Ember Falls (The Green Ember Series Book 2)

by S D Smith

  “As you know, Your Highness, kings must do many hard things,” Uncle Wilfred said.

  Lord Victor Blackstar rose and spoke at last.

  “If you will be king, an event on which hang all our hopes,” he said, “you must go to Kingston and meet these errant lords. You will not, I assure you, be fleeing danger.” He glanced at the two rabbits on either side of him. “Kingston was forged in war, and it lies in the southern foothills of the Low Bleaks. We live in Morbin’s shadow. Our conference plots, beneath his nose, to depose him. It won’t be easy.”

  The prince nodded gravely.

  “Indeed,” Lord Ramnor added. “There are no safe ways now.”

  “It’s war,” Helmer said. “All is hazard.”

  Smalls sighed. “As all my counselors agree, I will go. But I leave behind one very dear to me, who may succeed me if I fall.”

  At the words “one very dear to me,” Heather’s heart beat faster, but she was confused. Succeed?

  Smalls looked at the three lords in turn, then last of all at Wilfred, a question in his eye. Each nodded.

  “Then it is agreed,” the prince said. “You shall all know our secret. It must go no further than this group. It is vital for both her safety and the good of the kingdom.”

  Picket looked as confused as Heather felt.

  “There is one who will rise to rule if I fall, and it’s vital that you all work to preserve her in our absence,” he said, nodding to Lord Rake.

  “Preserve who?” Picket asked.

  “My sister.”

  Chapter Nine

  THE SECRET PRINCESS

  Heather stared at Smalls, shaking her head. How can this be?

  “My sister,” he went on, “has been protected by my father’s friend for many years. She is unaware of who she is. We did this so she could live without the burden of constant peril that I have lived under. All of our other siblings have gone over to my oldest brother, Winslow, who rules at First Warren as a puppet governor for Morbin. They are slaves. She is free. And she has been free of that terrible choice. Therefore, the faithful lords have accepted her as the appointed heir should anything happen to me.”

  “She would be queen,” Heather said, sadness surging through her.

  “Yes,” Smalls said, a sad smile on his face.

  Heather felt like collapsing. She stumbled back, reaching for her chair, nearly knocking it over as she sat down heavily. She thought of her life at Nick Hollow, of all that had been kept from her while she lived there. She remembered how painful it had been to stand at Lighthall on Cloud Mountain, surrounded by the ten windows showing past and future glories, and learn the truth about the Longtreader family. She had centered her identity in the hope the tenth window showed—Smalls crowned and ruling the Mended Wood. And now she felt the frayed threads of her story begin to unravel again. Her head swam. Picket sat beside her and took her hand.

  “Who?” she heard Picket ask. She could not even raise her head.

  “It’s Emma,” Smalls said.

  Heather looked up, a wave of relief washing over her so suddenly that tears pooled in her eyes. Then, just as quickly, it ebbed, replaced by a growing understanding of what this would mean for her, and for her dearest friend.

  “Emma is your sister?” Picket asked.

  “Yes,” Smalls said. “It is a great secret. No one else must know that she’s a princess. That she is the princess.”

  “Not even her?” Heather asked, looking intently at Smalls. “You won’t tell her even now that you’re leaving?”

  “No.”

  “But what if something happens to you?” Heather asked, tears spilling from her eyes. “She should know. She should hear it from you. She has wondered about her family for years, and to think that she is a princess—that she has a family! She has to know.”

  “On this I remain firm, Heather,” the prince said. “She has a family, yes, most of whom are traitors. I know what it is to carry this burden. I know what it is to be hunted and betrayed. I would do anything to spare her from what I have experienced.”

  “And it’s more than that,” Uncle Wilfred said. “It’s for all of us. It makes sense as a tactic. If only a few of us know, then the chance that our enemies know is that much smaller. Since my brother Garten turned, betraying King Jupiter to his death, we have had an endless series of betrayals. None of us has to look very far. From Smalls’ brothers to my brother, from Challabat to Kyle, traitors abound. Even King Jupiter’s older brother, Bleston, would not acknowledge his brother as heir and left before his coronation. This world is teeming with traitors. It’s the most effective of our enemies’ methods.”

