by Jayden Woods
“Silven...”
He climbed onto his best friend’s back, and together they ran from the castle of Krondolee, faster than the wind itself.
EPILOGUE
“Oh Papa, please let me come with you! I hate it when you’re gone so long!”
“I am sorry, Sera, but it has to be this way. If you came with me, who would protect the treehouse?”
Arken knelt next to fourteen-year-old Serafina, feeling his heart twist with a mixture of joy and bittersweet sorrow. These days, he did not have to crouch down very far to meet her eye level. She was growing ever so quickly into a beautiful young woman. And he feared that she would turn seventeen before he even knew it: the age at which she would be old enough to wear a crown.
Truly, he hated leaving her alone in the jungle. He had done everything possible to create a safe home for her. After he escaped from Castle Krondolee, he rode for the largest jungle possible. He trekked as deep into the forest as he dared, deeper than he thought any other man would be willing to go. He followed the signs to an area where he knew the largest and most dangerous beasts would not frequent, due to its limited variety of bugs and fauna. He and the baby lived off plants and easily-baited game for years as he worked to build a house high in the trees, where they would have even more protection from any casual predator. Many times, he thought death would be certain for them. He feared that the few plants he scavenged would not be enough to sustain a small child. He had several close encounters with bears and tigers. But somehow, he learned to survive. And as Serafina grew older, she learned alongside him.
He had little doubt that Serafina would be able to protect herself in the treehouse. Sometimes, she made dangerous choices, such as chasing small game or venturing into the riskier areas of the jungle. He berated her harshly for such behavior, even though she already knew better. But the girl could run swiftly through the trees, and she was very sharp-witted. She knew this jungle even better than he did. And he had little doubt that she was strong enough now to survive here without him.
Despite all that, he did not like to leave, and the reason was simple: he did not like to spend any time away from his favorite person on earth. He wanted to stay with her every minute and second of the day. But even the lush jungle did not always provide the supplies they needed to live a comfortable life. So once every few months—or longer, if possible—he ventured into the nearest town for supplies.
“And who’s going to protect you,” said Serafina, “if you fall and hurt your leg again?”
Arken laughed nervously. Serafina did not know where he really went when he disappeared for several days at a time. She did not even know what “towns” were. Arken saw no reason to trouble her with details of the world beyond. She knew that other humans existed—Arken could not avoid that completely—but he taught her to see them as enemies, just like any other cruel predator roaming the jungle. Arken even taught her how to read and write from a small collection of books he had rummaged from his visits to town. She would have to know such things if she wore the crown one day. But Arken feared corrupting her mind with any unnecessary knowledge.
Once, he had met a group of people in town who suspected his identity. Ever since his escape from Krondolee, Arken became known as the Grand Traitor. King Tristan Jeridar offered a high price for Arken’s capture. Most people wanted him dead anyway, because they believed he was to blame for the death of the Elborn family. So when a group of people suspected who he was, Arken led them deep into the jungle towards the lair of a griffin. The griffin killed all of them, and nearly killed Arken as well. He escaped with a broken leg to show for his troubles.
Arken did not want to admit that he had encountered a griffin—which he had taught her so meticulously to avoid—much less why he had done so. He told Serafina he had simply fallen and hurt his leg. She had no idea how close he had come to ruining their precious life in the jungle that he had worked so hard to establish.
“That won’t happen again,” he told her. “I promise.”
He put a hand on her cheek and looked into her deep green eyes, so much like her mother’s. He fought back a wave of joy and pain as he leaned over to kiss her forehead. Then he hurried to leave before she could see the torrent of emotions on his face.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said tightly. Then he hurried from the treehouse.
*
Arken felt a sense of urgency as he entered town, a feeling he did not know how to explain. He always hated leaving Serafina. But lately, the mere idea filled him with an increasing amount of anxiety. Perhaps because he sensed the approach of something inevitable.
Serafina kept growing older so quickly. Eventually, he would have to think about his plan to return to the castle of Krondolee. He would have to prepare her for assuming the crown. He still yearned for retribution. But other times, he imagined continuing his excluded life with Serafina in the jungle forever. He couldn’t do that.
Could he?
Once he reached town, he bought his supplies as quickly as he could, trading rare jungle herbs and plants for simple items like knives and candles. Briefly, he even considered hurrying back into the jungle as night fell. Trying to wander back to the treehouse overnight would have been suicide. But the notion tempted him, anyway.
He wore a hood over his yellow hair as he succumbed to caution and found an inn for the night. One of the only things he enjoyed about his occasional visits to town was a cold mug of ale and the possibility of a casual female encounter. This time, however, he kept the ale to himself and did not let his gaze linger on a single woman as he enjoyed his drink. Once he finished, he would hurry to bed. He would make his way back to the jungle as soon as the sun rose.
Even hunched within his hood, however, he could not keep his ears from hearing snippets of the conversations around him.
“... just fell over and died, in the middle of dinner.”
“You don’t think it could have been poison? Some say that Wolven still lurks in the castle. Maybe somebody paid him?”
