Broken Arrow (Darkened Destiny Saga Book 1)

by Azaria M. J. Durant

  The door creaks open as he pokes his head into the room. “I was told that you had some injuries that needed attention, and that I was to come and tend to them when you awakened.”

  I straighten up. “Thank you, sir, but I’m alright. I’ve dealt with them myself.”

  “Are you sure? You don't look like the physician sort.”

  I attempt a smile. “Yes, I'm sure. I've handled far worse before.”

  “Hmm.” He eyes me for a moment, stroking his chin. Then his face lights up. “Can you read, young man?”

  I hesitate. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well,” he croaks with a strange sort of chuckle, “when I'm not attending to my duties as a physician, I also care for the royal library. If you would like, you can come by at any time and read for a while.”

  It sounds nice, but I am still suspicious. Did the king put him up to it? If so, what could he possibly be trying to accomplish by it?

  “Thank you,” I say out of politeness, making a mental note to stay as far away from the library as possible.

  He nods, looking pleased. “Alright then. You'd better hurry up. Your dinner is about to be served.”

  Lesley exits the room, closing the door behind him. I listen until I can no longer hear his footsteps, and then turn back to the basin. I quickly wash my hair, dry it with the towel, and then change into one of Hamish's old outfits. He was right; they do fit me pretty well. I find some perfume on my nightstand, and put it on as well. Finally, I strap my sword to my side and pull on a pair of black gloves.

  Taking a deep breath, I put up all of my guards again, and open the door to my room. I half expect there to be an ambush waiting outside the door, ready to kill me as soon as I exit. But instead, all that I find is a little dark-skinned boy standing against the wall across from the doorway.

  “Hello, lad,” I say. “Do you know where dinner is taking place?”

  The boy nods and beckons for me to follow him. I double-check that all is clear before stepping out into the hall. He leads me down the passageway until the stone walls end, and a polished wooden banister takes their place. A flight of curved stairs laid with purple carpet flow down into the floor below us.

  “What's your name?” I ask as he approaches the first step.

  He looks back as if to acknowledge that I spoke, but still doesn't answer.

  “Hey,” I coax, “you don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not going to hurt you.”

  “He cannot speak,” says a bold, feminine voice from behind me.

  I turn, my hand immediately going to the hilt of my sword.

  At the entrance to another hall directly across from the stairway stands a middle-aged woman whose features, though weary, display the fading beauty of her youth. Her skin is light, marred with wrinkles of age and turmoil, her clothing worn and all different shades of blue, and her blond hair falls over her shoulders in straggles. But the remarkable thing about her is her eyes. A swirl of grey and white, they remind me of the foam of the ocean on a windy day.

  Her slender hand rests against the wall, while her other is tucked around her waist. She looks at me with a grim expression.

  “A bit on edge, aren't you, stranger?”

  “Uh, no.” I swallow, quickly relaxing my grip on my sword.

  She coughs, pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders. Then she nods to the boy. “We call him Kenet. He came here two years ago, when he was only five years old.” She looks at me, her eyes narrowed scrupulously. “He cannot speak because his tongue has been cut out.”

  I gasp, unable to comprehend for a moment the horror of her words. “What? Why?”

  She runs her hand down the wall. “He attempted to steal the king's sword. For that, Leonel had his tongue cut out, and made him his slave for life.”

  I am repulsed. “That's— that's horrible!” I sputter. “It's just a sword! I'm sure that he could easily get another one.”

  The woman raises an eyebrow. “I'm afraid he could not. This sword is no ordinary weapon. It is said to have been made by the people of Vaelhyre at the beginning of time, and contains magic that only the king can wield. But King Leonel is not worthy of it.”

  “I would agree with that,” I mutter.

  “Keep that attitude and you won't be here for long,” she warns. “Anyone who gets in that man's way is destroyed very quickly.”

  My stomach twists, but I shake it off. “I don’t plan to stay long.”

  She shrugs. “Enjoy your dinner with the brute. It may very well be your last.” With that parting remark, she wanders back up the hall whence she came.

