Tanwen.” His gaze shot pointedly to Mor.

  My mouth fell open, and I knew I must look like a dolt standing there. “Is that . . . no. That cannot be what this is about. Please, Brac. Please tell me you did not betray all that is good and right in this world and commit an act so heinous I can barely look at you because you thought I left you for Mor.”

  A crease appeared between Brac’s brows. “You did, though.”

  “No.” I stared at the stranger before me. “I didn’t. I did not, do not, and have not ever wanted to marry you, Brac. That’s true enough. I never should have agreed to it, and I should have told you sooner. That I admit. But I jumped aboard the Cethorelle because I was sick. I had the curse, same as Gryfelle, and I needed to go with them if I was going to have a hope of being cured. I did not leave you for him. I left you to save my life.”

  He blinked. “Oh.”

  “Oh?” I gaped at him. “Oh? You staged a coup—and did stars know what to the only ruler worth trusting—because you thought I liked a different lad better, and all you have to say is oh?”

  I wound up my fist to throw another punch, but Father was ready for me. He was on the dais holding me back before I could get myself in any more trouble with this imposter steward.

  To Brac’s credit, he looked a little sheepish again, but there wasn’t enough remorse in the world to fix any of this.

  “Now, let’s calm down,” Father was saying as he led me down the dais until Brac was well out of my striking range. “Everyone. Let’s talk this through.”

  “She’s not with you,” Brac said suddenly. “The sick lass.”

  “No,” I spat. “She died. She sacrificed herself for us. Thanks for noticing.”

  “I’m sorry for her,” he said, and he actually looked it. “And the others? You’re down a few.” He looked at Diggy. “And you’re new.”

  “How about you answer a few questions for us, lad?” Father interrupted. “Where has Braith been taken? Is she alive?”

  Brac cast a glance over his shoulder toward the corner of the room. I followed his gaze, but the only thing I saw over there was a green-suited guard
standing watch.

  After a moment, he answered, “Aye, she’s alive. And I’m told she’s safe.”

  “You’re told?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re working with someone.” And as I said it, of course I knew it was true. Brac never could have orchestrated a coup—least of all a successful one—no matter how angry he was about Mor.

  And so why was he here, sitting on Braith’s throne, wearing the title of steward?

  “Did you find the cure, Tannie?” Brac asked, ignoring my last statement. “Are you well now?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I’m fine, thanks. You have no idea what we’ve been through, what we’ve lost, or what we’ve been up against. The strands that we’ve—”

  Mor stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “Best not, Tannie,” he said under his breath. “Don’t give him too much information.”

  “Hey!” Brac shouted. “Take your hand off her, pirate!”

  Mor released my arm, but he glared back at Brac like streams of fire might shoot out of his fingertips at any second.

  “Braith is fine,” Brac said, firmly this time. “She’s fine, and she’s far from the dangers of the city. We have everything under control. You and your friends need to stay out of it, Tannie. Lest you cross me and I decide to throw your pirate in the dungeons.”

  Father blocked me before I could charge the dais again. He shooed me toward the back of the room. “It’s wise for us to leave now.”

  True as a tumbleweed, that. But I still wanted to punch something.

  All of us were through the doors, past the guards, and huddled in a deserted hallway before I realized what I’d almost done. I’d been about to tell Brac about the cure strands and how we’d collected an ancient artifact. About how evil strands had chased and attacked us, sinking the Cethorelle and murdering several of our comrades. I had been about to tell him all of that, because part of me still thought of Brac as my best friend.

  But he had been responsible for all this. At least in some measure. And we had no idea who had put him up to it.

  Brac was the very last person in the world I could trust.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TANWEN

  A pair of blue eyes popped into my line of sight. “You’re not all right,” Diggy said matter-of-factly.

  “No.” I sighed. “No, I’m not.”

  “You knew that boy. Man. Boy pretending to be a man.”

  I snorted. “You can say that again.”

  “Boy pretending to be a man.”

  A laugh bubbled up in my chest, and with it, tears spilled down my cheeks. I dashed them away. “I hate that. I hate that I cry when I’m angry. Why does that happen?”

  “Because your feelings are too big for your body, so sometimes they spill out of your face.” Diggy leaned even closer toward me, as if my eyes were windows and she might peer inside. “You have a lot of feelings in there.”

  “We need a plan,” Dylun said suddenly, and I blinked. It was the first time I’d heard him speak since we entered the palace. “I don’t feel at all safe carrying this around here.” He nodded down at the box holding the ancient cure.

  “True enough,” Father said. “It would be prudent not to mention any details about our quest to anyone here.” He glanced down the narrow corridor in both directions. “And perhaps we might do what we can to conceal our identities. I’m not sure how we made it out of that throne room without irons on our wrists, and I have no idea how long the good graces of the . . . ah, steward will last.”

  “He’s not the one behind it,” I said fiercely—partly because I didn’t want anyone to think Brac would have sunk so low as to mastermind this and partly because I was so blasted angry with him. “He couldn’t possibly have planned this. Or carried it out. And I don’t know why he would. Or why he would work to do it for anyone else. I have half a mind to march back in there and ask him—”

  “No,” Father cut me off. “Tannie girl, please stay far away from Brac. We’ll piece together what happened best as we can without him. He’s too dangerous right now.”

