by Cate Dean
Shattered Throne
Book 1 of The Shattered Throne Series
Cate Dean
Copyright, 2015
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for use in any review. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locales, and events are either pure invention or used fictitiously, and all incidents come from the author’s imagination alone.
Cover art and design by Nadica Boskovska.
Realm of Farren map drawn by Katie at Magic Owl Design.
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Six months after Micah Brachon’s abduction, little has changed. He spends his time building projects in his workshop, and trying not to think about Raine Ashmead, the Shira half-blood who walked into his life, and his heart.
But when his brother Liam is attacked, inside the walls of the castle, their temporary reprieve is over. A faceless group wants power, and will use any means necessary to achieve it.
Liam discovers this after he is ambushed and taken from the life he knows. Thrown into a world where the rules are profoundly different, where he no longer has control over his future, he must adapt, or die.
With Liam gone, Micah steps into his place, uncertain of his ability to do so, and far from ready. He needs to figure out who he can trust, and quickly, before the traitor among them shows their hand, destroying everyone he loves.
One
“Kres, come back here!”
Micah Brachon, younger brother to the new Duke of Palamar, chased his fire drake across the castle courtyard.
Maybe studying the aerodynamics of Kres’s wings outside wasn’t a good idea. The last time the fire drake got away from Micah he—
Micah skidded around the corner of the kitchen, and halted. Kres had found the training yard. Again.
He tried not to laugh as the fire drake sailed over and dodged around the swords stabbing at him, and watched the wildly varied reactions of the guards.
The blonde Delta, Thomas, with his serious intent. Xander, the son of a local merchant, and now his brother’s second in command, laughing as he ducked under Kres’s steep dive. Micah darted forward and reached out to grab his tail. The drake banked, avoiding his outstretched hands, and Micah lost his footing. He caught himself, watched Kres fly out of sight. He swore the blasted creature smirked at him.
“Bothering my men again, little brother?”
Micah turned to find Liam behind him, arms crossed, an amused smile on his face.
“My fire drake is bothering them. I’m trying to catch him.”
“And an admirable job you’re doing of it.” The smile widened. “You’d better find your feet; my captain is headed right for us.”
Micah froze, and closed his eyes. Ari, the new captain of the Duke’s guard, had no sense of humor, and even less patience for Micah. The tapping of fingers on a sword hilt—a gesture that Ari seemed to reserve for him—had Micah turning slowly, an apology on his tongue. Ari didn’t give him a chance to offer it.
“The next time that lizard disturbs my morning training I will shoot it down, impale it on a stick, and fry it over a fire for my breakfast. Are we clear, my lord?”
Micah swallowed. “Yes, Captain. I am sorry.” The captain turned around, and Micah muttered under his breath. “He’s a fire drake, not a lizard.”
“I am more than aware, my lord,” Ari said. Micah jumped, embarrassed that the captain heard him. Ari shocked him by smiling at Micah over his shoulder. “My brother had several as pets when I was growing up. I learned to hate them up close.”
Micah watched him walk across the yard, his shoulder length blonde hair tied back, correcting stance and talking to individual guards as he made his way to the barracks on the opposite side. He was young to be in charge of a garrison, but Liam knew him, and told Micah their meeting in the Delta was memorable. It was obviously memorable enough for his brother to bring Ari all the way to Palamar after the old captain retired by up and leaving in the middle of the night.
Micah figured the man’s abrupt departure had something to do with his kidnapping, and the fact that it failed.
Liam clapped one hand on Micah’s shoulder. “I told you there was a reason I liked him.”
“Aren’t you the jester?” Micah looked over at his brother. “I hope he can hold his own with the veterans. Some of them are not happy you brought in an outsider. Never mind an outsider who is considerably younger.”
“Trust me, little brother. Ari can win them over. Wait until you see the man fight.”
“You never did tell me how you met him.”
Liam smiled, amusement in his blue eyes. “Do you remember the trip I took with Father, to meet the High Lord of the fortress at Black Water?” Micah nodded, instantly intrigued. The only thing Liam told him about that trip was meeting Ari—a fact Micah learned only recently. “I didn’t tell anyone how I really met Ari.” Liam ran one hand through his hair, a sign that he was about to reveal something that didn’t put him in the best light.
“Go on—I won’t judge. I promise.”
Laughter burst out of his brother. Exactly what Micah was striving for. Liam laughed too little these days.
“I snuck out of the fortress, desperate to see the city on my own. Of course, I ran into trouble—a group of thieves, determined to relieve me of my favorite sword. I was trying to persuade them otherwise, and losing, when this figure burst out of a side alley and brought down two of them, without breaking a sweat.” Liam shook his head. “The other three wanted to prove themselves, and we ended up in a sword fight that alerted the city authorities. Ari dragged me away before we could be arrested.”
“Which is why Father never found out.”
Liam nodded. “Ari took me to a nearby tavern, where he was staying, cleaned me up, and told me his history. He said that I impressed him, fighting against so many, and he jumped in because he figured a favor from even a backwater royal would be worth something.”
