The Broken Realm Page 30

  “Ash,” Valen corrected. “I’d never expect you to call me Father. That name is reserved for the man who reared you. But I don’t want the deception of a false name hanging between us anymore. My name is Drystan Sylvaine, but I was Ash to your mother, and Ash I’ve been since. Ash is who I am.”

  “Ash,” Drystan repeated. “Well, I don’t have any designs to swim to the Beyond, but I do intend to kill the sorcerer Mortain and free the Saleen, so you can either step aside, or join me, but you will not stop me.”

  A strange look passed over Ash’s face. Surprise, fading to pride. “I would not deign to stop you, Drystan. But I would welcome the chance to aid you.”

  Drystan turned again toward the forest ahead. The barrier was close. He could feel it. He knew it would open for him and allow passage. “I only visited to Whitechurch once, as a small boy. We went the long way, traveling via the Compass Roads. But I’ve seen the maps. Whitechurch isn’t so far from here, is it?”

  “No, it’s not so far.”

  “You know the town.”

  “I know it well.”

  “You can’t return for your things. Lisbet, Eavan, they can’t know I’ve gone. Not until it’s far too late to do anything about it.”

  “There’s nothing I need that we don’t have right here.”

  Drystan flushed at the strange way the words made him feel. He’d wanted to do this alone. Something within him had insisted it be this way. But he couldn’t deny the fear of all the things facing him that he couldn’t predict, all the things he didn’t know about his adversary or the land he occupied, and Valen—Ash—was the bridge that could connect him to these things.

  He was also, probably, his father.

  “Right. We ready then?”

  Ash nodded. “After you, Drystan.”

  Drystan started again through the forest and, as they approached the invisible barrier dividing prison from freedom, Ash slipped his hand through Drystan’s. Drystan didn’t look down, nor did he look back, only forward, and as he crossed the barrier, he felt, for the first time in his life, that he was aimed true.

  24

  The Slithering Shadows

  Correen was the only one who wasn’t afraid of him. She didn’t cow in his presence, even when being dressed down before her peers, which happened often enough that she should hate him. Her eyes never lowered when delivering news she expected to enrage him, even when it did, even when his reaction was enough to drive regret.

  For that, Eoghan preferred her.

  But she was not the mastermind Assyria had been. Assyria loathed him, but she’d been a force at court, always knowing precisely what needed done and seeing it through with unfeminine expediency. Their father once jested that she was clearly intended to have been born a male, but at the last minute her cock forgot to drop and the matter was concluded another way. Eoghan didn’t find this as funny as Khain had, because if Assyria had been king, so very much could have been different.

  And now, the semi-reign of Assyria was ended forever, for she’d revealed herself a traitor. Eoghan would have to make do with Correen, and her refreshing directness that nonetheless lacked wisdom.

  “Be swift,” Eoghan urged. “Oldwin will be arriving for his report any moment.”

  “Then one can hope he will also share with you what I’m about to,” Correen said. “For when I tell you I am troubled, it’s only because I lack a more powerful word to describe my current state.”

  Eoghan rolled his eyes. “This is why women do not rule, sister. If you have news, share it. Without also transferring to me your emotional burden.”

  “It should trouble you, too,” she said. “I’ve received these reports not from one, but several of our men along the southeastern peninsula.”

  “Your men, you mean.”

  “My men are your men. I would never see you caught unaware of anything in this kingdom, brother.”

  Eoghan nodded. “And?”

  “It seems your briefings from the Wastelands have been falsified, and for some time,” Correen said in a rush. “Specifically that... that they’ve been fabricated to cover up the fact the camps are getting orders counter to the ones issued by you from Duncarrow. They are no longer mining for our precious resources, but disposing of the men in the camps, one by one. My sources believe whoever is giving these orders means to shut the camps down, though to what purpose, they cannot say.”

  Eoghan gaped at her. “Your sources are wrong, Correen. No one but I can give orders to the Wastelands. No one there would dare follow orders from someone other than the king.”

