The Broken Realm Read online

  When Assana broached the suggestion about bringing Oldwin back into court, he’d at first slapped her for speaking out of turn, and then proceeded to tear the idea to pieces, searching within his own words for a good reason not to do precisely that. He needed counsel. This, he’d never openly admit, but he was not unaware of his own failings. He would kill any man bold enough to point them out—or, have them killed, as his precarious, weakened muscles were incapable of wielding a sword—but it did not mean he was oblivious to them.

  A seer didn’t see everything. But what Oldwin had seen had been a boon to Khain.

  It could be a boon to Eoghan.

  “Now leave us,” he said.

  The guards both wore panic at the suggestion, but neither asked the question they wanted to ask. Instead, they did as bidden, and, bowing, exited the doors.

  “Should I leave as well, husband?” Assana asked.

  Eoghan began to nod, but then thought better of it. It had been Assana’s idea to return Oldwin to the king’s side. It would be her downfall if this failed. “No. Stay.”

  She bowed and stepped to the side. As she dipped into the shadows, he caught a glimpse of the purple at the outside of her left eye. Perhaps he’d gone too far this last time. He hadn’t realized he had the strength capable of it. Once she was with child, he would need to practice more caution. His father taught him that, if nothing else. Your hands belong on your wife. Women know no other way but the fist. But not when she grows life. When a child grows within, the vessel is sacred.

  Oldwin had served Khain, and Fynne before him. And if the word of both men could be trusted, he had served all the kings before them, too. Had been, they said, on one of the ships that crashed against the rocky shore of Duncarrow, hundreds of years past.

  He looked no older than forty, despite how he hunched forward, thinning hair greasy and matted. A good bath should fix that and make him once again fit for court.

  What court? He heard Correen’s mawkish voice say in his head.

  “Wife. Give the man some wine.”

  Assana nodded and flitted to the small table in the corner. She tilted the decanter, pouring two glasses, which she handed to both men, taking none for herself.

  Oldwin sniffed the garnet liquid.

  “If I wanted to poison you, I’d not sully my own chambers to do it.”

  Oldwin looked up. His crystal blue eyes were startling. Had they always been so clear? “Forgive me, Your Grace. Only it has been far too long since the rich scent has tickled my nose, and I wish to enjoy the moment.”

  Eoghan almost smiled. “You may sit.”

  “I have been sitting for too many years, Your Grace.”

  Eoghan lifted both hands in a shrug. “Do you know why I’ve summoned you?”

  “Your wife has shared little with me.”

  Eoghan was pleased the sorcerer didn’t refer to Assana as queen. Already he understood this world, small but powerful, his forebears had built upon the rocks of Duncarrow, better than Aiden or any other man of the kingdom. “My wife already possesses more wisdom than her father. And, I am learning, even women can have fair ideas, despite themselves.”

  Oldwin grinned. “If you look to women for council, you most definitely have need of my service.”

  “I have no need of anything,” Eoghan snapped. “Yet I can see the wisdom in having one who shares my blood, who understands the world we have come from and not the one we landed in and have attempted, and often failed, to turn to our ways.”

  “Most of the men who came before you understood it was not necessary to subjugate the kingdom, only to subdue them.”

  “I have no intentions of subjugating anyone! Save for a few bearing certain names,” Eoghan said. He paced the chamber floor, annoyed with Oldwin’s familiarity with his words. For a man who had spent years in a cell, he was perhaps a little too comfortable here. “But if Aiden thought himself capable of besting me, there will be more who share this belief.”

  “You were right to imprison him.”

  “I do not require your approval.”

  Oldwin bowed his head. “Apologies. I speak from many lifetimes of serving the Rhiagain kings, and those who failed to address threats against their crown lived to regret it.”

  “Many lifetimes,” Eoghan muttered. He hadn’t decided if he believed in the man’s immortality, but his father certainly had. Khain spoke of knowing Oldwin from when he was a small boy, and his father, too, had been raised with him. He didn’t like to think upon it. It disconcerted him. “Then why do you not suggest I have him killed?”

  “He may be of better use to you alive. For now.”

  “What kind of use?”

  Assana spoke up. Her voice squeaked, like a tiny mouse. “His men do not know he is dead. They will be all over the Westerlands, keeping them in line. They will do so until he commands them to stop.”

  “Hmph,” Eoghan said. He should chide her for speaking out of turn. It’s what his father would have done. But his father had also left all of Eoghan’s rearing to the hands of two cunning women, and if he had learned anything from that experience—aside from his father’s disdain for his own sons—it had been that women, though not as useful as men, could, on occasion, bring something unique to a situation.

  “Your wife is right. She must get her head for the business of men from her father. Even if he is a traitor.”

  Assana lowered her eyes to the floor.

  “And? Is that your council, Oldwin?”

  “There are more reasons than one to keep them in line. You executed their lord, for committing no crime.”

  “For a seer, you see very little, apparently. Aiden conceived of that foolishness all on his own.”

  “And that will not matter in the eyes of the kingdom. When Aiden laid Rowanwen at your feet at springtide, he became your man. They will believe he acted under your command.”