“And? Stop stretching out the story, Liam.”
A smile flashed across his face. “Ari escaped from the Khah Oasis, where he was a gladiator in the Arena.”
Micah would have stumbled if they had been walking. “But—only slaves fight in the Arena.”
“And prisoners of war. Ari is from the upper desert, and he was captured during one of the border raids.”
“Do the others know his…um…”
“Sordid history?” Liam draped an arm across Micah’s shoulders and turned him back to the kitchen door. “Xander talked me into taking Ari on, after I told him that history. Fighting in the Arena gives my new captain an edge only a seasoned soldier would have, and I want that edge.”
Any humor faded, and Micah knew he wouldn’t see it again anytime soon. With the attempt on Micah’s life six months ago, and not being able to identify his dead kidnapper, Liam became more frustrated as he kept running into dead ends.
Micah slid out from under his arm. “I should go hunt down Kres, before he finds even more trouble.”
“Take Thomas with you if you have to go outside the walls.”
Micah cursed under his breath, but he waved at his brother. “I won’t go anywhere without my shadow.” After his abduction, he was more willing to have one of the guards follow him around the city. But he still resented the need for it.
He skirted the edge of the yard, and headed around to the back of the barracks, toward the private family garden. Kres liked the wild mix of trees and tall bushes; Micah had found him
there a few times, diving from the tree branches and into the pond, terrorizing the ornamental fish.
“Kres? You are not in trouble, so come out.” Micah stopped in the middle of the garden, hands on his hips. “I don’t want you to be skewered by the new captain, so show yourself. It’s time we set some rules, if you plan to stay.”
A rustling above his head warned Micah just before the fire drake appeared, circling Micah before landing at his feet. He raised his snout, those dark eyes fierce and intelligent.
“I know you understand me, you scoundrel.” Kres snorted, and Micah laughed. He crouched down, until he was eye level with the drake. “Rules, Kres. I have them as well, so I understand your need to rebel.” The long snout bumped his shoulder, and Micah rubbed the sensitive spot just above Kres’s eyes. The drake hummed, his eyes closing. “I need to get back inside, so you can come with me, or go back to my rooms.”
He stood, adjusting the fingerless gloves. Fashioned of thin, flexible leather, they kept his aching joints warm, and allowed him to do the often delicate work his experiments required. Another constant reminder of his abduction.
Raine had done all she could to—
He cut off the thought, a different kind of ache shooting through him.
It had been six months since he saw Raine Ashmead, the half-blood Shira who stepped into his life after an experiment had been rigged to injure him. He cared for her, far more than he should, and he missed her, far more than he wanted to. Every time he was near the dockside gambling house she worked in, he had to keep himself from walking in the front door.
The distance was best, for both of them. He could not even entertain the thought of—
“My lord!” Thomas’s voice echoed through the garden. Kres spread his wings and took off, disappearing into the trees just before the guard appeared. “The Duke requires your presence, in the family dining room.”
“What is it, Thomas?” Micah already knew the news could not be good. Liam always came looking for Micah himself if he needed to talk.
Thomas pushed one hand through his hair. “There has been another murder.”
Dread clenched his heart. “Not another half-blood?”
“I’m afraid so, milord. This time it’s a young woman. If you’re ready now, I can escort you.”
Micah nodded. Kres could wait; he needed to know.
A single phrase ran through his mind over and over as he ran after Thomas.
Please don’t let it be Raine. Please.
~ ~ ~
Micah fidgeted, waiting for Liam to finish with his advisor, Joseph. He needed to go, to ease the ache of fear tightening around his heart.
Finally, Liam dismissed Joseph and walked over to him. “Micah—”
“Where, Liam?”
His brother sighed. “I don’t want you involved, Micah.”
The ache increased. “I have to know,” he whispered. “I have to make certain it’s not Raine.”
Liam closed a hand over his shoulder, and Micah waited for him to refuse, to deny Micah the relief. Ever since he had been taken, Liam had erred on the side of overprotective.
After an endless minute, Liam sighed, and let go of him. “Thomas goes with you.”
“Of course.” Micah ran across the dining room, skidding to a halt in the doorway. “Thank you.”
“Take the horses. I want you to be able to leave quickly, if necessary.”
“He will be well protected, milord.” Thomas moved to Micah’s side, one hand on his shoulder. “And will obey, if I sense danger.”
“Yes, Thomas.” Micah ducked under his hand, and headed for the stable, ready to saddle both horses if necessary.
The soldier caught up with him in the yard. “I’ll have the grooms do the saddling, milord. They will be faster.”
Thomas didn’t look at Micah’s hands; he didn’t have to. There were times Micah forgot his new limitations, and tried to carry heavier equipment in his workshop. He had dropped more than one half-finished invention, destroying his work.
He expected his hands to get better, with time. But his joints ached in the cold, and some mornings his hands were so stiff it took a soak in warm water to ease them enough for him to dress.
