Hexborn (The Hexborn Chronicles Book 1)

by A. M. Manay

  “What was the Sanctum like?” he asked curiously. He had read many accounts of pilgrimages to Mount Tarwin. The place fascinated him. He had traveled twice to the village at the base of the mountain. For all his knowledge, all his study, all his travels, the one place he knew he would never be able to set foot was Mount Tarwin. It was, perhaps, the only place in the world that women had managed to keep solely for themselves.

  She gave him a sideways smile. “I never told you they let me in the Sanctum,” she pointed out.

  “I just assumed,” he countered. Well done, Hatch. Now she’ll know I was keeping eyes on her there.

  “It was beautiful. Of course, I was drugged, so the details are a bit fuzzy. . . Honestly, what affected me most was how they welcomed me. When I arrived, they said they had been expecting me, that they were happy to see me. They didn’t shy away from touching me. They didn’t cast protective signs, call me names.” She looked down at her plate. “That has not typically been my experience.”

  Hatch shook his head. “No, I don’t suppose it has. What did they tell you?” He wondered if she would lie.

  “That I would bring forth life and carry a wand of steel,” she replied. “I think that was about my healing the Deadlands. The steel wand is why I’m able to do it, where Master Jonn hasn’t been successful. All four elements were used to do the magic that destroyed those places in those great battles. Therefore, all four must also be harnessed to reverse the damage. That’s what I think, anyway. Perhaps four wizards with different wands could work together to achieve the same thing. That would be worth a try.”

  She looked down at her plate, seeming shy again after sharing her thoughts. “I asked her who my first parents were. All she would tell me was that they had been betrayed, and that they had mixed war and love.”

  At that, Silas hid a wince.

  “She also said something about rivers of blood, which was not terribly reassuring. I asked her if I should go to court. She told me that I would protect the king.” Shiloh shrugged. “That’s all I remember. Then I slept off the potion and went home, feeling a bit more at peace.”

  Her story did not contradict the account from the messenger the mother superior had sent him, much to his relief.

  “It would be quite an achievement, if it really works,” Hatch replied. “Your reversal of the damage to the Deadlands, I mean. And it would mean many years of difficult labor for you. Tens of thousands of acres lie lifeless, all across the kingdom.”

  “I know. I don’t mind hard work,” she replied. “Perhaps I could start when we are on progress in the summer, if we pass near any of those places. Then we could see if the plants that grow there during the next rainy season turn out to be healthy. I could spend some amount of time on it each year, maybe in the summer when school is on holiday. Do you think the king would permit that?”

  Her eyes were earnest and hopeful, but wary as well. Silas couldn’t help wondering if she hid something behind them.

  Hatch wanted to tell her, “Of course, he would.” Yet he knew it would not be so simple. Politics would come into it. Politics always did. The choice of which lands to prioritize, the ability to withhold her service as a punishment, fear of how the people might react to Shiloh, the possibility that this work would make her more influential and respected, or would make noblemen less reluctant to make war . . . Nothing was ever simple. Not at court.

  Then again, lands that produced more crops were lands that could pay more taxes. And the Gods knew Rischar needed more Suns coming in.

  “I’ll do my best,” Hatch told her, unwilling to make a promise he could not keep. “It would be a great gift to the crown and to the people.”

  “I hope so,” she replied. “I hope so.”

  Her smile was bright, but Silas, as ever, had a suspicious turn of mind.

  Why does she want so badly to repair the land? What does she expect to gain in return?

  Soon they retired to their clean little cells, side-by-side cubbies in the small visitor’s lodge. Silas lay back on his bedding, trying to calm his mind enough to get some sleep. As the grounds outside grew quiet, he realized that he could hear Shiloh weeping on the other side of the wall. He closed his eyes as he listened to her muffle great, heaving sobs with her pillow.

  Should I go check on her? he asked himself. Comfort her? Hold her hand?

  No, he decided. Don’t be an idiot. I am the last person she would want to see her like this.

  ***

  My Da is dead because of me. They came for me, and he tried to protect me, and they killed him for it.

