The Golden Key Chronicles

by AJ Nuest

  He’d spun from the window and hastened into the hall.

  Rounding the last corner to his destination, he hopped the short stairs and sprinted for the armory. Frustration rumbled in his chest over her guards’ inability to keep a watchful eye. Useless laggards. He should have known better than to let her leave his sight. Her disappearance was a danger none could afford to dismiss.

  The side of his shoulder rammed the heavy door and the dry wood cracked in duress under the gale of his entrance. Several guards lay sprawled along the wooden benches, their heavy snores a perfect match to the grating dissonance of croaking frogs. A group of five men squatted in the far corner, casting stones and jeering, silver and iron coins littering the floor near their feet. None of them deviated from their present occupations.

  He stormed down the long aisle shelved with various weaponry, seized the handle to Denmar’s private chamber and flung the door wide.

  “What madness has descended in my absence?” He advanced into the room. “Our kingdom’s most valued treasure has gone missing, yet debauchery runs rampant among the guard!”

  Fandorn blinked, his high brows and wide eyes reminiscent of the great gray owl. Denmar lifted his forehead from where his crossed arms rested on the table and smacked his lips, his eye wincing in the torchlight over Caedmon’s left shoulder. A large clear bottle occupied the space between them, half-empty, the golden liquid inside undoubtedly Fandorn’s dragon’s breath brew.

  Goddesses wept. The two were quaffed to the nine.

  “You speak of our Mistress Rowena, I presume?” Denmar attempted to brace his cheek on his fist, slipped and his head bobbed before he tried once again, smashing his face against his thick fingers. He smiled, eyelid at half-mast.

  “Oh, oh, quite right, quite right,” Fandorn hooted much like the majestic bird he resembled. “She vanishes, it seems. Much to the council’s dismay.”

  They stared at each other a moment before riotous cackles launched from their throats. They slapped their hands to their chests, heads rolling back like two crones impaired by a sluggish hilarity.

  Caedmon lunged forward and slammed his palms on the table. The biting tang of fermented grain made his eyes water. “I do not understand your disregard for Lady Rowena’s safety. You gave me your word, Fandorn. No harm would come to her whilst I was away. Do you bleary-eyed drunkards have any idea what could happen should Seviere’s men—”

  “Her allure surpasses the dance of a flame.” Fandorn lifted his drink and stood, teetering precariously to and fro.

  “Hypnotic, yet treacherous and frightening.” Denmar joined in, puffing out his chest as he rose, earthen mug held high in the air.

  “And if you should choose to get burned.” Fandorn smiled at the captain.

  “Be forewarned, her blades strike like steel lightning!” They chanted in unison. The sides of their cups collided and the golden liquid sloshed down their arms. They laughed, smacking one another’s backs before collapsing onto their chairs.

  Caedmon gritted his teeth and shoved up from the table, strode behind Denmar and snatched a sword and scabbard off the wall. Insufferable fools.

  “What are you doing, my boy?” Denmar refilled their cups, dribbling the drink along the tabletop.

  “I’m off to rescue my defenseless maiden and return her to safety.” Caedmon cinched the belt at his waist and jammed the blade home. Silence hung in the air while he checked two sheathed daggers and wedged them into his boots.

  Another bout of unruly laughter exploded. Denmar guffawed and pounded the table whilst Fandorn chuckled into his cup.

  “Good luck with your plan, lad.” Denmar used the heel of his palm to clear the laughter tears from his cheek. “And may the goddesses bless your path to the grave.”

  Caedmon grunted, slung a bow over his shoulder and grabbed a quiver of arrows. As if his lady were a danger best met on the battlefield instead of the blissful confines of a bedchamber.

  “I daresay he’s not secured nearly enough weapons,” Fandorn advised.

  “You blithering idiots have no indication what’s occurred.” Caedmon marched for the door but reeled back on his heels when Denmar’s solid grip shackled his wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  “I surmise you’ve chosen to live henceforth without the use of your right hand,” he ground out his warning. “Release me at once or the appendage comes with me.”

  The two tipsy men exchanged a meaningful stare before Fandorn eased back in his seat and nodded.

