by Shae Ford
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
The Earl’s Fate
Chapter 1 - The Wrath of the King
Chapter 2 - Something Broken
Chapter 3 - Love Without Fear
Chapter 4 - Bad Luck or Piracy
Chapter 5 - A Whisper
Chapter 6 - The Red Wall
Chapter 7 - The Black Dragon
Chapter 8 - The Last Scales
Chapter 9 - Goodbyes
Chapter 10 - A Shield
Chapter 11 - The Merchant’s Daughter
Chapter 12 - New Thanehold
Chapter 13 - The Tales of a Halfcat
Chapter 14 - A Care for Words
Chapter 15 - Midlan’s Army
Chapter 16 - A Fiery Battle
Chapter 17 - Devin and the Dragon
Chapter 18 - A Different Ending
Chapter 19 - The Voice of the Mountains
Chapter 20 - Persuasion
Chapter 21 - Warmth and Silence
Chapter 22 - Witchcraft
Chapter 23 - Another Army
Chapter 24 - A Cage
Chapter 25 - Rua
Chapter 26 - Wee Mountain Mice
Chapter 27 - To the Gates of Midlan
Chapter 28 - A Horrible Dream
Chapter 29 - His-Rua
Chapter 30 - Shipwrecked
Chapter 31 - Lowlanders
Chapter 32 - Hollowfang
Chapter 33 - A Dragon’s Fury
Chapter 34 - A Woman’s Sorrow
Chapter 35 - Familiar Wounds
Chapter 36 - A Secret Story
Chapter 37 - The Valtas
Chapter 38 - The Last Rat
Chapter 39 - A Short-Lived Victory
Chapter 40 - Olivia
Chapter 41 - A Month in the Brig
Chapter 42 - A Mad Plan
Chapter 43 - The Hatching Grounds
Chapter 44 - A New Fire
Chapter 45 - Baird’s Cursed Letter
Chapter 46 - Meddling
Chapter 47 - The Battle Begins
Chapter 48 - Another Horizon
Chapter 49 - A Small Way
Chapter 50 - A Fight for the North
Chapter 51 - Heartbreak
Chapter 52 - A Mage’s Revenge
Chapter 53 - A Lesson Learned
Chapter 54 - A Strange Lot
Chapter 55 - The Edge of Villainy
Chapter 56 - Kael the Fool
Chapter 57 - The Eternal Woods
Chapter 58 - A New King
Chapter 59 - A Dose of Tonic
Chapter 60 - A Little Reminder
Acknowledgements
Appendix of Characters
Daybreak
Fate’s Forsaken Series: Book 4
Shae Ford
Copyright © 2015 Shae Ford
All rights reserved.
For Nana and Boompa; Mimama and Poppy
There was always a new adventure to be had, wasn’t there?
Whether we trekked by machete or paintbrush — it didn’t matter to us
Your homes were the corners of our Kingdom
The Earl’s Fate
Devin stood alone at the mountains’ top.
The world was cold and still. Snow poured so thickly from the clouds that if he paused, he could hear it: the earth tugging on their bellies while the air hissed across their backs. The heavy flakes wavered uncertainly. They spun like creatures with broken wings until they finally struck the ground, their fragile bodies shattering against unforgiving mounds of white.
They broke one after another, spilling across the remains of those who’d fallen just before. As all the little pieces of their crystal flesh rolled away, each made a distinct sound — its own tiny, final gasp.
Noise had become unbearable, of late.
Devin could hear everything, even the things he didn’t want to hear. The whistling of the archmage’s breath as he sucked air between his teeth, the way his steps dragged across the cold stone floor — the things he laughed about with the castle guards. These sounds haunted him to the edge of the Kingdom, to the crest of the mountains’ top.