They stood together, silent and awkward with it, until the groom led their horses out.
Thomas stepped to him, staring past his shoulder. The guard only avoided eye contact when he was uncomfortable, which meant what he said next would border on embarrassing. “Can you—”
“Find my own way onto a horse?” He forced a smile at Thomas’ obvious chagrin. “I can manage.”
To prove it, he swung up on the gelding, his hands hardly twitching at the pressure. The second Thomas was on his horse Micah took off. Halfway down the steep hill he remembered he did not know the way to the murder scene.
He slowed, until Thomas joined him, and let him take the lead. The cold wind blowing off the bay tugged at his jacket, chilled his bare fingers. He should have taken the time to grab his full gloves; spring may have come to Palamar, but it would be months before the weather was warm enough for him to ride with his hands unprotected.
They rode single file once they reached the bottom of the hill, Thomas winding through the various carriages, wagons, and new single rider carriages crowding the high street. Micah studied one as they trotted past, memorizing the lines of the conveyance. Once he returned home he could redesign—
The gelding sidestepped when Micah moved too close to the carriage. He yanked himself out of his daydream and pushed them into a canter to catch up to Thomas.
What was he thinking, letting himself wander like that? Because I can’t think about what I may face. That it might be Raine lying on the ground, another victim of hate.
Micah focused on working his way through the increasing number of citizens ahead of him. They must be closer to the scene; the curious and the morbid were gathering, to be witnesses to someone else’s final misfortune.
Yes, that thought made him feel much better. Micah shook his head, and rebuilt his latest invention in his head, piece by piece. Until Thomas halted in front of him.
“We are here, milord.”
Micah nodded, and dismounted, tying the reins to a post in front of the closest shop. He took the time to soothe the gelding, and whisper in his ear. “Stay put, and there will be a treat in it for you.” The horse’s ears pricked up at the mention of a treat, and Micah smiled, rubbing his nose. “Understood that, didn’t you? Be good, now. I won’t be long.”
Thomas waited at the edge of the crowd, and moved through the onlookers first, creating a path for him. Whispers turned into murmurs of respect and greeting as people recognized him, cleared the way.
Micah halted when the body came into sight, his heart pounding so hard he felt it in his throat. Someone had laid a blanket over the victim, concealing the one detail that would identify her immediately. He forced himself to step forward, crouch next to the edge of the blanket, and lift it.
Dark brown stared at him, wide and blank. He almost sagged in relief. The dark eyes were a mark of a half-blood, but Raine didn’t have them, only the distinctive red hair—
“Milord?”
“It’s not her, Thomas. It’s not—” His voice lodged in his throat as he looked up. Right into a pair of surprised blue green eyes. “Raine.”
She stared at him for an endless moment—and disappeared into the crowd.
Two
Raine couldn’t face Micah Brachon. Not now, not like this.
She moved faster when she heard him behind her. He would catch her eventually, but at the very least, she could choose the spot.
It ended up choosing her, when a wedding party poured out of one of the churches that dominated this part of the city. Their congratulations and joy for the newly joined couple effectively blocked the entire street.
“Raine!”
She braced herself, and turned to meet Micah.
He halted in front of her, and ran one hand through his hair. It
was longer now, brushing the collar of his white shirt. He looked good, and she wanted to talk to him, hold his hand, spend time with him—
She had to go.
“Milord—”
“I was afraid it was you,” he whispered.
Gods, she never thought of that. The fear that it was a friend sent her running when she heard about another victim. She never imagined the brothers living in the castle on the hill would involve themselves.
She should have known better; Micah cared so much, about everyone. And Liam had begun to change the lives of those who had barely held on before, begging and stealing to survive. Her trips into the worst parts of the city with extra food were no longer heartbreaking, and had eased from every day to twice a week.
“I am so sorry.” She couldn’t stop herself, and reached out. Micah gripped her hand, the soft leather of his fingerless gloves warm from his body heat. “I didn’t—”
She let out a gasp as he pulled her forward, and lost her breath when he kissed her.
His fingers brushed her cheek, the kiss gentle. But he drew her in, his touch wrapping around her heart.
He eased away, lowered his forehead to hers. “I missed you, Raine.”
She closed her eyes, wanting to hear those words, wanting what he offered. But she couldn’t accept. It would end up hurting him, far more than he deserved.
Carefully, she eased out of his grip and took a step back. The pain that flashed in his clear blue eyes tore at her.
“I have to go.” The words sounded like a lie, even to her ears. “I am happy to see you doing so well—”
“Stop trying to protect me.”
Her eyes widened. “I am not—”
“Turn around, Raine, and tell me it’s not too late to step away.”
Oh, gods—the wedding party.
Swallowing, she did as he requested. Every member of the large party stared at them, many of them whispering to each other. By the end of the day half the city would know that the Duke’s brother had kissed her—a bond servant, a half-blood, not worthy to be standing beside him.
