Entwined Paths (Swift Shadows Book 2)

by M. L. Greye

  She had to focus on not bristling. It was too soon after Ewan’s death. Her father wished only to keep her safe. He was willing to let her see the other regions. That was enough for now. She nodded.

  His eyes softened. “My advisors have suggested you see Glavenryl first.”

  If his advisors wished her to go there, she spitefully wanted to refuse. But, truthfully, she’d never been to Glavenryl. She did want to see it for herself. “I’d love to see Glavenryl,” she replied. “When should I go?”

  Onyx smiled. “As soon as you see fit.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Declan stared at Quinn. “You’re leaving the garrison? For good?”

  She sighed, not meeting his eyes. She kept her gaze on the forest around them. The moon’s light barely filtered down to the ground through the tree branches. They were out on their night patrol – partnered together once again. Quinn’s words had stopped him in his tracks.

  “I’ve completed my original contract,” she told him. “It’s time for me to move on.”

  “You completed it three months ago,” Declan retorted. “Why leave now?”

  Quinn finally faced him, twisting her head slowly. What he could make out on her face looked like surprise. “How many of us must disappear before you realize something is seriously wrong?”

  He winced. They’d had this conversation before. In total, eight from their garrison had vanished in the night, and two more in broad daylight. The closest garrison to the north of them reported a similar number. Gone without any signs of struggle or leaving a trail to follow. Quinn was sure this was a part of some governmental conspiracy. Declan thought she was being just a touch paranoid. He suspected it was nothing more than bandits. Aggressive bandits. Exactly like the ones who had attacked him and Ewan … and Emry.

  “But is it dangerous enough to merit you leaving your position?” He countered, avoiding answering her question with one of his own. “You told me you love the life of a warrior.”

  “I’m still going to be a warrior,” she replied, “just a different sort – I’m joining Anexia’s army.”

  Declan blinked. “And that’s supposed to be safer for you?”

  “I won’t be on the border anymore,” Quinn shot back. She was irritated – rare for her. “I won’t evaporate into thin air.”

  He turned his back to her and shoved his hands into his pockets. Really, he should be happy for her. Moving from border patrol to the army was like taking a promotion. It was an honor to serve Anexia, even if the Royals controlled them. He knew what was really bothering him.

  Quinn hadn’t asked him to join her. They’d been together long enough now that she could have, but she hadn’t. What ate at him the most, though, was that he didn’t really care. The news should have pained him. Yet, all he felt was a twinge of annoyance at losing his closest friend in the garrison. But even then, they weren’t all that close. Not like how a romantic couple should be. Honestly, they were more like friends with benefits.

  That was really it, wasn’t it? He and Quinn were … convenient. They kept each other company, but that was it. Her leaving was just a reminder that Declan didn’t have anyone he fully trusted.

  Releasing his breath out in a rush, Declan turned back to Quinn. She was watching him. He forced a smile, even though he wasn’t sure she’d see it in the dark. “The army doesn’t deserve you.”

  Her shoulders loosened a little as she relaxed at his words. With a small laugh, she mused, “Who does?”

  It was a good question. One Declan didn’t have an answer to. So, he asked instead, “When do you head out?”

  “In two days.”

  “You certainly waited until the last minute to tell me,” he said dryly.

  “I found out this morning.” She shrugged in her usual way, as if that explained her waiting until now to mention it. “But you should seriously consider returning home, Declan. It isn’t safe here.”

  He snorted and snapped, somewhat bitterly, “A good warrior doesn’t abandon his post when the fight shows up.”

  “It’s hard to put up a fight when you don’t know what you’re fighting,” Quinn replied quietly.

  Declan didn’t respond. Instead, he glared out into the forest. Quinn could leave, but he knew he would stay. Border control was all he knew. It didn’t feel right to leave it behind. Not yet, anyway.

  :::::

  Emry was bored. Midland contra dances were better than the slow, smooth maneuvers of Glavenryl. Yet, after a month in Kruth picking up their fast-paced steps, the Mid dances were a little too quaint, too sweet. And at the moment, they were about as exciting as watching paint dry.