  “It is, sadly, only too true,” Lord Ramnor said.

  Heather was stunned. She felt pulled in many directions. Her devotion to Smalls, to Emma, and to the cause. It was a jumble of confused loyalties. Beneath it all was a river of relief sliding into an ocean of foreboding.

  “Can I trust you to be faithful?” the prince asked.

  “Yes,” Picket said.

  “Always,” Heather said, but her heart grieved. Not because of who Emma was, or even because she must keep it secret. There was more. Now that she knew the contingency plan for what would happen if Smalls were killed, she felt a weight of woe settle on her heart. It was as if Smalls already had one foot in his grave.

  A silence lingered, and only the crackle and hiss of the fire could be heard. Heather looked at the flames and longed for her lost home and her father’s tales. She realized that she lived inside those tales now, but it brought her no joy.

  “We must go at once,” Uncle Wilfred said.

  “Yes,” Lord Blackstar agreed. “Ramnor, I leave my children with you. Assign them wherever you see fit.”

  “Very well, Victor,” Lord Ramnor said. “I know what it means for you to leave them with us.”

  “They are accustomed to vigilance and are entirely trustworthy,” Smalls said. “I have known them for many years. Heather and Picket, I’m so sorry. In all this I have forgotten to introduce you. I’d like you to meet Coleden and Heyna Blackstar, old friends of mine from my rambling exile. We have had some adventures,” he said, laughing.

  “We are due some more, it seems,” Coleden said, smiling. His sister was silent, but she smiled at the prince too. She was strikingly beautiful, her fur black and shimmering and her air one of confidence and grace. She seemed like someone out of a story.

  Heather did not like her.

  “May I suggest you consider leaving Heyna to be with Emma?” Lord Blackstar said. “She has been trained to fight and could serve as a last line of defense to protect the princess.”

  Heather started to object, feeling protective of her dearest friend, but she trusted Lord Blackstar and Lord Ramnor. She tried to silence her nagging doubts.

  “Certainly,” Lord Ramnor said, nodding to the prince. “And Coleden?”

  “I have an idea,” Helmer said. “As of today we are short one Fowler.”

  “He would be an excellent choice,” Smalls said.

  “We must go, sir,” Uncle Wilfred said.

  “Yes,” Lord Blackstar replied, hugging his children and whispering in their ears. They nodded gravely and smiled at their father. Heather winced, a great pain of heart seizing her. She looked over at Smalls, and he met her gaze.

  “I am sorry to be leaving,” he said. “Very sorry.” Then everyone was looking to him, and he addressed them all. “Thank you, friends, for your faithfulness. We are beset by many dangers, and traitors multiply in the dark. It will not be so in the Mended Wood.”

  “In the Mended Wood!” everyone repeated, though the words were more solemn than cheerful.

  “I am grateful for you—each of you. We go, but we will return. Look for us when hope is almost gone. And always, for the sake of this wounded world,” he said, looking at Heather with a sad smile, “bear the flame.”

  Chapter Ten

  GIVE ME YOUR SWORD

  Picket watched Heather go and, after a m
oment’s pause, followed after her.

  “Picket, wait,” Smalls said, crossing the room. “Can we speak privately?” Picket nodded, and they crossed into an adjoining room. Once inside, Smalls rubbed his face and sat down heavily on an old couch. “Listen, Picket. There’s more intelligence than what we shared in the meeting.”

  “There is?”

  “It came just this morning. Captain Frye begged us not to share it. Wilfred and Helmer agreed with him.”

  “About our family?” Picket asked, an eager energy building within him.

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?”

  “We believe some of them are being held in the Shade Hills. Another blackstone deposit. Probably another mine. They bring in the strongest, freshest bucks to mine it dry, often accompanied by their sons. We think your father and brother are there. It’s near the route on which I travel to Kingston.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful—”

  Smalls held up a hand. “All my counselors say we shouldn’t risk it and that you and the Fowlers will better serve the cause by training here.”

