Riven (Exile Book 2)

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  Three of his top lieutenants, Redren, Samis, and Laraya, stood nearby, eyes on the forest. Across the clearing, his cousin Janara carefully cleaned the thin blade she’d used since she was a young girl. She took much ridicule for her use of such a delicate-looking weapon, but if he had to choose, Janara and her dagger would be the one he’d want at his back.

  Well, other than his wife, he thought to himself. More than anything, he would like the human he’d married at his back, fighting at his side if she refused to stay protected, as he would have wanted her to.

  But Shannen had gone home to the human capital, determined to take the throne that should have rightly been hers and deliver her people from the harsh conditions they lived in under her uncle, the king.

  It had been forty-three days since he had last seen his wife.

  He pushed the thought aside.

  “Well done,” Daarik said to his soldiers. “Taaren is gone, as well.”

  Janara met his gaze. “His fault, cousin,” she said, a reminder she had had to give him often in the past weeks.

  He merely nodded. “Him or me, I will always fight for myself,” he said, repeating a common Maarlai refrain. They’d fought against the humans for decades. At first, it had been easy to pity the smaller, less-powerful beings. And then, the Maarlai had started falling at the hands of humans.

  The most important thing was to come back alive, rather than to be left rotting on the field of battle.

  Daarik took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. The stench of death hung over the forest now like a veil. Maarlai on both sides had fallen, and there had been no time to build proper pyres for most of them. An attack could and often did come at any time.

  Daarik was grateful that he’d been able to put his father and brother to rest properly, at least. He had built the pyre himself, doggedly, while his most trusted soldiers and friends watched, protecting him from those who would set their sights on him next. He had dragged first his father, Elrek’s, body to one pyre, and then his older brother Baerne’s body to another.

  He mourned his father, of course, but it was Baerne’s loss that hurt him most. He and his brother had just started to find a trust, a closeness. Daarik would miss his counsel, his jokes, his loyalty. He would miss having someone to drink with. He would miss Baerne’s protectiveness toward Shannen—

  Better not to think of Shannen, he reminded himself. Those thoughts made him want to give it all up and find her. He hated that he’d let her go, but he’d known better. Shannen was not the type to sit still, to stay safe, when there was something she wanted to do. She did not like being lied to, and her uncle had told the biggest lie of all.

  Forty-three days.

  She could be dead, for all he knew. Those nightmares visited him in those rare moments when he managed to close his eyes.

  But his waking nightmare was so much worse. It snuck into his thoughts at odd moments, making him grip his weapon tighter, hit harder, snarl and growl with animalistic rage.

  She lied. She saw her chance to escape you and this marriage, and she took it. She betrayed you. She is never coming back.

  She is never coming back.

  He shook his head a little, tried to pretend he didn’t see the pity in Janara’s eyes.

  “Let’s head back and see what carnage awaits us,” Daarik growled. They started walking toward their village, its once-solid wall a ragged mess against the horizon, smoke rising from at least two structures. They had left to rout a force that had left to attack the nearest human settlement. Other than his own death, it seemed, the deaths of humans, any humans, was at the top of the list for his opponents. They had prevented any human deaths, and the humans of the town (mostly elderly or scrawny, ill-looking females and children) had stood by, watching in shock as Maarlai had fought Maarlai. When it was over most of the humans had timidly approached them, offering their thanks.

  That… that had been for his wife. He could pretend he was really that honorable, but in the end, he knew that though she had always been set apart from her people for one reason or another, she cared for them. Not the nobility, not her king, and not her own family, of course… but the people, those who had no choice but to live as they did under her uncle’s disastrous leadership. They mattered to her. Which meant, to his surprise, that they mattered to him.

  As they walked back to the village in silence, Janara caught up with him and fell into step at his side.

  “She will return,” she said quietly.

  He pretended to ignore her. He usually appreciated not having to explain everything to his cousin, but sometimes she saw too much.

  “She would be grateful for what you did today,” she added.

  “What we did,” he said automatically.

  “You fear her dead,” Janara said, and he shook his head.

  “Shannen is too stubborn to die,” he said, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I know that much.”

  They walked in silence for a bit, dry grass and leaves crunching beneath their heavy boots.

  “You fear she will choose not to return,” Janara finally said, her voice audible only to him.

  He shrugged. “It is out of my hands. At least, for now,” he added.

  Janara gave a short laugh. “What, cousin? If she chooses not to return, will you march into her palace and drag her back here?”

  Daarik glanced at Janara, and then looked away.

  “You would,” she said quietly. “You would go into the heart of your enemy’s stronghold to bring her back.”

  Daarik walked a bit faster.

  “What if she did not want to come?”

  “Can you stop now?” Daarik growled.

  “I tease, cousin,” Janara said with a laugh. “You are very clearly hers, and one thing I do know of Shannen of House Lyon is that she does not let go of that which belongs to her.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “No. But Shannen is just bitch enough to ensure that losing is not something she is accustomed to. I am quite certain you’re stuck with her.”