  Correen twisted her wrinkled mouth together. Her eyes never left his. “I thought the same when I received the first report, almost two months past. I even had my man executed for spreading falsehoods.” She sighed. “A waste, that. He’d been a good source until I felt he was playing false. Turns out, with word from three other men, he was not.”

  “Four men have told you this?”

  “Four men who have never met and have no means of comparing tales.”

  Eoghan scoffed, aghast. It was impossible, what she was suggesting, and yet he could find no plausible explanation for the reports she’d received. “But even if this were true, who could give orders that would be taken with more seriousness than those coming from the king himself?”

  “I know not. And neither did my men. But the situation grows dire, Eoghan. There are massive graves all around the foothills of the fiery mountain to the east of Camp Atonement. What few men remain are starving to death. The end will come swift, and decisive, if nothing is done.”

  “We send food weekly!”

  “It is no longer being distributed.”

  “Why? To what end?”

  “That is my concern.” Correen stepped closer. “That there is some great force working against you, and we have to find it now, before this treachery extends throughout the kingdom.”

  “Aiden is already my prisoner,” he mused. If not Aiden, then who?

  A page knocked and stuck his head through the door. “Your Grace, Lord Oldwin is here to present his report.”

  “Send him in.”

  “Wait, there’s one more thing.”

  Eoghan held his hand to the page. “Hold him a moment.” He turned back to Correen. “How can there be more?”

  “This last thing, I am much less sure of, but I can’t not tell you, Eoghan.” Correen lowered her eyes. His heart sank. She was afraid. “Some say Darrick lives.”

  Eoghan’s spirits were immediately restored. “You silly woman. Darrick’s life ended here, at Duncarrow. At my order. At the hands of my men. There is no question of his death. These things you hear are the work of bored fishwives.”

  “They are not fishwives,” Correen said in a low voice. “But yes, I understand. I hesitated to tell you this, but you have always trusted me to guide you, as best as I can. To keep this from you would go against that loving fealty.”

  Eoghan waved his hands, dismissing her. “Yes, yes. Pay no mind to it. It is only wishful thinking from those who would see my head smiling down upon them from the pikes of Duncarrow. As to the Wastelands, I’ll put Oldwin on it.” He paused. “No. I’ll see first what he tells me.” He leaned in. “For now, I leave it with you, and you alone. Yes?”

  Correen nodded. She bowed as she backed away. “Your Grace.”

  * * *

  “Cian, go back to your mother,” Yesenia whispered, as loudly as she dared. He was afraid of her, as men often were, but to raise her voice, or her hand, would be to draw the very attention she needed desperately to avoid.

  “I want to help.” Cian kept pace with her, slinking tight against the walls as they moved deeper down the hall. They had no good reason to be here. No explanation would be enough if caught. These halls had once housed the honorable men of the Quinlanden Guard, and now, traitors lived in these rooms, ate their food, helped themselves to their women. If even one of her own trusted attendants had been left with her, she would have sent them, but they
were attended now by men handpicked by Mads Waters. Spies and traitors. There was no one to trust.

  Yesenia paused. The air was thinner, headier here. Sweat rolled down her face, into her eyes. “You are the only one of us that Waters will not touch, Cian. But that changes if you are caught committing treason.”

  “It is not treason when this is our home!”

  “I know, dear boy, but something very wrong has happened here, and if we don’t discover it, your home may become something you never again recognize.”

  “What are you looking for? I can help you find it!”

  “No,” Yesenia insisted. Footsteps sounded at the turn at the end of the hall. Men paced, but none, so far, had come this way. But they would. “Cian, please. Your mother needs you to keep out of trouble.”

  “My mother has abandoned me. No one has seen her.”

  “What? Abandoned you?” Yesenia had wondered why Maeryn had gone scarce, but there were plenty of reasonable explanations. “Surely that cannot be true?”

  “Gone, Aunt Yesenia. She’s left. Us. Me.”

  Yesenia sighed. “If we are caught, you lie. You say that you followed me because you were curious. Tell me you understand.”

