A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2)

by Yolandie Horak

  They’d come via the old road at the foot of the mountains, and now stood high enough to see the Norden ocean in the distance. The sky was yellow and ochre and blue, and the first rays of the sun stretched their arms in greeting. The wind smelled of rain and sea, fresh and light.

  “Time to go,” Jacques said.

  Cara rolled her neck, then stepped inside the Mantle.

  That strange heaviness pressed on her from all sides, the unending drone vibrated in her ears and bones. Her feet tingled, but other than that, the electrical currents didn’t cause her discomfort. Last time she was in here, Nathan had held her hand.

  For a moment, she wanted to stay. In the Mantle, she was nobody’s queen. She didn’t have a brother who was paranoid and unstable. She hadn’t just lost her first love.

  But Jacques was right next to her, waiting for her to move, and if she stayed, he’d stay. Those wounds needed proper tending, and if she didn’t see to it, nobody would.

  Cara dropped her hand to her side, and he raised his to take it. She took the two steps needed, Marc pushed the chair through, and they breathed in stale Aellish air.

  They were just beyond the invisible border between the slums and the middle-class districts, on the middle-class side. Prime farmland patched in yellow and green and clusters of trees. Cut out the insistent Mantle-whir, add a stunning sunset, and this could be Mordoux.

  Cara blinked.

  Jacques laughed. “You miss it, don’t you?”

  “How can I miss Mordoux if I haven’t even seen that much of it?”

  “I told you, my queen. It weaves a subtle kind of magic.”

  She punched the Mantle. “This damn thing definitely makes me miss it. Can we go away from the buzzing?”

  “This way, majesty.”

  ***

  They marched for three hours, then left the rest of the party in an abandoned barn. Cara pushed Jacques into a small town with a single street. The Mantle had broken the chair’s control panel, and the small stick Celestine had used to steer it was now useless.

  She studied the quaint brick cottages, the shingled roofs, the livestock in pens around the dwellings, and frowned. “Are you sure this is the place?”

  “Please, majesty.” Jacques sniffed. “This one.”

  He gestured at a square building with a painted sign above the bright blue front door. The sign featured a rooster on top of a tabby cat’s head, and the name The Cock and the Kitten in red lettering. With a name like that, the owner had to be Mordian.

  Jacques pushed open the door with his elbows, then put on that smile that turned his scar into a dimple and transformed him into Pointy.

  The tables were all full, which meant this was likely the only place in town where people could have breakfast and relax on a Sixthday morning.

  Behind the counter was an old man with enormous ears and thick-rimmed glasses. He glanced their way, at the counter, then back, jaw slack.

  “Good people, my name is Jacques Du Pont, director of Mordian Intelligence. I don’t know if you’ve heard of me at all.” He gestured at Cara with a flourish. “And this is our beloved, yet-to-be-crowned, but queen of our hearts, Carabelle Lenoir. I know you’ve heard of her.”

  Almost as one, the people shifted out of their seats and bowed before her.

  She gaped, then smiled. These people were Intelligence. Mordian. One day, she would be their queen.

  Jacques regarded her with an arched eyebrow and brimming eyes. ‘Rise,’ he mouthed.

  In the front row, an old lady bowed.

  Cara went to her and helped her to her feet. “Please, rise.”

  The people stood, and the old woman cupped Cara’s cheek.

  Her blue eyes were old, riddled with thick veins, and her hair was pure silver.

  “You look just like your mother, majesty,” she said.

  “Didn’t I tell you, Grams?” Jacques gave the woman a kiss.

  This was his grandmother? Of course, it was. Would he have brought her here if he hadn’t known what they’d find? His confidence was back—Pointy, not Jacques—but now that she’d seen him, he’d never be invisible again.

  Cara crossed her arms. “Grams?”

  “Carabelle of Mordoux, meet Isolde Laurent, my grandmother.”

  Isolde shook her head. “He didn’t say anything did he?”

  Cara sighed. “He’s impossible.”

  “Just like his father,” Isolde said. “I want to warn you, majesty—don’t play cards with my son-in-law.”

