Shadow Heir: A Dark Swan Novel#4

by Richelle Mead

  Chapter 4

  Life soon returned to whatever passed as normal in my world. The many guests and visitors who’d arrived for the wedding dispersed to their own lands, and true to their word, Shaya and Rurik continued their duties just as before. There was little outward sign that much had changed with them, though occasionally I’d catch them secretly exchanging happy looks.

  One guest who didn’t leave right away was Dorian. He kept saying he would. He’d even make comments that began with, “Well, when I leave tomorrow ...” But the next day he’d still be hanging around the Rowan Land. Almost a week went by before I finally brought the matter up.

  I found him out in some of the woods beyond the castle. While this was still fairly secured land, I was nonetheless trailed by quiet, discreet guards who kept a distance that was respectful but still close enough to pounce, should the need arise. Dorian was engaged in a typically Dorian activity: hunting. Well, kind of. The forest clearing was littered with thin, wooden cutouts of various animals. They were life-size and painted in bright, gaudy colors. As I approached, I saw Dorian’s long-suffering servant, Muran, nervously holding up a cutout of a pink stag. On the opposite side of the clearing, Dorian focused on them with razor-sharp intensity and drew back a giant longbow. There was a twang as he released, and the arrow shot forward, implanting right near the edge of the target’s upper body, only a couple of inches from Muran’s hand.

  “Isn’t that kind of dangerous?” I asked.

  “Hardly,” said Dorian, notching another arrow. “Those animals aren’t real, Eugenie.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “The purple polka dots were kind of a giveaway. I was talking about Muran.”

  Dorian shrugged. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?” He drew back again, and this time the arrow hit the side of the stag’s head, not far from Muran’s own. The poor man yelped at the close call, and Dorian gave me an expectant look. “See?”

  I had to suppress an eye roll. Those targets were too big and Dorian too good a shot for him to be “accidentally” making such close calls. It was a testament to his skill that he was purposely hitting so near the edges to torment Muran.

  “Let’s do the rabbit next,” suggested Dorian. “I need more of a challenge.”

  “Y-yes, sire,” squeaked Muran. He returned the stag to the pile of other targets and produced a yellow and green striped rabbit that was much, much smaller than the stag. After first pausing to wipe sweat off of his forehead, Muran held out the rabbit off to his side, as far away from himself as he could.

  Dorian tsked. “You’re tilting it. Use both hands to keep it steady.” Doing so, of course, forced Muran to bring the target directly in front of him.

  I groaned. “Dorian, why do you do this?”

  “Because I can,” he replied. He let loose an arrow and impressively hit one of the rabbit’s ears, again only just missing Muran.

  “When do you think you might be able to go home?” I asked.

  He didn’t even look at me as he sized up his next shot. “Are you kicking me out?”

  “No, but I do have to go to the Thorn Land soon and commune with it.” As part of the bond between monarch and kingdom, it was necessary that I connect to the land periodically. This usually just involved me meditating for a while and reaching out to the land’s energy. It was a seemingly small task, but if I didn’t do it regularly, both the land and I would suffer. The longest I’d gone without was about a month, and during that time, I’d dreamed nonstop about the land. Possessing two kingdoms now meant twice as many meditation sessions.

  “I’m surprised you don’t just send your sister,” Dorian said. “Seeing as she’s getting so good at it.”

  “Oh, don’t start,” I said.

  I was in a good mood, and the atmosphere between us had been so easy recently that I didn’t even rise to the bait. Jasmine and I had discovered that as a quick fix, she could do a type of makeshift connection with the land. Someone had told me that monarchs’ children occasionally did this as well in other kingdoms, so maybe the land just recognized some sort of genetic connection. Dorian feared I was opening up the door for Jasmine to conquer my kingdoms, but I was confident she’d long since given up such ambitions. Besides, I’d felt the connection between her and the land when she did it, and it was nothing like what I experienced. The land accepted her as a Band-Aid in my absence but never truly let her into its heart like it did for me. The land was always grateful for my return, and I too pined for it when gone.

