by Jayne Castel
After Rina and Brand had left her alone, taking up positions outside the door, Lilia walked over to the table where her supper lay and took a seat. Sighing, she swiveled and glanced down at where her shadow stretched beneath her feet. “It’s unlike you to be silent,” she said after a few moments.
A soft laugh sounded. “You usually prefer it that way.”
“Not tonight.” Lilia picked up a piece of bread, toying with it. “I just wanted to thank you … you saved my life today.”
A hush followed her words for a moment or two before her shadow responded gently. “No, Lilia—I saved us both.”
Lilia picked at her supper and sipped a cup of watered-down wine before retiring for the night. Even though she’d slept most of the afternoon away, she still felt bone-weary.
She imagined she was still in shock from Saul’s attack. There had been moments in that room when she’d thought he would kill her. She was glad of her shadow’s company tonight, especially since she couldn’t speak with Dain or Ryana. She didn’t want to be alone; there was comfort in listening to another’s voice.
Stripping down to a thin linen tunic, she climbed under the covers and snuggled down, relaxing onto the hard straw pallet. She had meant to reach across and extinguish the lantern that burned on the table next to her pallet, but suddenly couldn’t summon the will to do so.
Exhaustion pulled her down into its waiting arms and moments later, she was sleeping deeply.
It was some time later when a draft of cold air feathered across Lilia’s face, waking her from a dream. She’d been back at The Grey Anchor, listening to Ryana sing of kings and queens past.
She woke slowly, emerging from the fog of sleep with difficulty, as if she were wading through a bog on a misty morning and could only see a hand-span before her.
The mist cleared and Lilia blinked, bringing her surroundings into focus.
She wasn’t alone in the room. A face was staring down at her—a young man with chubby cheeks and blond hair that flopped over one eye.
Brand.
Lilia stifled a gasp and opened her mouth to demand why he was in her room. Yet she found she could not form the words—it was as if a great boulder sat on her chest, pinning her to the pallet.
Watching her, Brand smiled. “Your shadow can’t save you this time.”
32
Ill News
“Lily … Lilia!”
The voice reached her from afar. She stood in the midst of a deep, dark wood and it seemed as though someone was standing on the edge of it shouting her name.
“Lily, can you hear me?”
Strong hands fastened around her shoulders and shook her gently. The darkness rolled back, and she was no longer standing surrounded by an oppressive wall of trees, but instead lying upon her back on a hard pallet, her limbs chilled, and her temples pounding.
Her eyes flickered open and she looked up into Dain’s face. Worry creased his brow, his dark-blue eyes clouded. She stared up at him a moment, confused, before memories of the night before flooded back.
She gasped and reached to her throat, fumbling for the necklace she had worn for months now.
It was gone. An aching sense of loss swamped her. Panic swept over her in a hot tide.
“Brand,” she choked out the name. “He took the stone.”
Her gaze returned to Dain, who was still watching her steadily. “I know,” he murmured.
It was then she realized they were not alone in the room. A cluster of enchanters stood behind Dain, their expressions grim. Asher and Irana were among them.
Dain, who was seated on the edge of the bed, turned to Asher. “Are you sure she’s well?”
The enchanter nodded. “He cast a sleep charm over her, a powerful one.” Asher’s attention shifted to Lilia. “You’ll feel strange for a bit that’s all.”
Lilia ran a hand over her face, trying to force down the grief at losing The King Breaker. She felt hollowed out, as if a stiff breeze could blow through her. She felt as if she’d woken up to find a limb amputated.
She met Asher’s eye. “I dreamed I was travelling through a great forest, and couldn’t find the way out.”
“Sleep charms create a world for the dreamer,” he replied. “You would have continued to sleep on for days if we hadn’t found you.”
Lilia sat up, and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea swamped her. “How long has it been?”
“A few hours.” Irana stepped forward. Her gaze was hard as it met Lilia’s, as if she blamed her personally for losing The King Breaker. “He killed Rina before gathering the Dark and sending it under your door to lift the bolt.”
