The Destiny Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Christine Grey

  To Dearra he said, “Maybe it will please you to hear that I have decided you and Darius will die together. There are some who believed the nonsense he spouted about my daughter and the foreigner, Jacob. If Lord Tigre believes Darius, it could cause me trouble. Not that Lord Tigre cares one whit for his son, but he might be tempted to use any excuse he can come up with to challenge my authority. I need the other houses by my side if I am to unify all the Breken.”

  Dearra’s heart felt as if it were ripped from her chest. Darius was going to die. Then again, maybe death would be preferable. More and more it seemed as if life with the Breken was no life at all.

  Falco was right in one thing, by killing her, he would assure Lord Hugh’s speedy and decisive quest for revenge. They only thing that might cause him to hesitate was— “Wait! My brother, Phillip! What about Phillip?”

  “Your brother is gone, Dearra, along with my daughter. I can only assume the brats are together. I would have released him, anyway. The sword needs you dead to accept me, and I need you dead to start my war. Your father would never leave here while his son remained.

  “This is best for all, don’t you think?”

  “We will not be defeated easily, Falco. If you do this, it will cost you.”

  “You may not be defeated easily, but you will be defeated. And as for the cost? The reward I will reap will far outweigh the expenditures. A good thinning of the herd from time to time always makes for stronger stock, besides.”

  Dearra watched mutely as Falco turned and swept through the door. The darkness settled over her once again, the cold laughter form the Breken Lord echoing indifferently off the stone walls and hitting her like an arrow, straight through her heart.

  An inky blackness enveloped her, magnifying her thoughts. Falco had planned everything so well. Her father would be sure to seek revenge for her death, she did not doubt that for one instant. Given the circumstance, Hugh would not rest until Falco was dead, or until he was, himself.

  Alone with her thoughts, her mind drifted back through the years. Life on Maj had not always been easy, but Dearra wouldn’t have traded an instant of it. No matter how this ended, at least she knew she was loved. She recognized, now, that not everyone could make such a claim. No matter how reckless, or wild she had been—and she most assuredly had been reckless and wild—her father had never wavered in his devotion to her.

  Dearra remembered the summer of her tenth year. The roiling purple clouds should have been enough to give her pause, but all she could think about was her own impetuous desire to gather shells before the rough seas had wiped the beach clean. She’d had her heart set on making a necklace for Carly, and she wanted to complete it as soon as possible. With Dearra, everything always had to be done now, always immediately. Her father had asked her to help with the shutters and move things inside the safe walls of the keep, but she’d figured one small pair of hands would not be missed.

  She had been in such a rush to get the job done, it never occurred to her to let anyone know where she was going. She hadn’t planned to be away more than an hour, certainly no more than two at the outside. She felt sure they’d never notice her absence. When she was done, she could spend the hours cooped up inside, waiting out the storm, working on Carly’s surprise.

  In order to get there and back quickly, she needed to take a bit of a shortcut. The winding path that led down to that particular stretch of beach would take forever to traverse, but there were plenty of handholds to allow her to climb down the rocky slope. She had brought with her a sack in which to stow her treasures, and to make the climb back up easier. It was a perfect plan; what could possibly go wrong?

  She’d swung one leg over the edge and stretched out a booted foot until she’d found a narrow ledge to stand upon. Her fingers twisted in the plants that grew stubbornly in the fissures of the stone face. She’d moved more quickly than was wise, but except for a moment when the stone gave way beneath her weight and she’d slid several inches, she had no trouble negotiating her way to the beach below.

  Dearra had looked out to the sea as the wind whipped the hair from her face. She loved the smell and feel of the ocean. There was something primal and untamed about it. The briny tang was on her tongue and in her nose. The gales had grown stronger, even in the few minutes she’d taken to stare at the sea. Knowing she’d soon be out of time, she’d dropped to her knees and gathered the spiral shells she had come for. They were thick on the sand, as there were few people to disturb them in this remote spot. Though the tides took some away and deposited others, many were anchored enough by the sand that they were not brushed away. She had no doubt that this storm would greatly diminish the supply, and she was less discerning as a result. She scooped handfuls into her course bag before hastily tying it off and securing it at her waist.