  I turn back to Kenet. He is still standing on the first step, staring at me with wide, sad brown eyes. I attempt a comforting smile.

  “Lead the way, little one,” I say softly, resisting the newly fuelled anger that is rising in my chest.

  He turns and continues down the stairs, holding onto the railing as if it is the only support that he has in this world.

  The room we descend into is large. The floor is carpeted by a burgundy and purple floral velvet rug, which is set over polished wooden boards. The stone walls are hidden by bright and colourful tapestries that depict the most beautiful scenes of kings and queens in the olden days. Across from the stairway is an open door that leads out into a luscious garden. The light which it lets in sparkles off of the crystal chandelier that hangs from the ceiling.

  I try to imagine what it would be like to have grown up in such a place; to be happy, with everything that I could ever want. To never have been a slave. It is blissful beyond anything that I can comprehend.

  When Kenet reaches the last step, he stops, still clutching the railing, and points toward the door. I step onto the carpet, which seems too fine to be something made to walk on, and look out through the door.

  Out in the centre of the garden is a round stone table set under the shade of a large apple tree. Five tall-backed wooden chairs have been set up around it, in which the royals now sit, enjoying their dinner.

  I turn back to the little boy.

  “Thank you, Kenet.”

  He just stares at me, his eyes empty, his face blank. I know that look. It reflects the way I feel when I am trying to block out pain, but am still hurting anyways.

  I don't know what else to say. I can't tell him that everything is going to be alright, because I know that it isn't. I can't tell him that I share life experience because I still have my tongue. And I can't imagine what it would be like to have my voice silenced forever.

  Kenet turns and starts back up the stairs. My opportunity is gone, but I doubt that it would have done any good anyways.

  I turn toward the door, stumbling over the doorstop as I step out onto the stone path. The warm breeze brushes across my face and rustles through my hair. Patches of clouds float across the glorious azure sky as the sun gladly lends its rays to all beneath it. I pass through rows of blue anemones, red carnations, yellow chrysanthemums, and purple limoniums. They blend nicely together, giving the garden a bright and cheery feel. At the table, the royals all burst into laughter over something that was said, and my step falters.

  I don't belong here. Even if the king had welcomed me without hesitation, I still would not feel right about stepping in like this. Trouble seems to follow me wherever I go, and I don't want to bring it to this family.

  I probably would have turned and snuck away if the king had not seen me at that moment. He stands up with a charming smile. “Hello, young man. You are welcome to come and eat with us.”

  His masquerade makes me feel even sicker than before. But I can fake this just as well as he can. I put on a shy smile and approach the table.

  Lady Marianna turns and smiles at me, her eyes bright and very much alive. The only remaining indication of last night is a small gash bordering her hairline. Hamish glances up from his food and gestures for me to sit in the empty chair beside him before digging in again.

  I glance at the king, who assents with a nod. I quickly make my way to the
empty seat and perch gingerly on the edge of it.

  The table before me is laden with the most scrumptious foods and drinks, none of which I recognize. They are like nothing that I have ever made for any of my previous masters, and certainly nothing like anything that I have ever eaten. There are pastries of all sorts, jellies of all colours, and creams that pile flat breads and the tops of brown sweet drinks.

  “What is this?” demands a sour voice with dulcet tones as sweet as sugar.

  I look up from the food. Across from me, sitting right beside the king, is a woman more beautiful than any of the flowers that surround us. Her skin is flawless, her hazel eyes sparkle, and her blonde hair is perfectly put together. She wears a lot of makeup, giving her the appearance of a woman in her late twenties, though something tells me she is older than that. In spite of her beauty, I feel a strong aversion toward her. The reflection of pomp is pooled in her eyes, and she carries herself like every other pampered mistress that I have served in my lifetime.

  The king caresses her arm. “Don't fret, my love,” he replies in a honeysweet tone. But his face does not reflect the sweetness of his words. “This is the lad that saved the children in the forest last night. He deserves our respect and appreciation.”

  What a hypocrite!

  The queen pouts. “It's lower than a peasant! Couldn't you express appreciation without having it sit at the same table as me?”