  I opened my mouth to argue—to explain to them just how sunbaked and not-dangerous Brac was. But this time, it was Warmil who cut me off. “The general doesn’t mean it’s him who’s dangerous, Tanwen. It’s whoever he’s working for.”

  “Oh. Right.” I leaned back against the stone wall and closed my eyes. I needed to calm down. Anger colored my thoughts, making me reckless. If we were going to get out of this palace alive—and with the answers we sought—I needed to regain control.

  As I willed the buzz of rage in my mind to quiet, a thought floated to the surface. “Braith isn’t in the palace,” I said. “They’ve taken her somewhere.”

  “Aye,” Mor agreed. “Bo-Bradwir said she was far from the danger of the city.”

  “Right. And if she were here, he would have told me because it would have cooled me off.” I looked at Father. “They’ve taken her and hidden her somewhere. Or else killed her.”

  “Would that boy-pretending-to-be-a-man lie to you?” Diggy asked. “I thought he was your friend.”

  “It’s complicated.” The bitterness in my own voice almost made me cringe. “I don’t think he would lie to me, no. But he would believe whatever they told him. Whoever he’s working for may have told him Braith is alive when she’s not.”

  Father set his jaw. “We need to search the palace for survivors and allies.” He nodded to Zel. “We need to check on our loved ones. And we need to see what information we can gather. We may have to leave sooner than later.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and rubbed my shoulders. “This place feels cold.”

  “Empty,” Father said. “We might be able to escape notice better if we split up, but I don’t want to risk it. Bo-Awirth? You agree?”

  “Aye,” Warmil said. “We stay together. Where should we start?”

  “Nursery,” Zel responded immediately. It was the last place he had left his wife and son—that wing of the infirmary where new mothers and babies stayed for moons so the palace nursemaids might be on hand at all times.

  I thought of Ma-Bradwir back in Pembrone, of how she cooked supper over the fire with an infant on one hip, a toddler on the other, and three little ones zipping around her legs like harried hedge-nibblers. Quite a different picture than the ladies tending their wee ones in the palace.

  “Yes, of course.” Father led us to a staircase at the far end of the hallway. “Infirmary is in the west wing. This way.”

  If we had to creep around the palace like rope-tails, hoping to avoid discovery, I supposed the man who had lived in the palace walls for thirteen years would be a decent guide.

  The rest of us followed after him up the stairs. A knot of seven people traveling around the palace together might not have attracted notice six moons past, but now the halls echoed with every step. Every breath drawn, every word spoken seemed like a shout.

  Where had everyone gone? It seemed they had just. . . vanished.

  But as we reached the landing to the next floor up, Father jerked to a stop so abruptly, Warmil bumped into his back.

  Father held out his hand. “No. Don’t go farther.”

  My heart fell. “Father?”

  “Don’t come up here, Tannie.”

  But Diggy wasn’t having that. She slipped past me on the stairs, then ducked around the men and slid beneath Father’s arm before he could stop her.

  Her shoes skidded on the stones at the top of the stairs. She placed her hand against the wall. “Bodies,” she said at last.

  Our party exploded with motion as Zel shoved his way to the landing. I waited in the stairwell. They would tell me if it was anyone we knew. Whether it was or it wasn’t, I didn’t think I wanted to see.

  “Guardsmen,” Warmil said. He crouched out of my view. “These are stab wounds, but the weapon was not sharp. A pitchfork, perhaps?”

  “Farmers.” I frowned. “Farmers like Brac.”

  “Fitting for a peasan
t rebellion, I suppose.” Father’s eyes were troubled. “We must find the queen.”

  Mor, a couple stairs above, offered his gloved hand to me. “You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”

  I took his hand and let him lead me as I focused my gaze on the ceiling. My stomach turned over when he moved me to the side, obviously directing me around a body. I swallowed. “Is it bad?”

  “I count six in this hallway.”

  We trailed the others. Warmil paused every once in a while to bend down and look for signs of life, but we were too late to help any of these men.

  “They’ve been dead several days,” he said quietly to Father. Not quietly enough. I could still hear every word. “None of these wounds appear to have been made by a skilled hand. They are haphazard. Not targeting vital organs or major arteries.”

  “They must have had quantity,” Father ventured. “To overrun the trained men of the guard, they must have numbered in the hundreds. Maybe thousands.”

  How many thousands even live in Tir? Then I remembered that Physgot had been almost completely deserted when our new ship, the Lysian, docked there three days past. They’d all marched on Urian, the old man left behind had said. If the Physgotians, all the way on the coast of the Eastern Peninsula, had gathered to march on the city, maybe Brac and his goons had managed to collect just about every peasant in Tir old enough to hold a farming tool.

  “Why weren’t there dead bodies downstairs?” Diggy asked.

  Dylun clutched the cure box tighter to his chest. “They must have started cleaning on the lower level first. When people commit unspeakable acts, I find they want to remove reminders as quickly as possible.”

  I thought of Brac in the throne room. He had found time to replace Braith’s silver carpet with his leather runner while bodies rotted on the upper floors of the palace.