  “We ask but a moment.” Denmar loosened his grip, pushed to his feet and brought over a third chair, thumping it down near the table. “We would have you know a thing or two before you join the goddesses in paradise.” He opened a flat hand toward the vacant seat. “Please, my prince. There is much to discuss.”

  Caedmon’s somber brooding dispelled the frivolity in the room as he studied the pensive smiles of his two oldest and dearest friends. No doubt their judgment was skewed, but certainly they were not so pickled they would delay his campaign without due cause. He spun the chair and straddled the seat, crossing his arms along the high latticed back. “I’ll spare you three heartbeats. Talk.”

  Denmar planted his elbows on the table and stared Caedmon directly in the eye. His breath nearly singed Caedmon’s eyebrows. “Your defenseless maiden has been training with the royal guard for nigh on two years.”

  “And a grand fine job she’s done of it, too.” Fandorn hiccoughed, and then belched.

  Caedmon slowly sat back, glaring at each of them in turn. He was wrong. They had obviously succumbed to delirium. A woman training amongst the guard? Denmar might as well have tried to convince him she could fly. Disquiet trickled into his stomach as the visual of her unlatched window swam into focus. He sprang to his feet, clearing those ridiculous notions from his mind. “Enough of this folly. Now leave me be on my way.”

  Denmar and Fandorn both reached up, seized Caedmon’s shoulders and slammed him back onto the chair. “You will remain and stay silent until we are finished,” Denmar snapped. He jerked his head toward the cabinet along the far wall.

  Fandorn levered out of his chair and shuffled across the room, humming a jaunty reel, and returned with a third mug in hand.

  The captain filled it near to the brim and shoved it in front of Caedmon. “Eibel!” he shouted.

  A metallic clang echoed from the armory and, a moment later, a broad-shouldered guard poked his head inside the room.

  “Bar the door. And by my command, no one passes through until I rap the signal. Understood?”

  Eibel frowned, shifting his gaze between the three men. His focus came to rest on Caedmon. Comprehension smoothed his brow, he bobbed his head once and pulled the door closed. The latch clicked and keys jingled as the bolt ground into the lock.

  “Mayhap I should also bind him to the chair, hmmm?” Fandorn tapped the side of his nose, appraising Caedmon from under a high, wiry eyebrow.

  Caedmon fought the urge to secure the nearest battleaxe and cleave the table in two. By Helios’ golden blood, what the devil had gotten into everyone?

  Nodding, Denmar kept his steely gaze riveted to Caedmon’s face. “Have your magic at the ready, Wizard.” He stroked the point of his beard, bottom lip jutting under his crooked nose. “Most of the guard is privy to the story I must relay. Nevertheless, this doesn’t make the telling any less painful.”

  Caedmon raked a hand through his hair, but apprehensive curiosity kept him rooted to his seat. Whatever these two had up their sleeves might garner him a better understanding of his lady’s recent disappearance, as well as her stubborn aversion to his presence.

  The captain tossed back his drink before refilling his glass. “Two short months after your confinement, I was touring the castle on my nightly patrol when I occasioned upon an unseemly sound. A whimper, some harsh whisperings. Their urgency prickled my nerves. When I went to investigate…” He sighed and shook his head. “When I went to investigate I found Mistress Rowena pi
nned in an alcove, one of her attacker’s hands clamped over her mouth…” He met Caedmon’s gaze. “The other burrowed under her skirts.”

  Enraged fury nailed Caedmon in the center of his forehead. A black vein pulsed in his vision, nearly blotting out the image of his love weeping and struggling against the onslaught of her molester. He bared his teeth as a feral growl rasped and gathered strength in his throat. Who? Who had dared to touch her?

  Fandorn clapped his hands and a small orb of wizard’s fire expanded between his palms. He refocused on Denmar and nodded.

  “I rushed to her aid, of course. But when I seized her mugger’s shoulder and flung him away from her…” The captain’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I was left with no choice but to apologize.”

  Caedmon snarled, fisting and relaxing his hands on his thighs. The vandal was a person of consequence, then. Someone Denmar dare not arrest. A courtier with royal lineage who believed everything was theirs for the taking. “His name, Denmar,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “Tell me his name so I may skewer his beating heart in his chest.”

  The captain gripped Caedmon’s shoulder a second time and leaned in. “His name,” he breathed, “is Prince Braedric.”

