Songs in the Night: Book One

by Laura Frances

  His eyes held fast to the floor as he recalled it. “He screamed, and the wind of it blew the food across the roadway, scattering it along the dirt.” He looked to me again. “Then he laughed. And he left without the food.”

  “How cruel to provoke you then leave your father’s meal in ruin. Was your father very mad?”

  Cedric shrugged. “I scarcely remember, so he must not have been.”

  How odd, I thought, to remember one piece of the story so clearly but not the rest. I thought perhaps the pain of it was too great, therefore he kept that portion locked away. Had I done the same, I might have lived my years in peace.

  “How old were you,” Cedric asked curiously, “when you first experienced power?”

  “It never happened before now,” I said, and his eyebrows raised.

  “That’s strange,” he murmured, but he said nothing else.

  I finished my food and handed the bowl back. My stomach wrestled with the sudden fullness, but I had no complaints. Already I felt calmer.

  “It was delicious. Thank you.”

  “Thank the king,” he answered. “You’ve just eaten from his plate.”

  I went rigid, stunned to silence. Why would the king do such a thing? What did he want from me?

  “I understand your shock,” said Cedric, “but that is his way. You won’t find a more generous king in any land.”

  I hugged my knees, though it caused me pain. My earliest memories of the king drew up haunting images of my village in flames. Of women screaming and shouts as men tried, and failed, to defend their homes. The night my life changed.

  Generous was not the word I would have used. But Cedric held such conviction, and I began to wonder if my young memories might have been wrong.

  “How long have you served him?” I asked.

  Cedric picked at the hem of his tunic. “Not long, really. His man is named Art and has been with him for some years, but he’s sick.”

  It all came back to me, flooding in with such clarity, I could have relived every moment. Etan, a fair, red-haired boy twice my height, cheeks ruddy in the brilliant high noon sunshine. Smiling down on me before a wall of yellow petals. His father was the king’s personal servant; he’d told me as much. How was it that such a boy grew into knighthood? How could he bear that title unless it was given?

  “I should return to the king,” Cedric said, rising, the bowl held before him in his palms. “Is there anything you wish for me to say?”

  Had I misjudged the Omarian king? In the few hours I’d known him, already I felt a deep sense of loyalty growing, and I wondered, then, if he would have me.

  I gave Cedric no message. And in the hours to come, longing stirred in my chest as something living. If the king was indeed good, I wished never to be parted from his company again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ERIS

  I woke to Danior standing just inside the tent, flanked by soldiers. He wore black from hair to boot, and his eyes were weary.

  I blinked, sitting up and raising a hand against the sunlight that streamed in behind him. My body ached, but already I was beginning to mend.

  “Why have you searched me out?” I asked when he said nothing. His eyes struggled to remain on me, and it was no wonder. I was a mess of injuries, and the oldest mark was his.

  “I’ve broken from my father,” he told me at last. “I spoke with the king today, and he’s permitted me to join his foot soldiers.”

  “That is something,” I answered, struggling to find the energy even to speak. The draught had finally worked, and now I struggled to come out from under it. “But it doesn’t tell me why you came looking for me.”

  His head fell forward, and when he spoke, the words were difficult to hear past his shame. “I hoped to warn you. To spare you my father’s ill intent…but I was too late.”

  I thought of Briar, and fresh pain swelled in my chest. “Much too late,” I whispered.

  But had I not been captured, Briar would have died without ever being found. Then again, if she had survived the illness, her chances were much better without me.

  In a fearful whisper, Danior asked, “What has become of you? I heard stories from the soldiers…”

  His father’s words came to memory: Children never know what enchantments they carry.

  I lifted my palms and studied them through drowsy eyes.

  “Something was done to me,” I answered quietly. “Before I came to your camp.” I met his eyes. “Your father was right to drive me away. I might have destroyed everyone.”

  “Would we not have deserved it?”

  I studied him. “Why are changed toward me? Why go to such trouble now to make amends?”

  Behind me, Merek busied himself gathering supplies to change my dressings.

  “It’s only,” Danior started slowly, “the last day you said to me that you could not forgive me because I had slept while you lay unconscious in the forest.”

  “Yes.”

  “Unconscious by my own doing.”

  “I remember,” I said.

  Danior wrung his hands, but his jaw hardened. “Am I very much like him?”

  I wished, then, that I could lie; the realization soured his expression. But I was not a liar.

  “Yes,” I told him. “Perhaps in the absence of your mother, the balance was lost, and he won.”

  A hard breath left him. “I will never go back.”

  Merek approached with my bandages, and I swung my legs from beneath the blanket so he could tend to my feet. Danior looked on as the wounds were cleaned.

  “I swear to you, Eris, I will be different.”

  I winced at Merek’s touch.

  “You’re a king’s man now,” I told him. “You will have no choice.”

  He was still pitiful to me. Still a child lost under his father’s shadow. But the darkness was lifting.

  “I would much rather have your forgiveness,” he said, bowing his head again.

  How could I deny him this, when I myself sought the king’s grace and welcome? An ache rose in my jaw and I clenched against it. The years with the drifters had been painful, and his face was a stark reminder. But to have what I wanted, I knew I must forgive him.