  Shiloh lay in her bed in the dimming light, alone for the first time since the moment of revelation at the edge of the Deadlands. The emotions she’d had to swallow on the road now sought to escape, sought to consume her.

  I was born of monsters. “Two rivers of blood,” the Oracle told me. How right she was! And because of that, my Da is dead.

  The fact that she had turned out to be a princess was of no importance to her whatsoever, save that she knew it put her in danger. She could not conceive of any two people she less wished to be her parents than Alissa and Keegan.

  Better the devil himself.

  Oh, Edmun. Master Edmun. Uncle Edmun. I wish you’d told me. So I wouldn’t have to find it out from a Feral and a traitor. So I wouldn’t have to grieve it under Silas Hatch’s nose. So I wouldn’t have to learn to carry it without anyone to talk to.

  At last, the tears began to flow, and she buried her face in her pillow.

  Gods, I feel so alone.

  ***

  An hour later, Shiloh was still crying. Silas ran both of his hands through his hair, one foot twitching over and over as he listened to her.

  How can I even hear her? This wall is a foot thick.

  Silas stood on his bed and found an opening near the ceiling, for ventilation, he presumed. With his ear by the vent, he could hear her pain even more clearly, and could no longer restrain himself from intervening.

  “She wasn’t a monster, you know,” he said softly into the opening. The sounds of weeping immediately ceased, and Silas feared he had made a terrible error, but pressed on. “She could be kind, and generous, and very brave. Funny, even. Loyal. But . . . she had the stomach of the king, and war has a way of making people hard and . . . and ruthless. She didn’t realize she was pregnant until it was too late to protect you. You have every right to hate her if you want to, but you needn’t torture yourself with the idea that you are a monster’s daughter.”

  He heard her sniffle loudly, and then take a deep, shuddering breath.

  “And the Feral?” she asked, voice thick with tears and bitterness.

  “Believe it or not, I actually liked Keegan back then. He was so different from Edmun, who hated him, naturally. Hated him for being an atheist, mostly. I’m sure there was a brother’s jealousy there, too. I was younger than you are, and I thought Keegan was refreshingly practical. I suppose it was my little rebellion, hanging on Keegan’s every word while Edmun fumed. He was capable, and he cared about his men. He was Estan, you know. Son of a nobleman. He was kidnapped by Ferals when he was a youth, and they took a liking to him, I suppose. Alissa sent him away before he could discover she was pregnant.”

  There was a long silence. Silas was about to lie back down when Shiloh spoke again.

  “If it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have killed my Da,” she said in a whimper that turned into a desperate wail that broke whatever heart Silas had left.

  “No,” he insisted. “No. That sin is on those who slew him, not on you. Poll loved you from the moment he picked you up from your mother’s deathbed. You were his life, not his death.”

  He waited, balanced on his mattress, forehead pressed against the plaster, wondering if she would say anything else, wondering if he’d said the right things. Finally, there was a whisper.

  “Thank you, Master Hatch. I think I can sleep now.”

  ***
/>   From the village, Fountain Bluff was a morning’s easy ride. It rose above them, tall and gray against the surrounding green of the trees. Esta was soon safely installed behind its imposing walls, joining her half-sister, Princess Loor. Shiloh shook her head to see how much staff was required to attend to two little princesses in that great big castle.

  Shiloh stood by her mount, impatiently watching the men load her luggage on a cart, as those not remaining to serve the king’s daughters prepared to depart for the City. She watched guards lead Lord Bren from the castle in chains and placed him once again in his prison carriage. A few weeks worth of unkempt beard, and his drawn features, made him look twice his age. His resemblance to his dead father prompted her to look away, only for her eye to fall upon the bloody satchel that held the man’s perfectly preserved head.

  Deliberately, she turned her mind to more pleasant thoughts. She found that, as much as she disliked being a lady-in-waiting, she did enjoy her studies, and she was looking forward to getting back to Greenhill Palace. She hoped the return journey would be far less interesting than the outward one had been. She’d been confident it would be until she caught sight of Hatch’s face as he stood in the courtyard reading a letter.