A ruined, frozen castle surrounded him. Devin didn’t remember the journey. But if he closed his eyes tightly, he could see it: a broken memory of rounded walls and a shattered tower perched upon a hill of bright blue stone. There was a gap taken out of the back wall — as if the rest of the fortress had broken off and fallen into the sea below …
The sea …
Devin’s mind cut from the memory of the frozen ruins and struck upon another. He saw swirling waves and mountains of ice set adrift among the blue. Though a part of him curled its toes at the distance between his body and the ground, another part cleaved to the memory — it welcomed the cold relief of the icy spray, relished the danger of gliding between the mountains’ peaks.
It wasn’t the sea that excited him so much as the thing that lay beyond it … a warm shadow in the distance … a refuge set atop the world that made both parts of him long to take flight …
The sea, Devin thought again. He took a half step towards the shattered cliff …
Concentrate, beast. Tell me what you’ve found.
Devin clutched his ears at the sudden burst of Ulric’s voice inside his head. The archmage was always listening. All the words that Devin thought belonged to him — he’d made that very clear.
But Devin never had much time to think.
A strange darkness had come along with the sounds. It stood unflinching at the back of his mind, always coiled to strike. Sometimes its presence was nothing more than a dull throb — an annoyance he shoved aside. But other times, the darkness rose sharply.
It covered his eyes and trapped him in something that felt like sleep, except that when the darkness covered him, he knew he was asleep. His mind scratched and clawed against its hold. Hours might pass while Devin battled the darkness. Sometimes it would be days before he woke — and its hold was always strongest around the archmage.
He was often awake when Ulric entered the chamber. Sometimes he would even feel the pain of the first cut or burn. But after that, the darkness snapped its wings over his eyes. He knew no more until he woke, wounded and sore.
Devin knew the darkness must’ve been his doing: the dragon whose soul he’d fought with at the Braided Tree. Though they’d tried, neither of them had been able to defeat the other. Their battle crashed through the shadowed realm and into the world beyond. Now the dragon’s grip on their bodies was just as strong as Devin’s. Sometimes, it was even stronger.
There was no end to it, either. There was no hope that the darkness would ever relent. Devin could escape the dragon’s hold no more than a man could escape his shadow.
He’d shoved Devin aside the moment they took flight. He’d carried them here. But the dragon didn’t always understand what Ulric wanted from them. So he’d had no choice but to slink back and let Devin speak.
The fortress is ruined.
Devin picked his way across the snow. Behind him lay a broken tower. Its top had burst and its bricks were scattered across the field. The ruins spread in an arc throughout the courtyard.
Among the bits of brick were a number of strange mounds. Devin scraped the snow from the edge of the nearest one. His stomach twisted when he saw a hand lay beneath it — a human hand, perfectly preserved beneath a cask of ice.
There are bodies in the courtyard.
Whose bodies? There should be an emblem on the chest.
Devin didn’t want to look for an emblem. He didn’t want to scrape any deeper. But Ulric would not be ignored.
Search the body!
His voice stabbed Devin’s ears with something that felt like the barbs of bees. Their
insides swelled, screamed for relief. He swiped desperately at the snow beside the hand.
If there had been an emblem on the man’s chest, it was gone now. There was nothing but a ragged hole — edged by the shattered remains of his ribs, stained with the dark red of his blood.
Devin’s stomach lurched and his last meal came up behind it. He was still retching when Ulric’s voice stung him again. He nearly tripped in his rush to get to the next mound.
It was much larger than the first. When he wiped the snow away, a monster’s face startled him backwards.
Fur sprouted from its flesh in coarse, uneven patches. Fangs cut out from a mouth twisted in a snarl. The bridge of its nose was wrinkled in what could’ve been pain or shock. Its empty black eyes were frozen in death.
What do you see? Ulric demanded.
Monsters — like the ones in the dungeons. Some sort of cat, he added, scraping the snow from its pointed ears.
This monster sickened him more than the corpse. Devin had seen the creatures trapped in His Majesty’s dungeons: their human halves had been nearly devoured by the animal. A curse twisted their bodies into horrible shapes … the same curse Devin wore around his neck.
