Shattered Throne (Book 1 of The Shattered Throne Series)

by Cate Dean

  He shifted his hand on the bed, so she could see it. No.

  “It was the movement, in your throat.”

  Yes.

  “Damn it.” She wiped at the sweat sliding down his face. That seemed to be a constant, and not only because of the heat. “Do you want to stop?”

  No.

  “I’m going to try using a spoon. So the liquid can slide down more easily. Like soup.” She disappeared from his sight, but he heard her, moving items on a surface he couldn’t see. “Here we go. Let’s try this again.”

  The spoon made it less painful, the warm, sweet tea slipping down his throat with little effort. Liam relaxed, some of the pain leaching away. He closed his eyes—and jerked back to awareness at the sound of a voice outside his window.

  A familiar voice.

  “What are you—don’t try to get up, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  He ignored her, pushed himself up with shaking arms. The voice was right outside. Xander—gods above, Xander was here.

  Agony roared across his back. He breathed through it, crawling toward the window.

  “—find him. I’ve looked everywhere—and stop telling me to keep quiet. How do you want me to tell you? By drawing pictures in the sand?”

  The second voice shocked him.

  “Keep your voice down, if you have to talk at all.” Damian—Ari sent Damian after him. “You’ve had no luck?”

  “None. He should be here, Damian. There’s nowhere else for the damn slavers to take him.”

  “There is one place, but it is the opposite direction, and all tracks led here.”

  Liam fought his way to the voices, to the freedom they brought with them.

  Alina knelt beside him. “Do you know them?”

  Yes. His movement was frantic.

  “Can you find a way to describe one of them? I’ll go after them.”

  He stared at her, desperate. Then he slid his hand across the bed, touched her hair.

  “Delta? One of them is Delta?”

  Yes.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She climbed off the bed and ran out, slamming the door behind her.

  Liam kept moving toward the window, inch by agonizing inch. The voices were fading, moving away. He had to find a way to alert them, to keep them from leaving—

  He reached the small window, gripped the sill and used every bit of strength he could gather to pull himself up. There—Xander was just beyond his building, his back to Liam.

  “Xan—” The rasping whisper choked him. He ignored the burn in his throat and tried again. “Xander—”

  His throat punished him. He doubled, clutching the sheet as he tried to breathe.

  “Liam—” Alina cradled his head, her hand warm on the back of his neck. “Relax. The breath will come. Stop chasing after it, Liam. Let it come to you.”

  An endless moment passed, and his throat opened enough to take in a shallow breath.

  “Good,” she whispered, her hand soothing as it gently kneaded the back of his neck. That touch seemed to work its way through him, relaxing his throat until he took a deep, agonizing breath. “Now, I’m going to get some honey water in you, and you’re going to sleep. No,” she said, when he tensed. “I’ll look for your friends. I think I saw the Delta before he rounded the corner. Long braids, with beading?”

  Liam moved his hand, fingers still twisted around the thin cotton sheet. Yes.

  “A member of the nobility. Interesting.” Her revelation surprised him. He thought he knew the gambler. She kept talking, her voice low and soft as she eased him down to the bed, facing him toward the door. “You are quite the contradiction, Silver Tongue. There, all the way down. Stay still, while I get the waterskin.”

  He didn’t have the strength to do anything else.

  Alina crouched in front of him, lifted his head just enough for him to let the honey water slip down his ravaged throat. It cooled the fire, and helped fill his empty stomach.

  “Good. Now sleep.” She leaned in, pressed her lips to his forehead. “You’re feverish, which I don’t like. I want to see if some good, deep sleep will ease it. I’m going to go look for your friends. I can’t bring them back here, but we can figure out a way to free you. Relax, Liam. I know we just met, but you have to trust me now.”

  He moved his hand, exhaustion already dragging him under.

  Yes.

  “Thank you.” She brushed hair off his cheek, hesitated, then kissed him, gentle, brief.

  Before he had time to react she was gone.

