Well of Tears (Empath Book 3)

by Dawn Peers

  “Yes?” Quinn squeaked.

  “Up front, lass. The prince wants you.”

  Prince? Quinn didn’t think they meant River. Eden wasn’t being referred to as a prince yet. That could only mean the strange messenger was the ever-loving and personable Rowan.

  Timidly, Quinn started picking her horse forwards. She still wasn’t a confident rider, and though she was comfortable enough with her mount that she didn’t think she’d be thrown from the saddle, on this kind of terrain she didn’t want to risk making a mistake and accidentally making the horse lose her footing. The men parted for her as much as they could, letting them move through the centre of the train. They were regarding her with a distant curiosity, and reassuringly, Quinn could sense neither fear nor loathing amongst these men. The closer she got to the front, though, the more negative the atmosphere became.

  When there were only eight horses between her and the front, she could clearly see that it was Rowan waiting for her. The newly-married and titled prince was slouched in his saddle, looking displeased that he’d had to wait this long for Quinn to appear.

  “You knew the king wanted you to attend him. Why are you at the back with the wounded? Are you ill? My brother tells me nay.”

  “No your highness, I’m not ill. It was my understanding that commoners, women, and children traditionally travelled at the back of such groups. I am bordering on all three of those.”

  Rowan sniffed. “You might be a commoner, but you’re someone my father needs. Eden should have recognised this, and kept him where he could see you. Given the rumours I’ve heard about you two, I’m astonished he let you out of his sight.”

  There were a few cruel sniggers from the men behind and around her, which Quinn ignore. “I would behove you to ignore rumour, your highness. Men often like to create convenient truths for themselves to discuss around the fire, when their own life is too full to bear.”

  “Quite. Come on, all the way forward with you. King Shiver requires your presence, and he doesn’t want you to wait. You and Eden are to break your formation and come with me.”

  “Brother, may I suggest one of us takes Quinn,” Eden asked carefully.

  “Why? She has a mount.”

  “She’s not been to Sevenspells before, and she isn’t an experienced rider. Even if she comes to the front of the caravan, she’ll still keep its pace for fear of breaking her own neck.”

  “And you were attracted to a woman like that?”

  Eden ignored this spiteful comment. “She can ride with me, then?”

  “On your pitiful mount? No. My charger can take us both. I’m the quicker rider.”

  Quinn reluctantly traversed the rest of the distance between her and Rowan, and was grateful to see a soldier rush up to grab her horse’s reins, helping her to dismount. She walked across to Rowan. His stallion was jet black, taller than Quinn, and thoroughly intimidating. Rowan didn’t move until he realised, with a roll of his eyes, that he needed to help Quinn mount. He held down a gloved hand. Quinn grabbed it, and he hauled her up into the saddle ungracefully. Quinn was glad she had been wearing trousers, not skirts, and was reminded just why she hated Rowan so much. Her arm ached—it felt like he had nearly twisted it out of joint.

  Rowan twisted his mount and whistled. Before Quinn could catch a breath, they were off. The rest of the trail whirled by. Wind whistled into her eyes, which started watering immediately, and Quinn clung onto the saddle. One of Rowan’s arms snaked around her waist, holding her in place. Quinn was grateful for this until she realised that meant only one of his hands were on the reins. Was he really so experienced that he could guide the horse at this pace, up this path, with only one hand? Quinn’s belly rang with butterflies. She sincerely hoped so.

  Her slow approach and build-up to Sevenspells had been stolen. Mounted on a jet black stallion with the prince and heir, Quinn felt like she was hurled through the gates, into a cobbled courtyard. With sparse dignity and no preparation, Quinn was thrust into the court of Sevenspells.

  9

  A cluster of boys came running up as soon as they arrived in the yard. They helped Quinn off the horse first. Rowan didn’t object to this. Eden didn’t even wait for the stable hands to reach him. His mount hadn’t even come to a stop when he expertly twisted out of the saddle and landed, his feet firmly planted on the cobbles. He grasped the reins lightly, tossing them to the first boy that came his way. Removing his riding gloves, he tucked them into his belt and went to Quinn.