  “You know it’s better if I do it myself,” I told him. “And if I’m right around the corner, there’s no reason not to. I mean, you’re welcome to stay here if you want, I just thought ...”

  “... that if you were leaving, there’d be no reason I’d want to stay?” he suggested.

  I shrugged. That was exactly what I’d been thinking, and I now felt a little embarrassed at my presumption. For all I knew, Dorian just liked the change of scenery. I’d given him no reason to want to spend extra time with me.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, hitting the rabbit’s tail. “Perhaps I should return home. It’ll be harvest time soon.”

  That brought a smile to my face. “It’s always harvest time.” One of the perks of the Oak Land’s perpetual autumn was that trees and plants that normally only bore fruit late in the year were always producing. I’d seen servants pick all the apples from the trees surrounding his castle, only to find those same trees heavy with fruit again in a couple of days.

  “Yes, yes, but my people fall apart without me. You’d think they would’ve learned to manage after all this time, but it’s still quite dreadful.” He finally lowered his bow and glanced at me. “You want to take a shot?”

  I shook my head. “That bow’s too big for me. Besides, I don’t really get off on shooting animals—even fake ones.”

  “That’s preposterous. You eat them, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but there’s a difference between killing them for survival and killing them for sport. I know, I know,” I added, seeing him start to protest. “These aren’t real, but the resemblance is close enough that when I look at them, it’s still like taking joy in real animals’ deaths.”

  Dorian looked over to where one of his personal guards stood ready and alert. “Alik, would you remedy this situation? Use the stag, please.”

  Alik bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He strode over to the pink stag and, to my complete astonishment, began hacking away at the stag’s neck with his sword. It had the effectiveness of an ax, making me think there must be some magic afoot. That’d be a difficult task with a regular sword, let alone the copper kind favored by the gentry. When Alik completed his work, we were left with a decapitated wooden pink stag.

  “There we go,” said Dorian, pleased. “It hardly looks real now. Is that better?”

  “I don’t really know how to answer that,” I replied.

  Dorian beckoned me over. “Come, I’ll help you draw the bow. It’s a noble weapon that any good queen should know how to use, regardless of intent.”

  To my own surprise, I complied, letting him guide my hands to hold the bow in proper position. I’d practiced with smaller bows around here—it was unavoidable in the Otherworld—but nothing resembling this beast. Dorian stood behind me, one hand on my hip and the other on my arm to keep me in the right position.

  “Muran,” he said. “Prop our headless deer friend against that maple, will you? Then keep an eye on it from over there to make sure it stays upright.”

  If Muran ever had any fears about his master’s regard for him, they were wasted. As I’d suspected before, Dorian’s skill was such that his “close calls” with Muran had never truly been any threat. But me and my lack of expertise? We were a different matter—and a dangerous one that could result in Muran actually losing a limb if he held the target again. Dorian was now ensuring his servant stayed out of harm’s way.

  With Dorian’s guidance, I drew back the bow. No, not guidance, exactly.
Dorian was actually doing a lot of the work. This would have been a tough draw for me under the best of times, and my recent reduction in physical activity had only made me weaker. I let the arrow go, and it hit the ground before even getting close to the target. My second shot didn’t do much better. By the third, my arm felt like it was ready to fall off, and I was just getting frustrated.

  “Patience, my sweet,” Dorian told me. “This is just something that takes practice.”

  “All the practice in the world won’t help,” I grumbled, feeling petulant. “Not so long as I’m incapacitated.”

  Dorian snorted. “You? Hardly. Now, that deer, yes, he’s incapacitated. But I recall seeing you dispatch some wraiths a couple weeks ago. Anyone who witnessed that, including those miserable creatures, would hardly say you were incapacitated.”

  “I was kind of badass,” I admitted, lowering the bow. “I just don’t have much patience for this ... state I’m in.” Apparently, “state” would continue to be the best way to describe my pregnancy.