  “And friendship,” I answered, smiling weakly. “Let us have both.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ETAN

  As morning broke, a lone rider arrived at our camps, shrouded in fog.

  He was filthy and looked as though he’d ridden out last night’s storm on the back of his horse. He made straight for the king, and we let him, for he bore the Omarian claw on his shield. And indeed, we knew him; he was one of the five sent with a message for the Sithian king.

  Men stumbled into his wake, and by the time he reached His Majesty’s tent, a crowd of soldiers, still blinking away sleep, had gathered to hear the news. I pushed through to the front, fearful at the absence of the other four.

  The king and Sir Belin helped the soldier from his horse, and only then did we see the wounds. His helmet came off, revealing a beaten, swollen face and broken lips.

  “I know not if they live,” he rasped as he leaned heavy on the king. “Dreonine is mad, my lord. He would fight you to reclaim his honor.”

  “And what honor is that?” growled Belin. “That land has long been stripped of any such thing.”

  “He takes offense,” the soldier answered. “Claims his character has been marred by your accusations.”

  “I should have known,” said the king. “that such a man could not be reasoned with.”

  I broke from the crowd. “If he denies his part, then what of the lost! Will he allow us to search them out?”

  The soldier’s look was grave. “He has vowed to destroy any man who steps foot on his soil.”

  “Then he brings trouble upon himself!” rose a voice from the men, and many more cried in agreement.

  Merek arrived to guide the wounded soldier to his tent, and the king remained in our midst, gazing out across the sea
of men who would give their lives should he ask it. They would storm any nightmare with the Good King at their front. The crowd pushed in, until everywhere I looked in any direction, I saw only burning eyes, all brimming with fury.

  Silence fell, until only bird song remained and the light rustling of leaves.

  “What say you, sire?” I asked, and his eyes slid to mine. I knew what his answer would be. He would storm the west to reclaim his people, and he was already tallying the cost. Bearing the great loss that would come. We’d be fighting two enemies. Caught within a feud we didn’t belong to as the sorcerers continued their assault on Dreonine’s power.

  He made no speech that morning. Speeches are meant to stir up courage in fearful men. They bolster the weary on the eve of a great and terrible battle. But these men surrounding him were already united in heart, and they rallied swiftly to their leader.

  The king spoke simply, “Today we ride west,” and the men erupted in such a passionate cry, the sound stretched and spread, catching fire across the long reaching camps. For years had our land suffered at the hands of Dreonine and the wicked men running loose across his lands. Every path toward peace had been undone. Every effort to avoid war rebutted.

  The outcry carried for such a long time, I wondered how far it might drift. Would it drift to the gates of the cruel western king? Would the sound reach our stolen and bring them hope?

  From the glorious chaos that followed his words came forward a small figure. Silently Eris crept on bandaged feet toward our king, and I halted in my revelry to watch her.

  She bowed low before the Sovereign Lord of the East, palms laid bare before my master. Slowly the closest men quieted, and sharp murmurs drifted forward, outrage at the boldness of such a creature.

  “You called for me,” she said, and the crowd of soldiers grew still at the sound of her voice. Did they expect her words to curse them? I know not. But the king simply offered Eris a sad smile.

  “I cannot counsel you,” he answered, “now that war is upon us. I will send you to those who can help you.”

  Across the open space, Aldred watched with a look of approval. This is what Maledin wanted, and I should have rejoiced that his dying wish be fulfilled. But I couldn’t look at her without wondering if our first meeting as children marked the end of my mother’s life. If, with a kind touch, I’d fated my sister to die.

  “Please,” she pleaded, “don’t send me away. I’m skilled with a bow, and I can fight.”

  “I have warriors enough,” the king replied gently. “And many of them are wary of you. I cannot have dissension among my host.”

  “But they trust their king,” Eris said, sitting upright, her hands clasped tight on her folded legs. “With one word from you, they will yield to your wisdom.” She touched a hand to her chest. “I vow I will earn their trust.”

  The king frowned. “That will be no small task. Do you know the nature of your curse?”

  She answered with a shake of her head.

  “You have been marked for vengeance. Chosen by the Sithian lords in your infancy to act out their will. It is your grief and your sorrow that they exploit. It is your anger, and the long-kept bitterness in your heart. You grow in power as you feed it these things.”

  Trembling, the girl asked him, “How do I defeat it?”

  “When unchecked, such emotions grow into weapons of great destruction, even in the common man. There is much we still don’t know, but I can tell you this: they are not stronger than kindness. A fit of rage can be doused by the simplest act of love. Such acts are like music, songs in the night to drive back the darkness. Whatever the intent of this curse, it need not rule you.”

  Through a steady flow of tears, Eris replied, “I have longed all my years to know goodness. And now that I’ve found it, I will give everything to protect it. I renounce their claim on me. You have my life, my lord, and my promise.”

  The king smiled softly. She’d won him. “I will hold you to your word.”

  “Until my death, whatever comes.”

  “Such a vow cannot be taken lightly,” he called to the men. “Eris has vowed her life to me, and she will be under my protection, as are all of my people. Guard her well, as she will guard you.”

