Claimed: (The Land of Schism Book 1) Epic Fantasy Novel for Young and New Adults

by Nicole Adamz

  I blinked, “What?”

  “The fledgling. They won’t let me keep it,” she said, turning toward the window.

  “Why not? It will have royal blood. Surely that means something!” I said, shocked.

  “Your father said I have a good-for-nothing baseborn fledgling, and that they would give the fledgling to the Temple to deal with,” Castia said faintly, silent tears leaking down her cheeks.

  “What do your parents say?”

  “My parents agreed even after I begged on my knees. Not that I expected anything different. Just…hoped,” Castia sniffed.

  Dread froze me in place, and I swallowed. I’m not sure I want my fledgling. Not if it’s Caelum Greerson’s, but to toss it away like garbage? The thought didn’t sit well, and I didn’t want to discuss what father had decided about Castia’s unborn fledgling. The topic made me uncomfortable. I need to steer the conversation toward Heir Talon. In case mother asks.

  I plastered a smile across my face and asked brightly, “So, what do you do all day?”

  Castia’s eyes, once a lively indigo color, were flat and empty. Greasy strands of chestnut hair fell in her face. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  Her mouth flattened unhappily, “They won’t allow me to do anything. I sit here until my meals arrive. Then I sit here some more. I’ve tried to get out—to fly—and they drag me back in. That’s what the cousins are for.”

  I bit my lip, “Oh.”

  “They’re moving me next week,” Castia said abruptly, “To a dais in the Private Holding. For delivery.” Soft hiccups pushed their way between sentences.

  “And…after?” I said, almost afraid to ask.

  Castia gave a short, bitter laugh. “I go back to Splendour and High Lord Bera like nothing happened.”

  My brow furrowed. “What will you tell him?”

  “That I had an illness or something. Uncle Bastian says High Lord Bera won’t care what reason I give as long as I give him what he wants,” Castia said, her words dropping to a whisper. She turned back toward the window, letting the weak winter sun touch her blotchy, swollen face. Her eyes wandered the skyline, an aching need filling them as she watched the clouds.

  I paused, “Will he…still want it?”

  Castia shrugged listlessly, “I don’t know.”

  “Castia, I need your help. Father and mother want me to create a Life-Bond with Heir Talon. Is there anything you can tell me about the Durus family?” I urged.

  Castia’s lips curled into a hard smile. “They’re all despots,” she said firmly.

  My brow furrowed, “What do you mean?”

  “Have you met Heir Talon?” she said nastily.

  “Once,” I hedged.

  “High Lord Bera briefly gave me to him,” Castia snorted, “They’re both entitled reprobates. The High Lord is unintentionally cruel, but Heir Talon…he enjoys it.”

  Confused, I asked, “What do you mean?”

  She barked out a hard laugh, “One expects something, and the other demands it.”

  “Isn’t that most men?” I said with a huffed laugh, masking my discomfort.

  Castia’s eyes bored into me and she said flatly, “Not when pain is involved.”

  Ari’s ruined hand slammed into my mind, and my mouth went dry. What did Heir Talon do to her? Anxiety twisted my stomach tightly, and I abstained from placing a hand there.

  “Is there anything else I should know?” I said tentatively.

  “Yes,” Castia said bluntly, “don’t make my mistake.”

  I inhaled deeply, trying not to gasp. I think I already have. Taking one of her hands, I squeezed it softly. “Soon this will be just a memory.”

  “Will it?” Castia asked sadly. Her eyes hollowed, and she stared out the window, effectively cutting me from her mind.

  Bidding her farewell, I reminded myself not to frown when I walked downstairs. I couldn’t seem disturbed. My mother’s sharp voice rang across the foyer, and I paused.

  “Did she tell you anything useful?” mother said.

  Castia’s words flashed into my mind while I casually collected my cloak. Don’t make my mistake. “Yes, she did,” I said firmly.

  Mother nodded, her eyes suspicious, “Make sure you put it to good use.”

  I nodded and turned to leave, not letting my fear and anger show until my back was a mere silhouette in the cultured lawn. Oh, I will put it to good use. After seeing Castia, there was one thing I was certain of: I’d be ash before I told the family I was pregnant.