  “Are you okay? My brother doesn’t often take others’ feelings into consideration, and is quite a reckless rider.”

  Rowan waited for someone to take his horse’s reins before dismounting. He threw his riding gloves at the nearest boy, who didn’t raise his hands in time and instead took the gloves full in the face. “She’s here, isn’t she? She didn’t soil my saddle, so I have to assume the scared rider façade was an act on her part, for your benefit. That’s the way women work, Eden. They act helpless because they expect us to come and save them.”

  “You didn’t save me from anything, your highness. I would have happily ridden here with Eden.”

  “Lord Eden. You will do what you’re told. You reminded me yourself: you’re a commoner, no matter whose bed you’ve been warming. Come on. My father is waiting.”

  Rowan walked onwards and didn’t turn around, expecting instead for Quinn to follow him. He talked and acted towards her like Sammah had, an unhappy reminder of the way her life could be. Not even Pax had been so disparaging.

  “Ignore him. He’s basking in his own self-importance.” Eden whispered in her ear. Quinn smiled, but it was false. Eden’s poor opinion of his brother was well-known, and it did nothing to buoy Quinn’s mood. As far as she was concerned, by being presented to Shiver in Sevenspells she was being forced to do business with a bear whilst trapped in its cave. Eden wouldn’t be able to help her either, now that Shiver needed to use his youngest son as political leverage.

  “He’s been looking forward to meeting you,” Rowan said, his pace not slowing and his head not turning. He was effectively talking to the empty corridor ahead of them, but Quinn could only assume that he was talking to her. “He’s encountered you so many times, but hasn’t had the honour of really meeting you. Sammah was always so complimentary about what you could accomplish. The king is looking forward to what you can tell us about your father, and the intentions of Sha’sek.”

  “Do you think my father actually brought me into his confidence?”

  “With some of the tasks he gave you in your role as the Satori, the king has no doubt that you know more than you claim—no matter how much or how little you claim to know.”

  “And how is the king going to verify the truth of my words? I have just come from Sha’sek—from Farn and the council of my people. Does King Shiver assume I’m just going to stand there and spill the deepest secrets I have at hand if only he asks?”

  Rowan did turn then, regarding Quinn as if she were a simpleton. “My father might not have some…” Rowan looked her up and down, disgust twisting his face. “Unnatural talent for such matters, but he’s an experienced courtesan, and the ruler of this country. He has conquered your people in war before, and knows more about military tactics than you could ever dream of knowing. You may choose to lie to him, but he will know. If you do lie, you will be punished. It’s as simple as that. Come on—save your breath for my father’s questions.”

  No reassuring words came to her from Eden after that barrage. Their footsteps echoed in the sparse hallway. Despite Eden being at her back, a cold shudder ran up Quinn’s spine. She did not feel safe in this place. She would tell Shiver any truth he wanted, if it meant she could negotiate her way out of this place.

  The contrast between Sevenspells and Farn was sharp. Farn’s population was large—Quinn hadn’t realised quite how many people packed themselves in on the islands, until seeing it for herself. Somehow though, everyone had managed to conduct themselves in a calm manner. Comp
letely juxtaposed to the barbarians that men like Shiver made them out to be, the Sha’shekians were an organised society of caring people. Quinn’s mind darted to Maertn, and she hoped he was looking after himself. His eagerness to study and learn more about his craft had put his health in danger, and Quinn wanted to believe that Rall and Pax had Maertn’s best interests at heart.

  Everfell hadn’t cared about its commoners; Sevenspells likely didn’t, either. In this claustrophobic hallway, pages, servants, and men at arms rushing around once more surrounded Quinn. Everyone operated under a thinly-veiled layer of anxiety, as if they suspected that their best might just not be good enough. Everyone pushed themselves further than they could, or should. Most of the people Quinn saw looked exhausted. Rowan swept before them, acting like the prince that he now was. He didn’t ask people to move out of his way. Rowan simply expected it to happen. The prince pushed one young boy who wasn’t quick enough. Quinn averted her eyes as he looked up at them from the ground, his hand covering a gash in his forehead after being thrown against the wall. This wasn’t Quinn’s home. The only person she knew to ask for help was Eden, and he hadn’t looked around either. Quinn got the impression that, in these halls, Eden felt just as powerless as the commoners around him.

