The Tainted Crown: The First Book of Caledan (Books of Caledan 1)

by Meg Cowley

  “Thank you,” he said, though the words seemed unworthy. Tears pricked his eyes. “Thank you so much. Please tell them thank you.”

  Nelda bowed her head and slipped away. After a few more minutes in solitude, tracing details of the statue with his fingers, he returned to the great hall to rejoin his coronation supper. He felt saddened, with the unexpected thoughts of his mother’s death creeping to the forefront of his thoughts, but glad that she had now been given a resting place far more appropriate and deserving than he could have provided for her himself.

  The rest of the night passed in a whirlwind blur of food, drink, dancing and conversation that he could not remember much of later. When the new king retired to bed in the early hours of the following morning, he felt dazed by the experiences of the past months; a feeling not helped by the copious amount of alcohol he had drunk that night.

  His last thought before sleep enveloped him from atop his wave of euphoria was that everything must be a dream. However, the blinding headache that greeted him as he awoke many hours later dispelled any notion that that could be the case.

  Eve

  “You agreed that it’s worthwhile returning to Ednor for training, so why won’t you let me go at once, father?” said Eve.

  “Because you must return home to take care of everything else that has been neglected in your absence.” Her father’s thunderous expression would normally have caused her to back down, but her confidence had grown enough to assert herself since last she had been in Arlyn.

  “Why, for you to never let me go?” retorted Eve.

  “I am a man of my word,” said her father in a brittle voice. He was in a dangerous mood, not helped by her persistence.

  “Well what other responsibilities do I have aside from my education, which is complete, and my training, which is a constant undertaking? You give me no other responsibilities from your own pool of duties, despite the fact I am of age and able to take them on! I am not a child anymore and it’s time you stopped treating me like one!”

  “Do not disrespect me Eve!” thundered Karn. “Why should I give you such duties when you run off so lightly? Flightiness has ne’er been the quality of a good leader!”

  “I was trying to do what was right and that has ne’er been a poor quality for a good leader.” She paraphrased him, scowling.

  “You need to grow up and settle down,” her father said. His eyes narrowed at the mockery.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” retorted Eve. “I am settled, and maturity comes with age; will you make me wait until I am thirty before you deign to let me help you?” She folded her arms.

  “No. You need to settle down and marry. I have already begun searching for a suitable match.”

  “What?” cried Eve. “You can’t! I won’t!”

  “I can’t? You won’t?” Karn’s eyebrows slanted in a dangerous ‘v’ shape. “It is my right to make such a decision, as your father and your lord, for the good of our county and you will do as I say.”

  “Father I don’t want to marry! I’m too young, I’m not ready, and there is no one suitable!”

  Her father softened at the panic in her eyes, but he remained firm. “You are well of age and there are plenty of suitable matches. Worry not, I will find you a good man. I would not give away my only daughter to a man who did not deserve her.”

  His words did nothing to placate Eve. She paced in front of him, wringing her hands together and folding them close in front of her as if to protect herself. The thought of being in the power of a man she did not know terrified her. She knew what her wifely duties would be and the thought was revolting.

  “I cannot father, please do not make me,” she asked him with desperation.

  “I can make you, whether you will it or not,” said her father. “However I do not wish to be that kind of man. Eventually, you will see that I act in your best interests and eventually, you will thank me Eve, although I know it will be hard at first to see that I am right. I will make you a deal.”

  Eve paused and turned to him.

  “I will permit you to go to Ednor and spend as long there as you need to train you to control your magic, with not one word of complaint.”

  Eve held her breath for what came next.

  “I will do this, if you will marry the man of my choosing.”

  Her breath whooshed out of her lungs, but they tightened and she could not breathe back in as panic flooded through her. She stumbled to a chair and fell into it “What if I say no?” she choked out, hunched over with her hands to her chest and her loose hair tumbling about her.

  “Then you will return home with me regardless and I make no promises about if you shall go to Ednor, or when, or for how long I will permit your visit to be.”

  “I am not your game piece to play as you will.” Her voice was muffled as tears began to roll down her face. She covered them with her hands.

  “You will have to marry a man of my choosing sooner or later,” said her father. He turned away. His tone was level. From under her fall of hair, she could not discern his expression.

  “You married for love! Why do you deny the same for me?” Eve’s voice caught as more tears fell.

  “You will grow to love him,” said Karn, “and that should be enough. Who else would you choose? Who else would be good enough for you?”

  Eve stayed silent and did not answer him from within her cocoon. Luke flashed across her mind. He was as close a friend as she had and she would not hate to be his companion, as she would anyone else’s. At least he was not a stranger. At least she knew him well and though she barely dared admit it to herself, she did find him attractive. She did not reveal that to her father, knowing he would be angered by such an unsuitable union. She feared that if she frustrated him further, that he would withdraw his offer to let her go to Ednor at all.

