The Broken Realm Read online

  Alasyr cast a nervous glance at the sky. Determined not to lose his father in the burgeoning storm, he quickly shifted and aimed himself toward Wulfsgate, though this was not where they were going, he was sure of it. Not if prior trips were any indication of Argentyn’s intentions.

  It was late. The morning sun would crest beyond The Rookery soon. His father had never been so reckless with his trips, and Alasyr needed to know what it meant. He saw the arc of his father’s wings riding the wind ahead and dropped back. If caught, he’d be punished. It was possible, even, that his father might sacrifice him against the side of Icebolt Mountain to protect whatever secret he didn’t want others to know.

  Alasyr passed over the Forest of Lycana. In the distance, Wulfsgate slept. Within the walls, rested that strange girl who was like him, but not at all.

  His father flew on, aiming himself higher as he had the last few times Alasyr had tailed him. Up the mountain, toward the pass. Icy air whipped by Alasyr, flipping him sideways, threatening his stability. He pressed on, fearful of losing sight of his father and being lost in a storm.

  Alasyr had to arc back when the clouds cleared and at last his father returned to view. He was perched upon a tree near the cave where the men and women had been hiding for weeks. Ravenwoods had been talking about it since they arrived, several having spotted them right away on their flights. It was good that the sorcerers had no interest in men, for it was not a secret amongst the sorcerers of Midnight Crest.

  Alasyr found a nearby tree to land on. He was too high to see any detail in what had his father’s attention, but the huddled figures of two adults and a child walking horses down the path and away from the cave left him curious as well.

  Where would they be going in the middle of the night?

  Nowhere good, Alasyr thought, and in the next breath wondered why his father would have known this would happen and when, why he was interested in whatever had transpired amongst the group of exiles that had nothing to do with them.

  The three figures disappeared from sight down the pass. Argentyn didn’t follow. His raven’s head was fixed on the cave, where those who hadn’t slipped away still slept.

  Alasyr felt the air change above him as another raven glided down toward where Argentyn perched. He hopped a few branches to get closer but had no better view of who the new raven was. He could tell only that it was not his mother, for her form was larger than her husband’s, and this raven was smaller. It was the first time he’d seen anyone join his father in his secret jaunts.

  A dark feeling passed over Alasyr. They were up to something terrible. Alasyr’s own magic was not as strong as some, but as an empath his sensitivity to the intentions of others was so heightened it sometimes left him breathless. If he’d been in his sorcerer form, he’d be doubled over from the force of this sensation.

  It was this same magic that told him that, though she was descended from traitors, Emberley Blackwood herself was true of heart.

  He couldn’t stay here. His desire to be left out of whatever machination his father was planning was greater than his curiosity.

  Alasyr again took to flight, speaking silent entreaties to the wind that his father and his companion had not spotted him.

  * * *

  He hadn’t intended on stopping in Wulfsgate. When he’d aimed himself away from the pass and his father’s designs, he should have bypassed the town altogether. But he remembered something from his harried flight to follow his father, and a new curiosity, this one safer, took over.

  Alasyr landed upon a branch and watched Emberley Blackwood try to murder a deer with her mind.

  He jumped to the forest floor, unfurling into his sorcerer form. “What are you doing?”

  Ember stumbled backward, the crunch of icy leaves atop snow piercing the night. “You shouldn’t be here. These woods are dangerous at night.”

  “Counsel I don’t see you following,” Alasyr countered. He stepped closer. “Where’s your man?”

  “I have no man.”

  “How you love to be contrary. The one you rut with in the Wintergarden when you think no one is looking.”

  Ember grinned through her annoyance. “I know you’re always looking, Alasyr. I only hope you enjoy the performances, which have become at least somewhat for your benefit.”

  Alasyr snorted. “You didn’t answer.”

  “He’s sleeping. As you should be. As I plan to be, once I’ve done what I came to do.”