  At his command, Eris rose. The soldiers dispersed to enjoy a meal before our march. But I remained, and the king called me over.

  “Look after her,” he instructed me. “Don’t let her come to harm.”

  I avoided her gaze, answering, “How can I, sire, when thousands fall in battle? We don't know what lies beyond the border.”

  And how can I trust her motives, I thought, when her blood is still that of the enemy? What if the curse overtakes her?

  “Indeed, young Etan, but there are other threats besides war. She will need an ally, and this is what I ask of you.”

  I bowed my head in obedience, and he left us, calling Cedric from the outskirts to aide him.

  The young servant gave Eris a grin as he passed, and she smiled gently back, watching on as he followed the king into his tent.

  Even in their absence, she held there.

  “You need not fear me,” I said, startling her. “Whatever I think, I will do as he says.”

  "I have aligned my purpose with yours,” she answered, turning to me, the green of her bloodshot eyes halting in the morning light. “You wish to protect the king, as do I.”

  “But I, myself, am not a threat to him...”

  I felt her frown in my chest, but my words were true, and I wouldn’t pretend differently. Even if I wished to. Her power was yet unpredictable, and her loyalty untested.

  She stepped closer, gazing up at me with bitter disappointment. “You only see my wickedness, and none of your own. Are you so perfect? So high above me?”

  My necked warmed, and I matched her step. “I’ve never claimed that—”

  “But your sins are not so terrible as mine, is that it?”

  I was wise to hold my tongue. If I’d answered then, I would have severed any hope of an alliance between us.

  Instead, I said, “We are bound together now. Let that be enough.”

  A flicker of pain registered across her face, and I felt it too, somewhere deep. I couldn’t deny the tethering I’d felt over the years. The bond of two children who were once naïve. Perhaps her innocence had been real on that sunny day, or perhaps her outpouring now was all a ruse. I couldn’t say. I held her gaze and searched her out, but I found nothing there to make me sure of who she was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ERIS

  Were we not bound before?

  He turned from me, leaving me standing alone before the king’s tent, dissolving into a pool of sorrow. What had happened to the boy I’d met? Had he not thought of me as I had him for all those years? Had I drifted from his mind so quickly, like mist, there and gone before ever taking root?

  Or perhaps his soul had died in battle, and only a hardened soldier remained.

  The rough ground bit at my bare feet as I skirted the doused campfires, following the hill back to Merek’s tent. But the healer still tended to the wounded soldier within, so I continued on the path, taking a bend that led me farther into the trees.

  I found my way to a group of towering oaks and leaned my back to the thick bark. My eyes fixed on the patternless sea of trunks before me, blurring as hot tears drowned my vision.

  I’d fled the drifter’s camp. And though the cost had been high, I’d escaped the trap Nehemiah laid to destroy me. But still I felt no relief, for pain followed wherever I went.

  A wave of fiery heat swept up my arms, pouring over into my chest and spreading through my body. My pulse sped, and I leapt away from the tree, startled at the sudden surge of power.

  “Have you been hiding, little Eris?”

  I stilled, cold fear pricking my skin. The man’s whisper came from nowhere, but it was everywhere…echoing in my thoughts. Filling my head. The strange curve of his words reminding me of someone from long ago.
r />   “Why do you fear me?” came the smooth voice again. “I love all my children.”

  From the morning light appeared a large butterfly, blue and white, a glisten of falsehood in its movements. A sheen of magic left in its wake.

  I knew then who held claim over me. My palms ached as a memory pushed forcibly to front of my mind: Lord Marx whispering his curse into my hands. My mother shivering in the corner, afraid…or unwilling…to intervene. The master was there, for he’d carved the scars. But it was Marx who chose the patttern. And Marx who commanded all to silence.

  I pressed my hands to my ears, squeezing my eyes closed, willing his voice away. But it was as though my mind were a room, and his voice had simply entered, accessing me freely. Never to leave.

  “Are you all right?”

  I spun around. Cedric stood a few yards away with worry on his brow, his hands full of the bracers Rowyn gave me. I stared wide-eyed a moment, struggling to return.

  “Eris?” he pressed. “Can I help you in any way?”

  Trembling, I stretched my hands out, and Cedric stepped forward warily, setting the bracers carefully on my palms.

  “Where did you find these?” I asked, running shaking fingers along the intricate markings. Anchoring in Rowyn’s words the night she gave them to me…that I could be what I chose.

  He stretched a hand to touch the metal. Could he see the fear in my eyes? Did he know I’d nearly lost myself again?

  “They were recovered from the field where—”

  My eyes shot up. Cedric stepped back, smiling away the tension.

  “They were recovered,” he amended, “and the King thought you should have them back. Merek has your boots as well.”

  I nodded and thanked him, moving to leave on unsteady legs. Were I to speak again, the voice might return. Or perhaps the Lord Marx was listening, and my words would give me away.

  “Are you sure I can’t help you,” Cedric called after me.

  But my feet kept moving, leading me away from the seclusion of the trees. Back to the tents. To the multitude of soldiers and the distrust in their eyes.