  Chapter 33

  Ari

  AIDE HAZEL WALKED OVER, squeaking cart in tow, and I welcomed the distraction. I ate mechanically while she checked on other patients, and it was a moment before I heard it. The hair on my arms rose. Screams echoed down the hallways, and two dozen men in green uniforms stumbled past the doorway, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.

  I sucked in a breath, choking on the tasteless soup. I recognized those uniforms. Niles! Aide Hazel immediately rushed from the room, leaving her supplies behind. Struggling to get out of bed and follow, my legs buckled. It had been a month since I walked anywhere. Hoisting myself up, I lurched toward the archway. Overlooking the horrified faces of the other patients, I stumbled into the hallway and slid on the blood across the floor. I hit the opposite wall with a thud.

  No. My mind roared. It’s not Niles. It can’t be Niles. He’s the only friend I have left. Steadying myself against the wall, I stepped forward. Following the crimson smears wasn’t hard, but there was so much blood—too much. Death, whispered a cheerful voice, spurring me on fearfully.

  Grey feathers clung to the walls, riding the red waves dripping toward warm pools on the floor. Death, the voice whispered again, and I stumbled. I didn’t know where I was and was moving too slowly to clearly hear the screams and frantic voices of Healers and Aides. I continued following the gory trail.

  It led me down the main hallway, past a few archways and doors, turning left into an open hallway and ending behind a closed door. Muffled cries of agony seeped around the door’s edges, and I hesitated. What will I do if Niles is in there?

  I’d do what he’d done for me: be there. Steeling myself, I turned the knob. Inside, Healers grouped around a splintered Warders Unit. A few keened on the floor, their injuries indistinct among the ripped limbs and bodily fluids. Gouged eyes, shorn wings, and the familiar, sickening smell of burned flesh filled the room. Warders shrieked from the gurneys they were strapped to, and my stomach flopped dangerously. Death, a voice cried merrily.

  A few Warders stood, exhausted and helpless amid the chaos. They were covered in blood but unharmed. They must have transported the others. Orders were shouted above the shrieks, and metal carts were expertly wheeled to each patient’s station. Nobody noticed the uninjured, and we huddled close to the door.

  I quickly searched faces, sending up a prayer of thanks with each one that it wasn’t Niles. With relief, I concluded that this wasn’t Niles’s Unit and slumped weakly against the wall. Turning tiredly toward the door, I saw it. A dim, black shadow danced in the middle of the room. I closed my eyes, hoping whatever it was couldn’t see me, and when I opened them it was gone. An eerie tune of ‘ashes to ashes’ hung in the air.

  “They want war,” whispered a Warder. He’d edged close to another Warder a few feet away. The words jolted me.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the other ground out, “How could they possibly hope to win? They can’t even see during the day.”

  “I’m telling you,” he replied, “The one I carried moaned about Dwellers, sobbing that he’d barely escaped.”

  The other one grunted, shifting backward, and I took that as my queue to leave. Slipping through the door, I slowly walked back the way I’d come. War. The word terrified me. We hadn’t been to war with the Dwellers in centuries. Was that really what they wanted?

  The wide-eyed stares of the other patients alerted me to the dry and fresh blood coating my hands and feet when I walked
into our quarters. Grabbing a few cloths from the cart Aide Hazel had abandoned, I doused them with water and cleaned myself.

  When Aide Hazel returned to check on us, wearing an apron to cover the bloody smears on her dress, the other patients were sleeping. She wouldn’t mention anything about what had happened, so I pretended to sleep, not wanting to deal with her fussy attention. It wasn’t until later, when sleep finally claimed me, that the unnerving melody I’d heard haunted me. It mingled with my dreams. ‘Ashes to ashes…Envoy…We all fall down.’

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  The stylus slowly scratched across the parchment, blots of ink covering it. I didn’t finish the sentence before tearing a hole in it. My teeth clenched, and I crumpled the paper into a ball, throwing it to the floor. It shouldn’t be this hard to write a letter with the opposite hand!

  Since my return to Ascension a fortnight ago, I’d made sure Maewyn and I weren’t in the suite together. The events of Larrikin were still confusing and infuriating, and darkness tainted our friendship. Why hadn’t she listened to me? There was no answer, and the question lit an angry fuse that burned deep inside. She apologizes like that will make everything better. I looked down at my bandaged left hand. But how can she adequately apologize for this?

