Shattered Throne (Book 1 of The Shattered Throne Series)

by Cate Dean

  The girl blinked at her, then nodded. “Of course, miss. You don’t know your way around, then?”

  “Not this part of the castle, no. I would appreciate a guide.”

  “Will the—” She waved at Kres, clearly afraid of him.

  With a smile, Raine turned to the drake. “Thank you for keeping me company, Kres. Go on back to your master.” He snorted, but obeyed, trotting into the shadowed corridor. Raine waited until the tap of his claws faded. “Better?”

  The maid relaxed, nodding. “This way, miss.”

  She led Raine through a maze of corridors, none of them familiar. Since Raine was half conscious when she was brought to her room, that was not surprising.

  The maid halted at a long, wide corridor. “This leads to the main hall, miss. I am afraid I must return to the kitchen. I have stayed away too long already.”

  “Thank you for the assistance—”

  The girl hurried away before Raine could finish.

  Cradling her left arm, she headed down the corridor, moving faster as she started to recognize the wall hangings and the decorative tables. The first glass windows told her she was close.

  Sunlight flashed off something near a tall wood vase stand.

  “What the…” She used the stand for leverage and crouched. The something was a silver brooch, obviously expensive, given the huge square emerald in the center, held in place by silver vines. Raine hadn’t seen this kind of workmanship since she left the desert, and she knew why. Turning it over, she found the maker’s mark. “Lyra,” she whispered.

  The brooch had been crafted by one of her mother’s people, and came from The Reach. It could have traveled on one of the many ships that passed through Palamar’s busy port, but how did it end up here? She had to show it to Micah. He may know who it belonged to, who lost it.

  The whisper of silk on stone warned her just before strong hands yanked her to her feet.

  “I wish I could be sorry for this, half-blood.” Elena’s voice froze her, and the guards holding her tightened their grip, giving her no room for escape. Raine swallowed, and knew she’d never see Micah, or anyone else, again. Elena Brachon smiled at her, and sealed her fate. “I am glad you were the one to find my missing jewelry. Now I can cry thief, and have you put where you belong. In the dungeon.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The guards were not gentle, and they took a route that ensured no one would see Raine, giving her no chance to ask for help.

  They threw her into the filthy cell. She caught herself against the wall before her injured arm slammed into it, and turned to find Elena in the doorway.

  “You have three days to make peace with whatever heathen gods you worship. Then you will hang, half-blood, and I will finally be rid of you.” She stepped back, and the guard next to her shut the barred door. She flinched when the lock snapped over. “Half rations for her. No need to waste food on a dead prisoner.”

  “Yes, Duchess.”

  Elena lifted her chin. “I will be Duchess in fact soon. As I was meant to be. Enjoy your last hours alive, half-blood. I am certain they will be miserable.”

  Raine watched her walk out of the dungeon, waiting until she was gone to slump against the wall.

  She was going to die, and if Elena were clever about it, Micah would never know.

  Thirteen

  The wagon shuddered to a halt, pulling Liam out of his stupor.

  His shoulder ached, though not like before; he could actually lift his arm without wanting to scream in pain. The movement allowed him to fashion a sloppy braid, tied off with a ragged piece of wool from the blanket. It kept his hair from getting caught in the chain, and, he hoped, kept the slaver from hacking it off if it got in his way.

  He silently thanked the slaver for binding his wrists. The silk barrier prevented further damage, and under it, he knew he skin would gradually heal, protected from the elements.

  The slaver swung off the wagon and walked over to Liam. “I am ready for a night of not moving. I’ll let you join me by the fire, Silver Tongue, if you promise not to run. I’d hate to kill you now, after bringing you this far.”

  “You have my word.” Liam’s voice was still raw, but his throat no longer felt as if it had been flayed.

  “Good.” He moved to the back of the wagon and unlocked it, helping Liam to the ground. “Take your time—it’s been a while since you stood on your own.”

  Liam took his advice, clutching the bars of the wagon. His legs shook, and not only from lack of use. He knew he still rode out the effects of the eldar.

