Prince of Shadow and Ash

by Selina R. Gonzalez

  “Wonderful,” she managed. Gingerly, she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. Only when she glanced down did the truth hit her. They were dressed to match. Too much so to be a coincidence. Heat rushed to her ears. I could slap Lady Drummond! When did she tell him what I was wearing? If Adelaide had known, she would have worn tomorrow’s traveling dress. Now she stood in a room full of nobles, her clothing screaming I am courting Nolan Carrick against her will.

  “You are breathtaking.” Nolan’s voice was low, personal.

  Somehow, she managed to respond. “Thank you, Sir Nolan.” Be polite. Return the compliment. “You look handsome yourself.” It wasn’t untrue. He did look fetching. But she couldn’t seem to relax around him. It’s just nerves. I’ve never had a proper suitor.

  “Well, Sir Nolan is an improvement over Sir Carrick, so I’ll take it.” He winked.

  Nolan led her to a seat at the table below the dais. Food already covered the table on the dais like all the others, but the four chairs behind it were empty. Nolan pulled out a chair at the lower table for her, and Adelaide sat down, aware of the many eyes around the room watching her. She wondered how much of the low hum of conversation was about her. She searched the crowd for Minerva. Even a quick smile from her sister would calm her nerves. Unfortunately, Min sat with her back toward Adelaide, and she was deep in conversation with Lady Drummond.

  “I knew blue and crimson would suit you.” Nolan sat next to her. “I hope finding the fabric wasn’t too much trouble.”

  “What? You requested this?”

  He frowned. “Yes... And you...accepted?”

  “No. I had no idea.”

  They stared at each other. Nolan cleared his throat. “I sent a messenger to the Drummonds, asking you to wear these colors. The messenger said you’d accepted.”

  “Lady Drummond must have accepted on my behalf,” Adelaide said flatly. She fiddled with her silver utensils as anger heated her skin. “And didn’t tell me.”

  “I’m sorry.” He sounded genuine. “Do you...mind, though?”

  She stared at the ceramic plate and silver goblet in front of her. “I was unprepared,” she said carefully. She didn’t want to make this evening too miserable. Please let supper start soon.

  Adelaide surveyed the room. Nobles were still entering and being seated. So far, no sign of Lord Regulus Hargreaves. He’s quite tall, you’d think he would be easy to spot. The influx of guests slowed, but even as her disappointment grew, she felt relieved he wasn’t there. She didn’t want him to see her with Nolan like...this.

  A servant showed a man to the empty seat on her other side. The woman next to him must have recognized him, because they struck up a conversation.

  Nolan’s warm hand covered hers. “Will you attend the tournament next month?”

  “Tournament?” She smoothed her skirts as an excuse to remove her hand from under his.

  Disappointment flickered over Nolan’s face, but his usual self-assured smile returned. “Yes, the Etchy Tournament? My father hosts it every year.”

  She forced herself to look at him, to be polite. “Will you be competing?”

  “Oh, of course!” He reached over and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She managed not to grimace. “I was rather hoping I could compete in your honor.”

  Her cheeks flushed as panic crippled her mind. “I...um...” A trumpet flare mercifully interrupted, and silence fell over the room.

  Baron and Baroness Carrick entered, followed by a man who was clearly Carrick’s eldest son and a woman who seemed to be his wife. They moved to their seats, and the baron welcomed the guests and sat down.

  Cupbearers moved among the tables bearing large containers of wine. A group of minstrels entered and played in a corner. A juggler and two acrobats leapt into the open area in the middle of the hall. Adelaide had never been so thankful for the distraction of entertainment and the excuse of food to avoid conversation. The nobleman to her right, Sir Morris MacCombe, son of Baron MacCombe, was friendly. Their conversation, while comprised of standard supper party small talk, was amiable. MacCombe, in fact, seemed eager to engage her. Nolan and MacCombe never acknowledged each other, at times outright ignoring each other when the conversation could have included both. It made her even more uncomfortable, but at least MacCombe was kind and didn’t flirt with or touch her.