  She was standing near one of the refreshment tables, sipping a cup of strawberry and mint punch. It might have been raspberry and mint – she wasn’t really savoring it. To be honest, after her time in Heerth with their exotic blends of spices even in their beverages, most things she ate now seemed a little bland. Apparently, Heerth had ruined her.

  Lady Bella, a petite gray-eyed blonde, passed nearby on the arm of Lord Everett, a somber Brown with strawberry red hair, and offered Emry a wide smile. Almost too wide, really. “Good evening, dearest princess,” she said cheerily.

  “Lady Bella. Lord Everett.” Emry inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement of the two Mid nobles. They weren’t required to bow since they’d done it with everyone else when she’d arrived at the ball.

  “Such a lovely night,” Lady Bella commented as she and Lord Everett paused at the opposite end of the table from Emry.

  “Indeed, it is,” Emry replied absently.

  The ball really was gorgeous. It was held outside on the long front yard of the Marchioness Debora’s estate. Had the woman possessed a garden, Emry was sure the party would have been held there. But true to little Tanya’s words, no one in the Midlands sported gardens of flowers and gravel paths. Just reasonable orchards and fields of crops behind their homes.

  The location of the party didn’t make it any less lovely, though. Marble slabs had been laid over the grass, forming a massive dancefloor. Cream paper lanterns were strewn across the entire expanse on wires that went from one wood pole to the next along the outskirts. There were deep benches everywhere surrounding the dancefloor, covered in fluffy white and green pillows. Low-lying tables sat in front of the benches for guests to place their plates and cups while they rested or visited. Refreshment tables were sprinkled throughout – for convenience and to prohibit anyone from having to wait for their food. Then, off to one side of the dancefloor, a troupe of string musicians accompanied the dancers.

  Lady Debora had hired a Gray for the night to keep the skies clear and any wind to nothing more than a gentle breeze. Just enough to keep her guests cool and comfortable on this late summer night. It really was a charming setup. Emry would have appreciated it more, though, had she not been surrounded by Mid nobles.

  Out of all the lords and ladies Emry had encountered thus far, the Mids were the dullest. They were all so proper. For being the infamous mixing ground of the five regions, the Mid nobles lacked any sort of personality.

  Now, true, some of the members of her father’s Court were Mids – the upper level nobility, like a Duke or Marquis. Earls, Viscounts, and Barons were considered lower level nobility, who kept to their own regional courts.

  Lady Bella was the daughter of a widowed Baroness. Lord Everett was a Viscount. The rumor was that Bella was hoping to become his Vicountess by Autumn’s Eve. It was sadly the most interesting rumor Emry had heard during her entire three weeks she’d been in the Midlands.

  The rest of the gossip was over whose crops would be more fruitful come harvest time. Or who had just purchased a new cow, or pig, or whatever animal. None of it was truly exciting. Yet, Emry had feigned interest. Over and over and over again. All in an attempt to win the nobles over – to get them to like her. Maybe even respect her. But it wasn’t working.

  The Midlands was the third region she’d visited. She’d already spent four week
s with the Glavs and four more in Kruth. It’d taken her a week and a half to travel from her palace near Breccan to Saginawt, the largest city in Glavenryl.

  After her month there, she’d traveled another week and a half to Wexric – the seat of Kruth nobility. Four weeks later, and another week on the road, she found herself here, in Pritchl. In one more week, she’d be heading back home to Enn.

  She was ready to go back, even though she felt a little like a failure. Not one of the nobles she’d encountered would bring up politics within her presence. When she broached the subject, the nobles would laugh off her observations concerning the Rioters and end with praising her father. It had taken Emry a solid two months to realize why they all loved her father as king.

  The lords and ladies were greedy for power. With an uninvolved king, there was plenty of power to go around. The nobility – the Royals – snatched at it with their sticky claws. They made it very clear to Emry that they wished either her or her sister, as they didn’t know who was the oldest, to keep things just the way they were. If Emry hadn’t been trying to gain their respect, she would have considered spitting in their faces.