Lilia’s throat closed. Another enchanter had died protecting her. Sweet, gentle Rina. The Order had lost a gifted healer.
“Why?” she gasped, her gaze travelling over the group of faces surrounding her. “I don’t understand.”
Asher stared back at her. As often, his expression was hard to read. Had he been close to Rina? Had he returned her feelings even a little?
“Neither do we,” Irana replied. The fury on the woman’s face made Lilia resist the urge to shrink back from her.
“Thrindul has taken out a group to search for him,” Asher spoke up once more. “But I fear they’re too late—he’ll already have a head-start on them.”
Lilia’s shoulders slumped at this news. She knew in her bones that The King Breaker was gone. She’d failed. Tears blurred her vision.
My shadow.
For months now, she had wished her shadow to go back to being inanimate. Yet its teasing and heckling had turned into the voice of reason. It had given her strength. Now she felt as if she’d just lost a friend.
The audience with Nathan, King of Rithmar, took place shortly after dawn.
As Asher had predicted, Thrindul and his party had returned, empty-handed. Brand had slipped from the city like a wraith. No one, not even the guards or the enchanters protecting the wall outside the lower town, had seen him leave. Now the High Enchanter had little choice but to go before the king and explain what had happened.
Although Lilia disliked Thrindul, she pitied him. She knew of the strained relations between the king and the Order of Light and Darkness. Nathan would be livid.
The King’s Hall was lofty and made of pale stone. High windows lined the space, letting in grey, watery light. Huge columns, as wide as ancient oaks held up a wide, domed ceiling.
Lilia glanced up at it, glimpsing delicately painted frescoes. She’d heard this hall had been constructed over two-thousand years earlier—that it had once been a temple where folk worshipped the old deities—the God of the Sky and his kin.
Lilia leaned against Dain’s arm as they walked. She’d felt weak and light-headed ever since waking, and oddly detached from her surroundings. They walked behind the knot of enchanters, bringing up the rear of the group. Neither of them had wanted to come to the audience, but Thrindul had insisted. He needed them to confirm his story; otherwise he risked the king calling him a liar.
Upon the high seat at the far end of the King’s Hall, a man resplendent in furs awaited the members of the Order of Light and Darkness. Either side, crowds of retainers silently watched the newcomers.
Nathan of Rithmar wasn’t what Lilia had expected.
She’d expected an older, stern man, but the one before her was young—no older than thirty-five winters. Beneath the plush cloak of snowy white ermine, leather encased his tall, muscular frame. The king had a strong face, a square jaw and heavy-lidded dark eyes. His brown hair was shaved close to his scalp, like a soldier’s. He sat upon a carved throne of creamy marble, veined with threads of delicate blue. It looked like a cold seat, as if it had been carved of ice rather than stone.
Next to him sat a woman wearing a high-necked blue satin gown. She was pretty, although her face had a sickly pallor and there were dark circles under her eyes. This must be Eldia, Queen of Rithmar.
“I’m not in the mood for this, Thrindul,” Nathan greeted t
he High Enchanter as he stopped at the base of the high seat and bowed low. “Whatever you have to say, make it short.”
It was a terse, unfriendly welcome, although the king’s tone was not aggressive, only weary. His face was drawn and tired.
“Forgive me, milord,” Thrindul replied, his gaze downcast. “I would not have intruded unless it was urgent.”
“Out with it then.”
Thrindul straightened up, and looked directly at the king.
A few long moments passed before he began to speak. The entire hall grew still as he told of how The King Breaker has been found, and all that had happened since. While Thrindul spoke, Lilia watched Nathan of Rithmar go rigid in his cold throne. Alarm flared in his eyes, yet he didn’t interrupt Thrindul. However, a nerve flickered in his jaw when he learned that Brand had run off with the stone.
When the High Enchanter finished speaking, his gaze dropping to the polished marble beneath his boots, a heavy silence hung in the hall for long moments.