  Part of her felt foolish and guilty. Nolan was handsome, with his silky chestnut hair, merry blue eyes, and square jaw. He came from a wealthy, powerful, and respected family. A small part of her relished the flattering attention, the knowledge that many young noblewomen would swoon for Nolan. However, he had done nothing so far to impress her, to set him apart from any other young nobleman with too much time and money. Besides, she had always fancied taller men, like Regulus Hargreaves. The ease of the thought surprised her, and she choked on a sip of wine.

  “Are you all right?” Nolan asked.

  “Oh, yes.” She dabbed her mouth with a cloth napkin. Her tongue seemed to get ahead of her brain. “I notice Lord Hargreaves is not in attendance.”

  “The mercenary?” Nolan rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

  Adelaide looked at him, her brow furrowed. “I understand he used to be a mercenary, but he is a nobleman now, isn’t he?”

  “He’s a petty lord of little account. And the only reason he’s a noble at all is because his philandering father was so taken with his peasant mother he added their mongrel son to his will. Arrano even buried her under a statue of an angel. Disgraceful.” He plopped a grape in his mouth.

  “You’re saying Lord Hargreaves wasn’t invited?” Her heart twisted. Oh, no. My letter... She felt horrible she’d assumed and hoped Regulus hadn’t taken it as an insult.

  Nolan cocked an eyebrow. “Why should the Baron and Baroness Carrick invite the son of a washing wench into their home?”

  She stared at him as she clenched her fork in a white-knuckled fist. “That’s unfair and uncalled for.”

  He shifted and glanced about. “I’m sorry. Some people are best avoided, and Hargreaves is the worst of them. He may hold the title of lord, but it’s not who he is. He could have been knighted, but he took off and became a mercenary. Mercenaries are not men of honor. Hargreaves only left the life because he inherited Arrano’s land and title. He likely killed Lady Arrano and her daughter-in-law. Then he had the audacity to knight his mercenaries. Three of them aren’t even Monparthian.”

  “Have something against non-Monparthians?” A hard edge crept into her voice.

  Nolan reddened. “No, of course not.” He cleared his throat. “Hargreaves keeps mostly to himself and often disappears alone for unknown reasons. But I have a theory: once a mercenary, always a mercenary. I suspect he misses the life and runs off to satiate his blood-lust.” He rested his hand on her arm and looked into her eyes. “Hargreaves is not to be trusted. I advise you keep your distance, for your own safety.”

  “I can take care of myself.” She looked away. “Can you prove all this?”

  “Unfortunately, no. But a knight’s intuition is never wrong.”

  Adelaide stifled a snicker. It hardly seemed chivalrous to be hasty in judgment. But perhaps she was doing the same with Nolan. No. He has proven himself to be prejudiced, condescending, and a flirt.

  “But enough of such talk.” Nolan grabbed his goblet. “It’s a party, after all.”

  Adelaide stared past the acrobats, wishing Minerva would turn around. This party couldn’t end soon enough.

  Chapter 10

  ADELAIDE DID HER BEST to try at least a bite of each course, but her appetite had vanished. She couldn’t decide which bothered her more: the idea of Regulus Hargreaves being a blood-thirsty, self-serving villain, or Nolan Carrick’s crass haughtiness. She had difficulty reconciling the kind laughter, easy conversation, and apparent humility she had seen in Regulus with the murderer Nolan described. And yet... What did a person truly know about another after one brief conversation?

  Nothing. />
  She would have given anything to retire after supper, but her parents had raised her to be decorous and respectful, and leaving before dancing would be insulting to the Carricks.

  Nolan wasted no time asking her to dance. As the lute players and pipers began to play, they joined other couples in a stately dance. The way Nolan’s piercing gaze did not leave her face made her far more uncomfortable than his warm fingertips underneath hers. Every time the steps of the dance dictated that they part or turn away from each other was a short reprieve from his intense and undesired attentions. The dance ended, and she curtsied as best she could with Nolan’s fingers still curled under her own. He bowed, bringing her fingers to his lips, his eyes fixed on hers.

  The air in the room was far too hot. Adelaide forced a smile and inclined her head. “Thank you for the dance, Sir Nolan. I fear I need to sit down for a while.”

