A Crown of Echoes

by Brindi Quinn

  A Crown of Echoes

  By Brindi Quinn

  Copyright © 2020 Brindi Quinn.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-949222-23-4

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020908986

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Cover design by Victoria Cooper.

  Published by Never & Ever Publishing

  Minneapolis, Minnesota

  www.neverandeverpublishing.com

  In loving memory of the world’s best grandfather.

  Also By Brindi Quinn:

  Heart of Farellah (Book 1 of the Heart of Farellah Series)

  Moon of Farellah (Book 2 of the Heart of Farellah Series)

  Fate of Farellah (Book 3 of the Heart of Farellah Series)

  Atto’s Tale (Book 4 of the Heart of Farellah Series)

  EverDare (Book 1 of the Eternity Duet)

  NeverSleep (Book 2 of the Eternity Duet)

  Seconds: The Shared Soul Chronicles

  The World Remains

  Sil in a Dark World: A Paranormal Love-Hate Story

  The Death and Romancing of Marley Craw

  The Eternity Duet

  Farellah: The Complete Series

  The Pursuit of Zillow Stone

  Lightborne (Book 1 of the Bexley Chronicles)

  Nightborne (Book 2 of the Bexley Chronicles)

  Nemophilist

  Noun. One who is fond of forests or forest scenery; a haunter of woods.

  Chapter 1

  Beau

  This story would be better if it were told by Beau. Beautiful, regal, freckled Beau. But alas, captive ones, you’ll be getting the oversharing, less eloquent Merrin version of this story.

  Still, it makes sense to start with Beau.

  Beau was the ruler of the Queendom of the Clearing—a radiant city in the center of the Scarlet Wood. A city most celebrated for its gilded lunar festival at the dawn of autumn when the moon shone gold for three nights only. Think decorated food carts blowing seductive scents over floors of moist leaves. Beau herself was a strict yet fair leader, sharp and discerning despite having innocent eyes and a button nose that made her look altogether naïve.

  The Queendom of the Clearing was sister to another great city, the Queendom of the Crag, not known for any dewy festivals, but for producing curatives sold the world over, for every ailment from headache to fairy pox. And, like the city, Beau had a sister ruler—ME, the great and mighty Merrin, an of-the-people for-the-people type. Or so I tried.

  Before we go further, I should probably clarify: Beau and I weren’t sisters by blood, but our families had woven a strong alliance through the ages. Like blood but less sticky. The people saw us as confidants and allies and treated each other the same.

  My queendom, the Queendom of the Crag, lay just beyond the Scarlet Wood and near the sea with all manner of leafy vegetation crawling its stone walls and towers. It was from this creeping ivy and tufted shrubbery that my people created medicines treasured throughout the land. As such, we were a protected queendom, excluded from the conflicts of the rest of the world.

  The Queendom of the Clearing was also a protected realm, not because of medicines or any other exports, but because they were intermediaries of the land and lumber—nature itself. You see, Beau, like her foremothers, had been gifted a miraculous ability to commune with the forest—which came with a certain set of perks.

  But we’ll get into that later.

  So Beau was a queen, like me, but she was a magical queen. Which is one of the reasons she really should be the one telling this story.

  On a tepid day at the far edge of summer, I was on my way to meet the one and only at our usual rendezvous point, so that we could discuss politics…and men, at a place hidden deep within the forest that divided our queendoms.

  The Scarlet Wood was bright and flush with red-leafed boughs and chittering wildlife. An opus of animal babbling that cut through the otherwise reserved white trunks. To protect our queendoms, there was only one road connecting them, accessible by foot or steed, and heavily guarded at both ends. But those of us on official business traveled through the deeper parts of the wood in another manner entirely.

  Wind stags, the long-used transport of our two royal families, were intelligent, spry and stealth-footed creatures, making them perfect travel companions. Mine was named Ruckus, and he obeyed me approximately sixty percent of the time. We had an agreement, the two of us. That this was as much his excursion as mine.

  “Hey guys, hold on. Ruckus wants to check out that moss patch quick,” I called to my travel detail as Ruckus tipped his shimmery antlers to let me know of his intent. From around the wood, the rustling of my three guards closed in on us, each riding a stag of their own, all of which were much more obedient than Ruck.

  “Again?” said Saxon, the newest of my guard. She was of small frame but heavy with muscle, and she enjoyed pub games.

  “You’ll get used to it,” said Albie, my most senior guard. Like a father, he had been with me for as long as I could remember and was another of those less-sticky-than-blood relations. My favorite part of him was the wrinkle of his hands and eyes, each line infused with wisdom and a story.

  The last of my guard, Rafe, was a young man of few words and bored eyes, but he was fast with a sword and of a rare bloodline able to imbue metal with elements. His specialty was frost. Even now, the hilt of his sword appeared icy in his belt. He said nothing but rolled his eyes to himself as Ruckus poked around at the moss.

  “Smell a lady, Ruck?” I clicked at my stag with the back of my tongue. “Come on, Beau’s probably waiting.”