  Daarik laughed then. It was the first time he had done so in what felt like forever. Janara grinned. She’d had that ability, since they were quite small, to cheer him up no matter how morose he was feeling. “I miss her,” he finally admitted. “How stupid is that, that here we are, fighting a war against our own people, and I feel empty without her here? I hate that she’s gone. I hate what she plans to do, only because it puts her in harm’s way. I believe in her. I support her, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “It is madness, this thing she is attempting to do.”

  She’d left alone, with the goal of raising an army and wresting the throne away from her uncle. Utter madness.

  Daarik feared for her. He admired her. He thought she was out of her mind and also one of the bravest beings, male, female, human or Maarlai, that he’d ever known.

  “I just wish there was some word,” he added. “How hard could it be to get word to me that she is alive? Or to tell me where she is, or how things are going?”

  “If word has gotten to the king that she is out there raising an army against him, she undoubtedly needs to be careful. Sending word to you might not be something she can do, not for a long while yet,” Janara said. “If she was dead, I believe we would hear something. If she’d been captured, there would have been word. I don’t think the human king would refrain, for even a moment, from making some kind of demand of us if he’d found that Shannen was not here, where she belonged.”

  “Unless he quickly and quietly had her killed,” Daarik said. “Get rid of the problem completely.”

  “You are just a ray of sunshine, cousin,” Janara muttered.

  They entered the gates of the village to find their people, those that were left, tiredly trying to put out fires and care for their wounded. They had fought the Maarlai traitors back yet again, and paid, as always, in blood.

  He walked through the village, quietly greeting those who approached him, listening
, listening, listening. It seemed as if every Maarlai he passed wanted to talk to him. He forced himself to focus. As he made his way though the camp to his grandmother’s hut, he avoided even looking at the palace looming to the west. His father had ordered it built, a symbol the humans would understand, and totally against everything they stood for. He supposed it had made his bride feel more at home for a while, but other than that one small positive, he hated everything about it. They had changed part of who they were the moment they built it. Both his father and brother had died just outside its doors. The only good memories he had of the building involved his wife, and she was gone…

  I’ll see her again, he told himself.

  Finally, he stood outside of Faerlah’s small hut and knocked.

  “Come in, Daarik,” she called in her strong, raspy voice. He entered, bent and kissed his grandmother’s hand, and then sat with her near her fire.

  “We killed another small band of Jarvik’s traitors today,” he said without preamble. “Taaren was among them.”

  Faerlah didn’t say anything. What was there to say? Eventually, she asked, “how many?”

  “Eight.No sign of Jarvik.”

  She blew out a breath. “From the accounting we did, he left here with just under seventy warriors. You have captured or killed nearly thirty. His numbers are dwindling, and that is all to the good.”

  “Maarlai lives have been lost. There is nothing good about that,” Daarik said tiredly.

  “Traitors,” Faerlah said sharply. “Not all Maarlai are worth our regard, Daarik.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You are too kindhearted, grandson.”

  “There are too few of us to throw lives away,” Daarik said. “We know our control here is hanging by a thread. The humans outnumber us, even if they can’t outmatch us. Soon, they will be able to.”

  “Then it’s a good thing your wife has decided to claim her crown,” Faerlah said as she picked up another piece of leather armor. Daarik watched as she went to work with tough sinew and a long needle, repairing the damage done in a recent battle. Everyone who wasn’t actively fighting had a role to play, and Faerlah had long been a talented armorer. “For the record, I believe she can do it. She’s stubborn and cunning, that one. Vindictive, too. You can see it in her eyes when she talks about her family.”

  Daarik didn’t answer. He wouldn’t call her vindictive.

  Was she?

  His silence gave his thoughts away. Faerlah looked up from the armor. “Your feelings for her have painted her in a more flattering light. It’s normal. You think she’s out there to save her people. I don’t doubt that’s part of it. But look in that woman’s eyes sometime. A fire burns inside her, and it warms only one person: Shannen. And with it, she would be more than happy to watch the world burn, as long as she wins.”

  “I think that’s an unfair assessment of my wife, grandmother,” Daarik said mildly, still clearly making his point, that the person Faerlah was speaking of was, whether their people knew it or not, still his wife and queen.

  Faerlah set the leather down on her lap and shook her head. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, entirely. But you seem to think that Shannen has no ambition at all for herself, and a fool could tell you otherwise. And the fool would be right.” She looked up at him sharply. “This is a woman who has spent her entire life thumbing her nose at every rule they threw at her. She has survived as she did because she’s mean and hard and cares not a damn what anyone thinks of her.”

  “I think you’re wrong about her,” Daarik said.

  “We’ll see. I think you may be surprised to find that no matter how much she may care for you, and I think she does, Shannen is about one person and one person only, and that is Shannen.”

  “I thought you liked her.”

  “I do like her. I just want to make sure you still like her once you see her for the person she truly is.”

  “I love her.”

  “Grandson, you’re a good male, a strong warrior, a worthy king, but you know nothing about your wife. As males do, you thought mostly with your more southerly brain when it came to Shannen. You may find that you love the idea of Shannen. I hope reality doesn’t hurt too much when it slaps you upside the head.”