  “I won’t,” Cara said.

  Isolde led them to a table, where they sat.

  “Now, if it’s not too much trouble, Grams, can we have a few rooms?” Pointy scratched his beard. “I’m in dire need of a bath and a barber. You do have a barber, don’t you? Oh, and we have the chief-queen of Dvara with us, so make it nice.”

  “The chief-queen?” Isolde’s eyebrows rose.

  “My ally, which is part of the reason I’d like to go to Roicester as soon as possible,” Cara said. “Would it be all right if we cleaned, ate, then left?”

  “Of course, majesty,” Isolde said.

  “Just Cara.”

  “Well, just Cara, in here you order, and it is done.” Isolde’s grin held something of Jacques.

  “Then, can I ask one other thing?” Cara tugged her hair behind her ear. “When you send word to Roicester that we’ve arrived, please make sure they don’t tell Sera I’m coming. I’d like to surprise her.”

  “It’s done.” Isolde gave Cara’s hand a squeeze. “Now, about those rooms.”

  ***

  Cara had just dressed in the grey physician’s shirt and trousers when a knock sounded at the door. “Come in.”

  Jacques rolled closer in a functional steam-driven wheelchair, plainer than the one they’d borrowed from Celestine.

  “Your hair.” She crossed to his side and ran her hands along the new, short cut. The curls were now more pronounced, especially around his face and in his neck. The weight of the ponytail had elongated his face even more—probably why he’d worn it that way to begin with. It had helped him hide.

  Besides the haircut, he’d been shaved. The stubble was gone, but so was the goatee. His chin had a dimple—something she’d never noticed before. Her heart twitched. Ashes he was handsome.

  “Does it live up to your expectations, dearest?”

  “I love it.” She smiled.

  He lowered his gaze. “Unfortunately, this isn’t only to show off my new look, marvellously as I pull it off.”

  She almost rolled her eyes. Go away, Pointy.

  “There is something you should know before we return to Roicester, my dear. I’ve had a telegram. I inquired about Magnus’s health.”

  She hugged herself. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “He passed away almost two weeks ago in the Du Pont estate. He was surrounded by friends and family and was at peace.” He rolled closer but didn’t touch her. “Apparently, he even forgave me. He said that he loved you.”

  Cara’s shoulders shook, and her stomach melted away. Her eyes burned with new tears. “The cancer?”

  Jacques held out a bandaged hand. “Do you really need to know that?”

  Not cancer, but what? She sniffled. Wasn’t it obvious? What had Magnus been doing non-stop for the last months of his life? He’d treated people with a deadly disease. “Rot?”

  Jacques clenched his jaw. “Yes, he had rot.” He ran a hand over his face. “Please, Cara. You don’t need to know. It’s going to break your heart.”

  She sank to her knees and held his gaze. “Please. There’s nothing left of my heart to break.”

  Seconds ticked away, then he said, “He asked Jeremy and Ahmed to assist him in suicide. He’d said that he had suffered enough.”

  “No.” She cried in his lap. “No, not this.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, my dear.” Jacques caressed her hair and made soothing noises, but they didn’t have much time before they had to go, and Cara’
s grief followed her on the long road to Roicester.

  ***

  The city had changed into a place of embers and filth. Physicians and police officers and soldiers were everywhere, patrolling, putting out fires, herding infected people into camps. Protesters with signs that read down with House Aellor, and Seraphine is our queen, and hang the queen, and George is the rightful king were everywhere.

  Cara started when an egg landed on the window of their automotive and slid down in a clear yellow mess. More eggs followed, until the windows were completely covered, and the air smelled of spoilt omelettes.

  “Ashes,” Cara said.

  “I’m beginning to doubt the wisdom of coming here, dragonling.” Vendla scratched Skjold’s ears.

  Both bears were skittish and irritable, even now that the Mantle no longer buzzed in their ears. Maybe they still heard it, and that was why they seemed to hate Aelland.

  Cara drew a deep breath. She couldn’t doubt her decision now, just because of a few eggs. “We’ll help Sera fix it, then we’ll prepare for Frank.”