  Begrudgingly, Ruckus returned to our course. One more click and we were springing through the thick of the forest undergrowth, the warm air of late summer dancing through my hair. Saxon and Albie sprang on ahead and to either side, while Rafe fell behind, disappearing into the crimson boughs.

  Beau’s and my secret meeting place was a modest dwelling suspended in the trees, camouflaged from below but with a decent view of the surrounding area. There was even a belvedere built above the treetops, where in the distance you could see both our domains—mine backed by the sea, hers the forest and rocky lands beyond.

  When we arrived at the woodland refuge, it was as I had suspected; Beau and company had already arrived. One of her guards was waiting at the base of the center tree. Another, I suspected, was scouting the area and watching over the team’s stags. Rafe trotted off to join the guard in the woods while Saxon settled beside the one at the base of the tree. As per usual, Albie would accompany me up the winding stair and into the elevated fort.

  I patted Ruckus adieu and gathered my pack before starting up the narrow stair coiled around the base of the tree. If Albie had his way, I would be wearing full regal attire on these outings. But see? That simply wasn’t practical for ascending alongside rough bark like this.

  Halfway up, a girlish voice called from above: “Finally here, are we?” It was Beau in all her splendor, poking her head over the side of the fort’s balcony. As she did, her long ponytail slipped over the wooden railing and dangled, ropelike.

  “You know Ruckus,” I called back. “He’s a stinker.”

  “Only because he’s spoiled, might I add,” Albie said from below in his grizzled voice.

  “Greetings, Sir Albie.” Beau waved tenderly before whipping her hair back over the rail and disappearing inside.

  “Geesh,” I called to A
lbie, nearing the top of the climb. “At least someone’s excited to see you.”

  Albie only chuckled.

  At the top of the staircase, a hand reached out from the darkness to help me step into the foyer. It wasn’t Beau’s, for she didn’t wear rings like those, and her hands were much more properly groomed. No, that blackstone ring in particular was a giveaway.

  This was no helping hand. It was a trap.

  I took it anyway and grinned as I was excessively yanked through the doorway like the recoil of a fishing line that’s just lost its fish.

  “Wow, good help’s hard to find these days, eh?” I shone my teeth to my favorite of Beau’s guards, a son of a bitch named Windley, who had been waiting at the door to welcome us.

  “You’re looking about as good as usual, Queen Merrin.” Windley took my cloak from my shoulders with a jester’s smile.

  “Oh, I look good?”

  “I didn’t say you look good. Just as good as it gets, I suppose,” he said.

  Windley was, first and foremost, a bastard. But that’s what I liked best about him. Part of Beau’s protective detail for—what, eight years now?—I suspected he wasn’t all human, with oddly pointed eyeteeth and ears, and hair that changed color each time I saw him. He had never disclosed whatever his race was, and I had never cared enough to pry.

  “Nice hair, pinkie,” I said. Today the color of it was rather flamboyant.

  “Don’t even get me started on hair.” He eyed mine foully while picking up a curl between his fingers like it was a spider. “You look like a lion.”

  “When have you ever seen a lion?” I challenged.

  “I’ve seen more things than you can possibly imagine,” he gloated, extending a hand to help Albie into the entryway.

  “That so?” said Albie. “Have you ever seen a man play the mandolin using only his feet and his—” Albie shot me a protective look before finishing the question into Windley’s ear.

  “Ew. No.” Windley frowned.

  I couldn’t help but snort. Which wrinkle did that story reside in, I wondered.

  “What, no comeback from our beloved queen?” Windley plopped into his favorite armchair in the corner, where he had long ago created a Windley-shaped indent.

  “Roar,” I said dully, floofing my mane, and ventured further into the fort. The two of them would remain in the foyer while I met with Beau in the inner quarters on official queen business.

  On the way, I took a deep breath of the musky lumber and aged fabric of the hideaway. This was one of my favorite places to be. Complete with two royal quarters, a separate room for the guards, and a washroom and pantry, this dwelling had served as host to many a royal sleepover throughout the years. At its center were the inner quarters meant for rulers of our sister queendoms to convene and discuss important matters. The lantern-lit walls held maps of our realms and the surrounding lands, calendars marked with important dates, and sketches of plans for this year’s gilded lunar festival. I had been trying to convince Beau to wear something a little sultrier this year, though I didn’t have the doodling skills to back up my argument.

  Speaking of Beau, she was settled properly at one head of the inner room’s table, hands folded in her lap.

  “Hey lady. Were you waiting long?” I asked.

  She had already smoothed her ponytail from its descent over the balcony rail. The Queen of the Clearing was a disarming person with cute freckles dotting the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her dark hair was always sleek, her nails always polished, and she frequently donned hooped earrings of one precious metal or another.

  “No, no. Just long enough to get settled.” She fanned at me assuredly. Those of the Clearing, Beau included, all spoke as if they were creating art with their words. All of them, that is, but Windley. His accent didn’t match the floral dialect of Beau’s people. It didn’t match that of mine either, which I had been told sounded thick and earthy to an outsider. Likely, Windley and his changing hair had come from somewhere far, far away.

  “You are spending the night tonight, right Merrin?” continued Beau. “You were iffy in your letter.”