  He swallowed, and closed his eyes as his throat rebelled. Exhaustion won out over pain, and pulled him into the waiting darkness.

  Twenty Five

  Raine woke out of a fever dream, her arm throbbing so badly she hunched over it, rocking back and forth.

  She had no idea how much time had passed since Joseph’s visit. Despair lay over her pain; Micah was unaware of the snake hiding in his home, ready to strike the moment he turned his back—

  Movement caught her eye. Too low to be a guard, unless one of them was crawling out of the corridor. She stilled when the fire drake stalked out of the darkness, eyes gleaming.

  “Kres?” Raine moved to the bars and knelt, reaching out for him. He slipped his head under her outstretched hand, and she smiled when he purred, pushing against the fingers rubbing between his ears. “How did you find me?”

  He snorted, like the answer was obvious.

  “You followed Joseph, didn’t you? Or one of the guards. Gods, how I wish you could talk…” She cupped the drake’s snout. “Can you bring Micah here? He’s in danger, Kres. I need to warn him.”

  The drake jerked free, his nostrils flaring. He looked agitated, and she watched him snap his wings out, leaping into the air. Instead of flying out of the room, he settled in front of her, bumping his snout against her hand.

  “Yes, I can help him. But he has to come down here unseen. Do you understand?”

  He snorted, and probably would have rolled his eyes, if he were able to.

  “Find him, Kres, bring him here.” He trotted to the corridor, glanced at her over his wing. “Keep him safe.”

  She swore he nodded before he leapt into the darkness.

  ~ ~ ~

  Micah rubbed his eyes, the words blurring again.

  With a sigh, he sat back in his chair and glanced out the window, startled that the sun had almost set. He had lost track of how many hours he’d spent working through the proposal. So many of the demands were outrageous and unrealistic, even in theory.

  His mother helped more than he expected, pulling apart the overblown language and reassembling it into readable paragraphs. Some of it was obviously written in anger, other parts with the idea of a society so idyllic, it was impossible to create.

  Then there were the gems, all but hidden under the grandiose schemes. Micah could work with those—wanted to work with them, because in those gems he saw the beginnings of a more stable government. His father had laid the groundwork, settling border disputes, establishing laws that gave foreigners more freedom in Palamar.

  Micah wanted to continue his father’s work, strengthen ties to the other kingdoms. Trade was their income, and the people who brought those goods deserved the same rights as citizens, if they decided to make Palamar their home.

  He pushed to his feet, tucking his hands under his armpits as he paced the office. His joints ached from the almost daily sword lessons, but Ari kept at him, told him that his body would learn to compensate, and he could become stronger for the effort. All he thought about during the lessons—beyond the pain and exhaustion—was that the time took away from his experiments. He imagined dust had been collecting on more than one of his projects.

  “Enough of the self-pity,” he whispered. What he did here might bring Liam home. Tears stung his eyes, and he leaned against the window, staring out over the city. “Stay alive, Liam. Help is coming.”

  The familiar tap of claws on stone turned him around. He managed to
wipe his eyes before Kres appeared in the doorway.

  “What are you doing here? And how did you get past Thomas?” The drake leapt forward, bumping his leg. “I don’t have time to play, Kres. I need to finish this.” Kres snorted, and trotted to the door. Instead of leaving, he turned, dark eyes intense. “What is it? Did the kitchen staff forget to feed you? Depending on generous scraps is going to spoil you.”

  He followed Kres out into the corridor. Thomas was gone, but Micah did tell him to take breaks to eat if he needed them. He headed in the direction of the kitchen, and frowned when the drake trotted in the opposite direction.

  “Kres, I don’t have time for—” The drake spun, his low, angry growl freezing Micah. Kres was so even tempered, Micah tended to forget he was not a tame pet. He stilled, ready to bolt himself in the office if he needed. The thought of losing Kres as well left a hard knot in his chest. “Kres.”

  The drake moved into the lamp lit corridor, snapping his wings when Micah didn’t move. Kres glanced back at him, and those dark eyes met Micah’s, less intense, and more—pleading.