  Lady Bella’s light laugh drew Emry’s attention away from the dancers. The Gray was leaning into Everett with one hand resting on the hand he had twined within her long, cascading curls. The Midlands being a mixing ground had one advantage – women and men wore their hair how they wished, not conforming to the trends of a single region. Emry herself had her hair loose, taking advantage of her rare opportunity to do so in public.

  “Appalling, isn’t it?”

  Emry whirled. Lord Cebil – a tall Green with shoulder-length hair the color of mud – had somehow snuck up on her. He smiled pleasantly at her. No, it was more like vapidly. Emry was not particularly fond of Cebil. He was an Earl, but a grasping and jealous one. As an Earl, he was lower nobility, and that rankled him to no end.

  She tried not to frown at him. “What is appalling?” She had to ask, just as he’d wanted. With Cebil, it could have been any number of things.

  “A society lady permitting Everett to accost her in front of every Mid noble in attendance,” he scoffed. “No other man will touch her now.”

  Irritation flared up in Emry’s throat. She narrowed her eyes on the twenty-something man who could barely pass for attractive. “Why would she want another man to touch her when she is soon to be engaged?” She asked frostily.

  It was the politest thing she could think of to say. She should have stopped there. It would have been the prudent thing to do.

  Yet, that spiteful dark side of her couldn’t help but add, “Besides, with the upper nobility away at Court, no other man here could tempt her. Aren’t all lower nobles essentially the same rank?”

  Cebil stared at her, his eyes briefly flashing shock and fury. She’d clearly insulted and offended the man, but she couldn’t find it in herself to regret it. To be honest, this was the most interesting conversation she’d had all night.

  She placed her now empty cup on the tray of a passing servant and turned back to the Mid Lord. He was still gawking, his smile more of a grimace now. Emry smirked. “Until the next, Lord Cebil.”

  It was a dismissal – the icing on the cake. Since Emry vastly outranked the Green, her dismissing him meant that he now had to walk away. Since he’d engaged in one-on-one conversation with her, he’d also have to bow before he left. For once in her life, Emry adored the traditions of her country.

  “Until the next, dearest princess,” Cebil ground out through his teeth as he bent at the waist.

  Emry watched him retreat to the opposite side of the yard, reveling in each and every one of his steps. Oh yes, she was more than ready to go home. At least in the palace she had Cit to keep her company. Although, she doubted even Cit would have approved of her snubbing the Earl.

  :::::

  “You did not!”

  Emry flopped onto her back across her bed, staring up at the dark wood panels of her ceiling. “He was being rude.”

  Her sister dropped onto the edge of the bed, gripping onto one of its four posts. “That doesn’t mean you call him out on it.”

  “But it was so satisfying.” Emry grinned. She’d been home for about three hours. While her maid unpacked her things, she told Cit all about her tour of the regions. Just as Emry had guessed, Cit did not approve of how she’d handled Cebil.

  “That doesn’t make it right,” Cit retorted. “What if Father hears of it?”

  “Cebil is only an Earl.” Emry rolled her eyes. “If they’re not upper nobility, they won’t draw the attention of Father’s advisors, which means that the only person to tell him would be you.” Citrine harrumphed uncharacteristically, causing Emry to twist so she could see her sister’s face. “My dear princess,” Emry chided, “whoever taught you such an obnoxious sound?”

  Her cheeks pinked. “One of the workers redecorating my rooms does it.”

  Emry sat up at that. “Father permitted you to redo your rooms?” Emry had asked him to change hers the day she came back from Heerth. He’d told her he’d think on it. If Cit was redecorating, then Emry could do the same.

  “As of last week.” Cit nodded. “Father figured he’d tell you once you came home.”

  “Well, that’s fantastic.” Emry had many ideas on how she’d upgrade her personal chambers. She’d fallen in love with the light and airy pastels of Acoba. She planned to model her rooms after the luxurious ones she’d beheld there.

