by Wylie, Jen
Broken Aro
Book one of The Broken Ones
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2012 by Jen Wylie
Cover Design © 2012 by Christina Aubin
Frame artwork © 2012 by Depositphotos/Krystsina Birukova
Cover Photo © 2012 by Depositphotos/Inna Gusachenko
First Untold Press Publication / September 2012
All rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination and or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Untold Press LLC
114 NE Estia Lane
Port St Lucie, FL 34983
www.untoldpress.com
PRODUCED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Dedication
To the one who was my best friend before becoming everything else.
You’ve kept me strong, and you’ve kept me going through all the hard times. Your patience and constant encouragement not only brought me back to myself, but made this book possible.
You’re my angel, too.
Special Thanks
As with any great endeavor, there are always so many people who help you along the way. Special thanks to my parents, kids, and Sean for their continual, never ending support. To my new friends, Terri-Lynne and Kim, dealing with authors may not be the easiest thing in the world, but I owe you a debt of thanks for helping me make Aro even better. To Donna, Jackie, and Erin for those last sets of eyes to make sure it is perfect, and to Rusty and Julie for their continued support.
Prologue
Fifteen Years Ago
He soared high above the coast, air rippling beneath his wings. Dipping through clouds, he enjoyed the coolness of the light wind whirling around him. Sunlight sparkled on the ocean waves far below, little winking lights breaking the monotony of the empty waters.
Like a fledgling, he played amongst the wispy clouds. Snapping his giant wings open, he broke a dive, spun, and with powerful beats, rose higher once more. Even after thousands of years, the joy of flying still excited him. It was one of the few things still able to send a thrill coursing through his veins.
From the corner of his eye, a dark spot caught his attention and he turned, spiraling around it. A ship, while not uncommon along the coast, usually wasn't found this far north. He dropped lower, noting it was a large vessel capable of making the long journey across the sea. There were fewer of them now that the humans occupied the entire eastern coastline with their pathetic little cities.
He twisted, flicking his tail, and circled. There, on the secluded beach...little spots scurrying around a smaller boat. The humans of the east were mostly pirates and slavers. Few partook of practices such as legal trade or simple transport, particularly anyone with such long range ships. They were all criminals anyways, so why would someone be picked up from a beach when there were perfectly good ports available?
Even more curious, he dropped lower, expanding his senses and almost missing a wing-beat.
Fey? It couldn't be... He circled above, watching with his senses fully alert. Most of the little bodies below were human, but two were indeed Fey. He watched the humans fill the small boat with items from the shore and then head back to the larger ship.
He debated investigating further. If he was seen by the humans in dragon form it could prove troublesome. He couldn't help himself. This was interesting. Anything that could catch his attention, or give his mind something to do, was treasured. Like flight, curiosity still brought him joy.
He did take some care not to be spotted, dropping quickly, and into a cove further north. Large rocks cut the beach into small pockets and provided some cover. Once on the ground, he quickly shifted forms.
The Fey knew he was there before he emerged from the outcropping of rocks separating the coves. The only two people left on the beach, he watched their reaction to his arrival as he walked toward them. Their momentary confusion amused him.
The woman's eyes opened wide as they took in his appearance. They knew at a glance he was none of the known races. "You're not..." Shock of what stalked toward them spread across their faces.
A smile twisted at his lips as he drew closer. The male stood straighter, stepping in front of the woman. Their eyes glowed with an inner orange light.
Orange...not red. Even more interesting.
He stopped before them, extremely pleased with his decision to investigate. These Fey could easily pass for human. Young, beautiful ones, but still human. Each wore their hair long, covering their slightly pointed ears. His hair was brown, hers pale as corn silk. By the quality of their dress, he could tell they weren't wild Fey. They were not covered in scavenged rags or hides. Their clothing was handmade, clearly bought from one of the city's markets. Most importantly, they weren't raving mad. How this could be, he couldn't fathom. Since their fall centuries ago, the creatures had become red-eyed killers, locked in their fury, rarely able to escape or control it.
This pair had managed it, somehow. That they did not fall into it now, in his presence, spoke highly of them.
"Dragos," the male said stiffly. "You are not wanted here."
He smiled. As if such things would ever bother him. "I go where I wish, when I wish. You should know this, Fey." His eyes narrowed slightly. There was something familiar about them... He searched his vast memories, carefully flipping through those that involved past encounters with their kind. Yes...there. Almost six centuries ago, the last time he had visited their city and their queen. This male had been at court, though not introduced.
He looked to the woman. She had been. "Dalsia." He tilted his head slightly to her. "Seer's daughter."
She stiffened, her eyes widening and shifting slightly more toward red. She tilted her head, not at him, but to whisper to her mate. "He is the Dragos named Damon."
He pushed slightly at the males mind, searching for a name. Ketheris.
