Anger sparked anew. Carys breathed deep and pulled back the string of the bow. The man’s eyes widened a moment before a point drove deep into his forehead and he toppled off the steps of the house, leaving the front door standing wide open.
Garret slid off his horse and drew his sword. The girl swung toward Garret, fear and defiance lighting her face.
“He’s with me,” Carys called. She yanked one of her blades from a man’s back and the other from the attacker’s throat, then assessed the third—the girl’s grandfather. His hands were coated in blood from where the sword had punctured his stomach. The white-haired man’s eyes were open but saw nothing. He was dead.
“Stop it!” A boy’s frantic scream echoed from somewhere inside the house. “Leave her alone!”
“My brother!”
Carys gripped the hilts of the stilettos in her hands and turned toward the house as a young boy started screaming.
“Carys!” Garret hissed and fell in step beside Carys as she started across the courtyard toward the house.
Something crashed.
The wind whispered again, fanning the kernel of anger that seemed to burn hotter and stronger. Wanting to break free. Desperate to hurt as she and the girl and the girl’s grandfather had been hurt.
No! She couldn’t set the wind free. Not when she couldn’t control it.
Men shouted. A child sobbed for his mother.
“Shut that brat up, now!”
Garret blew out a breath and whispered, “I’ll go first. They’ll think I’m the threat and by the time they realize they have to worry about you, it’ll be too late.”
Carys nodded and followed Garret to the doorway. Her mind swirled. She fought against the anger that threatened to break free with every beat of her heart. She held her breath and shifted her hold on her blades as Garret stepped through the door.
“You men are here uninvited. I order you to leave,” Garret said smoothly.
“Who the devil are you?” a gruff voice yelled as Carys stepped into the dimness of the house.
It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the change of light. Metal clanged against metal. A young boy wailed and scurried toward an older woman huddled on the floor in the corner of what must have once been a homey kitchen. Garret slashed over a broken wooden table at a black-bearded man with missing teeth. The man leaped out of the way of the blade and slashed back. Two others came running into the kitchen.
Carys barely raised her voice. “Hey—”
He turned and her stiletto found his chest, punching through an all-too-familiar yellow and blue insignia, before he spoke another word. Seeing the emblem of Eden—an indication that these were her kingdom’s soldiers—made her ill. She refused to think of them as anything but enemies as her second blade pierced into the other man’s gut a moment later.
The toothless attacker dropped his own sword arm just a hair as his comrade fell. Garret jabbed his long, wide blade into the man’s chest and out through the other side. The man’s sword fell from his hand. Garret yanked his sword out of the body and the man crashed to the ground. Garret then walked toward the two men Carys had felled. He slit the throat of the man with the stiletto in his stomach as Carys retrieved her weapons.
“Mummy!” A curly-haired boy who looked to be about four struggled against the gray-haired woman who held him tight in her arms. “Grammy, I want Mummy.”
“We’ll find her,” the woman said, the anguish in her eyes telling Carys the woman feared the attackers had not left her daughter alive.
“We’ll look for her and help you get the bodies out of your home,” Carys said, wiping a line of blood from her face.
“Thank you,” the old woman said dully as she hugged the squirming child.
It took time for Carys, Garret, and the girl to drag the three men out of the house and find the other members of her family whom the brigands had restrained in the other room—the boy’s mother thankfully alive and among them. The only fatality was Naila’s grandfather, who had died before Carys and Garret had arrived to lend aid.
“My father and Viktor went to town today,” Naila said, looking down at her grandfather’s face. Garret had moved the grandfather’s body to the barn so that he could be prepared for burial, and was now watering and feeding the horses as he waited for Carys. But she couldn’t leave. Not yet. “Father didn’t want to go, but we were running low on supplies and he was worried the snow would come again soon and make travel too hard. Grandpa told Warin to watch for travelers while he milked the goats and mucked out the stalls, but Warin must have gotten bored and snuck off.”
Naila kicked a bale of hay and put her hands over her face. “I should have made sure he was still watching. I didn’t hear the horses until Grandpa told me someone was here and to stay hidden. But I couldn’t, you know? Not after what happened a month ago at Briggins Manor.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what happened at Briggins Manor. I live . . . farther to the north,” Carys admitted. “There have been other attacks like this? Or, have the Xhelozi come this way?”
“My mother says the Xhelozi are a fairy tale—used to make children afraid of wandering out at night.” Naila gave a ghost of a smile despite her swollen lip. Carys didn’t have the heart to correct her. Then the smile faded. “I would rather the Xhelozi than the deserters we’ve had roaming the southern districts.”
“Deserters. This has happened before?”
“Father says when a war has gone on so long, men don’t remember why they are fighting. When they don’t remember, it is easy for men to lose their way. At least a dozen packs of deserters have come to this area since winter last ended. Eden guardsman and foreign ones, too. A few have asked if they can work for food. The rest . . .” Naila placed a hand on her grandfather’s shoulder, then sighed. “They are trained soldiers with weapons given to them by their kings. You either hide and let them take what they want, or they kill you.”