  Karn took her silence for a no, and turned around to leave. “I shall give you time to think on this. I expect your answer by the time we are returned home,” he said, before departing.

  It was the following day, a week after the coronation of Soren, that they departed, much to Eve’s growing dread. After a sleepless night, she had come no closer to a decision. The prize of going to Ednor for as long as she pleased dangled before her; but its worth was equal to the horror and despair of agreeing to her father’s deal.

  Every man she saw in the castle who seemed to be her own age or older, she scrutinised, wondering if they would be the man her father chose. Luke, who still accompanied her everywhere, enquired as to her agitation. She shook him off and told him that she did not feel well.

  With a heavy heart, she bade farewell to the healers, who had become dear to her in her time there. They were sorry to see her leave. The head healer thanked her for her help, wished her well and invited her to return to help, expressing that she would always be welcome there.

  As they said goodbye to the new king and his sister, Soren and Irumae embraced them, with words of parting as affectionate as always, despite the blankness in their eyes that seemed etched there. Now that the festivities and whirlwind of events surrounding the restoration and coronation was over, they seemed to have slipped into a depression of sorts. It would take time for the grief to pass and Eve bid them good health and wished fervently for their happiness to return.

  She smiled at Edmund as they parted – she had grown up with his presence from a young age and her father treated him like family. Eve was glad that Soren and Irumae had such a good man to guide them at the beginning of Soren’s reign. Her father shared a few muttered words with Edmund himself, before embracing him.

  Nolwen and Nelda also chose that day to depart. Eve parted with them with reluctance, as her father and his men waited to be off. They took leave at the castle gate; the Eldarkind were to travel north, whilst the easiest way to Arlyn lay along the south road. She would have much rather travelled with them, but her father refused to dally and take the longer road.

  Nelda and Eve embraced and Nolwen bowed low
to her. She replied with a curtsy. She could not bow in return to him, not least because her father was observing her, but because he had also insisted she ride home in a ladylike fashion: in a dress and worse, a carriage. To placate him, she had agreed. As Nelda and Nolwen mounted their horses and rode out of sight, Eve could not delay climbing into the four-wheeled contraption any longer.

  A seat wide enough for two people was affixed within it – no companion joined her. It felt like a prison. Painted black within and without, it had a covered top, solid front and back and a small window set into the doors on either side. It had been made with no thought for comfort or decoration, save the dismal seat pads that had been added later. The driver sat on a bench affixed to the front.

  Eve would have much rather joined the men on horseback, where she could see the world flowing by around her and have the wind running through her hair and reddening her cheeks. In contrast, she resigned herself to a miserable return journey home as the wheeled cart jolted her from cobble to cobble and ditch to ditch and the clatter of hooves jarred her head.

  She did not know where Luke rode within the group. From within the confining carriage she watched the small panel that was the world outside pass by through the window, agonising over her choice.

  Soren

  The halls of Pandora castle fell silent as guests who had flooded in now poured out to return home. For the first time, Soren had time and leisure on his hands and fell to brooding and apathy in the absence of other driving tasks.

  Now the council had been restored and its numbers lifted again with younger men of the various houses, Soren found that much of the menial day-to-day running of affairs was accounted for, with Behan overseeing operations and managing the city. The steward was invaluable, but it did not help Soren stay busy.

  Consequently, although Behan had accounted for everything else, it meant that one task remained a priority for Soren above all others, nagging and chewing away at his thoughts. It was time for him to deal with his uncle and he could not afford to put it off any longer. He sent orders for the trial to be scheduled the following week and held in the courts of law, before filing his evidence with the clerks.

  The blood stained letter had been with him, tucked inside his clothes, since his flight from Pandora; he had even worn it within his robes during his coronation, such was his reluctance to leave it anywhere. It felt strange to part with an object he had kept so close for so long, but as Soren unwrapped the silk napkin he stored it in, he was glad he would not have the constant reminder of what had passed so near to him anymore.

  “Guard it with your life and release it only to those who bear my seal.” He warned the young clerk, who nodded uncontrollably and looked at the letter before him as if it would bite.

  Not one hour later the courts had confirmed the date of the hearing to him and, feeling grim, he sent a messenger to inform Zaki of his impending trial, still unable to face his uncle. Butterflies leapt in his stomach when he thought about what was to come.

  That night, after consuming copious amounts of beer with the young lords who kept him constant company at the evening meals, Soren stumbled to bed in a heavy stupor. He was too intoxicated to hear the clamour that arose within the castle in the middle of the night, until alarm bells themselves sounded, a discordant clanging of metal on metal and metal on wood as men raised the alert to every corner of the city.

  Soren awoke, groggy and slow, clambering out of bed and dragging on a dressing gown. Outside his apartment, there were at least two dozen extra guards crowding the corridor. All had drawn their weapons, including the two guards who stood either side of his door.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked.