  “Trouble afoot, Master Hatch?” Neither of them had said a word about their conversation through the wall, and Shiloh, for one, intended to keep it that way.

  He nodded, eyes troubled. “The queen has suffered a miscarriage.”

  “Oh, no! How terrible!” Shiloh cried. She mouthed a silent prayer. A fifth-month miscarriage was sad news, indeed.

  “It gets worse. Rumors are swirling that the child was a boy, and hexborn,” Hatch shared.

  Her heart dropped. “No! She would never have been so reckless,” Shiloh protested. “As much as she hoped for a child? I can’t imagine. Even people with no magic in them have deformed children sometimes. It’s not always the mother’s fault.”

  “The truth of the matter is largely immaterial, unfortunately for the queen. The story going around is that she gave birth to a stillborn boy with green hair and a missing leg, and that is what people are going to believe,” Hatch explained. He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be the first time a queen had—” He cut himself off before continuing, “Her grace has not built up enough goodwill to withstand a storm like this.”

  “Couldn’t she simply produce the corpse?” Shiloh asked, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  “People would just convince themselves that she stole it from some other poor woman,” Hatch replied. “If the king decides he wants her to be at fault, that is what everyone will choose to believe.”

  “What will happen to her?” Shiloh asked.

  “Nothing good.”

  Chapter 17

  Little Mouse

  “Da, tell me again about how you and Brother Edmun found me when I was a baby.”

  Shiloh lay on her cozy little bed in the loft above her father’s workshop. The walls were rough-hewn, but they were snug, and there were no cracks to give an advantage to the winter winds.

  The blacksmith looked down at his little girl and smiled. “Again?”

  Shiloh nodded.

  “As you wish, little mouse,” Poll agreed. “One cold and frosty afternoon—”

  “Frosty and cold mean the same, Da,” she interrupted.

  “Who is telling this story?” he demanded in mock annoyance. “It’s to make it more interestin’. Just because ye know how to read and yer a itty bitty sorceress, ye think ye know everythin’.”

  “Sorry, Da,” she said contritely.

  “Now, where was I? Ah, one cold and frosty afternoon, me and the priest was walkin’ through the forest. Now, we was using the deer paths instead of the main road, on account of bein’ fugitives. It was the last days of the Siblings’ War, ye see, and we had just deserted the Usurper’s Army. Now, Brother Edmun couldn't exactly be goin’ back to his old post in the City, seeing as how he'd chosen the wrong side of it. So, he decided to stick with me on the long walk back here to the Teeth.

  “We was walkin’ along, quiet as could be, and I heard me a little sound, just like a little mouse. We was hungry enough to eat anythin’, so a mouse sounded like supper to me. So, I stepped me off the path on the hunt for that mouse. Now, the good brother, he wasn't wantin’ to be alone in unfamiliar woods, so he followed me. And what do ye suppose we found in a little clearing?”

  “Me!” Shiloh squealed.

  “That is right, my clever lass,” Poll proclaimed. “There ye were, wrapped in a blanket, layin’ on a tree stump, sweet and calm as you please.”

  “But I wasn't alone,” she chirped.

  “No, ye were not, little mouse. Ye were surrounded by woodland creatures standin’ guard: bunnies and squirrels, birdies and deer, and even a fox or two fer good measure. I'm not ashamed to say that before I snatched ye up, I dropped several of those wee animals with me sling. Yet not a one of ‘em scattered until I had ye in me arms, and they had decided I was good enough ta guard ye meself.”

  “They didn't all leave, though,” Shiloh prompted.

  “That's right, little mouse. Just off to the side, patient as a monk, there stood a little mother goat, full of milk. And the priest and I, we walked with that goat all the way home. We'd soak a clean rag in her milk to feed ye, we did, and ye rode inside our coats, wrapped up snug, quiet as ye please the whole way.