The iron collar had rubbed a raw circle into his flesh. If he ignored Ulric for too long, the collar would burn white-hot with his fury. He would threaten to boil Devin’s blood and cook his innards. But though he feared the pain, he feared the change even more.
Devin’s hand shook as he traced the curse’s first mark: a line of scales that’d popped up down his nose. They’d burst through his flesh and bled weakly until they healed. The skin beside them was strangely hard. If he pressed down, he could feel another layer of scales growing beneath it.
Eventually, they would overtake him. They would twist his face and make his teeth grow long —
The emblem, Ulric snapped.
Though his hands shook badly, Devin forced himself to wipe the snow away. Tiny links of steel were embedded into the monster’s flesh — as if the change had pressed against the armor, but couldn’t break it away. So its skin had begun to grow over the edges of the breastplate.
Ulric cast a spell on Devin’s clothes that allowed them to stretch with his shape. But tears had begun to appear along the seams of his tunic. There were holes in his boots: he could feel the wet of the snow leaking through them.
He tried not to wonder if his skin would wrap around his clothes the way this monster’s had … but he couldn’t help it.
Carved into the shining metal plate — just above another tattered wound in the creature’s gut — was the snarling head of a wolf.
Titus, Ulric mused when Devin described the emblem. His army froze to death at the summit, then?
No, they were … slain.
Slain? How?
Devin tried not to look at the monster’s wound, but his eyes seemed to have a mind of their own. It looks like a fist went through his middle. It’s —
He retched again at the thought. Ulric’s voice grew impatient.
Impossible. No one could punch through armor. If they are truly slain, then you’ll search for Titus’s body.
Please —
Now, beast. His Majesty demands it.
Devin didn’t want to have to sift through all of the bodies. He didn’t think he could stomach the sight of one more frozen wound. But if he didn’t obey, Ulric would punish him.
He’d resigned himself to his fate when a strange feeling made him turn around. The feeling grew as he stared at the broken tower. It tugged on his bones, made him want to go closer.
This feeling was another thing that’d come with the dragon’s soul. It pushed him along, sometimes. It showed him things he couldn’t have possibly seen or heard — and it was never wrong. He’d learned to listen.
Devin dragged his feet through the snow, stepping carefully along the thick layer of ice that cloaked the summit. His blood boiled so hotly that he often had a difficult time falling asleep — even in the cool damp of the dungeons. The cold would’ve likely frozen any other man to the rocks.
But for Devin, it was a welcome relief.
He was near the rampart steps when a sudden gust of wind ripped through the still air. Bumps rose across his flesh where it touched; his bones trembled against it. The feeling that guided him towards the broken tower now whispered that those winds were meant for him. The mountains were speaking to him.
They roared that he wasn’t welcome.
Find Titus!
Devin bared his teeth against the mountains’ growl and forced himself to the top of the ramparts. He climbed through the shattered remains of the tower and onto a stretch of wall. There were so many chunks of tower scattered around that he almost didn’t see the lone mound hidden near the edge of the ruins.
It was misshapen, buckled in at its middle. When Devin cleared the snow away, the face of a man gaped back. Though his mane of hair was tangled and his face twisted in shock, it matched the memory Ulric had given him — one of many thoughts that’d come with the curse. Even now, the words of a thousand captives swam inside his ears, behind his eyes.
Ulric’s was just one of the voices that kept him awake.
Interesting … how did he die? Ulric said.
Devin cleared the snow at Titus’s chest — the part that bent inwards so strangely. Though the ice shell was as clear as glass, it still took him a moment to realize what he saw.
One final blow had finished Earl Titus. It’d bent his breastplate, collapsed his chest. A nearly blackened puddle of blood ringed his corpse. Devin studied the mark for a moment, still not entirely sure. Then he stood.