The Fey glared at him. "Stay out of my head."
He ignored the demand and stepped to the side. He'd found more than just a name, also the Fey's current most frantic thought. Behind him, tucked against Dalsia and hidden in her arms, was a young child.
"What do you want?" Dalsia stepped forward, no longer hiding, but still holding the little one tightly.
Damon regarded her a moment. His curiosity now fully piqued, he smiled slightly. "Did you not fall in the fury? Or did you somehow recover?"
"We did not," Ketheris replied tersely.
They were strong then, stronger than most. Not only for keeping their sanity, but for surviving the mindless slaughter that came after. "Why are you going west?"
They blinked at him, perhaps surprised he knew their destination, or that he would care. "We are just traveling," Ketheris said.
Lie. He looked to Dalsia. Her lips pressed tightly together. He slowly pushed at her mind until she spoke.
"We're searching for an artifact to heal the Fey," she snapped.
He smiled. Her words intrigued him. "Continue."
The two exchanged glances. He could see the intelligence in their eyes. That intelligence meant he would have his answers one way or another. As a race, the Fey were not telepathic and few had learned more than rudimentary methods to shield themselves. These two had decent protection for their thoughts, but their walls were only weak little barriers he could push through in the blink of an eye.
"Some of the Seer's prophecies give us hope," Dalsia finally answered.
&n
bsp; He knew of the Seer, of her garbled prophecies. All of the races did, except the brainless humans who were concerned with nothing but themselves. Being the only mortal race, he didn't particularly blame them. He had not been aware knowledge of the prophecies had survived. Of course he never really cared or bothered to find out either. He had been occupied and amused for decades with the chaos that ensued and then went on to other pursuits.
Dalsia, he recalled, was the only daughter of the Queen's Seer. She had been the Recorder, attempting to put the prophecies into order and decipher them.
He held out a hand. "I would see them."
Her jaw trembled in anger as she glared at him. She looked to her mate and nodded once sharply. Ketheris pulled a small book from a leather bag at her side, her hands being full with her child.
He took it graciously. They were cooperating after all. "Thank you."
He flipped through pages, worn and old, the ink fading but still readable. Each page contained a garbled mess of words and underneath, her interpretations of them, sometimes going on for pages. Reading and memorizing quickly, he stopped at the prophecy they spoke of.
Damon looked at the Fey and laughed. "You're looking for some ancient, broken weapon?"
Ketheris nodded, his face grim. "We've spent centuries scouring all the eastern lands. Unless the Elves have it, it is not here. Besides..." He stopped and glanced at his wife.
She shook her head slightly.
Damon looked back down at the worn book, flipping through more pages. Suddenly he stopped. He read the short line of prophecy twice and then looked up. "I see." His gaze went from Ketheris, to Dalsia, and then to the small child in her arms. "You think you'll find it now."
Dalsia reached out and when he didn't argue, took the book back. "It is time. We didn't understand that at first..." She smiled down at her son. "But now we do."
Damon stepped closer, ignoring how the woman froze. He bent over slightly, taking a closer look at the child. "What is your name, little one?"
The boy blinked up at him with innocent golden eyes.
Damon frowned.
"Kei," his mother said quickly. She held the boy tighter to her chest. "Don't you dare go into his mind. You know what that would do to a child."
He leaned back, chuckling at the vehemence of her words. Mothers and their young.
"Will you tell him?"
"When he's old enough to understand his part," Ketheris said.
Damon nodded. "Very well. I will let you be on your way. Safe seas to you."
The Fey regarded him warily, but spoke a soft farewell.
He wandered slowly up the beach, and kept walking, lost in thought. Could the Fey be healed? If they were...yes, things would certainly become interesting again. He was curious how the other races would react.
He paused and looked out to sea at the ship waiting to take the first Fey to the west. It was not a trip he would care to make, the currents over the sea could be vicious, as would the human's reaction to a dragon in their lands. No, he would watch and wait for their return. He would mull over the prophecies he'd memorized.
With another smile he continued walking, his boredom forgotten.
Chapter 1
When Bells are Ringing
My dearest Arowyn,
I hope this letter finds you well. Everything is mostly quiet up here. Have you heard from your brothers again? I hope the note I included in my last letter sorted out the situation with the baker. Did you apologize like I asked you to?
How are your studies progressing? You were supposed to include updates from your tutors in your last letter. That you did not rather concerns me. Be sure to do so this time. I heard from John Harris that you were quite helpful to his wife and daughter not long ago. She praised you greatly in a letter to him. It gave me great pride to hear of your kind and generous actions.