“No, the Jeridars could afford to pay the Wolven more than anyone else. I hear the youngest can even turn metal into gold. I don’t think it was anything like that. They say the man was fat and lazy, anyway. I say he ate himself to an early grave, and good riddance!”
“You can’t talk about the king like that!”
“Why not? He’s dead now!”
Arken’s heart beat so violently, he feared it would break out of his ribs. He held onto the table for balance as the world seemed to spin around him. The roaring in his ears deafened him briefly. But he had to know more.
He stood up suddenly, knocking his chair out from under him. “You’re talking about Tristan? Tristan Jeridar? He’s dead?”
The entire inn fell silent. Everyone looked at him curiously. Then the woman who had been speaking last shrugged and said, “Who else? The king of Darzia—or at least the former one. He died a few days ago. This is the first you’ve heard of it?”
“I’ve... I’ve been in the jungle... hunting.” Arken took deep breaths and tried to regain his composure. “Has the Royal Duma decided who will rule next?”
The woman shook her head. “No one knows yet. But as great a fool as King Tristan was, he did keep Darzia wealthy. I think his son Kallias will turn seventeen soon. They might make him king before he’s of age, if it means keeping their pockets stuffed. I wager the Jeridar brat takes the crown next, if those spoiled nobles in Krondolee have anything to do with it.”
Murmurs of reluctant agreement echoed around the room, and several people drank to the woman’s words. Belatedly, Arken picked up his ale and drank with them—whether to celebrate, or wash away his sorrows, he wasn’t sure.
His brother was dead. The crown was vulnerable. Serafina was not quite of age, but in a few years she would be. And if the nobles could make an exception for Kallias, maybe they’d make one for Serafina, as well. Here, at long last, was the moment he had been waiting for: the chance to redeem his own n
ame. The chance to ruin the remaining Jeridars. The chance for Serafina to take what belonged to her.
So many times, Arken had wished this day would come sooner. Yet now that it had finally arrived, he cursed under his breath.
*
Serafina lay asleep in her bed when Arken returned to the treehouse. He might have reprimanded her for napping while the sun was still out. Instead, he could only smile and shake his head fondly.
As he sat down beside her, she jerked and lifted a knife to his throat.
He gulped against the blade, then managed a wry smile. “I see you’ve kept your wits about you. Well done.”
Her eyes beamed with pride, then she laughed mischievously. “I may or may not have heard you coming, and thought you could use a good scare.”
If it had been anyone else in the world, he might have been furious. But when Serafina smiled at him like that, he could only smile back.
She leaned towards him, wrapped her little arms around him, and squeezed tight. These days, her grip was so strong that she constricted his breath when she did that, but he tried not to show it.
“I’m so glad you’re back, Papa. I missed you so much.”
“I missed you, too, Sera.” Against his will, tears pricked his eyes and threatened to spill over. He couldn’t hide them from Serafina as she leaned back to look at him.
“Papa! What’s wrong? Did you have trouble getting supplies?”
“No, no... I got everything we needed. It’s just... I have something to tell you, Serafina.”
He reached down and gripped her hand, so hard she winced. But she did not draw back. She blinked her green eyes and stared back intently. “I’m listening.”
“I... I...” I’m not your father. Your mother died because of me. When you were a baby, I stole you away so that one day, I could use you to take vengeance on my family. You’re actually the heir to a large and magnificent kingdom.
Now that he actually came close to saying the words, he found himself incapable. He could not let those words out of his mouth—not now, not ever. He never wanted Serafina to know what had happened in Krondolee. He never wanted her to visit that accursed castle. He never wanted her to experience pain like what he’d suffered. He no longer cared about the welfare of the kingdom, or taking vengeance on his family. The only thing in the world he wanted sat right here next to him, and he refused to let it get away.
“I just want you to know... that I have never been happier than I am right now, at this very moment. I love you, Serafina.”
For a moment, her eyes flickered with the faintest hint of disappointment. Then she smiled back at him. “I love you, too, Papa.”
*
Serafina’s Saga
(the animation)
releasing online
Fall 2013
*
“Grand Traitor” (previously called “The Key to Castle Krondolee”) is a stand-alone novella. However, the story will continue in the form of an animated webseries, “Serafina’s Saga,” releasing online Fall 2013. This story also takes place in the same world as the fantasy book series, The Broken Balance, and features some of the same characters. To learn more about The Broken Balance series, visit www.jaydenwoods.com. To learn more about “Serafina’s Saga,” visit www.serafinasaga.com.
*
BROKEN BALANCE SERIES
Ashes of Dearen
Sands of Hanubi
***
Continue for an excerpt from
Ashes of Dearen: Book 1
ASHES OF DEAREN: BOOK 1
Excerpt from Chapter 1
*
“Where do you think the Haze comes from?”
“I don’t think about it at all.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I?”