  Eoghan’s mouth parted in horror. This was what he’d been afraid of, when Aiden rolled Lord Warwick’s head across the stones. “Well, he did not. Though Lady Blackwood deserves that and more for what she had done.”

  “Word will have reached the kingdom that she has escaped. Her men will be rising to serve her. To avenge her.” Oldwin set his wine glass aside and folded his hands. “Let Aiden’s men do the labor of guarding and watching the Westerlands.”

  Eoghan turned toward the window. “You still see some, then.”

  “Stone walls are not enough to quiet the voices I was born with. I will die with them.”

  “My father nearly killed you for them.”

  “Your father was informed of every vision I received from these voices. But I could not share the ones I never had.”

  Eoghan spun back around. “So you saw nothing of the boy, Dain, living and thriving? Nothing at all?”

  “I regret that I did not,” Oldwin replied. “But I was gifted a vision of him much later, once your father had already decided my fate.”

  Eoghan took several steps closer, but stopped. The foul scent rolling off the sorcerer turned his belly. “And did you share what you saw with him then?”

  “How could I? He left me to rot. Had he visited me, I would have.”

  Assana sprang to life when Eoghan snapped his fingers and pointed for her to refill the man’s wine.

  “You will tell me now, then, what my father never heard.”

  Oldwin accepted his wine and emptied half the glass before speaking. His tongue traveled across the residual drops on his lips as he searched his thoughts. “It is true. Dain yet lives, or he did, when last the voices spoke to me, which has been some years now, at least where he is concerned.”

  “And what did they say? These voices?”

  “That Dain knows not who he is, or where he comes from. He was raised in ignorance and will remain in ignorance. That secret died with your father and with the servant who failed to kill the babe when he had the chance.”

  “It did not die with anyone. You know it. I know it. Now my wife does.” />
  Oldwin smiled. “You could kill us to protect it. That remains an option.”

  “I yet might,” Eoghan replied. “You say Dain bears a new name. What is it?”

  “That I have not seen, or heard. I have not had news of him in years. It is possible he died, after all, just much later than your father intended.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I believe we must always be prepared for all possible outcomes,” Oldwin said with a wide grin. His yellowed teeth sent chills through Eoghan. “He may be dead. We should proceed as if he is not.”

  Eoghan nodded. Something about the old sorcerer unsettled him. He didn’t want him standing there anymore, boring holes with his eyes and his ancient judgment. But he could see what his father could not: Oldwin’s usefulness was not yet spent.

  “Your prior chambers have been turned into a pile of cobwebs and old furniture. You may make the arrangements to have them restored as you please.”

  Oldwin bowed low. “Your Grace.”

  “There is one more condition of your freedom. I command you tell me something that no one else in Duncarrow knows. No small thing, either. Something... something you have never shared with anyone else. No meaningless dangle, either. Something of importance to you.”

  “A man is not so easily parted with his secrets, sir.”

  Eoghan laughed. “You are no man, Oldwin. Tell me, if you value freedom and service again. Or don’t, if lifetimes in the sky dungeon suit you better.”

  Assana wore the anxious look of a cornered animal. Oldwin’s failure would be her own.

  Another man might ask her to leave. Letting her stay was no matter of love. It was rather a reminder that she had brought this man to him and was responsible for his words, his actions. She would’ve possibly fared better by leaving. It would depend on what Oldwin said next.

  “Ilynglass.” He almost sighed the word. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

  “No. Should it?”

  “It will now. Ilynglass is where the Rhiagains come from, Your Grace. The world left behind when we arrived on these shores and Carrow Rhiagain named them for himself. He very nearly named this hunk of rocks Ilynglass. Had he, things may have been very different for the Rhiagains, who were accepted as kings and gods only for the unique magic, magic so different from the men of this kingdom. For the mystery that arrived with us that fateful day. It was me who advised Carrow to keep it hidden in his heart. To bury it away and create, in its place, a mythology of our choosing. And while there are others who once knew this, they are all long dead. All but me.”

  “Ilynglass. What a lovely word. I’ve never heard another like it,” Assana whispered.

  “Never speak it aloud!” Oldwin said. “Never share it beyond this room. This crown is woven together by what the kingdom does not know about us. To discover such things is to unravel it all, and once apart, it can never again be put back together.”

  * * *

  Assana exhaled as Oldwin departed the chambers decidedly more free than he’d entered them. She’d gambled on the sorcerer. Had he failed the test with Eoghan, she would’ve been the one standing at the cliff’s edge, whispering goodbye to the remnants of her short and disappointing life.

  But Eoghan seemed pleased. Something else, as well. Relieved. He’d been burdened by the expectations of kingship, lacking the experience and wisdom to combat his shortcomings. She’d seen this desperation in him. The idea of restoring Oldwin had been born of it.

  Assana would need to watch the sorcerer carefully. Eoghan might not have picked up on the lie, but she hailed from a family of professional prevaricators. Whether the lie was the beautiful word itself, Ilynglass, or the matter of its secrecy to others, Oldwin’s first act of service to his new king had been deception.

  Eoghan might fall for it, but she would not so easily be trapped in the wily creature’s web.