  “You’re not feeling unwell, I hope? The night has scarcely begun.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

  Perhaps she was projecting her own urgent desire to escape, but she thought she detected a hint of panic in his words. She shifted and pulled her hand away. “Just...a little lightheaded.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Nolan moved to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

  This is the opposite of what I wanted!

  “Here.” He guided her to some chairs near the wall. “Wait right here. I’d like to introduce you to my brother.”

  “Oh—” But Nolan darted away before she could protest. He returned a couple minutes later with his brother. The elder Carrick was just shorter than Nolan, with similar light brown hair and blue eyes. He sported a neatly trimmed mustache.

  “Lady Adelaide, this is my eldest brother, William. Will, this is Adelaide.”

  William bowed and Adelaide moved to stand and curtsy, but William held up his hand. “Please, sit. I understand you’re not feeling well.”

  She shifted. “I needed a moment to breathe and cool down.”

  The corner of William’s mouth twitched. “Yes, Nolan can have that effect.”

  She rubbed the side of her neck, unsure what to say, since I’m not all warm and breathless over your brother’s charms seemed a bit...antagonistic and forward. “Don’t you have another brother?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.

  “Yes, Michael,” Nolan said. His eyes narrowed.

  William clasped his hands behind his back. “Michael married Baron MacCombe’s daughter, Elaine, a few years ago. They live in a castle along the Monparth-Carasom border that Baron MacCombe gave them.”

  “How generous.” Adelaide slipped into the small talk expected at these gatherings. “I spoke with Sir Morris MacCombe over supper. He was friendly.”

  Nolan’s jaw tightened. “Yes, well, he’s likely to announce an engagement to Duke Randall’s daughter Elizabeth soon.” The irritation in his voice was unmistakable, but the cause baffled Adelaide. Is he irritated MacCombe was friendly to me, or irritated he’s marrying Elizabeth Randall?

  William cast a sidelong glance at his brother, but his expression remained serene. “Elizabeth is my wife’s sister. But Sir Morris and Nolan had a bit of a...quarrel last year.”

  “Bygones.” Nolan glared at his brother as Adelaide fidgeted with her skirt so she wouldn’t have to look at the brothers.

  “Yes, well.” William slapped Nolan’s back. “Nolan has matured in the last year. He’s a bright, talented young man. We expect him to do well at the Etchy Tournament. He marginally lost the joust last year. But I’m not competing this year, so his chances are good.” She looked up in surprise at William’s teasing tone. Nolan looked like he’d tasted something sour.

  “Joking aside,” William continued, “I wouldn’t place any bets against him. Not that you would gamble, of course. But I fear I have other guests to see.” He bowed. “It was an honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Belanger. I expect I’ll be seeing you again. Soon and often.”

  “The honor was mine, Lord Carrick.”

  William nodded, then turned and ambled away. Soon and often. The Carrick family expected her to court Nolan. Perfect.

  Nolan recovered his composure and looked unbothered by his brother’s teasing. “Feeling any better?”

  “Actually, I’m developing a headache,” she lied.

  Nolan sat next to her, his forehead wrinkled. “Shall I send for the physician?”

  “Oh, no, I think I need to sleep.” She stood. “I’ll just go to my room—”

  “Then I will accompany you,” he declared as he stood. “It’s a large castle, I’d hate for you to get lost.”

  She stiffened. “Thank you, but I can find my way on my own. I won’t tear you away from your party—”

  “Adelaide, please.” Nolan placed his hand on her shoulder and stepped in closer. “There is no party with you gone.”

  She willed herself not to laugh or gag. Etiros, spare me.

  “You are the reason for hosting this event; the only reason I care about this party at all. Please.” He looked like a puppy begging for scraps from the table. His hand slid down her arm and he took her hand. “I don’t need to dance. Just...sit with me. Stay with me.”

  How in Monparth was she supposed to respond to that? Especially when all she could think about was getting some space to herself?

  Nolan took another step closer and placed his free hand on the side of Adelaide’s neck. Her heart leapt into her throat. “Don’t leave,” he breathed. His gaze fell to her lips as his thumb caressed her cheek.