Naila lifted her eyes and clutched her cloak together in the front. “And sometimes before they kill you, they make sure that you want to die.”
Carys had heard her father talk to Micah about food shortages, attacks on supply wagons, and the need for more fighting men. Never about deserters from Eden’s own guard.
Carys cocked her head to the side. “You say foreign soldiers have passed by your farm? Those men. What were their colors?”
“Most of them wore brown and gold.”
Not the colors of the kingdom they were warring with. Instead, those were the colors of the Bastians. The same worn by the soldier who stopped his attack short when he recognized Errik. “When? When did you see them? Recently?”
Naila nodded. “My father says he saw the first not far from the forest when he rode to town three weeks past. I spotted the last group just days ago. They were going northeast.”
Northeast—toward the Palace of Winds. Were they part of the Bastian attack force? Perhaps they had deserted, or maybe they were traveling in small groups because it was easier to avoid notice. If the Bastian forces were now within Eden’s boundaries, Errik could, at this moment, be delivering Larkin to them.
“I’m sorry for your family’s loss,” Carys said. Naila draped a worn blanket over her grandfather’s body and covered his face. “I wish I could have done more.”
“Without you, we would all be dead.” Naila turned to her and bobbed a curtsy. “This is not your fault, Your Highness.”
The title and the genuflection stilled Carys’s heart. “I think you have me confused with someone else. Do I look like the kind of person with a place in the royal court?”
Even if Naila had seen her at a distance at a tournament, or in Garden City before the trials, now, dressed in the tight-fitting trousers Larkin had crafted, with unevenly cut short hair, Carys looked nothing like her old self, and certainly appeared nothing like royalty. Royalty maintained their façade at all costs—no matter what side of the wall they were on.
“The lord called your name. He said
, ‘Your Highness.’”
“He likes to tease . . .”
“Also, a merchant from Garden City traded with us last week. He spoke of a princess, skilled as if by magic with long knives that were as silver as her hair.” Naila lifted eyes that were no longer filled with tears, but blazed with a fierce light. “I think you are her. But even if you say you are not, I would still call you Lady. For all that you have done.”
The words brought back the memory of the Trials, of standing on the battlements as she spoke to the crowd below.
The people. Her people. For years she had denied the connection to them, choosing only to focus on her twin and keeping him safe. Then they lifted the banners of blue and for the first time she realized she was not the disappointment to them that she had always thought.
They believed in her no matter the flaws they had seen and the walls between them.
“If you wish to honor me,” Carys said, “you will speak not of your suspicion about my identity. Not even to your family. Do you understand?”
If her survival reached Andreus’s ears, her brother would give the order to hunt her down himself.
Naila straightened her shoulders, gathered her skirts, and performed an awkward but deep curtsy. “I won’t tell anyone, Your Highness. I swear on my life.”
Certain the girl meant what she said, Carys asked, “Naila, have you ever been to the Village of Night?” With Bastian men infiltrating the countryside, it was even more important that she learn about the traitors inside Garden City and return to the palace with the utmost speed.
“I have not, Your Highness.”
Not a surprise, but Carys couldn’t help the stab of disappointment.
“But several people seeking the place of the seers have stopped here to ask my father for aid in finding it. He always sends them to Hopeshire Village to speak with the blacksmith.”
Then that was where Carys would go.
Garret tapped his foot and crossed his arms as Carys, the hood of her cloak now covering her shorn hair, said good-bye to Naila in the courtyard. She warned her that the Xhelozi were more than fairy tales and instructed her to keep as many lights on as possible in the dark winter nights to come. “Burn the bodies of the deserters, but keep their weapons and carry them at all times”—Carys smiled—“even if it makes you look less like a lady. Things like that don’t matter as much as some would like you to believe.”
Naila looked as if she wanted to say something else, but before she could Carys turned and mounted her horse. As she rode toward the gate, she looked down at the stained ground where the body of the beaten man once lay. The wind had torn him apart. A chill went down her back as she remembered how the body had dropped, broken, to the ground.
She had barely set off when the whispers returned. Disgusted as she was by what she had done, deep inside where the hurt and anger burned, she knew she would have the chance to do it again. A dark part of her welcomed that chance. And when she looked at Garret smiling at her, she knew he would welcome it, too.
8
Andreus wiped his brow, looked up at the Palace of Winds, and frowned. “Why is the orb shining?”
Standing at the base of the steps carved into the plateau, which led to the palace, the Masters looked at him with bleary eyes. It had taken two sleepless days for the Masters to outline and finish the changes that were required to shut off the wind power to all but the essential lights that bordered the walls. Andreus had spent several hours of both days lending his hands to the cause. The work had to be completed as quickly as possible, leaving him little time to think of anything else.
The Council of Elders had been outraged by the idea of a torchlit Palace of Winds. Elder Ulrich suggested a more gradual approach, darkening sections of the palace to allow the court and those in the city to grow accustomed to the idea.
“It’s like wading across a cold river, Your Majesty,” Elder Ulrich had explained, training his one seeing eye on the other members of the Council. “You ease in a little at a time to brace yourself against the shock. Your subjects cannot take much more upheaval before their unrest devolves into chaos.”