  She prepared to dismiss herself, but Eoghan stopped her.

  “Your father,” he said. “You have not once asked for mercy on his behalf.”

  “No, husband.”

  “I’d like you to tell me why.” He was once more the petulant child, stumbling, demanding. The one who had left her painted with bruises in his confused cruelty of failed lovemaking.

  “I am wife to the king first, before all else,” Assana said, treading the space of her words with great caution. She didn’t trust the easy way he’d dealt with her on the matter of Oldwin.

  “Yet you are also his daughter.”

  “I am my mother’s daughter,” Assana said proudly, before she could consider whether the words were the right ones. “And my father needs to remember his place in this kingdom. He’ll do so better from a prison cell.”

  Eoghan let her words wash over him. He looked away, nodding.

  With a raise of his hand, she was dismissed.

  6

  The Flame

  Light pink petals rained on Ember’s face as she reached the peak of her desire. She twined her fingers through Marsh’s soft hair, pressing his face down as she climbed over the edge of her pleasure and came undone.

  She fell back against the lone lump of grass protruding through the snow, looking up at the cherries strewn about the tree, struggling for breath. Marsh’s grinning face beamed up at her with pride.

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “I don’t suppose you’d believe I was born with such instincts?”

  “I would not.”

  Marsh wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and settled back, sitting on his heels. “The stable kid. Angus?”

  “Argus,” Ember said.

  “He evidently stays quite busy, and his business is not with the horses.”

  Ember laughed as she searched around for her clothing. “How does something like this even come up in your interactions? Stable boy, can you saddle me a horse, and while you’re at it, lessons on your expertise in pleasuring ladies?”

  Marsh scrambled to his feet. He picked stray bits of clothes from the grass of the Wintergarden and dropped them by her. He no longer winced in pain at simple tasks, thanks to Aylen’s healing of his arm that had been mangled by the bear. It was as if that strange night had never happened now, at least to Marsh. “Better you don’t know.” He reached for another piece, but stopped, frowning.

  “What is it?”

  “That Ravenwood boy.”

  “Alasyr,” Ember said, though the confirmation was unnecessary. It was always Alasyr. If he wasn’t circling Wulfsgate Keep, he was hovering, and always, it seemed, wherever she happened to be. He never took a day off. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was stalking her, like prey.

  “I’m tired of it. I’m going to say something.”

  Ember reached for his arm. “No. Don’t. He’s just angry, is all.”

  “He isn’t the only one!”

  “You would have your own anger if your sister, Lyria, disappeared. And you might direct that anger at those you felt were responsible.”

  Marsh stopped glaring at the raven and looked down. “And are they? The Derehams? Responsible?”

  “Everyone wants someone to blame for their hurts, Marsh. It isn’t always so tidy. Would you say Drystan is responsible, for loving her? That takes from Ravenna any power over her own choices. Or Lord and Lady Dereham for not seeing it and stopping them? I’d say they’ve had their share of things on their mind lately.”

  Marsh pointed. “Someone should tell him that.”

  Ember pulled herself up with his hand. She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Fine. I will.”

  “What? No, I didn’t mean you. Stay away from him, Ember. He’s dangerous.”

  “You’ve seen what I can do. It comes from the same place.”

  Marsh twined his fingers through hers, tightening. “I’m serious.”

  Ember unlaced the bond. “I am too, Marsh. Alasyr lingers because he has unsettled business. And while I would love to forget the world and disappear with you in the Wintergarden forever,
I must remember I have my own.” She looked back toward the raven. “He reminds me of that. I see his tenacity and I wonder how I’ve lost mine.”

  Marsh pulled her in for a kiss. “You haven’t,” he whispered through their joined lips. “You are still the same Ember.”

  Ember pressed her forehead to his and then drew away from the embrace. She peered over her shoulder at Alasyr, who perched upon a branch, waiting. “If that’s true, then I have to prove it. I came here for direction, and all I’ve done is linger with you. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve enjoyed every second, you know I have. But that isn’t why we’ve come here. To languish. I’ve let others decide whether I should see my mother. I didn’t come here for anyone to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Go on. I’ll meet you inside. I have something to say to the raven prince, and then you and I will be preparing for a trip over the pass.”

  * * *

  Asherley pulled back the string on her bow. The arrow’s tip followed the raven dancing across the sky, controlled by her focus, restrained only by her curiosity. The raven came to a fluttering halt upon a snowy branch. White dust shimmered, disappearing into the void of the forest floor far below.

  Her fingers twitched. Which Ravenwood was this? It wasn’t the first to circle the air above Torrin’s Pass, and as she had more sightings of them, she could no longer pretend it was coincidence. Their position was compromised now, depending on what motivated the Ravenwoods.

  None had revealed their true form. She’d heard that, when a Ravenwood died, their raven form disappeared and they were as man again. Releasing the arrow would be one answer to her question, then.

  “Are you going to kill that bird, Lady Asherley?”

  The small voice of Stefan stayed her hand. “No, little one. I was only practicing my aim.”

  “Sir Wyat is teaching me to shoot.”

  “I know he is. Is your aim improving?”

  Stefan shrugged. “I still can’t hit anything.”