  “That was then, and this is now, and I am definitely spending the night! We got that whole roseroot fiasco sorted out. Turns out they were burying the cuttings too deep. As you know, roseroot soil is a vital ingredient in—”

  Beau slammed her hands on the table. “I can’t stand it any longer!”

  This is what I liked to call a Beau burst. The Queen of the Clearing was always refined and polished… except when she wasn’t. Every now and then something itty-bitty would set her into an itty-bitty torrent. She only ever showed this side to me. Or maybe I was the only one that ever brought it out.

  “Can’t stand what?” I said.

  “That hair of yours, Merrin! You’re a queen for goddess’s sake!”

  “Yeah, I didn’t cover it while I was riding, and it got a little unruly.”

  “A little? It is so lovely, Merrin, but when you let it get all scraggly, it takes forever to calm the frizz and is that—?” She plucked something from inside my chestnut waves. “THAT IS A STICK!”

  She shoved me into the chair she had just warmed and began combing through my curls with her fingers, picking out bits of debris as she went.

  I let my head go limp. “Maybe I do this on purpose because it feels soooo good when you play with my hair, Beau.”

  “Would not put it past you. By the way, did you give your regard to Windley? He’s been insufferable waiting for you to get here.”

  Insufferable. Sounded about right.

  “I’ll have a drink with him later,” I said. “How’s the festival planning coming?”

  “Horrid,” she said. “There’s still a lot of work to do. I’m going to need your help.”

  It was the same every year. By help, Beau didn’t really mean help help. She meant pretend help.

  I didn’t much care about the color of banners or the selections of music, but throwing a hard ‘no’ or ‘yes’ in Beau’s direction always seemed to help her come to whatever decision she’d had in her all along. Usually, this was the opposite of what I suggested.

  “Really? Magenta?” She tapped her chin. “No, I think we shall go with ginger…”

  I spent the night answering frivolous questions and jotting down notes while Beau detangled my massive hair until it wasn’t quite so massive. It was a shame, really, all of the planning that went into that year’s lunar festival.

  We didn’t know it yet, but that year there would be no festival.

  By the dawn of autumn, there would be no Beau.

  Chapter 2

  The First Sign

  I suppose the first indication that something was wrong was that very night in the treetop fort. Beau and I had retired to our separate quarters, but I was yet to fall asleep. I always liked to keep the windows open out here, to hear the murmurs of the forest and let the petrichor fill my breath, but tonight the night air was tireless in its efforts to keep me awake. It all felt chaotic, like the calm before a tempest, and kept making my skin prick.

  I stole to the pantry for something to tire me, careful not to wake anyone as I passed the restful humming of the guards’ chambers. Four of them were still out somewhere in the night, patrolling the area. By the lack of snoring, Albie was one of them. I made a biscuit topped with lavender marmalade and opened and closed the jar thrice before sliding it back into the cupboard. I loved the sound of a lid connecting with glass. Biscuit in hand, I ambled back the way I had come. But as I passed Beau’s room, I noticed the flickering of a lantern dancing out from below the door. So I wasn’t the night air’s only victim.

  “Beau?” I rapped my knuckles lightly and was responded nothing. “Psst, Beau. I’m coming in.”

  As was to be expected, Beau’s chambers were far tidier than mine. Leather-bound copies of her favorite books lined the shelves in alphabetical order. Her vanity was clean with her comb and hairbrush spaced evenly from her collection of lotions. Even h
er bed was made, save a neatly folded down corner for her to slip into. Mine, on the other hand, looked as though a four-person orgy had occurred, and it was just me.

  Although Beau’s bed had been opened, Beau was nowhere in sight. Strange, she wasn’t in the kitchen or washroom, and likely not the guards’ chambers either. After a full sweep of the lair, including the balconies, there was only one place left to look.

  I made my way to the fort’s belvedere, the circular dome situated above the treetops where Beau and I often came as children, with messes of blankets bundled in our arms, so that we could sleep together under the stars. Climbing this ladder was much harder as an adult, especially in this unpractical nightgown my handmaids had packed. Worth it, though, for what was waiting at the top.

  That view, especially on this clear of a night, was one of the most beautiful things I had encountered so far in life. The panorama of the nighttime world triumphed beyond the belvedere’s arched windows. In the distance, the moon hung low over my queendom and the glistening sea, and on the other side, where the moon’s light didn’t yet stretch, glittering stars danced over Beau’s side of the wood that was doused in inky darkness.

  No man could paint a scene like that. Not really. You would have to live it to know what I mean, but it was truly a display of divinity.

  I had been quiet climbing the ladder, listening for Beau, yet I hadn’t heard her. But someone had heard me.

  “Your Majesty?” the someone said.

  Since when had Beau’s voice gotten so manly?

  As if anything about her could be manly. A sudden but milky light materialized in the dark space to prove how wrong my initial guess had been. Not Beau. Not even close.

  As it turned out, the light was summoned from the sword of a lean young man dressed in guard’s attire. My guard’s attire, to be exact. “Queen Merrin?” the knave questioned, lowering his glowing sword to his side. “Why are you here?”