“Weak kings believe the only people they can control are those who are cowering in fear,” Elder Jacobs added quietly as he stroked his long dark braid. “Your father was not weak.”
“Nor is King Andreus,” Elder Cestrum said smoothly. “He made his abilities clear during the Trials of Virtuous Succession. I am sure many here in the palace, including the Masters, fear crossing him. Fear can be a useful tool.”
Andreus wished he could use that tool on the Council of Elders. He instructed them to inform the court and post notices in Garden City about the blackening of the orb and the change in the rest of the lights. If all went as planned, he would keep the fear at a manageable level. At least until the wind began to blow again or the stored power ran out.
The orb had been darkened. The city stayed bright.
Only now the orb was glowing again, drawing on precious power stores—against his command.
“Were the orders I gave to block the energy from the orb not carried out?” he asked the Masters.
Master Triden flicked a glance at the Council, who were also assembled at the base of the steps. “We need . . . more time to alter the orb, Your Majesty. Once we finish the inspection, I will find a solution.”
“Night is approaching quickly, Your Majesty.” Elder Jacobs stepped forward. “If we are to do the inspections, we should start now, when the people will be able to see you riding the city streets. It will be a sign to them of your vigilance. An assurance that the city is safe.”
Andreus studied the Master. Master Triden lowered his gaze, and Andreus clenched his fist at his side. The Masters themselves had told him how much energy the orb required and had been insistent that it be shut down in order to keep the lines on the wall supplied with power for as long as possible.
And now the Masters defied him and accepted the word of the Council?
He—not the Council—sat on the throne. He was the King. His commands were the ones to be followed.
He turned toward Master Triden, prepared to demand the truth. Everyone within earshot would understand that he couldn’t be countermanded. Then, out of the corner of his eye he saw Elder Jacobs leaning forward, eyes bright as if awaiting Andreus’s rage.
Elder Jacobs had worn the same look during the Trials of Virtuous Succession when he claimed to be on Andreus’s side. But Andreus had no idea what side he was actually on other than his own. Carys had frequently said that whenever someone on the Council wished him to do something, it was a good enough reason to do the opposite.
Thinking of his sister’s words, Andreus swallowed his emotions, and nodded to Elder Jacobs. “The security of Garden City is paramount. Let us start our inspection. Our return is soon enough for the Masters to continue their work on the orb.”
The tour of the walls took hours as their party and a dozen of the King’s Guard traveled the perimeter of the city making sure all sections of the wall were receiving the power necessary to keep the Xhelozi at bay. As they rode, people lined the street to get a glimpse of Andreus—first in the fading light of day and later by torchlight. Here and there he spotted someone wearing a blue ribbon or piece of blue fabric tied on their arm.
For Carys—the one they lifted their banners for when she spoke to them atop the wall.
The kingdom had started the competition cheering for him. Now there were no ovations. Just looks of worry—and the remaining bands of blue.
They will cheer me again, Andreus thought. He would keep the Xhelozi from attacking and discover the truth behind his father’s and brother’s deaths. When he did, they would be glad. Then his people would see his worth as King.
“It appears the lights are all working as they should, Your Majesty,” Chief Elder Cestrum said as they reached the final section of the wall. “The Masters of Light are to be commended for their efforts.”
“Yes, everyone deserves a good nig
ht’s rest after all the work that has been done,” Elder Ulrich agreed. “It was important work. Captain Monteros was given instructions to see that the new seer be escorted back to Garden City with due haste, he may be delayed.”
Elder Jacobs nodded. “If all works out as planned, the wind will begin to blow as it always has and these precautions will be rendered unnecessary. But until then, the people of Garden City will know they are safe from attack—and that the King places their well-being above the comfort of those in the Palace of Winds.”
Commendation or condemnation? Andreus couldn’t say.
They turned from the wall and headed back toward the plateau and the palace.
“Your Majesty, may I have a word?” Elder Jacobs called.
Andreus sighed, slowed his horse, and turned. “Of course, what can I . . .” A flicker from the wall behind Elder Jacobs caught his attention and he pulled his horse to a halt.
“Is everything all right, Your Majesty?” Elder Jacobs asked.
The light dimmed, then brightened again.
“Did you see that?” Andreus asked.
Elder Jacobs glanced around with confusion.
“The lights,” Andreus said. “Did you see one of them flicker just now?”
Elder Jacobs shook his head. “I don’t believe so, Your Majesty. Is there a problem?”
“I think one of the new connections might need to be tightened.”
“I will go look at the connection now, Your Majesty,” one of the Masters said from nearby. “If there is a problem, I am certain it is minor.”
Elder Jacobs leaned close and whispered, “If there is an issue, it would be best to make sure the trouble is corrected as soon as possible, Your Majesty, or the people might blame you for the failure.”
Andreus glanced up at the orb still glowing in the sky, then back at the Master who was clasping and unclasping his hands. “No. Return to the Palace of Winds and get some sleep,” he ordered the anxious Master. “I believe I can handle any issues with the connection on my own.” Before the Elders could object, he smiled and added, “The men who taught me what to do trained me well.”