The brother and sister strolled the hillsides beyond the grand Dearen palace. As heirs to the throne of Dearen, Kyne and Fayr Violeni spent more of their time within the palace than without. Today they took the rare opportunity to stare at their home from afar. From a distance, it became more obvious that the soft glowing Haze covering the whole land of Dearen lay most thickly upon their own royal abode. What made this fog distinct from any other in the world was the magic substance that floated within it: a glittering dust known as safra.
Safra brought intense pleasure and joy to anyone who consumed it—anyone, that is, but for the few remaining members of the royal Violenese bloodline.
The large fortress glittered like a pile of jewels in the distance. Part of the palace’s charm was its inconsistency; some sections gleamed with deep silver stone, others with crystalline pillars, while yet more sections dazzled the eye with inset gems. The sprawled structure was a compilation of sections built by different cultures and peoples, all of whom came to Dearen for a pinch of the safra obtained from the Haze.
But as young Prince Kyne had observed, the beauty of the palace was offset by the coils of smoke drifting from its surface. Sometimes, the smoke had a beauty of its own. Tiny pieces of debris caught the sunshine and sparkled with brilliance. Across the vast landscape, the rolling Haze diffused the light and made the entire land glow as if with an enchanted fog.
“Do you think safra creates the Haze, or the Haze creates safra?” asked Kyne. His eyes opened wide with wonder, even though his purple hair lashed sharply against his face.
“Neither!” Fayr turned up her sharp little nose, enjoying how highly she towered over her brother. She had just turned eighteen. He was not yet thirteen years of age. She liked to think she knew a lot more about the world than he did, although at times like this, the difference seemed slight. She had to take pride in what little knowledge she had, or else spurn it altogether. “The Haze always has safra in it. They are both created, simultaneously, by something else. At least, that seems obvious enough to me.”
“Then what creates them?”
“You already asked that.”
“Not exactly. Anyway, you didn’t answer.”
“Nor will I ever. You sound like a commoner, asking such foolish questions!”
“Why is it foolish? Why can’t we ask where the safra comes from?”
“Because we can’t!”
Fayr began to feel flustered by the conversation. Once upon a time, she pondered the same questions as her younger brother. In truth, she still did sometimes. But she gave up asking them a long time ago. Better not to ask such things; better not to think of them at all.
A wind blew and made the Haze ripple across the landscape. As she breathed the fresh air, Fayr realized something strange. For just a moment, she smelled the air as it should smell: pure, without safra. And it smelled wonderful.
“Look over there,” said Fayr suddenly. “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“Over there!” The Haze was settling again, but in one area, it remained thin enough to see through.
“What is it?”
“I think those are the cliffs of Vikand!”
“Are you sure?” He strained, as she did, to stare through the silver grip of the Haze. But there, on the edge of the foggy horizon, lay a large shadow, slicing the smoke with sharp black crags. “How could it be? I thought Vikand was further away!”
“Dearen is a small place, physically,” said Fayr. “Haven’t you paid any attention to Jayn’s lectures?”
“Yes, but ...”
“The entire kingdom of Dearen can be crossed in a day on horseback.”
“Are we really so small?” Prince Kyne’s little face drooped at the thought.
She put a hand on his velvety shoulder. “Only in size, brother. And yet we are the most powerful kingdom in the world. Don’t let it bother you.”
He seemed comforted by this, although he could not rip his eyes from the looming shadow of Vikand. Neither could she.
“Let’s get closer to it,” said Fayr. The mere thought set her heart pounding.
“How much closer?”
She didn’t answer, but turned and m
ade her way to the dense grove of lemon trees where they’d tethered their horses. She looked down at herself, watched the undulating colors of her skirt ripple beneath her, and pondered the strange sensations roiling through her body. She relished the quickening of her heart and the warm excitement in her belly. And that wind … why had it smelled so good? She’d lived in the palace all her life. She was accustomed to the strange Haze that made most people happy. Most people said it smelled like roses. But now that she was further away from it, she wondered if it stank.
A strand of purple hair fell into her vision and she reached to brush it back. It reminded her that she was not like most people in more ways than one. The violet hair shared by herself, her brother, and her father made them different from anyone else in the world. It indicated their ancient heritage, and thus their distinct inability to enjoy safra.
In the silky soft shade of the grove, she found their horses. There were three steeds in all: two white palfreys for herself and the prince, and a gray destrier for Sir Gornum of the royal guard. The guardian himself lay spread under a berry bush, his bearded mouth hanging open, his large eyes closed in sleep. He wore no armor, only studded cloth, for who needed armor in Dearen? She hoped the studs jabbed him as she kicked his drooping belly.
“Gornum. Gornum, wake up!” She sent a scowl to her brother, who trailed doggedly behind her. “You gave him too much safra.”
“Father told me to!”
“He told you to reward him with safra, small pinches at a time, and only after he has completed each service. Don’t you understand? That is how it works. Why can’t you ever get it right?”
“Oh ...” Kyne’s nose crinkled a little. He blinked rapidly.
“What are you doing now?” She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “Are you about to cry?”
“Of course not!” But the moisture in his eyes betrayed him.