  He again moved closer and realized it was the nearest he’d ever been to her. Her pale skin sparkled in the moonlight, nostrils flaring with whatever hard energy she’d brought with her to the forest that night. He supposed there was a familial resemblance, but he couldn’t forget what she was, and what she wasn’t.

  “You were trying to kill that deer. With your mind.”

  “I was not,” Ember lied poorly.

  “You were. I saw you. Why?”

  “You saw wrong.” She tapped the bow hanging over her back. “I was trying to kill that deer, but the proper way.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I shan’t miss a wink over it.”

  Alasyr pointed eastward. “There are men hiding in a cave in Torrin’s Pass. Do you know?”

  Ember’s impertinent smile died on her face. She was silent for a moment, but when he tried to read her thoughts, to understand this silence, he found he was blocked. “Yes. I do know, and if I find you’ve told anyone else I’ll kill you.” It was her turn to step closer, and Alasyr reflexively stepped backward. “You don’t look nearly convinced I’ll do it, but, you see, that deer is only alive because I can’t kill unless threatened, it seems. That deer has caused me no harm. But you... I could kill you, if you opened your mouth and shared what you just told me with another.”

  Alasyr swallowed a gulp of cool air. He was relieved to feel the tingle of his wings at the ready. “It isn’t me you need to fear, half-blood.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He erupted into a swarm of feathers and was gone.

  * * *

  Ember watched Alasyr Ravenwood disappear into the thick, dark clouds moving across the night sky. He wasn’t her friend, he wasn’t her enemy, but he was something, and all she really wanted him to be was her ally in her quest for self-discovery. If there was anyone who could help her realize her powers, it was him, yet he also seemed to be the last one who would ever be inclined to do it.

  He’d broken her focus. No, the deer wasn’t going to die. She hadn’t even wanted to kill it, only to understand it, to see if she could connect with it as she had the bear, but this time without harm.

  The deer was gone now, as were most creatures that had been roaming the area before Alasyr dropped down. She could move on and find another place to practice, but a whisper of orange light tinged the horizon, and she didn’t want to do this in the daytime, when others might find her and question her. Aylen in particular was interested in her behavior, and Ember had no answer for her questions. She’d chosen the dead of night to avoid specifically this, and she’d evaded Aylen, but not Alasyr.

  And what had he been doing, prowling around in the night? He’d come from the east, and the pass, so his revelation about the exiles was connected in some way, but why was he there at all? Why there, and why now?

  I could kill you if you opened your mouth and shared what you just told me with another.

  If Alasyr knew, there must be others who knew. Other Ravenwoods, and why were they there, watching her mother and the others? What were they after?

  Ember’s attention was torn to her feet when the ground beneath her shifted. It happened again, but this time it wasn’t one sensation but many, like a rolling tremble. She gasped as the trees around her swayed in an invisible wind, the branches picking up momentum as they bowed low, whipping the air around her, nearly swiping her from her feet.

  Then she felt it. That slow burn from within, the hot meld of fear and rage and helplessness travel from her belly and outward, radi
ating in fiery darkness toward her fingers, toes, her neck and face. Ember opened her mouth as if to expel it, but then closed it once more as the sensation shifted from one of abandon to one of power. The building flame was almost soothing, though there was nothing calm or complacent about this, this tempest swirling, vying to break free. Her whole self swelled with it.

  Ember closed her eyes just as the flame burst out from a thousand points. The world was alive with a vibrance of spectacular light, and light was life, it was love, it was power, it was... it was everything.

  Ember wanted to be who she was in that moment every day for the rest of her life. Even that would not be enough.

  But then it stopped. The flames within her eased. The sensation that her limbs were swollen with power waned until they were just arms, just legs. Her hair no longer fanned in the wind of her own creation.

  Ember dropped to her knees, gasping for breath. She wheezed inward, drawing hard gulps of air into her aching lungs. She pressed her palms to the forest floor, but recoiled at the charred sensation that met her palms.