The king leaned forward in his throne and raked a hand through his short hair. He stared at Thrindul. When he spoke, the king’s voice was soft, with a slight rasp, as if he was only barely keeping a leash on his temper.
“Twice you find pieces of The King Breaker—and twice you lose them. What excuse do you make this time?”
“I have none, milord.” Thrindul kept his head bowed as he spoke. Lilia hadn’t seen the High Enchanter like this—so subservient. “I take full responsibility for this. It is my mistake.”
“It’s too late for fawning, Thrindul. Your arrogance caused this. You’ve always seen yourself as above the laws governing this kingdom.” Nathan’s knuckles were white as he gripped the armrests of his throne. “You’re a lying, scheming dog!”
“I tell the truth, milord.” Thrindul turned to the other enchanters, motioning for them to stand aside. They did so, revealing Lilia and Dain standing at the back of the group. “Here’s the girl I spoke of, the one that bore the stone.” Thrindul’s gaze bored into her. “Tell the king.”
Lilia glared at the High Enchanter. She hated the way he commanded her like she was his lackey.
I have a name.
For a moment she remained silent, her jaw clenched.
“Does he?” the king asked eventually.
Lilia shifted her attention from the High Enchanter and met Nathan of Rithmar’s eye. Unlike Thrindul, he was making a request of her, not an order.
“Aye,” she replied. “All he told you was the truth … as I know it.”
The king’s attention swiveled back to Thrindul, his face hardening once more. “After the mess you made last time, I gave you an order. Do you remember what it was?”
Thrindul’s throat bobbed. “Yes, milord. To bring the second half of The King Breaker directly to you, should we ever find it.”
“But you didn’t—why?”
Thrindul’s shoulders rounded slightly and he dropped his gaze back to the floor before he answered. “I wanted to come to you with a solution—I wanted to give you a way to protect Rithmar from the ills that plague us.”
“But instead, history repeated itself. You’ve failed me, Thrindul. You’ve failed all of us.”
“I have,” Thrindul’s voice quavered slightly, “and I’m sorry. I will suffer any punishment you give me, milord.”
The king’s gaze glittered. “Don’t worry—you’ll pay in full for your mistakes, be sure of that. But for now, the only thing I want to hear is how you plan to fix this mess?”
Thrindul glanced up. “Milord, I—” He had just begun to reply when a bird flew in from one of the high windows above their heads.
All gazes fastened upon the white hawk as it dove toward them.
The High Enchanter stretched out his left arm, on which he wore a leather bracer, and let his familiar land there. All watched as Thrindul murmured something to the bird and, in response, it tilted back its head and let out a long screech.
The noise hurt Lilia’s ears, and she had to force herself not to flinch.
Thrindul turned back to the king. “Grim has brought word.” There was a tremble in his voice, betraying his nervousness. “He has tracked Brand. The enchanter rides a horse north, along the Great Road.”
King Nathan leaned back on his marble throne, his brow furrowing. “He’s heading for the Shadefell Mountains.”
“We don’t know that,” Thrindul replied quickly. “He could—”
“If both pieces of The King Breaker have been found he’ll be riding to the Shadefells—to the Ice Door.” Nathan’s voice boomed across the hall. “He’s going to try and free The Shadow King.”
Thrindul stared back at him, his gaunt face the color of milk, and wisely held his tongue.
King Nathan was silent for a few moments, and exchanged a bleak look with his wife, before shifting his attention once more to the group standing at the foot of the high seat.
“Is this man in league with The Brotherhood?” he asked finally.
“I don’t know,” Thrindul replied, his voice subdued. “He joined us eight years ago, and was the youngest enchanter ever to sit on the Order’s High Council.”
“And his background?”
“We know little. He was brought up in Errad, I believe.”
“You believe?”
“He was orphaned young,” Asher spoke up, coming to the High Enchanter’s rescue. “His mother worked in a brothel. He told me she died of the Grey Ravage when he was a lad, and that he never knew his father. He started displaying signs of the Dark when he was around twelve, and joined us just after his thirteenth winter.”