  At the end of the corridor, Rowan turned, standing in front of two double doors. They weren’t guarded, but the way Rowan looked down on them made Quinn think they could only lead to one person.

  “You’re going to be presented to the king, now. Eden, I want you to stand with me when he speaks to the girl. He will deal with you separately.”

  “I have important things to tell him.”

  “And he has important questions to ask. He’ll do so in his own time. He’s the king now, Eden. He’s thinking for all of us. A Sha’sekian is controlling the Everfell throne; it’s time to stop thinking about yourself and recognise what we’re trying to do here. Come on.”

  Quinn had expected the throne room to be something like Vance’s: something expansive and bold, much to match the newly crowned King Shiver’s ego. She was astonished therefore to see a room that wasn’t much larger than her suites in Farn. Red carpet covered the whole room, including a small dais where Shiver sat awaiting them. Quinn had expected him to be wearing an ostentatious crown, and whilst the pelt wrapped around his shoulders was certainly grandiose, sweeping down to the ground, he looked neither finer nor more refined than before. The only difference was his hair. In the style of the old kings, he had bleached it with lime. His pale curls were tightly combed giving him the regal air of a warrior, framing his cheeks and highlighting his wrinkles. It was a conflicting look, but Quinn could see what he was trying to do. Shiver was trying to present himself to his fellow lords as the king they never had; the strong ruler that Vance had never been. Shiver was the man who had saved them before, and Shiver was the one who was going to save them again. He was not like other men and he was not like their recent rulers. Of this, Quinn had no doubt.

  “Eden! My son, it lightens my heart to see you well. You made it back unharmed from Farn?”

  “Father, I’m well," Eden stopped walking as his brother did, keeping mindful of Rowan’s explicit instructions to stay by his side. “There was no one in Farn capable of harming me father, I was always coming back to you safe.”

  “Indeed! When we send a son of Sevenspells to do something, people of Sha’sek listen. And here, I see you brought the empath back with you. This is good; good for all of us. Thank you son.”

  “You are most welcome father."

  Shiver quickly shifted his attention from his youngest son to the woman stood in front of him. Quinn was on her own out in that throne room and she felt small and vulnerable. Had she really been capable of bringing down an entire kingdom, like Sammah claimed?

  “Quinn, from the house of Sammah, I never expected to see you again so soon, so…alive. Farn was good to you.”

  “Sha’sek is where my people belong, Vance was right in that. I wasn’t expecting to be forced into returning, if I may be blunt, your highness.”

  “Indeed. No, I don’t think you came here to help me did you?”

  “I was doing as instructed, which seems to be my lot in life.”

  “We can only be what we are born to be Quinn. Rare people are born to rule. Some of us, commoners, are born to follow those rules. Though given the range of your abilities I am surprised that you haven’t realised yet, is up to you to choose which one of those you want to be. If Sammah was right and the rumours are true, you’re at least as strong as your ancestor.”

  * * *

  Ancestor. There was that reference again. Quinn knew that Shiver was referring to Nerren, but ignored this. No one had so far provided with any empirical evidence that man was her father, or even in any way related to her. She wouldn’t let Shiver bait her on that.

  “I’m trying not to emulate either of my fathers, adoptive or otherwise.”

  This was a safe answer, and it seemed to amuse Shiver. Quinn was half fine with that—if she could keep this man placated and come across as tame, then she at least stood a chance of getting out of here alive.

  “All of your journey here, I’ve been contemplating what to do with you. I had entertained killing you. You know I hold no love for your kind, and right now your adoptive father is causing havoc in Everfell. You have no idea how much it hurts me to see one of your kind rip apart alliances that have stood for generations. What you think of Sammah’s actions?"