  “That ‘state’ will be over before you know it.” Dorian took the bow from me and passed it off to a servant. “And until then, you’re much more capable of things than you give yourself credit for. Once your little world-conquering bundles of joy are born, we’ll train you up to be the best bow-woman in this world.”

  His bravado made me smile again, and I felt a little silly for my whining. Hopefully, it was just more I could blame on hormones. Inspiration hit me, and I straightened up proudly. “I don’t need lessons. I’m already the best shot in this world. And in the others.”

  Dorian arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  I glanced over at my fallen arrows and summoned the air currents around them. The air was quick to obey me and lifted the arrows off the ground. One quick motion, and they shot off toward the stag like rockets, embedding themselves in what would have been the poor creature’s heart.

  “Magnificent,” laughed Dorian, clapping his hands. “You really are a natural.”

  I returned his grin, delighted with my triumph and with ... well, this. This small moment out in the sunny spring day. This small moment ... with him. I met his eyes, momentarily caught up in the shades of green that played throughout them, rivaling the leaves that gently rustled around us.

  “Eugenie?”

  Whatever else might have passed in that moment was lost as I turned and saw Roland Markham approaching with a group of Rowan soldiers. Dorian was forgotten as I hurried over and hugged my stepfather.

  “Your Majesty,” said one of the soldiers. “Roland Storm Slayer is here.”

  “So I see,” I said. If there was anyone the gentry regarded with as much awe as the mother of Storm King’s heir, it was Roland. He had rescued my mother when she’d been abducted to the Otherworld. Later, when Storm King came seeking her and me, Roland had finally put an end to my biological father once and for all. Killing the Otherworld’s most powerful, notorious warlord in recent history earned a lot of respect—and wariness. Roland was oblivious to it all, however. In truth, he disliked coming to the Otherworld and had vowed never to return after rescuing my mother. It was only because of me and the dangers I now faced crossing worlds that he had consented to come back. He was incredibly uneasy each time he did, though, and his own nerves distracted him too much to see the nervousness in others here.

  “You look good,” Roland said, giving me a head-to-toe assessment. He would never let on to it in front of everyone else, but I knew he was checking me for scrapes and bruises the same as he would if I was ten years old. Whenever he was in the Otherworld, he also had a tendency to ignore everyone else and only talk to me.

  “So do you,” I said. Roland had gone gray but was still lean and muscled, ready for anything that came his way. Tattoos of whorls and fishes adorned his arms, and I took comfort in their familiarity.

  “Your, uh, creature said you wanted to talk to me?”

  “I do.” Glancing around, I saw that between my soldiers, Dorian’s guards, and Roland’s escort, we’d gathered quite a crowd. Dorian followed my gaze and guessed my thoughts.

  “Perhaps we should go inside where we can speak more privately,” he said, automatically inviting himself along. A glint of surprise flashed in Roland’s eyes, but there was no real reason Dorian couldn’t hear what was being discussed.

  “I went to your other place first,” Roland told me as we walked toward the castle. “The guards there explained where you were at and brought me here.” I couldn’t help a smile at his use of “your other place.” The idea of me being a queen was still unsettling for Roland, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to say “your kingdom.”

  “Then you’re fortunate,” said Dorian. “This is a much more pleasant land to meet in than that desert wasteland Eugenie usually prefers to spend her time in.”

  Roland glanced around, taking in the lush greenery, warm breezes, and singing birds. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think I like the other one better. This one’s kind of boring.”

  “Typical,” scoffed Dorian. “Like father, like daughter.”

  Roland wouldn’t admit as much in mixed company, but I knew the comment pleased him. If things hadn’t turned out as they had with my Otherworldly involvement, Roland would’ve been content to ignore my biological heritage for the rest of my life. Blood and the Storm King prophecy meant nothing to him. I had been Roland’s daughter for years, and as far as he was concerned, that’s how it still was.