  I knew it was unfair to blame Maewyn. She’d had no control over the situation. Still, it was hard to get over the pile of dust my dreams had turned into. Deep in my heart I knew I should forgive her, but I wasn’t ready. I clutched the short curls springing from my scalp, glancing at Niles’s letter.

  I hadn’t told him what had transpired while I was at the Sanatorium, or what I’d overheard. I hadn’t told Maewyn either, but we weren’t communicating these days and that’s the way I preferred it. War. The word tore at me. I’d wanted to write a letter to Niles about it, but a wriggling warning made me wait. Maybe nothing would happen, and those Warders were wrong. The image of those men on the gurneys, pouring blood, belied the insubstantial hope.

  I sighed, pouting at the glaring question Niles had poised—again. Is Maewyn doing alright? I didn’t want to answer it. I didn’t know how, and deep down I didn’t care. Why should I be concerned with how she was doing when everything had been ruined for me? I was the one who needed his concern—not her.

  Niles had promised to visit. Which was fine if Maewyn wasn’t here. It was petty, but I didn’t want Maewyn monopolizing Niles’s attention—and I knew she would. Niles was my friend, and I was the one injured. The one whose hopes were smoke in the wind.

  Maewyn unexpectedly stepped into my room, and I stiffened. I hadn’t heard her enter the suite. She gently placed a hand on my shoulder, and I shrugged it off. “I’m truly sorry, Ari. I’m trying to repair our friendship,” she said softly, “Can’t you try too? I could really use a friend right now.”

  Staying rigid I ignored Maewyn and the prick of guilt in my heart when she carefully placed a pastry box on the corner of my desk. My mouth watered. I reached for it before a thought occurred. If I eat one would that mean I’m forgiving her? My heart twisted, and I irately shoved the box away.

  Maewyn made a distressed noise, pushing the box closer, “Please.”

  I bit my lip, glancing at her. Maewyn’s plea lingered in the air. Can’t you try too? She was right. She’d been trying to apologize from the moment I’d opened my eyes in the Sanatorium, but I was being spiteful and stubborn. At least, that’s what Zora would say. I called it being sensible after someone who was supposed to be a friend put me in a situation that left me maimed. But…I wasn’t happy.

  Hating Maewyn, blaming her, wasn’t making me feel better. I need to move forward. We both do. Our friendship won’t heal by hanging on to what happened, and I can’t help Zora like this. Considering this, I leaned back and crossed my arms, accidentally exposing Niles’s letter.

  “Is that from Niles?” she asked, attempting to generate conversation. My stomach sunk, but I cautiously nodded.

  “Does he…mention me? Or ask about me?” Maewyn said hopefully.

  Why is she always worried about men? I thought irritably. I didn’t want to lie, so I leaned forward, covertly covering the portion of Niles’s letter that did ask about Maewyn. Maewyn smiled thinly, her expectant expression dimming. A hand rubbed her stomach.

  “We didn’t part on the best of terms but seeing him at Station Three was…nice. A reminder that there are good men,” she said on a disillusioned laugh. Maewyn chewed her bottom lip. “You’re going to the Sanatorium soon, aren’t you? For the final check on your hand.”

  I nodded, unsure of where Maewyn was trying to take the conversation.

  “Can I go with you? I have a few personal things I’d like to ask a Healer. Feminine issues,” she explained at my questioning look.

  I nodded, noticing the hand still massaging her lower stomach. Must be cramping, I thought. Sympathy tried crawling toward Maewyn’s pesky place in my heart, but I cautiously crushed it. I’d decided to try mending our relationship, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be friends again. However, if I wasn’t happy with the current situation the only solution was to change it.

  Maewyn’s brows knit together, and a faraway expression crawled onto her face. When she noticed my attention, she dropped her hand. “It’s nothing serious. When are you scheduled to go?” she said. I lifted three fingers.

  “Three days?” she asked. I nodded.

  Maewyn’s expression turned thoughtful and pleading. “I have a Revue coming up after that, if you’d like to come with me. I miss you.”

