by Anne Wheeler
Copyright © 2021 Catherine Wheeler
www.anne-wheeler.com
* * *
Covert art
Copyright © 2021 Megan McCullough
www.meganmccullough.com
* * *
Map design
Copyright © 2021 Dafydd Wyn Richards
www.instagram.com/arcane_atlas
* * *
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
* * *
ISBN: 978-1-951-910-18-1 [paperback]
ISBN: 978-1-951910-17-4 [ebook]
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Anne Wheeler
Prologue
Laurent
Meirdre had endured war before, but Laurent was too young to know it. So too had been his father and grandfather. The stories of battles and bodies and sobbing women? They haunted him, yes, but that was all they were to him—stories from decades upon decades ago, before he had so much as existed.
Yes, wars were bedtime tales like the ones his nurse had tried to frighten him with as soon as she’d deemed him an appropriate age to hear. Or fiction, like the myths of dragons roaming his kingdom, long before such accounts were written. Legend had it, at least among his ancestors, that the enchanted map in the ballroom of Lochfeld Castle had been created in a desperate attempt to protect Meirdre from the winged beasts which had once turned the countryside to ashes every few years. That wasn’t true—the timeline didn’t even make sense—but no one could blame the royal family for coming up with such a story. Even magic could be turned into something mundane when ignored for so many years, and Riette was the first Meirdrean crownkeeper in a long while.
And now, as he’d told her last night, the dragons were coming again. Flesh and bone humans they might be, but did that matter in the end? The Kingdom of Vassian could do as much damage as a pair of dragons. Maybe more, for even dragons satiated themselves eventually, a constraint to which the Vassian king—Damir—didn’t seem willing to subject himself.
Laurent glanced behind him, at the soldiers breaking camp in the meadow outside Lochfeld. They weren’t ready for all-out war, having spent his entire reign patrolling the kingdom, running off pirates, protecting the borders. Dew lingered on the grass as the soldiers prowled about, and his fingers cramped in the chill as he fastened his scabbard around his belt and slid his sword inside. He’d spent the night here on the hard ground with the soldiers who would ride off to the Vassian border, loyal to their own deaths.
Well, most of the night.
The scent of Riette’s rose perfume clung to his shirt, and he hadn’t the heart to exchange it for a clean one. No one said anything within ear shot about the king wearing a dirty shirt that smelled of his wife, though had Willem been here, he’d have subjected him to a good-natured jibe—but naturally, if Willem had been here, there’d be no cause to ride to war. Not as much cause, at least.
The camp grew louder as he wandered to the edge and stared south, past the castle. Laurent wanted to draw the sword and practice, but that might show fear, anxiety, apprehension—and that, he would never do. Not even when his soldiers were preoccupied with wagons and stallions and muskets and tents.
He went through a few motions in his head, deliberately not looking up toward the windows of the sprawling fortress in front of him. Riette would be watching, and if he saw her, he might lose his nerve, run back inside the castle, sweep her into his arms, carry her back to his bed . . .
No. He’d never abandon his duty to Meirdre and Riette herself, even if his very soul cried out for her and whatever magic she’d bewitched him with. When—if—he came home, he’d do that. But if he thought about that now, he would keep thinking of her instead of keeping his mind on strategy, and he would not betray his duty.
Someone hollered behind him, and he turned to see one of the captains hurrying toward him, Foxfire’s reins in his hand. The stallion was fairly glistening with the shine of a recent brushing—that was Riette’s doing as well—but he was nervous, that much was clear in his sidestep and the way he tossed his head upon seeing his master.
Skidding to a halt, the captain said, “They’re ready, Your Majesty.” He gave a brief bow, but it was difficult to tell if he or the horse was more anxious. “Waiting on your word.”
Laurent nodded. “Cadaval, is it?”
“Yes, sire. Third Company. Out of Brannitz.”
Their route to the Vassian border would take them straight through there—for a night only. “Going home, then.”
“Passing through, sire, yes.” Firefox reared, and Cadaval gripped the reins harder, then lifted them in an offering—or perhaps a plea. The stallion had that effect on people. “He wants to run.”
Foxfire always did. Laurent patted him on the flank, then turned back to Cadaval.
“I need someone at my side,” he said. “But I will not order it of you.”
Not after what happened before.
Cadaval lowered his head. “I would be honored, sire.”
“So quickly you agree.” His brows rose. Impetuousness from a senior leader would not serve him well. “You’re not aware of what happened to your predecessor, then?”
Laurent still had nightmares about Willem’s headless body lying in front of the throne inside Lochfeld. The blood, the violation of someone not only entering the castle, but taking his most trusted guard’s life. Did a man ever forget something like that? He wasn’t sure he could. Or should.
Cadaval’s stance grew straighter and, if possible, more sober. “I am.”