  “He wants to freshen up the palace before all the Heerth royals get here for Nokomis’s wedding,” Citrine went on. “I think Father was a little inspired by the beauty he saw in Zyntar. He said he didn’t want those Heerths to find his palace shabby.”

  “Father said this?” Emry blinked. That didn’t sound like him.

  Cit chuckled, as if she knew exactly what Emry was thinking. “I believe he was quoting Jesop.”

  “Oh.” That made much more sense. Jesop was one of her father’s advisors, and the only one who had accompanied the king to Zyntar.

  “Are you excited to see Prince Trezim again?” Cit traced the outside of the flowers that had been embroidered on Emry’s quilt. She kept her eyes on her hand as it moved – the feigned image of nonchalance. Emry nearly laughed. Her sister was well aware of Emry’s farewell to Trez. Yet, Emry really was looking forward to seeing him again – if only to knee him in the groin and demand he show her that canteen where they danced the Turanga. She’d spent too many hours searching for it without any success. She was beginning to wonder if it actually existed or was part of some sick joke from Trezim.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “It’ll be nice to see him again.”

  “A month will go by fast,” Citrine offered with a smile. Emry held back a wince. Cit assumed Emry fancied Trez. She did care for the man and missed him immensely. Still … Cit hadn’t seen his eyes on Night’s Crown. The fear.

  A part of Trez feared what she was. That knowledge made Emry feel oily inside. It was the same sensation her father and Cit sometimes gave her. Even Ewan had given her it a few times.

  It was as if everyone thought she was on the brink of shattering into an evil murderer at any given moment. Even though countless other Silvers hadn’t been tyrants. Just because Emry’s ancestors had let the darkness consume them, members of her own family were afraid she’d do the same. It was like no one truly knew her.

  “So, have you thought about what you will wear to the wedding?” Cit asked, bringing back Emry’s attention.

  “No.” Emry pushed back her frown, trying to make her voice sound pleasant rather than bitter. “But you have, haven’t you?”

  “I was thinking cerulean for my gown,” Cit began.

  As Citrine went on describing her plans, Emry devised a dress of her own. It would be the reverse of her outfit for Night’s Crown. Instead of pale material, she’d wear something dark, and the shadow embroidery would be silver to match her eyes. She really would look like the night to Trezim’s day.

>   :::::

  Declan set down his sister’s letter and sighed. Erreth sounded so happy with her new husband. She and Fisk been married now for about a month. Declan had watched them take their vows himself – on one of his few visits home.

  In her letter, Erreth gushed over her wonderful new life. She clearly was still in the honeymoon phase. Her words were nauseatingly rose-colored. However, Declan might have been just a twinge jealous – and bitter.

  He didn’t know what it was like to be so completely in love that everything in the world was perfect. To be honest, though, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel that way. He was too much of a realist. The world wasn’t perfect. Him loving someone wasn’t going to change that fact. He didn’t see the world like Erreth did and didn’t want to. He was beginning to wonder if he even wanted to fall in love … Or if he could.

  Quinn had been gone for months now. At first, he missed her company. Now though, he barely thought of her. Only when he was randomly reminded of her. He doubted he’d remember her at all in a few months more. Did that say something about him?

  They were together for almost a year. Yet, when they’d parted for the last time, neither one had seemed too upset. She’d left without a tear, and he didn’t think much of her departure the rest of the day. It was as if they both had been a step above indifferent towards each other. That couldn’t have been good or healthy.

  Truthfully, Declan had thought more about Ewan’s little sister in the past couple months than he had Quinn. He’d had a few more nightmares involving Emry - including the one he’d had the night before. It’d been one of the worse ones, actually. He hadn’t been able to stop the flaming arrows from piercing a child Emry. When he dreamed of her as an unprotected child, it always rendered him restless and anxious.

  Declan leaned forward over his knees and scrubbed at his face with his hands. He was sitting on the edge of his bunk. It was one of the few nights he didn’t have to work. The second in a row. He never had two nights off one right after the other. At least, not while he stayed in the barracks. He did it on purpose to avoid having too much time to dwell on the past.