  A brilliant bloom of lightning momentarily blinded her; the boom of thunder echoed around her. The light faded again and she blinked rapidly to adjust her eyes against the gathering gloom. Her feet became soaked as the waves crashed onto the sand, raced inland, snaking around her ankles, and then retreated once more.

  Dearra had looked up the steep cliff wall before her, and her heart had thrummed in her ears. It looked a lot more imposing than it had on her way down. Eerie shadows were cast as lightning danced overhead, pulling her senses taught. She sucked in a deep breath, held it briefly to steady herself, and then twined her fingers into the roots that clung to the stone wall before her.

  Inch by inch, she steadily worked her way to the ledge above. By that time, the winds had increased to a steady gale, and she could feel her slight body being pulled and pushed from all sides. It was as if the storm had deliberately sought to pluck her from her unstable perch and cast her to the beach below. She had continued to work her way cautiously upward until the rain arrived in blinding sheets, soaking her from head to toe.

  She could no longer see how far she had come or how far she had yet to go. More than once she’d considered making her way back down in order to take a safer path, but she’d finally decided she was probably better off to just keep going.

  At last, her hand reached up and she felt the flat ground that indicated she had reached the top. Only a few more feet to go before she would be safe. She had used her foot to feel for the small ledge she was sure was there. She had dug her fingers into the saturated ground, but after a shallow deposit of dirt, there was nothing left but stone, and try as she might, she couldn’t get a handhold to pull herself up. Instead, she had stretched her leg as far as she could searching desperately for anywhere solid to place her foot.

  The wind let forth a frightening roar, unlike anything she had ever heard before. Dearra continued to claw frantically at the ground, shredding her fingernails painfully, and she’d felt herself begin to slip. Then, a large hand had wrapped around her wrist and she felt herself being dragged upward. Her face scraped against the stone when she’d cleared the edge, and then she found herself crushed against her father’s chest in a trembling embrace.

  When he’d loosened his grip, he took her by the shoulders and shook her none too gently. “What in Cyrus’s name were you thinking?” he shouted. “You scared me half to death! If I hadn’t gotten here in time…”

  “I know, Father. I am so, so sorry. I…I wanted to get some shells. I thought I could make it easily. I’ve climbed down there at least a hundred times before.”

  “Not in the dark. Not in a storm! How many times do I have to tell you to think before you act?

  “You never listen.

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Well? Are you?”

  “No, Father,” Dearra whispered.

  “What? I can’t hear you!”

  “No, sir,” Dearra said louder than before in an effort to make herself heard over the wind and thunder, even though she was pretty sure he had heard her just fine the first time.

  Hugh hugged her tightly again and stroked the top of her rain-soaked head. “It’s okay, Dearra,” he said. “You’re sa
fe, now. I was so scared. If I hadn’t had that dream—”

  “Dream?”

  “Yes. It was the strangest thing. We had everything pretty much buttoned down for the storm, and I just sat down for a moment, but I must have nodded off. I remember a voice, but not much else. It was yelling at me to save you. I could see the beach and the cliff and I knew the place right away.

  “That voice was so insistent!

  “I woke up as if someone had kicked me. I knew it was just a dream, but I went looking for you anyway. When I couldn’t find you, I hurried from the keep. I felt a little foolish at first, but the closer I got to the cliff, the more my steps hurried. I might not have seen you at all, but when the wind made that strange sound, it drew my attention, and I saw the white flash of your hand in the light of the storm. If I had been a moment later—”

  The memory dimmed and Dearra was returned to the stone cell. She hadn’t thought of that incident in such a long time. She wished her father was with her now. She would give anything to see him once more, but she was afraid there was no way he could save her this time.