When he placed a foot on Titus’s chest, his boot slid perfectly into the mark.
There was no denying what had happened. As impossible as it seemed, someone had stomped Titus to death. But Devin knew Ulric would never believe it. He was crushed.
How?
A fallen rock. It landed straight on his middle.
Ulric’s voice disappeared with a whoosh. He must’ve pulled out of the spell to speak to His Majesty. Devin knew he would only have a precious few moments before Ulric’s voice returned — and he planned to make the most of it.
He climbed one jagged edge of the tower, the highest point he could reach. The thick fall of snow made things more difficult. But if he focused his gaze, he could see quite a ways down the mountain. Had it not been for the clouds, he bet he could’ve seen into the Kingdom.
There was a whole world beyond the fortress in Midlan: miles of land, thousands of faces, realms upon realms of sights. He remembered watching them drift through the Seer’s scrying bowl. He’d longed to see them for himself.
But Devin would never get to walk among these lands. No, the King would keep him tethered to the skies and only bring him down when it suited his task. Perhaps, if he had enough little moments like these, he might be able to piece them together someday and pretend he’d seen it all …
But he doubted it.
Devin was about to climb down when a spot of blue drew his eyes to the south. He thought it was only a crop of that strange stone, at first. But then it moved.
His eyes sharpened onto the creature’s graceful, serpentine body — tracing its blue scales from its wide nostrils to the tip of its stout tail. Spines grew down its back. They didn’t stand straight, but curved in arches. They sprouted from a line of white fur that started at its horns and stopped just short of its tail. Other mats of white curled from its chest and the bottom of its proud snout. But what surprised Devin most about the creature were its eyes.
They cut through the curtain of snow and fell upon him. The creature’s black, slitted pupils widened as they roved across his face — and froze when they touched his stare.
It was like gazing into a pool of water, except the reflection he saw wasn’t warped by the ripples or darkened by the earth. The eyes that met his were a pure unfettered blue. They were … Devin’s eyes …
His mother’s eyes …
The cr
eature’s furry chest swelled and Devin nearly fell off his perch when a ghostly hum rose from its throat:
Welcome, flyer, it sang. Its song pierced the clouds, rode across the frozen wastes upon a wind of its own. Welcome home.
CHAPTER 1
The Wrath of the King
Winter’s grip had begun to tighten. Snow lay thickly beneath the Grandforest’s trees, the mark of an unreasonably cold and dreary turn. The lake had disappeared beneath a shield of ice. It would be ages before the wind could stir the water to ripple and wave once more. But though its hold was strong, the winter would eventually fade.
Countess D’Mere feared that the storm breaking upon her now might never end.
An impenetrable night draped over her castle: its face was torn of stars and the moon sulked behind it. The lake, usually alive and glittering at this hour, was nothing more than a sunken pit — a shadow so dark that it stood out from the rest.
But though the sky didn’t offer so much as a ray of ghostly light, the world had lights of its own.
D’Mere glared at the fires that glowed in the village across the lake. There were enough to hem the water in an arch of flame. Tents packed Lakeshore’s narrow streets and lined its dock. Cook fires flickered between the tops of the tents, winking from a distance.
Taunting her.
D’Mere drew the curtains tightly and paced to a second window. From here, she could see the courtyard and the castle’s wide front gate. Her soldiers paced uncertainly across the ramparts — their helmets shining against the lights of other cook fires glowing just outside the walls.
Laughter rose in a swell to drift through the window. D’Mere clenched the ledge tightly as the noise reached her ears, grounding her palms against the stone until her arms began to shake.
Midlan patrols often camped at Lakeshore in the spring — but it was far from spring, and this was no patrol.
D’Mere’s spies warned her a week ago that Midlan’s army had begun to spill from its gates. She thought it odd that the King hadn’t summoned her. Surely if Crevan meant to go to war with Titus, he would’ve called upon the forest for aid. In fact, she’d been counting on it.