I bet you cannot guess what I found last week. Maybe I should make you guess, but you would just get cranky. I know you would never guess right either. I found a boy in the woods, close to your age, maybe a little older. He is quite wild, and feisty. Even more so than you, if you can believe that. I have him here at the fort and it is taking him a while to settle in, but I am confident a little time is all it will take. By fall I am sure he will be much quieter. I am certain you will like him. I have grown quite fond of him myself. He will certainly fit right in. I can already imagine the trouble you will all get into. I expect you to be on your best behavior when I come home then, understand?
Be a good girl, keep up with your studies, and please, stay away from the swords. Wait until your brothers or I are home. I love you with all my heart, my daughter, and miss you more than words can say.
The clanging of bells jerked her attention away from the old letter. Resisting the urge to hide her head under her pillow, Arowyn winced at the noise and sat up. The dim light of early morning filtered into her small bedroom, barely enough to read by. Certainly way too early for the market bells. She carefully folded the two year old letter and set it to the side. Crawling over the bed to the window, she pushed open the shutters.
Cool, fall air greeted her face. A slight breeze between the houses ruffled her long dark hair. Bracing herself on the windowsill, she leaned out, looking down the narrow alley toward the street. People were running every which way, some still in their night clothes. She grinned at that, until the reason suddenly occurred to her.
She jerked back inside, pulling the shutters closed. A heavy lump formed in her stomach. It wasn't the market bells ringing, but the ones from within the watch towers along the city wall.
She knelt on the small bed and wrapped her arms around herself, staring straight ahead in shock. So soon? They couldn't be attacking already!
Thumping on the stairs caused her head to turn and relief flooded her. She'd be just fine. Her brothers had come home just the day before. Of course they'd brought an enemy army on their heels, but at least they were here and could tell her what to do. Being alone from spring to fall every year sucked rotten eggs. She survived the loneliness, but she didn't like it.
One of them banged on her door. "Aro! Wake up and get downstairs!"
"I'm coming," she told Danny, the middle brother. Springing off the bed, she didn't bother with getting dressed. Her brothers were nothing but efficient and orderly; military to the core. If they'd wanted her to get dressed first they would have said so.
Before doing anything, she returned her father's letter to its safe place. Taking the stairs two at a time, she stumbled into organized chaos. All seven of her brothers were awake, dressed in their uniforms and light armor, and moving about in all different directions. Had they even gone to sleep?
Ryan grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her to the dining room table. "Eat."
She blinked once and obeyed. Dirty dishes piled on the counter proved everyone else had already eaten. She shoveled fried eggs into her mouth and just watched. Paul was bent over a swath of papers at the other end of the long table. Elliott was going through the very bare pantry and tossing most of the food he found to the side. Joel quickly jammed everything into packs. She could hear the others banging around and talking in various parts of the house.
Elliott caught her attention. "Is there more? Anywhere else?"
She shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of egg. "I didn't know you'd–"
"Paul," he cut her off. "We've a problem with supplies."
Her oldest brother looked up from his papers. "Take Joel and go to Old Lady Wences. She always has extra." Elliott nodded and gathered up a few empty packs as Joel quickly finished filling the others. "Don't forget to pay her," Paul added.
Elliott snorted. "Does it matter?"
"Just do it."
Aro watched the exchange wide-eyed. Her brothers never acted like this; at least not at home. They were all so...serious. The eggs suddenly left a bad taste in her mouth. Would the Gelanians actually get past their walls? They never had before...but then they'd hardly ever breached the
mountain passes either. Until this summer when they managed to take them and push into the valley. Almost every day word had come down how they kept moving forward. So many people had died, so many towns and villages fallen. Their land supply routes were quickly lost. The city's population had swelled to more than double with refugees.
She understood the basics of all of this, she'd grown up in a military family. She planned on joining the army as soon as she came of age. She paid attention to conversations. She knew more people and less food meant falling morale. She almost smiled. It hadn't, and mostly because of her brothers. The seven Mason brothers were the country's most famous soldiers, and they were her brothers. She knew they would do absolutely everything to keep her safe.
Sammy bounded into the room, his eyes bright and mischievous. "I think this will do." He dropped a pile of clothes on the table. "Are you finished yet?"
She nodded and took her plate to the counter. "What's all this?"
"Her hair first," Paul said absently.
Her head shot around to look at him. "What about my hair?"
Elliott and Joel left through the side door, letting in the sound of the bells. Paul paused, listening. "We don't have much time left."
"Time for what?"
"Where are the scissors?"
She blinked. "I don't know."
Sammy ran his hand over his forehead. "Sit down, Aro."
She sat, her heart pounding faster as Sammy drew his knife. "You are not cutting my hair!"
"Don't be difficult," Paul said.
Normally, she listened to Paul. At thirty-two he was the oldest. He'd easily taken over the role of leader in the family when their father died only two years ago. She fumed as Sammy grabbed a handful of hair at the base of her neck. No, she couldn't let them cut it. "Don't you dare," she said suddenly, pulling away again.