  She opened her eyes. All the snow had melted away. As far as her vision could travel in the dark of night she could see what remained of the forest. Branchless trees, a dark, barren floor covered in soot, singed in the aftermath of whatever she’d just done. Dying. Dead. Another wind would turn them to ash.

  Ember turned and ran.

  14

  Disgraced Lord

  Eoghan huddled under the cloak that was fit for a man much more filled into his skin. He’d chosen it intentionally. Anyone could visit a prisoner. So seldom did it happen, that the guards were all too happy to let a man pass without more than a fleeting glance. Only on Eoghan’s orders could a cell door be opened, and after the debacle with Lady Blackwood, the guards they had now were fresh from the Isle of Belcarrow, trained for more than resisting slumber and sharing kingdom gossip. The corpses of those who had failed still lined the rocky shoreline of Duncarrow as a reminder that no matter how mundane their job, there would be no abiding miscarriage of duty.

  But Eoghan had no desire to have Aiden’s cell opened. He may not allow anyone to make point of his physical shortcomings, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of them. Lord Quinlanden was a vainglorious man, but he was also the man who had bested Byrne Warwick. These guards were operating at greater attention, but they were untested. Eoghan’s foolish choice to open a dangerous man’s cell wasn’t going to be what prompted the occasion for them to find their worth.

  He also wanted privacy. An unknown man of the course might get an eyebrow raise, but the king would have every last ear trained on his words, both said and unsaid.

  The guard opened the small window to Lord Quinlanden’s cell and backed away. Eoghan waited until he heard him return to banal conversation about the latest kitchen scandal and then turned to face the disgraced lord.

  “Your—”

  “Silence,” Eoghan barked, slicing through Aiden’s attempt to name him. “I shall talk, and you shall listen, and for every word that I did not ask for, you will sacrifice your meals for a day.”

  Aiden’s mouth parted. It snapped closed. He was a man of pride, but he still had some sense. The harried loathing in his eyes could have been enough to kill Eoghan, had Aiden been possessed of an ounce of magic.

  “You have sent word to your men in the Westerlands and Easterlands today. The ravens were dispatched this morning.”

  Aiden’s anger faded to confusion. “Bu—” his word died away before he could complete it.

  “Good. You learn quickly, even if you are a fool. The ravens were sent under your seal, but they were my words. I’ve instructed them to be at ease, to maintain position but not seek to act. That to incite war in the Westerlands would go against all your designs.”

  Aiden appeared to be fighting off physical pain as his lips blubbered in helpless flaps.

  “Let me see if I can anticipate your questions. You want to know why I would allow them to believe you are alive and still directing their moves? That one should be easy. They are loyal to you, though I cannot pretend I understand why when you are loyal to no one but yourself. I cannot be so certain of their loyalty to me if they learn you are my prisoner. I have a plan for that, but first you will want to know why I wouldn’t let my men—yes, they are my men now, even if they do not know it—sack the Westerlands and bring it to heel. Because, though you may think very little of my own shrewdness on matters of politics, I can see what you cannot. That a war upon the Westerlands would not end there. You cannot see the loyalty the Northerlands and Southerlands have upon their sister’s Reach, for you yourself have never known such loyalty. Once Lady Blackwood is brought to me to answer for her crimes, I will restore another Blackwood to the seat at Longwood Rush, one who will swear a loyalty to me that her mother never would. Ah, be cautious, Lord Quinlanden. Your belly will be pained at your inability to keep your words behind your lips. Oh, and I regret to inform you that the men you brought with you upon your arrival have been executed. It was no longer prudent to pack them all into cells not meant for their number, and the kitchens grew weary of preparing so many meals.”

  Eoghan glanced back toward the guards, but they were engrossed in their own conversation. “And then, lastly, you may be wondering after the future of your own Reach. At the appropriate time, when the thirst for war in this kingdom has died away and order restored, your brother, Corin, will assume your position as Lord of the Easterlands.”