  “I...I’m sorry.” Adelaide yanked her hand free and made as hasty a departure as possible without sacrificing all decorum.

  Once in her room and dressed in her nightgown, she found sleep evaded her, so she paced. Too many thoughts swirled in her mind—most related to the fact every noble at the party would suspect an impending courtship.

  She despised Nolan’s cockiness and disregard for her personal space. And his vehemence toward Lord Regulus. It didn’t seem Nolan had ever even tried to get to know Regulus or hear his side of the story. He just hated Regulus because his mother was a peasant. Didn’t Regulus deserve a chance to defend himself and his own honor?

  As Adelaide paced, her irritation mounted. Her palms warmed as magical energy coursed through her. She needed a distraction. Something to do, something else to focus on. She held her hand out and her palm filled with eggshell-blue light. She focused on the light, drawing it out of her palm and into a tight, dense orb. She expanded the orb, letting it grow until it was as large as her head, but still hovering above her palm.

  “Now the real test,” she murmured. She raised her palm and concentrated on sending the orb up. A grin spread over her face as the orb floated above her, illuminating the entire room.

  But could she do something else now? Walk away? Do other magic, even? She conjured a dagger—a trick she had been practicing every chance she got ever since she first tried it. The solid light dagger now materialized as desired about eighty percent of the time. She gripped the simple dagger in her hand and laughed in delight when the orb stayed in place.

  Oh, yes! Her spirits fell as she looked around the empty room. If only I could share this with someone.

  The first time she hit the bullseye on a target with a throwing knife, she was seven. “That’s my little tigress,” Mother had said in Khast. Father had kissed her forehead and said he was proud. Minerva and Adelaide then spent the afternoon competing to land more bullseyes. Minerva was only a little disappointed when Adelaide won. But practicing magic? That earned her the opposite reaction. Dread and reprimands instead of pride. Like when she quenched the fire in front of Minerva.

  The dagger faded, and the orb flickered out. Adelaide flopped onto the bed and stared at the dark green canopy above her. Keeping secrets made her feel so alone. But did she have a choice?

  “It’s too dangerous, Tha Shiraa,” Mother’s warning to her at age five had been seared into her mind. “No one knows who or what
was behind The Shadow. We don’t want them to come for you, too.”

  The Shadow. Most people didn’t talk about the massacre of the mages, but when they did, it was with terrified reverence. Mages had never been abundant in Monparth, but Father said mages once did everything from farming to working as healers to leading warriors in battle.

  Then mages started turning up dead. Murdered. Killed in their sleep. An arrow through their neck as they went about their daily tasks. Poisoned in their own homes. Some were found dead with no visible cause. Within weeks, every single mage within Monparth, from infants to the elderly, was dead.

  Initially, some had thought the killings ordered by King Olfan, the current king’s father, to prevent sorcerers. Olfan’s eldest son had been a mage, but Monparthian law forbade mages from inheriting the throne. Too much power for one individual, too much risk of a mage becoming a sorcerer—and the history of sorcerer-kings was written in blood. The prince had disappeared for several years only to reemerge as a sorcerer and attempt regicide—or patricide. The court mages drove him out, hunted him down, and killed him. A year later, mages started being murdered. Then the court mages were slaughtered, and people stopped blaming the king. No one was ever caught.

  A few years later, Adelaide’s magic escaped for the first time. She was three. And she’d been hiding ever since. If the worry The Shadow would kill her wasn’t enough, the only living mage in Monparth would be valuable—for healing, for protection, for war. And as Father said, above all else, men with power crave more power. Her parents insisted she not practice magic and tell no one. Not even her half-siblings knew.

  That was the real reason she wouldn’t court Nolan, beyond his prejudice against Regulus. Something deep in her gut warned her she couldn’t trust Nolan with her secret. And if she couldn’t tell him the truth, she couldn’t marry him. Again she wished Regulus had come. She wanted to talk to him, find out if he seemed trustworthy, or if Nolan was right. She made a face at the canopy. Why, so you can court him? Stop being ridiculous.