  A roar tore from his chest and Caedmon leapt to his feet. The chair toppled sideways as he raced for the door. A streak of blue light screamed over his shoulder, exploded and sealed the wood in ethereal flames. One touch and the wizard’s fire would leach into his skin, searing him from the inside out.

  He switched directions and charged for the window. He would wrench the bars from the stone if he had to. Smash the glass and hunt down his brother until every last breath ceased to wheeze in his cold dead throat!

  “You cannot fight him!” Denmar shouted. Two corded arms encircled Caedmon’s shoulders. His grip on the iron rods faltered as the captain pried him away from the window. “He is first in line to the throne!”

  “I would die before I let his offense go unpunished!”

  “Indeed you will!” The ground disappeared under Caedmon’s feet. A guttural grunt blurted from Denmar’s lips as they toppled back, landing in a bone-jarring jolt atop the captain’s desk. “And what will your maiden do then? Forget you ever existed, that’s what!”

  The bow snapped along Caedmon’s back. Splintered wood bit into his skin. A chest of war figurines clattered to the floor. He grappled with Denmar’s arms, twisted his torso and dug his fingers into the captain’s shoulder. The two of them rolled off the desk and thudded onto the rug.

  Caedmon cinched Denmar’s waist between his legs, seized the collar of his waistcoat, lifted and slammed him back down to the gray slate below. He lunged for the air but tripped, Denmar’s outstretched arm caught up in his leg. The room reeled as he pitched forward. His breath whooshed from his lungs when his ribcage collided with the floor.

  A bent knee pressed the center of his spine, securing and holding him firmly in place. “You may not care what happens to you,” Denmar panted. “But the lass needs your help. And, by Helios, I’m going to make damn sure she gets it.”

  Caedmon thrashed and bellowed his frustration, a helplessness he’d never before endured quaking in his chest.

  “You get to killing the reigning prince,” the captain’s heated warning washed past his ear. “And no matter how much your father intervenes, your neck will surely bleed dry on the chopping block.”

  The pressure on his back eased and Denmar slid to the floor at Caedmon’s side. Deep sorrow etched his face. “Think, lad. You just this day came back to her. You’ve been given a second chance. You must use it.” He fisted his beefy hand and shook it in Caedmon’s face. “As with us all, you must abide your anger until the day it serves you best. She’s been too diligent for us to whisk it all away.”

  Caedmon squeezed his eyes closed, fighting to reign in his hatred. No matter what Denmar’s advice, nothing would ever scour away the repellent image of Braedric’s filthy hands soiling his lady’s skin. The terror she must have endured. The helpless horror. If not for Denmar arriving in time, Braedric would have surely defiled her. Not one man’s needs in all the kingdom, save the king’s, outweighed those of the reigning prince. Braedric made sure as much, under penalty of death.

  Defeat seized his heart in its bloated fingers as the captain’s reprimand permeated the blind fuel of Caedmon’s rage. He filled his lungs and expelled a harsh breath. Denmar’s assessment rang true. What good would he be to her dead or imprisoned, yet again? He could not allow his anger to rule his actions. Her protection was paramount above all else, even her honor.

  His back molars ground together until pain mushroomed along the bones of his jaw. Yet Braedric would be wise to keep a sharp eye on his back. For one day soon vengeance would be at hand.

  Fandorn cleared his throat. “If you two are quite finished.” He waggled his fingers and the wizard’s fire sizzled into nonexistence. “I believe there is a more pressing issue at hand?”

  Now what laments had these two in store for him? “A more preshing ishue?” Caedmon asked, the words slurred by his cheek smashed against the floor.

  Denmar huffed, crawled to his feet and offered Caedmon a hand up. The prince clasped his friend’s wrist and the captain hauled him to standing. They dusted off their clothes and returned to the table.

  Caedmon brought over his cup and sipped some of the brew. It scalded his throat and set his belly to burning. But the tension in his shoulders eased, and the edges of his frayed nerves numbed a bit. Whatever was coming, this time he would stand prepared.