  I paused. Despite the grim smudge on our friendship, I did want things to have some sort of normal rhythm again. I don’t know if I can forgive her, but I can’t stay angry forever. Things can’t be the same, but they can be different. Tentatively, I nodded, and Maewyn beamed.

  When she walked out of the room, I noticed her hand slip toward her stomach again. A familiar voice surfaced, muttering in my mind. Something is wrong. I put my hand up to my nose, wiping at a trickle of blood. Maewyn had lied.

  Chapter 34

  Ari

  IBLINKED BLEARILY, resisting the urge to massage my aching head. A class on Basic Promontory was not designed with interesting facets. It was another first-year course, and I’d reigned in my embarrassment at being shuffled backward in all my classes. Well, what did I expect? I can’t advance to second year material with a useless hand and an unknown Talent. I’d stopped taking notes, too unfocused to listen to anything Docent Solumber said.

  Black, beady eyes bored into me beneath a mop of tangled hair. I shrank beneath Docent Solumber’s steady gaze, pretending to write on my parchment. I squinted at the lines and symbols, recognizing them from the tomes I was finally returning today. I’ve had them so long I’m surprised no one has reported me. I sighed morosely, thinking of the stairs to the Great Library.

  I rubbed my forehead irritably. Banging my head against the desk would feel better than this headache. The sands in the hour glass atop Docent Solumber’s desk dripped to the bottom, and when class ended more than one Tyro rubbed an aching head. Probably from boredom, I thought waspishly.

  The dim gloom of the Great Library was a comfort, but the colored orbs made me squint. The dull ache in my head thudded with each step, and I trudged through the shelves. I frowned heavily, squinting at the surrounding area.

  The squeak of rolling wheels caught my attention, and I blinked when Docent Pickwickian rounded a corner, quickly shuffling a wobbling cart full of tomes and scrolls behind him. He rapidly looked around, his graying, unkempt hair whipping around his shoulders. Spotting me, his lips thinned before curving into a tight smile.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said, “Why don’t you follow me, and we’ll get this little problem sorted out.”

  Confused, I followed him, and the shelves shifted with the pounding in my head. Docent Pickwickian left me at a study area laden with tables between the heavy shelves, murmuring as he parked his cart. I closed my eyes, resting my head in my hands until a pungent odor wafted unde
r my nose.

  My eyes snapped open, and Docent Pickwickian offered me a steaming cup with a strained smile. I didn’t know where he’d procured the questionable concoction, but my eyes watered at the rising, bitter steam. What is this?

  “I have a room down here. It’s a simple remedy. Particularly effective after a long night of imbibing wine,” he said conspiratorially.

  I reached for it hesitantly, but was reluctant to drink the dark, odorous brew.

  “Best to drink it all at once,” Docent Pickwickian said, squinting sharply, “It’ll go down fast and easy, but it has a nasty aftertaste.”

  It has a nasty foretaste, I thought, chugging the brew in a few, quick gulps. I managed to swallow the contents without choking and was proud of myself until the aftertaste landed on my tongue. Several heavy swallows didn’t dispel it, and my stomach heaved.

  Breathing in sharply, I waited for my stomach to settle or rebel. Slowly, the pounding in my head eased, and a general feeling of calm swept over me. That’s some drink.

  Docent Pickwickian sat, the strain around his eyes gone. I handed him the cup he stashed it in his satchel. Docent Pickwickian’s fingers tapped uncertainly on the table, catching my attention. He attempted to start a conversation several times, but they all ended on frustrated puffs of air.

  Finally, he said, “Have you…had any more hallucinations?”

  Raising my brows, I shook my head. Docent Pickwickian gazed at my hands, and I uncomfortably slipped them into my lap. He gave me a worried look.

  “I heard you’re in different first year classes now.” I grimaced, nodding. Docent Pickwickian shifted uncomfortably. “Until we know what your Talent is, we can’t let you move forward.”

  I clenched my good hand into a fist, glancing away. I know I can’t move forward without a declared Talent, or a working hand, I thought bitterly.

  He cleared his throat. “The truth is, Ari, it could be quite a while before anyone knows what your Talent is. Your marks…well, they aren’t something most Elysian have seen in Summit. I think you’re the first of your Talent, whatever it may be.”