  “Now, the good priest, he thought ye’d never make it. Said ye’d die, sure as spring follows winter, since yer hexborn. Said it’d be a mercy to snap yer wee neck. I told ‘im if he said that again, I’d be snappin’ his instead. But we showed ‘im, didn't we, little mouse? And now yer his little apprentice-like, the apple of his grumpy old eye. Yer the only thing that can make the man smile.”

  “Yes, Da,” she replied, her face brightened by her own smile.

  “Ye ready to go to sleep now, darlin’?”

  “Yes, Da,” Shiloh replied, but her teeth worried at her lip.

  “What is troublin’ ye, little mouse?” Poll asked. “What is runnin’ about in that clever noggin?”

  Her words came out in a rush, having been pent up all day long. “So I was at the river this morning, and Meggan said that my ma must have been a monster for me to turn out all a mess like this. And that since she was a monster, I'm going to turn out a monster, too. What do you reckon?”

  “I reckon Meggan needs to get the devil slapped out of ‘er mouth,” Poll muttered. He looked down into Shiloh’s big, serious eyes and heaved a sigh. “Now, it's true your mother musta cast plenty o’ curses when she was with child in order for you to be hexborn, with yer arm half missin’ and yer eyes and hair of pink and all. There's no denying that. But here's the thing, little mouse . . . During the war, people had to do all kinds of terrible things, just tryin’ to make it through. I killed so many men I lost count the first month. Brother Edmun, too, only he used a wand instead of an ax. So yer ma . . . She coulda been a nun or a priest made to fight on one side or t’other. That ain’t her fault.”

  “But the sisters and brothers aren't allowed to have children,” Shiloh argued.

  “Well, when a person thinks she's gonna die any day, those vows go out the window right quick. So, when ye came along, she was prolly right frightened of what would happen to her, bein’ that she’d broke the law twice, having a baby, and a hexborn one at that. But she didn't drown ye, like a lot of folks might’ve. She cast wards to protect ye until someone came along to take care of ye. For all I know, she was keepin’ watch her own self, hidin’ in the trees ‘til I came along. So, no, I don't think yer ma was a monster. And even if she was, that’s no reason to think ye would be one.

  “It's the choices ye make that make ye a monster, little mouse. Ye understand? Do ye want to be a monster?”

  Shiloh shook her head. “No. But I wouldn't mind if folks like Meggan were a little bit afraid of me. Maybe then they would leave me alone.”

  Poll heaved a
sigh. “Well, I can't rightly blame ye for feeling that way.” He gave Shiloh a hug. “To sleep now, little mouse.”

  “Love you, Da,” she said.

  “Love ye, too.” Poll began climbing down the ladder, but he stopped to add, “Yer mother saved me own life, too, ye know. After I lost me wife and baby in the plagues, I thought I'd never have a happy day again the rest of me life. When the press gangs came, the thought o’ dyin’ in battle didn’t trouble me a bit. I was glad for the chance to get meself killed, half angry I made it through in one piece. But there I am in the woods, hungry and cold and hopeless, and then . . .”

  “There I was?”

  “There ye were. And every day since a happy one. G’night, little mouse.”

  “G’night, Da.”

  ***

  The day the expedition returned to the City, the king chose to put aside his grief over his stillborn son and bask in his victory over Lord Redwood. He led a grand procession to the royal wharf, where Lord Mosspeak presented him Redwood’s head with much ceremony. The head was then mounted on a pike, which was carried at the front of the parade as it crossed the City to the palace. The rebel’s son was marched in chains behind his father’s remains, subjected to the derisive shouts of the crowd and the occasional piece of rotten fruit.

  The citizenry celebrated the end of months of bad news and uncertainty, glad of an excuse for a little revelry and skiving off work. The chilly weather seemingly could not put a damper on the festivities. The queen was nowhere to be seen, Hatch noted. He rode beside Shiloh just behind the noblemen.

  “Does it bother you that Lord Mosspeak got to hand over his head, when you were the one who killed him?” Shiloh asked. Dressed in finery for the first time in weeks, her pink hair glowed even under a cloudy sky.

  “It’s the nature of the work,” Hatch replied. “The king knows how it really happened. This way, everyone gets what he wants.”