  The beautiful gardens in the inner city had been destroyed, graffiti stained the palace walls, and people shouted outside the library.

  She turned her head to the street that led to the Cutter estate, and her throat constricted. Magnus wasn’t there. Cara shelved that thought. She couldn’t cry yet again.

  Tonight was for a reunion with her sister.

  Just before eleven o’clock, they arrived at an estate even grander than the palace. A place this lavish could only belong to the Du Ponts.

  An old man with a round girth greeted them at the entrance. He bowed before Cara and Vendla, then gave Jacques and Marc hugs.

  “My father, Jean-Luc Du Pont, the patriarch of House Du Pont,” Jacques said in Mordian.

  “I must apologise, majesty.” Jean-Luc ran his hands over his stomach. “Seraphine is asleep. As requested, she didn’t know you were coming. Would you like her woken?”

  Cara shook her head. “I’d like to wake her myself.”

  “We’ll see that you’re not disturbed, my queen.” Jacques gestured at the door. “My home is yours.”

  Each hall was grander than the previous, until they entered a square room opening to hallways that zigzagged down, underground. This place belonged to Intelligence, so there were bound to be secrets and surprises.

  Cara bit the corner of her lip. “Are there passages in the walls here?”

  Jacques nodded. “Passages, yes. In the walls, no. It’s not like in Collinefort, with no listening holes. You’ll be safe here.”

  People with blond hair and blue eyes took Vendla and the others to their rooms, while Jacques and his father continued to lead Cara deeper into the underground. They stopped in a room so overwhelmingly blue that Cara imagined herself drowning.

  A man with silvery hair sat in a wheelchair under a lamp, reading. He turned as they entered—a rot survivor. The tip of his nose was gone, his lips and cheeks riddled with small, pink patches of healing skin.

  Cara’s heart raced. Those eyes—bluer than anything in the blue room. She’d seen them only once, but could she ever forget?

  She kept her face smooth as he rolled closer. The mouse might have run, but the dragon stood tall.

  Every one of Celestine’s lies repeated in her head, but she fought them down. Jacques was right next to her, even when Jean-Luc left. She could face this. She could survive.

  Those eyes she’d so feared shot with tears. “Majesty.” His voice was deep, husky. “I am Raven.”

  Her father. This man was her father. She couldn’t move, but not for the reason she’d expected. None of the emotions she’d anticipated at this meeting arrived. Instead of fear, there was something light. Something almost like hope.

  Magnus was dead, but she had a father. A real one, one counted among her allies.

  Celestine’s lies had claimed so many years of happiness. Maybe it was time to make her own happiness. Life was too short to waste any single moment.

  Did he know who she was? Could he guess, based on her appearance? What was he thinking?

  She glanced at Jacques, but his expression betrayed nothing.

  Laroche cleared his throat. “Please excuse my state, majesty. I hadn’t known—”

  She bent before him, reached out to touch his face. “May I?”

  He blinked. “Of course.”

  She pressed her fingertips to his cheeks, measured the missing tip of his nose against her pinkie. That could be repaired. Prosthetics? Jerry would know.

  The way he looked at her, the wetness that danced on his eyelids—he had to know who she was. And if he doesn’t, I’ll tell him.

  “You have to excuse me, Raven.” She sat on her knees before him. “I don’t know what’s expected when a father and daughter meet for the first time, and I’m at a loss for words.”

  Jacques laughed.

  “You…” Laroche’s breath was warm and scented of tea. “You know me?”

  “I saw you once.” She clenched her stomach muscles and took his hands. “I hid in the cupboard under the sink, and you came into Chastain’s cottage. I saw your eyes. My eyes.”

  “Majesty—”

  “Cara.” She swallowed. “My name is Cara.”

  He reached for her slowly, slowly, as if she’d run away. The first tear slipped over his eyelid as he cupped her face. “Cara. You look exactly like her.”

  She grinned. “So I’ve heard. What, ah, would you like me to call you?”

  “Whatever you like.”

  She shook her head. “What does Sera call you?”