Laurent focused on the ground, as if it could suggest a suitable reply for him.
“Well.” Shouldn’t ordering a loyal man to almost certain death make him feel something more? Instead, he only wanted everything over with, however it was to end. Like Foxfire, he was suddenly ready to be underway. “Then let’s be off, shall we? Inform the men.”
Cadaval saluted him before departing. The gesture made Laurent strangely uncomfortable after his more informal relationship with Willem, but the captain would learn what it meant to serve him—if he survived long enough.
“Sire!”
Laurent twisted around at Father Gerritt’s voice and forced a half-smile. He’d spent the morning avoiding the priest and his bottle of oil, convinced of the futility of its meaning. Besides, didn’t accepting last rites, as many of the soldiers had, imply certain defeat? He wasn’t an optimist, especially now, but there was certainty, and then there was certainty.
“You found me at last, Father.” He raised his arms to his sides in surrender. “Congratulations.”
“So I did.” Gerritt’s lips twisted in amusement. “Much as you’ve been attempting to dodge me all morning.”
“I’ve been busy. So much to do. You know that.” The reply was too short, and his shoulders sagged. Gerritt wasn’t someone he could brush off—ever. “But I am glad to see you before we leave.”
“As am I—and never fear, I won’t subject you to any long lecture
s about war and death and life.”
Laurent burst into laughter, something he’d only ever done among a handful of men. Still, it must be anxiety now. Who laughed before riding off for war?
“No? Then I am curious about what’s so important for you to spend hours tracking me down, Father.”
“Riette.”
“Ah.” Her very name pierced his heart. “Riette. How is she?”
“Holding up. She knows her duty, and she’ll fulfill it if it’s the last thing she does.”
“Good,” Laurent breathed out. He wanted happiness for her, but duty would have to do for now. “Good.”
“But what she doesn’t know,” Gerritt went on casually, “and what I suspect you’re not aware of either, is that more magic than the map enchants Meirdre. All related, of course.”
Laurent glanced to the side, at the soldiers and horses surrounding them, certain he’d misheard given the din of a departing military camp. He’d had wine last night, yes, but . . . more magic?
“I’m—I’m sorry?” Confusion laced his words. “I don’t understand.”
Gerritt folded his arms and smiled, smug as always. “Because you rarely accept my offers to explore Lochfeld’s library, sire.”
Irritation swelled over the confusion. “Yes, yes. I neglected my education, but it’s a bit late to be lecturing me about that now. Speak and speak quickly.”
So Gerritt did, and Laurent listened. And when the priest was done, Laurent let him apply the oil before saying goodbye, even though it seemed more meaningless now than before. Heaving himself up upon Foxfire, he dug in his heels and focused on the trail in front of him, ignoring how Lochfeld was fading in the distance behind him, Riette along with it.
The future of Meirdre was in his hands now.
The future of Lochfeld?
In Riette’s.
On second thought, he realized, as the trail descended the cliff and Foxfire’s stride grew more intentional . . .
Maybe Riette would save both.
Chapter One
Hooves thundered as I stared out the window. There was no dust, thanks to last night’s rain, only a field of mud where short, spring grass had grown only ten days before. It would harden soon enough—that much I knew from the sun that warmed my face and mocked the chill in the rest of my body. Laurent was gone, and heavens, but I wanted his arms around me still.
Bottles rattled behind me. Sara was arranging the things on top of my chest, not-so-surreptitiously waiting for me to choose a gown for the day. I needed to, since the map was waiting, but pretty fabric seemed frivolous. As frivolous as I’d thought it when I had first come to Lochfeld.
Then again, I realized, as I shook off the memory of Laurent’s arms, Lochfeld was mine to care for now, and that meant acting the part. Servants and soldiers who prowled the corridors—they needed that from me as well, didn’t they? I truly had no idea. I was wholly unprepared for this kind of responsibility.
A bottle crashed to the floor, and I turned.
“I’m so sorry, Your Grace.” Sara knelt to gather the shards, but I waved her off.
“Leave it.” I sighed and picked at the skirt of my nightclothes. “You’re right—I need to get dressed.”
Sara sprang to her feet all too willingly and yanked a deep blue gown from my wardrobe. Feigning interest and marveling at how she could pretend today was just another day, I raised my arms over my head and allowed her to dress me. Maybe pretending was the only thing that kept her sane. If that was the case, I could do it as well.
I kept pretending as I wandered downstairs toward the ballroom, footsteps of strangers behind me. The royal guard had always been uninvolved in my security by my request. But Laurent had ordered both them and the soldiers to keep a close watch on me after he departed, and so far, they’d listened. That would have to change—it was already suffocating—but for now I’d pretend that didn’t bother me, either.