  Aiden’s pained expression had become unbearable to watch. “You may speak now.”

  “You cannot do this!”

  “There is nothing I cannot do except best you in a battle of height, but if you are suggesting I should not do this, then I will advise in return that you choose your words very carefully.”

  “My son, Cian, is my heir, he is—”

  “Your heir. His loyalty is to you. I will have a Quinlanden in that seat who serves me and only me.”

  “My brother is not half the man you need in that seat.”

  “Then he is still twice the man you are.”

  “But the Medvedev, Your Grace! I brought them to you!”

  “Mortain answers to the Rhiagains alone. It will not be any trouble for me to have the enslaved redirected toward my own efforts.”

  “Your efforts? What efforts? If you are not intending to take the Reaches, what other reason could there possibly be for having them at all? What good is power with inaction?”

  Eoghan pulled the hood down over his eyes to hide anything Aiden might read in his face. He didn’t know what to do with the Medvedev. It would be nothing to order them released, and yet... and yet... “That is all I have come to say. You are now fully apprised.”

  “But why, Your Grace? Why tell me this? Why tell me any of it?”

  Eoghan leaned in and hissed. “I want you to know what your treachery has bought, so that you may ruminate upon your losses in the endless hours that count for days up here, until I have at last decided your promise spent.”

  * * *

  Gretchen was slammed into consciousness by the sudden, furious cries of Ember.

  She strained against the relentless combination of the first sliver of sunlight coming through her window and the desperate sounds that had not come on gradually. Sitting, one hand over her eyes, Gretchen tried again asking Ember what was wrong, but the girl was in a fugue, unable to do anything but follow the racing sound of her nonsensical words.

  Gretchen at last pulled herself from the bed and reached for Ember’s arm. “Emberley. Be still.”

  Ember regarded her with the wild eyes of a hare in a trap. Her chest rose and fell in ragged beats under her leather armor, the bow she was inexplicably wearing at this hour hanging half off her.

  “Yes. Like that. Breathe.”

  The sounds coming from Ember dissolved into small, desperate cries. She looked at Gretchen, in some battle with herself, unable to speak, unable to do anything but gape in confused fear.

 
Gretchen led her to the bed and sat her down. There was so much about this situation still beyond her understanding. Ember, donning the gear of a hunter. Ember, with the char of dying coals dusted over her, from her face to her boots. Ember, who looked as if she’d seen the ghost of her father.

  “You came to me for a reason,” Gretchen said gently. She ran her hand over Ember’s cheek, taking the dark grime with it. “Perhaps you’ll feel better if you tell me what it was.”

  “I... I... it’s... you see...” Ember buried her face in her hand and released a scream. When she again looked up, she was calmer, though looked no more at peace than she had moments earlier. “I came across Alasyr in the Forest of Lycana.”

  “Is that where you’ve come from? Looking as you do?”

  “He’d come from the pass. He knows.”

  “He knows?” Gretchen repeated. “What does he know?”

  “Do we have more than one secret in the pass, Lady Gretchen?”

  “I don’t understand. He told you this? What did he say? What did he say exactly?”

  “He asked if I knew there were men hiding in the pass. I said if he told anyone I would kill him. And then he said it wasn’t him I needed to fear.”

  Gretchen’s hands fell away from Ember. “I see.”

  Ember shot to her feet. “We have to warn them! Don’t you understand? That’s what Alasyr was trying to say to me. He wasn’t goading me, he was warning me!”

  Gretchen nodded. She inhaled for what felt like the first time that morning. “We’ll wake the others and discuss what needs to be done.”

  * * *

  “Brother.”

  Eoghan cringed at the pitch of Correen’s nasally voice. She could never simply say hello, or even proffer a compliment on his complexion or choice of dress for the day. She was always after him for something. Always nagging.

  And after the time he’d spent alone with the slippery Aiden Quinlanden, he felt in dire need of a scalding bath.