  “All right. Give me a moment to leave a note for Thomas.” He strode back into the office and penned a quick note, tucking it behind the door latch. “If this is some wild game of chase, no more kitchen scraps for you, for at least a week.”

  Kres snorted, as if that were an impossibility. Micah bit back a smile as he followed the drake into the older part of the castle. The kitchen staff adored Kres, and even with an order from Micah, he would hardly suffer from starvation.

  They wandered through the winding passages, until Micah opened his mouth to call off the pointless game. His objection died in his throat when he followed Kres around a corner. They were at the entrance to the dungeons.

  Micah hated them. The small, dark cells, the low ceiling and passages so narrow his shoulders scraped both walls—all of them brought out his old fear of being confined, helpless, trapped. But whatever Kres had to show him, the drake was determined.

  “All right—I’ve come this far, and the rest of the day is wasted.” He pulled the nearest lamp off its hook, remembering the lack of good lighting down there. “But of you lead me into a small, dark space, you’ll be losing much more than your kitchen scraps.”

  Kres snorted, and walked into the darkness. After a few deep breaths, Micah tightened his grip on the lamp, and followed.

  Twenty Six

  The rattle of the lock jerked Liam out of restless sleep.

  Alina—

  He tried to push himself up; he did not want to look like an invalid if Xander walked through the door first. Sharp, breath-robbing pain forced him to stay still.

  The door opened, and his heart started pounding when the man who bought him appeared.

  “The healer took care of you, then? Good. You are the final sale of the day.”

  Shock froze him. Before he could recover, the man already stood next to him, leaning down to help him sit. Liam fought to breathe by the time he was upright.

  The man frowned. “Damn that Barrick. If he were not already dead, I’d have him killed. You need to stand for me, boy, at least long enough for the bidders to see you.”

  Liam started to shake his head—and froze, pain flaring in his throat at the movement. It cleared away the panic threatening to overwhelm him, and he remembered Ari’s last words to him at the border.

  Tell them you can write.

  Liam knew the decision would take him farther from home, and deprive him of his last chance to be seen. But being sold to the quarry, before Damian and Xander found him, was an option he did not want as his future. He touched the man’s wrist, braced for retaliation, and mimicked writing.

  “What are you…” He looked at Liam, then grabbed both wrists. “You can write?” Liam nodded once, with as little motion as possible. “Can you read?” Liam nodded again. The man turned his hands over, ran his fingers across each palm. “You’ve trained with a sword. Are you a fighter?” He dug his fingers into Liam’s palms, hard enough to make his point. “Do not lie to me, boy—I will learn the truth sooner than later.” Liam nodded again, and closed his eyes when fresh pain shot through him.

  His hands were freed, and he heard the man move across the room, the door open.

  “Tell the auctioneer the day’s sales are complete. And have him lock up the healer. I don’t want her tagging after me again.” Liam’s last hope for finding Damian and Xander died with those words. He met the man’s eyes when he turned around. “I may have a place for you, if you are not exaggerating your skills.” He crossed his arms, the dark green eyes studying Liam. “Consider me your master now. When you can speak again, you will call me Master Joran.” He strode to the bed and crouched until they were eye level. “Trust me, Silver Tongue, work hard, and we may revisit your status as my property. Now rest—we will leave tonight.” He raised his hand when Liam’s eyes widened. “I have a caravan you can ride in. You are valuable, and I would have you close to healed by the time we reach the Oasis. Sleep now—I’ll fetch you when I am ready to leave.”

  Liam closed his eyes after his new master left him alone. That they headed to the Oasis meant only one thing—Liam would be fighting for his life. In the Arena.

  Twenty Seven

  “Kres—slow down.”