  Chapter 50

  It seemed like all of Darak was there, slave and master alike. Darius and Dearra stood on a hastily constructed platform while Lord Falco sat regally upon a chair of carved ebony on a finely appointed dais. Mili sat on his right. She looked magnificent, though not as haughty as she had once been. The marriage she had been forced to endure had brought her shame, and until she could think of a way to regain her standing, she would be at a disadvantage.

  Jacob sat on Falco’s left, wearing the petulant scowl of a child denied his toy. Falco cared nothing for either of them. Unless Mili conceived an heir, and quickly at that, he would dispose of them both and seek a new wife. He was still young enough to sire many sons, it just hadn’t seemed that urgent a task until lately. He didn’t want to risk losing what he had built to one of the other houses should he die without an heir, but at the same time, having sons could be dangerous, too, as sometimes the mothers became impatient waiting for their children to inherit.

  Lord Falco was enjoying the prestige of the event. Darak loved a spectacle, and he was giving them one. The Etrafarians had attended, taking advantage of the gathering to hold their sale to the captive audience, probably planning to conduct their business, and go. That was just fine with Falco. It would only serve to add to the already heightened mood of the crowd.

  The Etrafarians were an unusual lot. They bred and raised horses for the Breken because they needed to make their way in the world, but they always seemed to view the Breken with distaste. The fairies sold them the biggest and strongest of the horses, which was exactly what the Breken desired, but whenever there was a truly exceptional animal that showed remarkable intelligence and heart, well, then the fairies could not be bargained with. No matter how much gold was offered, they just flat out refused to sell. It was galling. Today, at least, they had been reasonable.

  Falco approached Aesri, hoping to buy four of her strongest animals. She questioned him, as she always did, as to why the horses were wanted, and he saw no reason to lie. After all, why should she care anything about a couple of strangers?

  He told her flat out that he intended to use them in the spectacle that day in order to rip the traitor, Darius, and the foreigner, Dearra, limb from limb. After that they would be added to his stables for use by himself or by his guard, as needed.

  The tiny woman had cocked her head slightly to the side as if considering, but then she smiled and agreed to the deal, accepting the heavy pouch Falco offered her as payment, slipping it into a silk bag at her waist. The cost of the animals had been grossly inflated, but Falco really didn’t care; it would all be worth it. This show of strength was precisely what he needed. He had spoken with the Lords Tigre and Tempestas about his plan for Mirin Tor, and to his delight, they had agreed almost immediately. Falco had been mildly concerned there would be a bit of trouble with Tigre as it was his son that would be sacrificed, but Tigre accepted the news with a casual shrug, showing no more interest in the boy’s fate than he would to a bug, squashed beneath his boot.

  Everything was going as planned, if not better, and Falco’s name would live on forever as a result.

  The crowd moved as a single, living organism as it surged and pressed in on itself for a better look at the two prisoners on the platform. The neighing and nickering of the horses served to add to the sound of the crowd. The louder the crowd got, the more excited the horses, which made those assembled increase their own volume still more.

  Falco brought the horses forward, ropes running from the harnesses they wore to the limbs of the doomed pair forming a web of crisscrossed lines in the space between them and the horses. As a final touch, Dearra’s leg and arm were bound fast to Darius’s opposite limbs, so that their final embrace would condemned them to destroy each other.

  Darius reached a hand up to stroke Dearra’s jaw where it had been blackened by the Breken guard. “I’m so sorry,” he choked, while the crowd continued to hiss and boo at his display of affection.

  “Darius, you’re not seriously upset about a bruise?” Dearra asked. “I mean, under the circumstances, a bruised jaw is the least of our worries. Now, if my hair was a mess, then, maybe…”

  Darius was incredulous. “You’re going to joke? Now? You are maddening, woman. Have you no sense of self-preservation at all? You are going to die!” How could she be so flippant at a time like this?