Shadows crumpled in the corners as a servant lit the oil lamps behind me. Light didn’t matter since I could read the map in pitch blackness, but I suspected they thought I was addled enough as it was, so I didn’t argue. The provisional mistress of Lochfeld couldn’t be seen sitting alone in a dark room. That was how rumors began and reigns ended, however temporary both might be.
I sat by the narrow window, letting the sliver of light from outside try to warm me once more. Normally I practiced a waltz, a minuet, or even one of the Elternow folk dances I’d learned in childhood, but I’d already used up my desire for subterfuge in simply getting dressed.
Heavens, Laurent would be aghast by my moping if he could see me now.
Grumbling to myself, I stood and circled the map inlaid on the floor. Harnow, thankfully, was quiet. So too was Lochfeld, Elternow, and the Vassian border. That was something, at least. Though Laurent was confident of the tiny Meirdrean army’s ability to defend the kingdom, they were spread much too thin already. Would I be able to order the soldiers who remained at Lochfeld away if they became needed elsewhere? The woman who Laurent had trusted with his castle said yes. The terrified child in me said no.
Then again, as Lieutenant Julian Vahl cleared his throat behind me, I decided that war might be worth it if only to force him to leave Lochfeld for good. I pinned on a smile before greeting the one person who still seemed to doubt my innocence in this entire mess.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. Come to make certain I haven’t absconded with yet another traitor?”
Vahl folded his hands behind his back. “They sent me to fetch you. For a meeting.”
“They? A meeting?” My forehead creased.
He gestured out the door with his chin, and I followed beside him through hallways that were too quiet for late morning. Lochfeld was quiet on the best of the days, what with Laurent’s lack of a full court, but there was something about her sovereign being gone that gave an eerie ambience to the place that had finally become my home.
By the time Vahl ushered me into the war room, my mind was racing with possibilities. Part of my soul wondered if Laurent was inside, but that was foolish, and if I’d learned anything since he’d ridden off for the Vassian border earlier this morning, it was that fool hope was the last refuge of . . . well, fools. The Riette who’d left Elternow on that snowy winter’s night believed in such things. The Riette who stepped inside the octagonal chamber did not.
Every oil lamp was lit, casting sharp shadows on the center table and the tiny soldiers standing there. Most had been moved south, toward Vassian, leaving a single figure remaining on top of Lochfeld and a few others scattered toward the north. I wanted to rearrange them, to move several of the southern ones back up to where I stood, but I steadied myself and looked toward the highest-ranking man in the room, a captain in a pristine uniform like Vahl’s but with the tall boots of a cavalry officer.
“Yes?” I asked, leveling my shoulders and attempting to fake a modicum of authority. “Has something happened?”
Has something happened?
How naïve could I sound? Laurent had just left. Of course nothing had happened.
“No, Your Grace.” The captain bowed quickly, then meandered around the table toward me. “Tobias Erstad. I only wanted to introduce myself and fill you in on the plans for protecting Lochfeld.”
I took a breath. Laurent had said as much, and I’d been ready to fulfill the duties his departure had imposed upon me. But hearing it now, like this . . . that was a reminder that I wasn’t ready for.
Still, I nodded. “Which are?”
Erstad elaborated as he pointed at the map every so often and asked for clarification from one soldier or another in the room. I tried to keep up with his explanation, which I suspected he was simplifying for my benefit, but the only strategy I understood was leaving a cadre of soldiers here to patrol. I couldn’t argue against that, as much as I hated the castle being turned into a place of war.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I glanced at the thick stone wall next to me. Lochfeld had always been a pl
ace of war, splintered by slender arrows of peace. When would I learn? Never, it seemed.
“And Laur—the king?”
“It’s several weeks to the Illrus River.” Erstad pointed casually, not calling attention to my lack of geographical awareness. “Scouts are following behind, but I wouldn’t expect any kind of news for a long while.”
“So we are safe at Lochfeld.”
“For now,” he replied.
For now.
The stone walls seemed to cave in around me, and I sucked in a breath.
“And Lochfeld is . . .” What was that word he’d used? “Defensible? We are prepared for a long siege?”
Food, water, medicinal supplies—I ran through a list in my head. If Laurent hadn’t stored enough in the castle, I wasn’t sure what I would do. Taking more from the subjects around Lochfeld would be impossible.
“Without a doubt, Your Grace. It’s stood through worse than the Kingdom of Vassian can bring.”
Laurent hadn’t sounded so certain, and I knew Erstad was afraid I’d panic if he told me the truth. I nodded again, like I’d probably done throughout his entire update.
“All right, then.” I bit my lip. “And how long until—until we can expect something to happen here?”
He shrugged. “Weeks, certainly. If there’s anywhere you want to visit, anyone you need to see beforehand . . . you’d best do it soon. Even if you only want to explore the countryside.”
I pressed my lips together. Explore the countryside? Didn’t he know I couldn’t leave Lochfeld?
But Queen Silke had.