  The king looks like he wholeheartedly agrees with her, yet opens his mouth to object. But Marianna speaks first.

  “Algitha,” she scolds, “he is a friend. Do not treat him with such disdain! Don't you see that you have upset him by your words?”

  I open my mouth in alarm, and shove a random pastry into it before I do anything stupid like cry. I grimace as the taste of liver fills my mouth, but I force it down anyways.

  “Ugh!” the queen sniffs. “It eats like a pig!”

  “Algitha,” the king warns.

  I feel like getting up and just running far away from this place. Somewhere where I won't have to meet any people. Somewhere where I won't have to hear their hurtful words any longer. But I know that I can't leave just yet. I have an unfinished mission that I need to accomplish first.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “E

  aldred, hold up a moment!” Marianna's voice rings through the evening air behind me as I walk briskly down the lane away from the castle of Gerithold.

  Her footsteps beat against the dirt road as she hurries to catch up to me, jerking her bothersome skirts clear of her feet. Behind us, the faint sound of shouting seeps through the closed windows of the stone palace. I shove my hands further into my pockets. The wind is uncharacteristically cold, and somehow finds its way through the many layers of clothing demanded by high society.

  I slow my pace, but I keep my eyes trained on the ground. My shoulders sag from the guilt that bears down on my chest.

  “Please, I don't want to talk,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Listen,” she says breathlessly as she falls in stride beside me, “you can't blame yourself for what just happened. The king often blows up over such nonsense.”

  Anger boils in my veins. “Does he not realize that Hamish is more than just a pawn in his game of power? He's his son, yet he treats him like barely an acquaintance! It isn't right!”

  “No, it isn't,” she replies with a sad frown. “But in prestigious families, it's quite common for the parent not to pay much attention to their child.”

  “Yes, but to practically ignore that they exist for fifteen years?” I cry. “It's outrageous! Shouldn't one's family be the highest priority? Doesn’t he realize how lucky he is to even have a family?”

  She rests a hand gently on my shoulder, but I pull away.

  “Ealdred, listen,” she begins. “I can see why this is angering you, but—”

  “Why?” I interrupt, my indignation only increasing. “Why is the king so cruel to him? It's not Hamish's fault he was born the way he was. He is kind, brave, and has a good heart. He's twice the man his father could ever dream of being, and I believe he'll be twice the king too!”

  Marianna purses her lips thoughtfully, blonde ringlets falling from the carefully pinned net of braids on her head. “I agree,” she begins slowly. “But saying so will not help Hamish's case. He is a half-breed and not very many people can see past that. Unfortunately, that includes his own father, who I’ve gathered resents him because his hair never changed to golden after his twin brother died.”

  “That shouldn't make a difference!”

  She sighs. “It does to him.”

  I shake my head. “When I was a child, I would spend long nights staring at the stars through the bars of the cages that I was kept in, imagining what it would be like to be royalty. I always thought that they were the happiest people in the world. They have everything! And yet now that I've gotten a chance to observe them, I see that they live in misery.”

  “You are right. By rights, we should be happy. And yet power brings enemies; enemies masquerading as friends. A person cannot have peace if they are in constant fear of those around them. Fear drives people to do terrible things.”

  “Sage words.”

  She gives a small smile. “My father says that I have a keen intuition that allows me to sense a person's character just by looking at them.”

  “Really? What do you sense about me?”

  She hesitates. “You're hard to figure out, actually. But from what I've seen, you and Hamish aren't all that different from each other. I will not liken his suffering to yours, but he too has been alone his whole life, without any true friends to stand by his side. As I read in you, he too is desperate to prove himself in hopes that one day someone will come to love him for who he is inside.”

  A question pops in my head, and I ask it without thinking. “What about you? Do you love him?”

  She stops walking and I stop too, turning to face her. Her cheeks have gone strangely pink and her mouth is turned down in a confused frown.

  “I'm sorry,” I blurt. “It’s not my business.”