  “They are deplorable your Highness. He wasn’t born that throne, and he hasn’t earned it. He needs to be removed from it, by any means necessary.”

  It didn’t matter whether she believed it or not, Quinn knew what to say to preserve her life. Shiver was a man who liked to be told he was right. Shiver smiled.

  “Indeed, and I will do my best to make sure he will be eradicated. That’s the only reason you’re alive in fact—I think you will play an important that part in that.”

  Of course. The only reason anyone ever seem to want to keep Quinn alive was to take advantage of her, for some purpose or another. She was sick of it, but she liked the idea of an early death even less. She was in Shiver’s throne room and crown city—she had no choice but to listen to what the man wanted to say to her. “Do you understand what I’m trying to achieve here, with my kingdom, Quinn? Do you know what I need from you?”

  “I understand my place, sire. I’m yours to serve.”

  “Don’t cheek me girl, I’m not a fool. You’re not from Sevenspells. You’re not even from Everfell. You have never seen me as your ruler and you will never be one of my subjects, so answer the question again. This time, give me an answer which is truthful, not glib, and designed to make me smile."

  “You’re going to try and take the throne.”

  “Wrong! I already have the throne. Look around you—do I not look like the king?" Shiver paused, waiting for an answer, though Quinn didn’t feel brave enough to give him one. “What I’m trying to do, is free my people from the threat of your people. Baron Sammah is proving time and time again your people can’t be trusted. Ever since the end of the Empath War, he’s been spinning lies in that court, sinking his claws into everyone. He controlled everybody with blackmail and subterfuge, and now he’s got his final wish—he’s manipulating the king himself. King no longer. If Vance couldn’t see what that maniac was doing under his very nose then he didn’t deserve that title. Vance didn’t have the courage to do what was needed to wipe the Sha’sekian threat out of Everfell, but I can. You’re all going to die Quinn; it’s the only way my people can be free.”

  “And you expect me to help with this genocide before you kill me too?”

  “There are two reasons I expect you to help. Firstly, because you will die last rather than first. I have a sword, and you have no protection. Don’t think I wouldn’t run you through. Secondly, I’m going to give you the opportunity to kill Sammah. After the way he treated you, I don’t doubt that you might take that opportunity gl
adly.”

  Quinn paused, not sure what her response was meant to be. Shiver was angry, and even without her ability she could feel the vitriol oozing from the man. If she opened herself up to him then, she’d feel the full impact of it slam into her. She could easily give herself in to that anger, and she’d find herself allied with Shiver before she could even think about it. Did she want to cooperate? No. Did she want to kill Sammah? Yes. She didn’t agree with Shiver’s actions for doing it though, and she didn’t want to be at the heart of an Everfell victory that would spell the end of her own people.

  “How do you expect me to kill Sammah?”

  “An excellent question! Tell me, Quinn, I’ve heard so many rumours. What is it you are actually capable of?”

  “I think appropriate question might be, sire, what have you heard about me?”

  “If the king asks you a question, you answer it, girl.”

  Shiver waved. “Rowan there’s no need. I told you, these barbarians don’t understand respect. I’m surprised she’s even using my correct appellation. Don’t waste your energy. I suppose it’s not a bad question either—I’d surely want to know what the rumours were about me if I were being interrogated by a monarch.

  “I’ve heard a variety of things, Quinn, some from your father, others from conjecture at court. What I heard from your father was you that you are capable of sensing emotions. I don’t know what this means in full, but he has used you before to find out the truth of things. Because of the things you discovered, he was able to blackmail the majority of the nobles at court. I’ve heard you can also sense things such as anger, happiness, other simple feelings. There again, I’ve heard that you drink blood and steal away children in the middle of the night. You’ve stabbed people in the back and run away laughing, and should you so choose, you could make someone jump off the side of the cliff to their own deaths. These things I find it quite hard to believe, as I’ve heard them from the drunkards sitting at the tables of great halls. What am I to believe? Who better to tell me.”