  “But if it isn’t far, we could go and be back. Smalls—Your Highness, please!”

  “They all say it’s the wrong use of our limited forces.”

  “They’ve been saying that for months! But do they have family there?” Picket all but shouted. “Do they care?”

  “Wilfred’s brother is there,” Smalls said. “He cares. We all care.”

  Picket spun and clenched at his ears in agitation. “They are so close? And you will do nothing? Heather would...”

  “Heather would what?” Smalls asked, his face strained.

  He almost didn’t say it. He almost held it in. But he couldn’t stop himself. “She would be ashamed to learn you didn’t do it. If you could and didn’t, it would be...it would be a betrayal.”

  “Betrayal?” Smalls leaned back and put his hands over his face. “I want to, Picket. All my heart is in it, but I cannot be impulsive. I must listen to wise counsel.”

  “It would mean everything to her,” Picket said. “It would mean the world.”

  Smalls stood and paced. When he turned to face his friend, Picket could see the exhaustion in his eyes. “I will do what I can, my friend. For you, who saved me at the hallowed ground of my father’s death. For your dear sister. I will do what I can.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Picket said, falling to one knee. “I wish I could be there with you.”

  “You cannot,” he said. “I need you to stay here and protect my sister, and all those we love.”

  Picket nodded. “I will, my lord. I will do anything for you.”

  Smalls pulled Picket up and looked him in the eyes. “Good. Because there’s something I need you to do for me. Give me your sword.”

  * * *

  Not long after, Picket found Heather on the Fowlers’ course. She sat, hugging her knees, head hanging down. He had determined to say nothing to her, or anyone else, of what Smalls had said and done. He sat beside her on the ground as the first star appeared through the tangled branches of a tree.

  “A star in the tree,” he said, pointing. She looked up. Then both of them lay down on their backs, staring at the star.

  “We’re too old to chase stars now,” she said.

  They lay there a few minutes in silence, watching the darkening sky.

  “Are you avoiding Emma?” he asked.

  “What can I do?” she said. “We tell each other everything. I feel like I’m going to betray someone I love one way or the other.”

  “I know it’s hard,” he said. “But it’s also simple. You cannot tell Emma who she is.”

  She was quiet for a long time. They watched as the sky slowly became a blackened canvas upon which appeared a thousand painted stars. “It was easy when we were only seeking one star,” she said. “But now our sky is full of choices.”

  “I will always choose you, Heather,” he said.

  “And I, you,” she agreed. “But what about Smalls and Emma? How can I choose between them?”

  “We can never choose between Smalls and anyone else. The moment we do, the door is open to the kind of treachery our uncle chose.”

  “I will never betray Smalls,” she said. “I only want to avoid betraying Emma—Princess Emma—too.”

  “I understand,” Picket said. “Is there something else bothering you? Is it just that Smalls is leaving?”

  She was silent again for a long while, and he let her be.

  At last she spoke. “It’s not only that he’s leaving,” she said, closing her eyes on tears.

  Picket felt absently for his sword hilt, a chill spreading over him.

  Chapter Eleven

  A WHITE WOLF

  Morbin’s lair hummed with activity. Sween went about her duties while lords and generals arrived in large numbers. It was supposed to be an important day. The master slave of Morbin’s house, an old red rabbit named Gritch, had warned them all to work quickly and to keep their heads down. Melody, a new slave much younger than Sween, had objected. But Gritch had made it clear that today they must be perfect. And silent. Sween was anxious, but she worked on as usual, trying to stay out of the way.

  In the antechamber, a white wolf brushed past her, growling as he went. She jumped aside, lowering her gaze. He was tall and strong and wore a black vest over a charcoal tunic. The crest over his chest showed a black shield with a red diamond bent into a fang in its center.

  A stout wolf beside him spoke. “I see that lunch has already arrived, General Flox.” His laugh was a guttural rasp. She shivered and turned aside. What was to stop them from tearing her apart? Would Morbin object? No, he would only get a new slave to scrub his floors.