  “Her Radiance appeared in this very chamber the next day.” A wistful smile emerged beneath the bristly hair on the captain’s upper lip. “And a right sight she was, too. High color staining her cheeks and all prickly words.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “When she petitioned me to train her, I scoffed, of course. Arming a woman is a fearsome gamble, not to mention I scarcely believed the king would permit such madness. But the lass persisted, each day her demeanor more stubborn than the last, until I thus suspected more lie hidden beneath her request than a mere passing fancy in swordplay.”

  Caedmon’s nostrils flared. Only one conclusion remained. “Braedric.”

  “Aye, lad.” The captain crossed his arms. “His dogged pursuit of her was unrelenting.”

  “Yet one does not outright confront a royal prince,” Fandorn cautioned, one bony finger aimed at the ceiling. “Nor accuse in matters regarding such a delicate nature.”

  “The guards confirmed our suspicions.” Denmar bobbed his head. “They’re privy to the servants’ gossip. Rumors ranged from Braedric’s obsession to bed Mistress Rowena, to him being discovered lurking in her chambers, after which some or another of her personal trinkets was found missing.”

  At the mention of objects mislaid, alarm scuttled across the nape of Caedmon’s neck. Though the servants had aired his rooms and laid a fresh fire, laundered and mended his clothes, not one among them admitted knowledge of his missing armoire or, most notably, the shattered mirror whence hung inside. “And the veil? My wardrobe? What of those?”

  Fandorn froze. The color drained from his face.

  “Sneaky bastard,” Denmar grumbled.

  Caedmon wrenched forward in his chair. “Neither of you know their location?”

  The wizard scowled, eyebrows forming a hairy caterpillar along his brow. “That first winter after your imprisonment, Prince Braedric ordered your rooms draped and sealed, a guard continuously posted outside the chamber door. We assumed his objective was to make safe the veil.” He squinted at a spot along the far wall, fingertips tapping a cadence atop the table. “Mayhap his true intent was not to protect what was inside your chambers, but rather to guard against discovery of what was not.”

  Another piece to the unending puzzle that was his two-year absence fell into place. An arid desert swept Caedmon’s tongue and he swilled more brew from his mug. Yet why would Braedric take possession of the veil? From the onset, he’d lacked the ability to awaken its p
ower. Were his actions motivated by jealousy? Greed? Or more sinister pursuits altogether?

  Regardless, accusing his half-brother of thievery ranked immediately below calling him out for rape. Without undeniable proof, his head would surely be parted from his shoulders. Until then, his wisest choice would be to hear out the rest of Denmar’s tale. “Please continue.”

  The captain nodded. “After ascertaining the truth behind Braedric’s intentions, I could no longer rightfully deny the sorceress’ plea for help.” He cocked an eyebrow. “And Helios save me, the thought of her jabbing his prick with the sharp point of a dagger appealed to me. So, upon her fifth visit, we reached an accord. If she gained the king’s consent, I would train her.”

  Yet how had she done it? Caedmon frowned. A woman training amongst the guard was tantamount to sacrilege. Such a thing was simply not done.

  Then he recalled his Rowena of two years past. She was quick-witted, cunning, and when set upon a decision, held steadfast in her beliefs. He studied his two dear friends from under his brows, an irrepressible smirk quirking his lips. “And so?”

  “And so that same day she requested an audience with the king,” Fandorn gathered up the strings of the story. “When he denied her, I took it upon myself to set a kind word in his ear. By then, I’d become quite charmed by her, you see. She has a fascinating mind. Not duplicitous, but…open. Unrestrained. I daresay the poor girl sometimes speaks without realizing the intriguing things that pass between her lips.”

  He squinted at Denmar. “What is that phrase she’s so fond of using?”

  The captain widened his eye. “Piss off?”

  “No, no.” Fandorn fluttered a hand in front of his face. “The other one.”

  Denmar cleared his throat. “There’s godda be an easier way,” he recited.

  “Yes, quite right.” Fandorn smiled grandly and opened a palm to Caedmon as if offering him the words on a platter. “There has got to be an easier way. How incredibly remarkable.” He sat forward, sharp elbows pinned to the tabletop. “Did you know she collaborated with me on the design of a small metal coil? She makes use of them with her wrist blades. Most of the nobility believe she holds the ability to summon weapons, but one flick of her wrist and her daggers spring forth into the centers of her palms. It’s astounding when one considers the applications of such an ingenious device. We must do our utmost to ensure its secrecy.”