  The slaver didn’t wait on him; while Liam watched, he set up a small but efficient camp, the fire roaring to life faster than Liam had seen even his best trackers manage.

  “How—did you start the fire so quickly?”

  The slaver smiled at him, lifted a small amber bottle. “Fire oil.”

  Of course. His father had outlawed it in the West, but Liam knew it was in regular use here. He moved to the closest blanket, and carefully lowered himself. His body soaked in the heat from the fire, and he closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep in front of its warmth. The slaver had other ideas.

  “I’ve been thinking on your resistance to the eldar.”

  With a sigh, Liam looked over at him, surprised when the man handed him a bowl. It was filled to the brim with meat. “Thank you.”

  “I can’t be selling a slave who looks like a skeleton. Eat up, Silver Tongue, while I expand on my thoughts.”

  Liam took his advice, risking burned fingers as he grabbed the first piece. It tasted like rabbit, which he hated, but he ate it anyway. Now was no time to be picky.

  “As I was saying.” The slaver talked around the food in his mouth, taking time to swallow. “I’ve heard about others with resistance to the poison. The black castle, on the edge of the Eastern Wastes. It’s where eldar grows thickest, and it’s said the people there are born immune to the plant’s effects. Don’t happen to come from there, do you, Silver Tongue?”

  Liam shook his head. From what he understood, no outsider who had ever seen the black stone castle at Bimi lived to describe it. But the slaver’s comment raised questions in his mind. Questions he was forced to push aside when his father died—of a past his father refused to discuss, and family he knew nothing about. The accidental discovery of his resistance could be a clue, a way to find those answers.

  The slaver pulled him out of his thoughts by shoving a waterskin in his view. “Drink, then it’s time for you to climb back in the wagon. I’m ready for sleep, and I can’t do that and be watching you as well. I want to get an early start, so we can be there before dark.”

  “Where are we headed?” Pale amber eyes stared at him, and Liam raised his hands, aware he’d crossed a boundary. “Sorry. I was curious, since I have no idea where we are now.”

  “Near an outpost, established by traders. I’m taking you there to sell you, boy.”

  “No.” The denial burst out before he could stop it.

  The slaver grabbed his right arm, and Liam’s knees buckled from the pain. “Did you think this was a camping trip, boy? I bought you, for good money. I took care of you, and now I’m going to earn it back, plus more for my troubles. Our time together ends soon.”

  “If it’s money, I can offer you more than any other man will give you.”

  The slaver halted. “What are you going on about?”

  “I have gold, enough gold for you to retire, if that’s what you want. Take me back to the border, and any price you name will be yours.”

  After a long minute, while Liam’s hope grew, the slaver crushed it by slamming him against the wagon. “The bastard was right. You do have a silver tongue, one that will tempt me straight to my own death.” He hauled Liam into the wagon, pinning him with one knee. “I didn’t choose this path, boy. The man who sold you did, and on pain of death, ordered me to have you sold to those who would take you as far away from the West as possible.”

  “What are you talking about?”
<
br />   The slaver leaned over him. “I’m selling you to the highest bidder when we reach the outpost. But every bidder there is from one place. The salt mines on the Outer Islands.”

  Panic drove through him. “You cannot let them take me—please let me—”

  One hand clamped over his mouth, the other on his throat, squeezing until Liam fought for breath. “No more. Those were your last words, Silver Tongue. If I didn’t know the traders from the mines wanted you whole and healthy, I’d cut that tongue out myself, save me from temptation. Instead, this’ll have to do.”

  The pressure on Liam’s throat released, and he sucked in a harsh breath, not easy with the man’s hand still covering his mouth. He stilled when the sharp edge of a knife caressed his throat.

  “One sound when I remove my hand, and I’ll cut you in a place that will hurt you, but leave you whole enough for them. Am I understood?” Liam swallowed, and nodded, careful to keep the movement small. “Not a sound, Silver Tongue. I won’t warn you again.”