  “Oh, it's alright.” She pauses, inhaling deeply. When she speaks again, her answer comes rather abruptly. “Well, we are engaged, aren't we? It really doesn't matter how we feel about it. Don't take me wrong. I think he’s a very good young man, and I could not hope for more in a husband. The fact that he is a half-breed never once bothered me. But—” she hesitates. “But if I wasn't engaged to him, I would never have considered marrying him at all.”

  “Sounds... complicated.”

  She nods, heaving a sigh. “It is complicated. I was engaged to him at birth, but in the fourteen years of my life, I did not meet him until his return from Lavylli. He is certainly admirable, and I will be happy, whatever happens. But,” she pauses, looking dreamily into the sky, “I crave independence. Adventure! If I had a choice of what to do with my own life, I’d follow the rivers, chase the wind to the corners of Theara, climb the mountains to their highest peaks, and touch the sky itself!”

  “Of course,” she adds gloomily, “most girls of my status are desperate to marry a prince, half-breed or not. For the wealth and the honour it would bring their families, you know. Society expects us to be content to settle down and get married and spend our lives looking after husbands and households and children. I don't see myself being content with that. I need adventure, even though I now know that I don’t know what to do with myself when it is given to me.”

  I smile faintly, the thought of Bellator coming to mind. She knew exactly what to do with herself when an adventure presented itself. I am certain that she would create her own adventures the moment she found life too boring.

  “What are you smiling at?” Marianna asks, bringing me back to the present.

  “Oh,” I say casually, keeping in mind that she has forgotten Bellator and the escapades that came with her. “Just a girl I used to know. She was a lot like you. Only, tougher.” That's an understatement. “A lot tougher.�
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  An odd grin plays at the corner of her lips. “You mean the Crimson Shadow?”

  I stare at her. “You remember?”

  She laughs. “Of course I do. I only said that I didn't because I wasn't sure what story you and Hamish had been spreading. I didn't want to get either of you into any more trouble than you were already in.”

  “Does Hamish know that you remember?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to leave him thinking that I didn't remember his reckless attempts to protect me for a while longer before I have to thank him for it.”

  I can't help but smile at this.

  “I've just been dying to know what happened after I was knocked out,” she adds with sudden eagerness. “The outlaw was holding onto the snake's head, and then a shower of rocks hit me, and that's all that I remember. What happened to her? She was still there when I was knocked out and now she isn't. Did she manage to get what she came for?”

  I recount to her everything that she missed, up to when Hamish asked his father for me to stay with them in Gerithold for a while. I omit the part were Leonel tried to capture me, as well as the events closely surrounding it. When I am finished, she scowls at the ground.

  “I wish that one of you had thought to untie me so I could’ve fought too. Then I wouldn't have been uselessly standing there, just asking to get hurt.”

  I shrug, folding my arms on my chest to shield from the chilly breeze. Then I realize that the breeze isn't really all that cold, and that the icy feeling inside of me is what I am trying to shield myself from. “I'm not sure that any of us were thinking straight.”

  “I'm sorry,” she says quickly. “I see that it's a painful subject for you.”

  “What? No...”

  “I know that look. It's like the one that my father gets when he is talking about my mother. She… left us. A few years ago. He still misses her deeply.”

  “Yeah, but that's different,” I say, startled. "Bellator was nothing like that to me. We actually hated each other.”

  “That's not what I meant,” she replies softly. “And I don't think that you hated each other, either. I know it sounds crazy to say this, considering how horrible she was to us, but I really did admire her now that it’s over. She was strong, driven, and fought for what she wanted. How many people do you see that are like that? Who have that much power at their command?” She gazes thoughtfully into the sky again. “Bellator was the picture of everything that I have always dreamed of being, but know that I can never become. Without the cruelty, that is. But even when she was cruel, it was all an act. She never did us any harm. And though she did tie us up and force us into that horrible place, I don’t think she expected anything to happen to us. She was just ensuring that his majesty's men didn't trap her inside.” She looks back at me. “What I am getting at is this: you two may have argued a lot, and she may have treated you like a slave, but she had to have grown on you somehow, and you on her. She died for you, after all. And I can see that you are sad, and that you have an empty place inside now that she's gone.”