  General Flox’s face was set in a sneering snarl. “I believe Lord Morbin has prepared more tender meat for our meal today,” he said. “I don’t want to keep him waiting. We will have plenty of rabbits to devour soon enough.”

  “For the old captain’s sake,” the other wolf muttered, “I hope it’s thousands.”

  “It might well be,” Flox said, “if rumors prove true.”

  They moved on a few steps, leaving Sween shaken, her heart pounding in her chest as she bent over her work. She hoped they would move on, but they stopped in the doorway.

  “Now that we’re here, I’m uneasy,” the stout wolf whispered. “Will Lord Morbin look at Garlackson’s failure as a reason to break the pact, and the pack?”

  “Be easy, Blenk. I told you. He needs us on the ground,” Flox answered, his pale fur a bright blur in Sween’s peripheral vision. “If we can hold our force under control and prevent any wildlings from gathering a following, Morbin will use us. We just have to assure him that we have our own in hand and that the old agreement still stands.”

  Sween’s keen ears heard all, though she scrubbed on as if she were deaf. Garlackson’s failure? She had heard other rumors over the past few months. There was a tense day at Morbin’s court when an old familiar voice had reported woeful news to the enraged master hawk. She had heard that it was about the red-eyed wolf captain, but she knew no details for certain. In the rabbit camp, rumors flew, rumors of a brave flying rabbit who had killed the son of King Garlacks and rescued Jupiter’s heir. It sounded fanciful, the kind of story a slave would like to believe, a story to fuel hope. She wasn’t sure what was true, but her heart burned when she heard of any setback for these Lords of Prey and their terrible allies.

  She realized she had been daydreaming again, lost in a reverie of hopeful visions. A flying rabbit. A rescued prince. A check on the aggression of their oppressors. She had almost sung.

  Again she silenced the song within her. But the silence, she noticed, was not only within her. The corridor was quiet. She glanced up at the two wolves. They had stopped talking. They were staring at her with squinting eyes and the beginnings of awful snarls.

  She hadn’t said anything, had she? Hadn’t sung, surely. Gazing up at the pair, she waited in panicked silence
for them to speak.

  The white wolf strode forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. “What were you smiling at?”

  She looked down. Had she smiled? Had she really been so foolish?

  “Slaves must not smile,” she said, almost in a whisper.

  “No,” General Flox said, tugging on his sword hilt, “they must not!”

  Sween braced for the worst, but a call rang out from the corridor. “General Flox! Lord Morbin is seeking you! There’s news of the attack.”

  Flox spun, sheathing his sword in a huff. He hurried back down the hall and disappeared through the doorway with his companion.

  Sween sagged, her breath returning in great heaving gasps. She was shaking again, shivering on the floor again. Terrified again.

  I must never smile.

  I must never sing.

  Chapter Twelve

  DUTY AND FRIENDSHIP

  Picket woke early from a dreamless sleep. He sat up in his bunk and came more fully awake. Steady dread grew in him. He felt wary and keen, but for what, he didn’t quite know. There was the sacred charge the prince had given him, Heather’s fears about the prince, and the imminent threat against Halfwind Citadel. Not to mention that his family were still captives, or worse.

  He looked around the bunkhouse; everyone he saw was still sleeping. There were lots of empty bunks. But most of those absent weren’t simply out and about early; they were gone. That explained the wariness he felt. The absence of the prince, their uncle, and Lord Blackstar—all headed for Kingston, along with some of the best of their fighters—made him feel like he must be extra sharp. Lord Rake had also departed for Cloud Mountain, along with Pacer and those from the Forest Guard who made such a deadly force. All that remained was the usual complement of soldiers from this solitary citadel, led by Lord Ramnor and seconded by Captain Frye. Lord Ramnor was old, but Captain Frye was even older and heavy and had only the use of one arm. He was still a deadly fighter, but Picket felt that much of the weight of defending the citadel now fell to the Fowlers. And, in a way, to himself.