  He set the knife aside, and lifted his hand. As much as Liam wanted to plead with him, he believed the slaver’s threat. Another length of silk appeared, and the slaver pressed it against his mouth. He opened, flinching when the fabric slid over already sore skin. The slaver tied it off, and finally released him, climbing out of the wagon.

  “I’ll loosen the gag to give you water, and remove it once a day to feed you. One sound, and my threat stands.”

  Liam watched him walk to the small camp, and settle next to the fire. With effort, and probably some pain, he could remove the gag. But it would not help. Whatever Joseph told him, it scared the slaver enough to follow through, even with hundreds of miles between them.

  He swallowed, closed his eyes against the ache in his bruised throat, and pulled the blanket up. If he had any hope of surviving when they arrived at the trader’s outpost, he needed to sleep. Once he was more rested, he could form a plan.

  A desperate plan, but at this moment, all he had was desperate.

  Fourteen

  Micah knocked on the door to the guest room.

  He had waited until after the morning meal, to give Raine time to wake, and have a bath, if she needed it. That he wanted to help her with all of it, including the bath, had his heart pounding.

  When she didn’t answer, he knocked again.

  “Raine? Are you awake yet?” Slowly, he pushed the door open. Her bed was empty. “Raine?” He knew before he finished scanning the room that she was gone.

  The fire had not been lit, and when he felt the bedclothes, they were cold. Not only was she gone, she had been gone for quite some time.

  He closed his eyes, and lowered himself to the bed. Her obvious rejection laid a weight on his heart, one that threatened to break him. He was foolish enough to fall in love with a completely unsuitable girl, and now he had been forced to face the reality of that choice.

  “As if it were a choice,” he whispered. Raine blew into his life after an experiment had been rigged to seriously injure him. The connection between them was immediate, and for him, life changing. “She warned you off, more than once. This is her final answer.”

  He had to accept it, and move on.

  Today, moving on meant announcing to the city what had happened, and taking on what he never wanted; the responsibility of rule.

  Micah pushed to his feet, aware that Thomas and Ari would both be looking for him. With Joseph only the gods knew where, Thomas had just become his shadow again. He despaired of ever seeing the inside of his workshop, of having time to do more than have a passing thought for the experiments that defined who he was.

  “Get over it.” He stalked across the room, determined to face whatever happened after today. Liam would expect it, and Micah would never disappoint his brother, not when so much depended on him.

  Ari paced in front of his door, snapping to attention when he caught sight of Micah.

  “The valet is waiting on you, my lord.”

  “Valet?” Oh. Liam’s valet. The fussy man he spent most of his time evading, except when he needed formal dress. Gods, Micah didn’t even remember the man’s name. “Thank you, Ari.”

  “She’s gone, then.”

  Micah sighed. “I doubt we’ll be seeing her again.”

  “I know you’d rather hear any words but these, but it is for the best, my lord. Especially now. Every eye will be on you, judging you.”

  “I didn’t think of that horror. Thank you.”

  Ari laughed, clapping one hand on Micah’s shoulder. “You will be fine, my lord.”

  “Can you do me one favor?”

  “Anything, my lord.”

  “Please call me Micah when we’re alone. I keep wanting to look over my shoulder, expecting Liam to be—” Grief cut him off. He turned away, tears stinging his eyes. “I will follow every protocol demanded of me, but I can’t be reminded that he’s missing with every other word.”

  “Understood, Micah.”

  He let out a shaky breath, afraid Ari would fight him on it. “Thank you.”

  “I will wait for you next to the tower door.”

  Nodding, Micah stepped into his room, not ready for the valet who rushed over to him, wringing his hands.

  Not ready for any of this.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I know you’ve heard rumors, and speculation.” Micah’s voice rang over the silent crowd standing below him. The rare, windless day let his voice carry without shouting. “I am here to tell you the truth. My Lord Duke, my brother, was ambushed on his way to the kingdom council in Veran, and is missing.”