  Micah used the rough stone wall as a guide, moving slower with each step. The lamp barely cut the darkness surrounding him, and he had to remind himself that there was open space around him, that he was not trapped by walls, no one able to hear his desperate cries—

  “Stop,” he whispered. He halted, pressing one aching hand to the stone. His other hand swung the lamp around him, proving that he was in a passage. Someday, he needed to face his childhood fear of closed in spaces. Today was not that day. “Kres, come back where I can see you.”

  The drake appeared in the circle of lamplight, claws tapping on the ground, as if he were impatient to reach their destination.

  “This is one of the rare situations when I wish you could talk. I don’t recognize this part of the dungeon—where are you taking me?”

  Kres stared at him, then turned around and disappeared. With a sigh, Micah followed.

  Liam had spent more time down here than he ever did. The dungeons had not been used since his father built the city jail, but he never agreed with Liam’s enthusiasm for exploring the dark underground spaces. Because he stayed away, he recognized nothing now. Whatever Kres was dragging him down here to see it had better be good…

  Every thought faded when he stepped out of the narrow corridor, and into a room of cells.

  “Gods—” One of them was occupied. “Are you—”

  “Micah?”

  “Raine—” He sprinted forward, dropping the lamp to reach through the bars. “What are you—”

  “Get out of here—”

  “I’m not leaving you here—”

  “—trap, Micah. You have to go!”

  He gripped her hand, his gaze finding the blood-soaked bandage on her arm. “I am not leaving you here.”

  “Micah, please—”

  “You should have listened to her.”

  Micah jerked at the familiar voice, and turned. Joseph stood in the corridor, two guards on either side of him.

  “Joseph—how did you get in here—”

  “Take him.”

  Micah halted, backing away from the guards. “Stop. I order you to stop.” They kept advancing—his guards, men he should have been able to trust, who should obey without blinking. “I said—”

  “They will not listen to you, my lord.” Joseph stepped forward, and Micah’s heart skipped when he heard the distinct clink of chain. “They are loyal to me.”

  Micah lunged forward, startled the guards long enough to get past them. Joseph retreated, his eyes wide. “Tell me where Liam is, you traitorous son of a bitch!”

  Micah tackled him and they both hit the stone floor, hard.

  “Get him off me—” Joseph coughed, pushing at Micah with h
is free hand. “Get him—”

  Hands grabbed Micah’s arms and hauled him up. Their grip tightened when he tried to pull free.

  “Let me go.” He looked at the guard on his right. “I said, let me go. Now.”

  The man swallowed, but kept his gaze on Joseph. “Sorry, milord.”

  “They are loyal to me, Micah.” Joseph pushed to his feet, left hand pressed to his side. “And well paid for it. Bring him—and the girl. She will serve as leverage.”

  “Joseph—”

  “Shackle him.” He tossed the chain in his hand to the closest guard. “And gag them both. I don’t want them shouting the moment we reach the main level.”

  When Micah opened his mouth to object, the other guard silenced him with a gloved hand. Moments later, a heavy cloth appeared.

  “Open your mouth. Please, milord—I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Micah obeyed, and the cloth pressed against his teeth, tied so tightly his jaw ached. The second guard closed the shackles over his wrists. He swallowed, forced himself to focus on the moment.

  Raine appeared beside him, gagged and shackled. She nodded, and glanced down at her hands. Micah followed her gaze, and saw her finger move slightly, toward the shadows.

  Kres. Micah nodded once, to let her know he understood. Joseph had ignored the drake from the moment he arrived, as if he didn’t exist. He wouldn’t think to search for Kres now.

  “Bring them. It is time to put our plans into place.” He stopped, turning to Micah. “You will have one chance, Micah. One chance to save your life, and hers. I suggest you do not waste it. Come.”

  The guards hauled him forward. Micah stumbled, helpless to stop them. But he wasn’t alone, not this time.

  As long as Raine was with him, he would never give up.

  Twenty Eight

  Damian stalked through the last of the crowd, fingers pressed to his throbbing temple.

  The sale was over—and they had found no sign of Liam.

  He dropped his hand before he met Xander near the door leading out to the line of cages. Xander shook his head at Damian’s questioning glance.