“We never suspected him,” Thrindul cut back in, bestowing Asher a look of irritation. “Brand was among the most devoted to our Order.”
Nathan shrugged, dismissing the High Enchanter’s excuses. “All the more reason to watch him closely. You’re a blind fool, Thrindul.”
The High Enchanter visibly winced at this but said nothing.
The king leaned further back in his throne, his youthful face drawn. “He won’t be working alone. If The Brotherhood aren’t already there waiting, they’re likely to be on their way. We have to stop Valgarth from being released.” His gaze snapped back to Thrindul, his mouth thinning. “My army will march north, tomorrow at dawn. Ready your enchanters to journey with us. We’ll need as many as you can spare.”
Thrindul nodded quickly, before bowing his head. “Of course, milord.”
Nathan ran a hand over his face and heaved a long, weary sigh. To Lilia he looked like a man who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. This news appeared to have hit him hard.
The king glanced up at the domed ceiling, high above, as if summoning his strength. When he spoke once more, his voice was bleak. “This is the last thing we need,” he rasped. “It couldn’t have come at a worse time. A goshawk brought word from the south this morning. Thûn has fallen.”
A cold wind had sprung up when they left the palace. The sky was the color of wood smoke and it seemed as if a shadow loomed across the city, dimming the brightness of the white stone buildings.
Lilia hugged her fur cloak tight about her to ward off the chill and followed her companions down The King’s Way, back to the House of Light and Darkness. Her dizziness was starting to fade, although she did not feel any better. Anxiety had lodged under her ribcage, a nagging presence that reminded her how grim the situation was.
With everything that had happened of late, she’d forgotten the war between Anthor and Thûn. It had been a shock to hear that Anthor had defeated its neighbor and in doing so had toppled the delicate balance of power that had existed for centuries. She didn’t blame Nathan for being nervous. Thûn and Rithmar shared a border. If Reoul of Anthor was looking to expand his territory further north—which he clearly was—it wouldn’t be long before he turned his attention to Rithmar.
Dain was silent as they walked back to the House, his expression introspective. Lilia imagined that, like her, he was wondering what all of
this meant. Serran was like a house of cards, poised to fall.
Not only that, but there was a real risk The Shadow King would be set free.
It was a mess.
Outside the House, Thrindul abruptly halted and swiveled round. He moved so fast that Grim was forced to flap his wings to keep his balance. Thrindul ignored Asher, Irana, and the others of the High Council who walked behind him, instead focusing on Lilia and Dain. His eyes were sharp flecks of obsidian.
“You two are no longer welcome here,” he growled. “I want you gone by dawn tomorrow—until then keep out of my sight.”
Without another word, the High Enchanter wheeled and stormed back inside the House of Light and Darkness.
33
Brave
“That’s it then,” Lilia muttered as she climbed the stairwell to the second floor. “Now I’m of no use, I’m to go.”
“I’m surprised Thrindul’s even letting us stay here until tomorrow,” Dain replied from behind her, sarcasm in his voice. “That’s good of him.”
“I can’t stand him,” Lilia snarled. “I don’t think he even called me by my given name once.”
“Don’t take it personally—he barely noticed my existence.”
They reached the top of the stairs and made their way to their rooms through a network of stark corridors. For the first time since their arrival here, there was no escort. Outside Dain’s chamber, Lilia turned to him.
“What are we going to do?”
He gave her a level look. “Go home?”
“We can’t do that—it’s too dangerous to travel without an escort.”
“Then we’ll stay in the capital for a bit.”
Lilia stared at him, exasperated. Why was he being so accepting of this huge mess? “We don’t have any gold,” she pointed out. “How will we live?”
“We’ll find work,” he replied, practical as ever, before giving her a wry smile. “Don’t look so worried—in many ways, this is a good thing. With your cooking skills and my fists, we’ll find work.”