  “We’re all going to die, Darius,” Dearra said quietly, “but I don’t think it will be today.”

  Darius stared at her numbly. Had she seriously just winked at him?

  It was then, over her shoulder, that he saw something. It was a very, very large wolf. It was a different color than he’d remembered, but there was no doubt who it was. Had the crowds not parted to make way for the animal, it’s likely Darius wouldn’t have noticed the man standing beside it at all, but once he saw him, he recognized him by the way he moved. Though he was dressed like a simple desert tribesman, the man moved with the gait of a practiced warrior. He glanced at Darius, and for just an instant, the sun allowed Darius to see beneath the cowl he wore, and he locked eyes with Hugh.

  The moment of recognition lasted less than a second, and then the man and the wolf melted into the milling crowd. Now that he knew Reo was near, he became attuned to his old friend once more and sensed the animal’s agitation and excitement. Had he been paying closer attention, Darius would have most probably heard Reo sooner, but he’d blocked out much of the background hum caused by having so many animals crowded into such a small area.

  “You see them, right?” Dearra whispered.

  “Hugh and Reo. Yes, I see them, but what can they do to help us?”

  “William’s here, too. And Aesri.” Dearra shifted as though trying to adjust the rope at her wrist elbowing Darius sharply as she did. “Stop looking around like your head’s on a swivel. You’ll give them away!” she growled under her breath.

  Darius stilled. How could he be so stupid? He knew better than that. They were here! Dearra could live! Bless those dear fairies! Bless Hugh and William! If they got out of this, Darius thought he would have to seriously look into the Etrafarian god, Rah. Maybe there was something to him after all.

  Dearra sighed. “Who would have thought I would be the one telling you to calm down?” she chided. “Be ready to—”

  She got no further. Lord Falco stood at that point and raised his hands to get the attention of the assembled masses. “First,” he said, “let me say thank you to everyone who has come here today to offer your support. It gives me no pleasure to have to take a step as drastic as this.”

  The lie was ignored. The Breken people understood the showmanship involved. Lord Falco would tell them a story and they would listen and pretend to believe it. The very fabric of their society was spun from lies and deceit, it was all they knew.

  Falco continued: “After careful consideration and hours of agonized debate between
myself and the Lords of House Tigre and Tempestas, it has been decided that, for the honor of the Breken people, the traitor, Darius, must die.”

  The crowd’s interpretation of this statement was that the three of the top four ruling houses had together decided there was no gain to be had in keeping the boy alive, and they clapped and stomped their approval. House Vipera was still absent from all mention, but that was as it always had been and caused no concern. Lord Vipera was probably consulted, or at least notified, about what was to take place.

  “As for the Maj witch…” Lord Falco lowered his head and shook it slowly back and forth. He placed a weary hand to his brow, as if the burden before him was one he would rather not carry. “It goes without saying she should die for her atrocious crimes, but is that enough?”

  Enough? What else was there?

  “She is one of many. The threat to our people is real. Do not doubt that they thirst for our blood. You see the way Darius was corrupted, even after witnessing the death of his kinsmen at the hands of the Maj, our poor brothers who sought only peaceful trade with the Mirin Tor! They risked their journey only to be slaughtered for their noble efforts!”

  No one thought for a minute that the Breken had been to Mirin Tor on a trading mission, but Falco was right, the raiding party had come back with many fewer than it had set out with. Even allowing for the inevitable treachery amongst the crew and the few expected accidents that were bound to occur, there had been losses. The Mirin Tor, and most especially her Maj protectors, were a dangerous foe.

  “Can we continue to allow them to live in peace and prosperity, while we have so little here?” Falco had their attention now. Words like prosperity were like oil on the flames of the Breken heart. If he spoke to their avarice, he would soon have them in the palm of his hand.

  The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Smiles lit some of their faces as realization dawned that Lord Falco had a plan, and Lord Falco never planned anything that wouldn’t bring a profit.