  His gaze was full of wonder, mouth half-open, eyebrows twitching. “Papa.”

  Cara hugged him. “It’s good to meet you, Papa.”

  He gasped as he put his arms around her. “It’s even better to meet you, Cara.”

  Jacques shrugged. “Unpredictable.”

  “We’ll talk more in the morning, Papa. I’d like to see Sera now.” Cara stood.

  Jacques tilted his head and led her down another hall, then pointed at a door. “This one, I’m told.”

  She bent and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Always, dearest.” He pulled away quickly. “I’ll have the hall cleared.”

  Cara opened the door.

  A beam of light fell on Sera—flawless, wonderful Sera—and Cara’s vision blurred.

  “That you, Lance?” Sera’s voice was thick with sleep.

  Cara shut the door and slipped out of her shoes. “Who’s Lance?”

  Sera turned to the other side. “Oh, another dream. Will any of the gods listening please just get you here already?”

  Cara chuckled. “Any of them?”

  Sera frowned and opened one eye. “Well, you know how— I’ve never dreamed you with short hair before.”

  Cara slid into bed next to her. “Which probably makes this a good moment to tell you I’m not a dream?”

  “Cara?” Her pitch rose and she turned on the lamp next to the bed. “Cara!”

  They were a tangle of arms and hair and legs, giggles and tears.

  Sera kissed Cara’s forehead. “Shit, Cara, your ribs are poking holes into my stomach. What the hell happened?” She held her at arm’s length, and her smile faded.

  Sera was one to talk, she’d also lost weight. So pale, and—

  “No,” Cara said. “We can talk about all of the sad things and your arsehole of a brother tomorrow. Nothing but happy topics tonight, agreed? Like when we were kids.”

  “I had this feeling about Frank. What did he do?”

  Cara sighed. “I’ll catch you up. Frank is now our mortal enemy, Celestine’s dead, and I’ve allied with the Dvaran chief-queen. Tomorrow, you and I will officially ally, then we’ll save Aelland, Mordoux, and the world.”

  “What?”

  “Which part?”

  Sera threw up her arms. “Uh, all of it.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Can I complain about the fact that you have no
hair left to braid?” Sera ran her fingers through Cara’s locks. “I will admit it suits you.”

  Cara drew a deep breath and swallowed back another wave of tears.

  Sera smiled. “I know.”

  “I haven’t felt complete in so long, I forgot what it was like.”

  “And you’ve changed.” Sera’s eyes glittered. “I have a feeling the world isn’t ready for the two of us, back together where we should be.”

  Cara planted a kiss on Sera’s cheek, then plopped down on the pillows. “We’re going to change the world, Sera. You and I.”

  Acknowledgements

  And, here we are yet again. This one didn’t take five years to write, but I feel like it aged me five years. All the feels, folks.

  Thank you to Jan and Kayla. You two are my anchors, my tethers to the real world when the story and anxiety takes over. Kayla, you’re the best pep-talker in the world, and Jan, without your coffee making skills, I don’t even know. Love you two.

  Thanks also to my family and friends for always cheering me on.

  Thank you, Nerine Dorman, who is still the best editor and sensei a person could wish for. Another big thank you to Cat Hellisen, who proofread this for me and teaches me constantly how to be a better writer. Thank you, Covers by Tallulah for yet another to die for cover, and Elegant Formatting for stunning interiors. Tallulah, thanks for your endless patience and advice, and Hangouts chats when I didn’t know what to do next. Also, a massive thanks to the Skolion authors for their support and expertise.

  Tanja and Amber, thank you for sitting through endless brainstorming sessions with me, for fangirling and for keeping up my spirits. Thank you Shants for reading this thing over and over to check for errors. My epic beta team: Cristy, Jacques AKA Mr. Pink Ink, and Tams. You fine folk with your deviously delicious suggestions have made this novel the thing it is. Thank you.

  And you, for reading my second novel—thank you. Can’t wait to continue this journey with you in Book 3.

  DFTBA

  Author’s Note

  If you’d like to stay connected, learn more about upcoming novels, or receive extra content, please visit my website, yolandiehorak.com.