  A roar of shouts filled the air. Micah waited for them to die down.

  “As I speak, men I trust are on their way to bring him home. Until then, I will stand in his place, and any questions or concerns you may have, you can bring them to me.”

  “Excuse me.” His mother stepped forward, startling him. She wasn’t supposed to speak. “If I understand the law, my son, an heir cannot step into his role until he comes of age.”

  “Mother.” He spoke in a low voice, to keep the crowd from hearing. “What are you doing?”

  She ignored him, and continued. “I will be honored to step in until my Lord Duke, and beloved stepson, has been returned to us—”

  “I am of age.”

  Micah’s words spun her. “You are not. The heir must be—”

  “Sixteen. Which happened on my last birthday. Mother.”

  Her eyes widened, the mottled flush that told him she was embarrassed and furious spreading over her face. “The law states—”

  “Father changed the law, when he knew he was dying. He didn’t want there to be any chance that Liam could not take his place.”

  “But Liam—”

  “Chose to wait, to give himself more time to learn what he needed.” Micah hated doing this in front of the entire city, but she gave him no choice. “As I am the heir, and of age, I will be the one holding Liam’s place, until he returns.”

  “Of course, my lord Duke.” She bowed her head and stepped back. But Micah saw her hands, clenched at her waist and shaking. This was not over.

  He turned back to the crowd. His people now. “There will be an official document circulated later today, answering any questions you may have. As far as I am concerned, my brother Liam is the reigning Duke, and I am merely here to speak for him. Thank you all, for your time, and your understanding.”

  The roar of voices followed him as he turned and practically ran to the door.

  “Micah!”

  He halted at his mother’s furious shout. Ari stepped between them, arms crossed, looking like the fierce gladiator he had once been.

  “My lord requested that he not be disturbed after this announcement. If you like, my lady, I can schedule an appointment for later today.”

  That was not going to sit well.

  Micah escaped while she was arguing with Ari. He kept going, straight to his workshop, locking the door behind him. His stiff fingers fumbled over th
e ornate buttons on his tunic, but he finally opened it enough to pull it over his head. Instead of throwing it across the workshop, he set it on a rare empty spot on the table, and lowered himself to the stool, rubbing his fingers through the thin leather gloves.

  Ari suggested he wear full gloves for the announcement. It was a cold day, so there would be no speculation on why their newly minted Duke was wearing them. Only a few people knew about Micah’s handicap, and Ari wanted to keep it that way.

  He traded them now for his fingerless gloves, and moved to the woodstove, lighting a fire. There would be a formal supper, for all the courtiers in the city, and Micah would have to attend. Until then, he planned to hole up here and work on something. Anything to keep his mind from what he had just committed himself to.

  ~ ~ ~

  A loud knock jerked Micah out of the blueprint he had running through his mind.

  He straightened, tucked the small wrench he had been using to tighten fastenings on the wing in his pocket, and unlocked the door. As he expected, Ari stood on the other side.

  “Time for your appearance at supper, my lord.” Ari gave him an exaggerated bow.

  “Thank you for the warning. Can you help me with this tunic? My hands aren’t good with elaborate, oversized buttons.”

  “I don’t believe that should be a requirement for anyone.”

  Micah laughed. “Father always detested them. He swore he was going to pass a law forbidding their ilk inside the castle walls.” His humor faded. “How am I supposed to pull this off, Ari? I’ve always been the eccentric younger brother. No one is going to take me seriously.”

  “Make a few sound decisions, quickly. Let them see that agile mind of yours. You are already loved, Micah. What you need to earn now is their respect.”

  Micah was silent as Ari helped him into the stiff velvet tunic. That would take more than speaking a few words, or handing out a few favors.

  Quite possibly more than he had to give.

  ~ ~ ~

  Every person in the room stood when Micah entered. Forcing himself not to turn and run in the other direction, he waved his hand, indicating that they sit. They refused, until he reached the head table and took his seat. Then, as if they had all been given an invisible signal, they sat, and conversation started up again.