  “I know her. I know she’s stubborn and strong-willed and ambitious. A woman doesn’t go off by herself in search of a crown unless she’s fueled by ambition. The question isn’t whether Shannen’s worth loving. It’s about whether I’m strong enough to love her as she is. And I am, until I draw my last breath.”

  “We’ll see,” Faerlah said mildly, going back to the armor repairs.

  As Daarik left his grandmother’s hut, he tried not to be too unnerved by what she’d said.

  Which would have been much, much easier if Faerlah didn’t have some skill as a seer.

  Chapter Two

  “This is such a bad idea,” Camille muttered. “Is there any point in trying to convince you not to do this?”

  Shannen turned toward her friend and second-in-command, tearing her eyes away from the fortress looming in the distance.

  “If you are really bored, and enjoy talking to yourself, go ahead,” Shannen said. “He will join us.”

  “Look at this place,” Camille hissed, gesturing at the fortress with its high walls, lookout towers, and imposing gates. “This is a King’s man. He will never join you. There is no chance in this world or any other that you’ll get him and the men he commands to turn traitor.”

  Shannen smirked. “Shall we wager on it?”

  “As if I have anything to wager,” Camille snorted.

  “Let us not pretend that you didn’t pickpocket every single Edwell loyalist in every village we passed through.”

  Camille looked surprised for an instant before schooling her features into a neutral expression. “Not all of them,” she finally said.

  Shannen laughed and turned her attention to the fortress again. Her plan hinged almost entirely on this. On convincing the commander of this fort to turn on everything he had ever known and side with her instead.

  On their past closeness being enough to make him more loyal to her than he was to her uncle.

  She needed him and his knowledge. She and her Maidens needed proper training if they had any hope of truly fighting if it came down to battle. And the sheer numbers of men he had here, men loyal to him, men who fought by his side… it would make everything much more possible.

  “One hundred notes,” Shannen said, turning to Camille again. “I convince him, and you owe me one hundred notes.”

  “And if you don’t convince him?”

  “Well. Then I’ll very likely be captured and carted off to Edwell, charged with treason, and beheaded.”

  Camille blanched. “Shannen…”

  “It will not come to that. Have a little faith.”

  “You keep telling me that.”

  “Hm. Maybe one of these days, you will not need to be reminded.”

  “This. Is. Lunacy,” Camille said, stabbing her finger toward the fort with each word for emphasis.

  “Oh, darling. You’re not the first to think I’m crazy. And I highly doubt you will be the last.”

  “I’m going in with you,” Camille said, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at the fort.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “If I take you with me, it will be a message that I do not trust him.”

  “Good. Because I don’t and you shouldn’t.”

  “You do not even know him.”

  “I see Edwell’s sigil flying over the gate. I see the same sigil on the breastplate of every guard. They know where their funding comes from, and money is all that matters to lordlings.”

  “Not this one.”

  Camille swore and shook her head.

  “I will see you in a bit. But if I do not…” Shannen shrugged. She would not pretend that Renn was a given. She was not quite as confident as she acted. That was for Camille’s benefit, an
d the benefit of those who followed her. If she faltered, if she showed any fear at all, she might start losing them before the battle even truly started. They thrived on her cockiness, her daring, her self-assuredness. Right now, that and the dream of making their world anew was all they had. She would not take that from them unless she absolutely had to.

  “I’ll pray for you.”

  Shannen gave a small nod. “All right. Thank you.”

  “Let me guess: you don’t believe in the gods, either,” Camille said, rolling her eyes.

  Shannen leaned toward her. “I believe in myself. So far, I have never been let down.” She gave her a quick smile and wave and then left the protection of the tall grasses in the meadow. They were a fair distance from the fort, and Shannen would walk the road alone, giving those at the gate plenty of time to see her. She was not here to surprise them. She knew she would arrive as the day guard was in the last hour of their shift, tired, bored, and hungry. She knew Renn was there, having watched him and a retinue of guardsmen ride down the road earlier in the day, toward the fortress. Her first glimpse of him had been reassuring. He seemed at ease, laughing with his men, sitting in that familiar slouch upon his horse.

  Of course, first impressions and fond reminiscences did not an army make. She wondered, after all this time, what kind of welcome he would give her.

  There was only one way to find out.

  Shannen walked, making no secret of her presence once she came closer to the fortress. As she expected, as she drew closer to the gates, they opened and three riders thundered out, approaching her quickly. They were Renn’s colors, dark blue and black, Edwell’s golden lion emblazoned on their chests.

  “Princess Shannen,” one of them said, sliding from his horse and bowing low in front of her. “Lord Kinari extends his greetings and his invitation into Ashwall.”

  “I thank him for the welcome, and you as well. Shall we proceed?”

  He nodded and helped Shannen onto the horse, leading it toward the gates. It took everything in her not to look back at the meadow where her army hid. She kept her eyes instead on the fortress in front of her, the guards walking atop the walls, the towers where, she knew, other guards stood with bows and arrows.