  The three of us sat down in a small parlor that still bore the signs of its previous owner’s taste in decorating, mainly a lot of doilies and paisley prints. Being “trapped” indoors made Roland uneasy, and he shifted uncomfortably, literally on the edge of his lion-footed velvet chair. Quickly, I explained to him what had happened in Ohio. As he listened, his face grew darker, and all his discomfort at being behind gentry walls faded as his concern shifted to me.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “I’d had such a good feeling about that one too. How did they find it? There’s no way they can have spies in every part of our world.”

  “They’re pretty good at having spies everywhere in this world,” I pointed out. “We know they regularly watch the borders of my kingdoms—and Dorian’s—to track my movements. I’m just usually too well guarded for them to do anything. My guess is someone tracked me to the gate that led to Hudson, and from there, they just staked the town out until they figured out my patterns.” It still irked me that pulling that off was something Mainwenn and Kiyo’s spies would’ve had to have done over a long period of time—and I’d never noticed.

  “So we need to find another doctor,” said Roland. I could already see the wheels spinning in his head as he assessed various locations and what he knew of their Otherworldly connections.

  “Well, that’s up for debate,” interjected Dorian. “These human doctors keep telling her she’s fine and healthy. Why does she need to keep seeing them then?”

  “To ensure she stays healthy,” said Roland evenly. “No offense, but I’m not leaving her in the hands of your medieval medicine.”

  “I doubt Eugenie appreciates the thought of any of us making decisions for her.” That almost made me scoff. Dorian was notorious for making “helpful” decisions on my behalf, so it was comical that he’d now take the high ground about my independence.

  “Enough,” I said. “Both of you. Dorian has a point—I have been getting healthy reports. But ... it’s hard for me to entirely let go of modern medicine.”

  “‘Modern’ indeed,” said Dorian dismissively.

  “Easy enough to talk healthy now,” said Roland. “But childbirth’s an entirely different matter. You’ll want our doctors then. You don’t know what can happen.”

  “Given birth to lots of children, have you?” asked Dorian.

  “What’s your infant mortality rate around here?” returned Roland. I saw Dorian flinch ever so slightly. Once they were adults, gentry were extremely healthy and hard to kill. Infants were another matter, and th
at—coupled with the difficulties gentry had conceiving—made having children in general pretty difficult.

  “It’s irrelevant if she gets herself killed with all this world crossing!” exclaimed Dorian in a rare show of frustration. “If she stays put here and doesn’t venture out of her lands, she’ll be safe.”

  I could see Roland starting to get almost as worked up as Dorian. “Putting aside the medical part for a moment, she’s hardly safe with her enemies right on her doorstep. Even if she is in her own ‘lands,’ how long do you think those bastards will leave her alone once they realize she’s holing up here?” The “right on her doorstep” part reminded me of Ilania’s invitation to the Yew Land and arguments about how I’d be safer once I wasn’t actually sharing borders with Maiwenn. I had no intention of accepting that invitation, but Roland’s words still drove home the same truth. Staying here might not be wise either.

  I expected Dorian to come back with one of his stinging remarks and escalate things further with Roland. It was simply Dorian’s nature, plus this was an issue he felt passionately about. I was about to silence them both when Dorian took a deep breath and said, “Look, I don’t want to pick a fight with you. I respect you too much, and at the heart of this, our goals are the same. We both just want her safe.”

  Roland’s blue eyes narrowed as he sized Dorian up. I caught my breath, wondering what Roland’s response would be. Agreeing with a gentry was not his normal operating procedure.

  “Agreed,” Roland said at last. “We do want the same thing. Arguing methods is counterproductive.”

  I exhaled and stared at both men in astonishment. Contrary Dorian and stubborn Roland ... in agreement? If not for the fact that threats on my life were the source of their accord, I would’ve reveled in this as a landmark moment of gentry and human peace. Unsurprisingly, this tranquil interlude couldn’t last. Guards burst into the room, with Pagiel right beside them. It was almost a repeat of last week at Dorian’s, and I half expected Ysabel to be in tow, ready with some new bitchy comment. Pagiel’s expression told me, however, that something much direr was at stake.