  “It wouldn’t be a lie,” Cian replied. His breaths were excited, heavy. He was a good boy. More like his Uncle Corin than his father, and Yesenia hoped, one day soon, to see him take his father’s place.

  Yesenia trusted no one but her husband. Not even Maeryn, who she knew to be on their side, but had so skillfully handled Aiden over the years that Yesenia didn’t doubt she’d practiced it on her allies as well. She was a slithering shadow, one you wanted on your side, but not all the way. And now, Cian was right, she had slithered her way out of Whitechurch altogether.

  It made no sense that she would leave her son and heir to an uncertain fate, but nothing made sense anymore. The king’s claim to place Corin upon the seat of lordship in the Easterlands was an interesting one, especially with Cian alive and well and ready to do the same. Their guards had eased some as promised, but she couldn’t take the words of a traitor king to heart any more than she could Aiden or Mads. The missing piece was knowing the contents of the communication that was given to Mads by this same king. They had to know, and there was only one way to find out.

  “Mads Waters’ room is at the end of this hall. He would have received a raven from Duncarrow recently. I need to know the words written upon that vellum,” Yesenia explained. She didn’t tell him about the king’s words, or that because of them, by all rights, she should be able to walk down this hall without hiding. That she knew better, because trusting no one was the only way to survive this game.

  “I’ll go on ahead.”

  “No. Remember what I told you. You followed me.”

  Cian seemed troubled by it, but he nodded and pointed for her to continue on. Yesenia moved like a cat, silent, smooth. Corin had wanted to go, had all but begged her not to do it, but only a woman could make it as far as she had. She was more warrior than any man here, but she was not a man. She was not the potential next Lord of the Easterlands.

  They paused once more as the footsteps approached the edge of the hall. The guard’s shadow loomed into the hall ahead, grotesquely lit by a single sconce. She waited once more, and then, when he resumed pacing, she pushed ahead.

  They approached Waters’ room. There were no windows to the outside on this level. It was the only part of the keep not built into the trees, but at the base, dug halfway into the ground, close enough to the sea that the water threatened to swarm it and erase the whole thing from existence. She couldn’t see the sky to read how much time had passed. Mortain would be finishing his morning ritual soon, and Mads would return. It had to be now.

  Yesenia rolled against the door and gently pressed inward.

  * * *

  “Send him in,” Eoghan commanded the page. The young man obliged, fearful for reasons beyond Eoghan’s comprehension. Eoghan had never harmed this one. He had red hair, so was probably a Rhiagain, which was enough to spare him. Sometimes he failed to understand why any of them feared him so. Most had never seen his anger up close.

  Oldwin entered. He held his head high, wearing a confidence that made it difficult for Eoghan to remember the slouched, defeated man he’d pulled from the sky dungeon. At times, he missed Oldwin as he was, for back then Oldwin had at least feigned a reverent respect for Eoghan. And while he still had the sense to affect it now, his newfound power had given him a boldness that left a sick, sinking feeling in Eoghan’s belly. He couldn’t define it yet, but it was there, and he couldn’t ignore it forever.

  “Your Grace.”

  “Go on, then.”

  Oldwin folded his hands over his robe. He beamed. “You will be pleased to hear that all reports from the kingdom are exactly as expected, with no uncomfortable surprises. In the Westerlands, the Quinlanden Guard have eased their actions against the citizens, per your request, and things are returning to a sense of orderly calm. In the Easterlands, Mortain continues his work with the Saleen, but Corin Quinlanden will be ready to take up his brother’s mantle once we give the order. The Northerland borders are yet closed, both land and sea, but I expect once they see that the threat of war has waned, they will relax as well, and then we can renew efforts to apprehend Assyria, and the other prisoners. Whatever their plans, they cannot be to waste away in the Northerlands, can they? They’ll be on the move once they deem it safe. Ah, and the Southerlands are always restless, but we have seen no signs they intend to turn this anxiousness to action.”