  The guards looked fearfully at him and one dared to speak up.

  “A prisoner has escaped, your majesty,” he stammered. “We were sent by Sir Edmund to guard your cham—”

  “Escaped? Who?” Soren questioned. His mind cleared as anxiety rushed through him, but his heart sunk before the man had spoken, because he knew the answer. Why else would Edmund send so many to guard me?

  “Zaki,” the man whispered.

  “What happened? When?” Soren questioned.

  The man turned to his colleagues. None volunteered an answer. “I- we do not know, your majesty. Sir Edmund ordered us to guard you and told us no more.”

  Soren barrelled through their midst, his dressing gown flapping as he passed them and raced barefoot down the corridor. The guards leapt into action, sheathed their weapons and ran after him in full armour, clanking and grinding metal with every step as they fought to keep up with him; taken by surprise. The king ran to the great hall, where lights blazed, illuminating every single inch of the huge room. People came and went, scurrying like ants.

  “Where is Sir Edmund?” Soren shouted. Every single person halted in their tracks and scrambled to bow low to their dishevelled king with his tousled hair and red eyes as they realised who he was.

  “Your Majesty!” Behan bounded forward, having just jogged into the hall. He was red faced, out of breath and seemed to have travelled to the castle in his bedclothes. As he bent double, wheezing, Soren waited for the steward to catch his breath, leaning forward with impatience.

  “Yes?” he prompted.

  Behan ushered Soren aside as noise picked up around them and people once more resumed their tasks.

  “He’s gone, sire – Zaki. You need to see this,” he gestured at Soren to follow him, and they started towards the dungeons, with Soren’s heightened guard in tow.

  “What happened?” asked Soren in a low voice, not wanting their conversation to be overheard.

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea, sire.” Behan was frank. “Every man you have is out looking for him now, including Edmund. I hope they find him, after what he’s done, but we don’t have any leads to start with.”

  He glanced at Soren to gauge his reaction and mood. Still intoxicated from the previous evening’s antics and, feeling numb and tired above all, a dull glazed look seemed fixed on Soren’s face as he stifled the urge to yawn.

  As they arrived at the dungeons, Soren understood why Behan had been so apprehensive. The entire area was crawling with officials and soldiers alike, who trawled for evidence and clues, and, for a few unfortunate folk, cleaned up the wreckage.

  Zaki had been held in the depths of the dungeons, in the furthest, most hard to reach and most secure cell available to the castle. It was impenetrable; buried under thousands of tons of earth deep in the hill under the castle and accessible by one, windowless door. It was exactly why Soren had imprisoned his uncle here. Yet, the door lay in pieces about the fractured door frame. Black marks spread across wood and stone.

  “He appears to have used some type of incendiary device, sire.” Behan looked about, his mouth set in a thin line. “We have no idea how he managed to procure or ignite it, but he made short work of his guards.” He gestured at the forlorn remains on the floor.

  Two bodies lay on the floor, face down, burnt and covered in debris. As Soren leaned closer, daring to turn over the bodies himself, he retched and stumbled back. They had been hacked, stabbed and sliced multiple times, in what seemed like a frenzied attack. Soren eyed Behan in horror. Behan met his eyes with trepidation.

  “He is a monster,” said Soren in hushed tones. And he could be anywhere... an insidious voice whispered from the darkest recesses of his mind. A chill settled over the prince. Weary and intoxicated, his mind remained slow. Listless, he gazed into the cell, which men had turned upside down in the fruitless hunt for a clue.

  Everything he had fought for, all that he had gained and the price he had paid for his successes, seemed worthless and frail. Even when his uncle had been in his power, Soren had been outwitted. He did not even have the ability of thought at that moment to curse himself for underestimating his uncle – that would come with the harsh, grey light of dawn.

  Despair filled him.

  Thanks for reading

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  Soren

  Talons pinned Soren to the bed, gripping his flesh. He twisted, crying out as he thrashed, but the claws did not relinquish their grasp. With great shuddering gulps, Soren surfaced from sleep to his dimly lit bedchamber.

  Cautious faces loomed over him. The hands, not talons, which had held him down loosened. One of the hands stroked his own in comfort, whilst the other soothed his forehead with a cold cloth, wiping the sweat from his face. His clammy nightclothes clung to him, constricting his movements.

  Soren’s breathing slowed to a weak flutter as he lay back into his pillow, his eyes slipping shut once more.

  “Another nightmare?” Edmund’s voice sounded from his side.

  Soren did not nod; the answer was obvious.

  “The usual,” Soren murmured. “Zaki’s searching for me, hunting me through the castle dungeons. I try to run, but I cannot. It’s as if the air has turned to water and I’m drowning, but then all of a sudden everything turns to light and pain and fire searing through me. In that moment, I know he’s found me, and I know I’m dead.”