  This all seemed far too easy for Eoghan, but if there had been further unrest, Correen would have mentioned it. He nodded. “And the Wastelands?”

  “Your Grace?”

  “They are part of this kingdom as well, are they not? What is your report of the camps?”

  Oldwin’s mouth smiled, but his eyes looked dead beyond. “Of course. There is nothing new to report. Your mining efforts continue with increasingly fruitful results. More men are sent every day, and production increases in kind.”

  “No trouble there, then?”

  Oldwin’s smile deepened. “No. Why would there be?”

  * * *

  “Lady Yesenia,” Mads said. She heard him before she saw him. His low, gravelly voice carried, bouncing off the damp stone walls. “I had a feeling it would be today. I can’t quite explain it, though I felt it. In my bones, you might say. I may not have the gifts of Mortain, but we all have our senses, would you agree?”

  Yesenia’s heart skipped around. She wanted to turn and warn Cian, but it was too late. He’d entered behind her, gasping lightly at her back as he came to an abrupt halt.

  “And Cian! What a gift. I sometimes forget how you resemble your father. It’s as if he’d never left. Though, I cannot say he ever humbled us with his presence in the guards’ quarters. Then again, I once had a much nicer apartment.”

  “I...” Cian’s words failed him.

  Mads pulled something from his vest. A scroll. He held it out, only far enough to tempt her. “This is what you’re after, is it not? Funny, for I was thinking the same thing. How I would love to know the words the king sent your husband.”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong, being here. You would have received the orders that Corin and I are to be left alone. We are to again have free rein of Whitechurch, same as we always have before the mess you made. We happily await the restoration of our staff and freedoms.”

  Mads nodded slowly. He peeled himself away from his corner desk. “The words were clear enough. Their writer? Less clear.”

  “They were orders from Lord Quinlanden. You would do well to heed them.”

  “So it is said,” Mads replied. “And so others will accept, without question.”

  Yesenia narrowed her eyes. “If I were you, I would be very cautious with your next steps, Steward Waters. For if your lord were to return and see you’ve gone against his wishes, you and I are both acquainted with his especial definition of
mercy.”

  Mads laughed. “You and I also both know Aiden Quinlanden is not returning to the Easterlands anytime soon. The question is why.”

  Yesenia paled. He’d come to the same conclusion she had. “If this is true, then your next lord stands behind me.”

  “Oh, yes. I know.” Mads tossed the scroll on the floor. “You wish to the see the words badly enough to come here for them? Go on, then.”

  Yesenia’s breath caught. He had her where he wanted her now. There it was, the answer, but at a price. Kneel and surrender to whatever fate he had prepared for her. Step away and be free.

  “Your hesitation is not becoming of a Warwick.”

  “You know nothing about me. You know nothing that Aiden hasn’t allowed you to know.”

  Mads’ grin faded. “I know these are not his words.” He kicked the scroll away. It landed in a dark corner of the room. “And I know he would not wish for me to follow them.”

  Yesenia flexed her hands at her sides. Many years, it had been, since she fought with a man, and she had only her fists and her quickness now. She could go for the sword at his side, but he’d expect it, and be on it before she was halfway to the task.

  Mads laughed. “Cian. Arrest your aunt.”

  Yesenia could feel her nephew’s shock behind her. “What?”

  “Arrest your aunt. If you are your father’s heir, then it falls to you to continue the work he started, and the values he held close. Would he allow a foreign woman to snoop around the chambers of his most trusted servant, searching for ways to sow division?”

  “My father would never want Aunt Yesenia to be a prisoner.”

  “You would be wise to call her what she is now, Lord Quinlanden. A traitor.”

  “Cian, do as he says,” Yesenia urged. “He’s right.”

  “See, Cian? Even your aunt knows a treasonous snake must be dealt with.”

  Cian fumbled behind her. He was not his father’s son, but nor was he his mother’s. He was more like Corin, full of honor, lacking in the deviousness required to feign a position he didn’t agree with. He should have turned back when she ordered him to. Now, for his hesitation, he would pay alongside her.