He thought about the time it would take for the young girl to get the water from the pump, heat it over the fire, as well as make the soup, and he knew the time that passed had probably been far longer. His sister hadn’t wanted anything she had ordered. She must have suspected Graylem had enlisted the girl’s help and had wanted her spying eyes out of the way.
“How long ago was this?” he asked, grabbing his cloak and striding to his sister’s door.
“I came here as soon as I saw she was not in her room, my lord,” the girl said as he stepped into the richly appointed space that had so delighted his sister when they first arrived. The room that now stood empty.
“You said the men she spoke with were members of the King’s Guard?”
“They were wearing blue and yellow cloaks, m’lord, and had the seal of Eden on them.”
Which meant the men and the note they brought must have come from the Palace. “If my sister returns before I do,” he said, headed for the stairs, “tell her . . .” He stopped and shook his head. “Just tell her that her brother will be back soon.”
He hurried to the stables for his horse, no longer caring who might recognize the markings on the saddle, and pushed the horse to go as fast as he dared through the city streets that were illuminated with torches and the wind-powered lights that spilled over from the windows of the buildings. In the distance, the Palace walls almost glowed white against the darkness. The orb shined bright over the tallest as if beckoning him forward. His heart pounded in concert with the clatter of his horse’s hooves on the cobblestones.
He told himself Deevana was right. He was being an alarmist. But his sense of dread only grew.
She would be furious with his interference if he was wrong. She had vowed to never speak to him again. She—
A woman’s scream clawed the night. A flurry of red streaked down against the background of the bright white walls as the scream grew louder. In the distance he saw the flurry of red hit the ground. The scream vanished but still echoed in his head.
He urged the horse forward, leapt off at the base of the steps, and raced up the white stone staircase. A lone gong sounded—once—twice. Then it, too, went still.
Guards raced out of the Palace gates. Others spilled out as well as he reached the top. The world spun. Voices swirled around him as he pushed his way through the crowd until he could see the familiar bright cloak, the shining hair still twisted and curled slowly being coated by the ooze of red blood that was spreading against the white of the Palace stone.
“Turn her over,” someone shouted.
Graylem’s knees trembled. Bile seared his throat as her body flopped over and the face that he had loved was broken beyond recognition. But there was no mistaking the jewel that still hung around her neck.
“Was it an accident?” he heard someone ask.
A familiar guard leaned forward—Lord Roddick—and pulled a small box, just like Sasha described, out of the cloak’s pocket. He opened it to reveal a silver ring set with a gem that resembled the orb in miniature. “The guards caught her stealing. I’m told after they chased her to the battlements, she jumped rather than facing punishment.”
No. Graylem stepped back and shook his head. That wasn’t Deevana. She always believed she would win no matter the odds. She would never have jumped.
The box was the one that Sasha had described to him. Someone had given it to the King’s Guard and had it delivered to Deevana along with a note.
“Does anyone know her name or her family?” someone asked. “Ask the members of the court if they know anything about her. She might not be working alone.”
Slowly, Graylem turned. He forced himself to walk away from his sister’s broken body . . . down the staircase that seemed to have gotten longer than when he had raced to the top and to the horse that was grazing on a patch of brown grass. Tears thickened his throat as he rode. The weight of loss pressed on his chest.
When he returned to the inn and walked in to what had been Deevana’s room, Sasha leaped out of a chair and asked, “Did you find her, m’lord?”
“She’s gone,” he answered. “She won’t be coming back.”
He opened the wardrobe, grabbed a satchel, and then looked at the gowns his sister had looked so beautiful in. “You can keep the dresses,” he said, turning to the young maid. “Sell them. Wait until you are old enough to wear them. My sister will no longer have need of anything in this room. It’s yours.”
“What about this, m’lord?” the girl asked, holding out the small wooden box that had been atop the mantel. Slowly, she crossed the room and placed it into his hands. “This was your lady sister’s as well.”
The girl gave a quick curtsy. “I will be in the hall if there is anything else you need.”
Graylem’s hand shook as he unlatched the box. Inside was a small stack of letters. Six to be exact. The first four in a shaky handwriting that he recognized from his correspondence with Lady Venia, all addressed to his mother and describing her worry about her two older sons who had gone to fight in the war and her dedication to caring for her youngest son since the tournament accident that left him unable to walk, scarred on the back of his head so that hair could no longer grow there, and reduced to the mind of a cheerful child. But one that could still produce an heir and carry on the family name.
He had thought his mother had destroyed the letters. Instead, Deevana had found them.
The next page was still curled at the edges; the script was formal and the words simple.
Come to the Palace. Your silence will be rewarded.
The note had no identifying seal or signature. No way for him to know who Deevana had met and who had sent the invitation or the gift that was used to brand her as a thief before they forever silenced her.
Deevana knew something. His sister had gleaned information and planned to use it for her own gain. Did they recognize that necklace and realize it would be easy to paint her with the brush of a criminal? He wasn’t inclined to think so. Deevana hadn’t worn the jewel until after the gift and the note arrived. To Graylem, it was the irony of the Gods that saw his sister die—accused of the crime she had freely committed for years and was utterly innocent of here in Garden City.
Swallowing hard, Graylem picked up the last page, which was covered with the beautiful handwriting Deevana had spent so much time perfecting to make it look as close to Lady Blackthorn’s hand as possible. One she must have written before she went to the Palace. Was it in case she didn’t come back, or because she wasn’t sure she would have time to write it upon her return? He wished he knew which. Then he realized it didn’t matter.
Gray,
I am sorry, but I cannot go south and accept less of a life than the one I had before. Not when I’ve found a way to be promised all that I ever dreamed. I hope you can forgive me for my harsh words. It was the only way to guarantee you would not interfere. I am and will always be your sister. Promises have been made to me. When we meet again, I will truly be—
Lady Deevana
He climbed the bright white steps to the Palace of Winds with his bag on his shoulder. The handful of silver left on the inn’s table and the horses that remained in the stable should more than cover any debt. When he arrived at the gates, he spoke to the guards on duty and then waited for Lord Roddick to appear.
When he did, Graylem said, “If you think I am skilled enough, I would like to join the guard.”
“Are you sure you don’t need more time to think about it? The oath of a guardsman is for life,” Lord Roddick reminded him. “That’s a long time. Perhaps you want to discuss it with your family or find something else you’d rather do?”
“My family is too far from me to talk to,” he said quietly. “And I have nothing else I need more.”
His sister had used anger to push him to lower his guard and avoid his protection. He had fallen for the distraction—the same one Princess Carys had used on the guard. He had failed his sister, and his sister had died.
Whatever Roddick saw on his face must have convinced him because he clapped Graylem on the shoulder and escorted him through the gates, saying, “Very well. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Palace life is not what the storytellers claim it to be.”
“I know, my lord.” Graylem glanced up at the battlements and nodded. “Trust me, I know.”
He had lost his sister because of whatever lurked in this place. As much as he wanted to alter that, there was no changing the past. And if he was honest with himself, there was nothing he could have done once they rode into this city. But while the past was set, the future could still be made better. He could do better. And maybe he could use what he had learned and what he had lost to protect another who needed it.
This time he would break the rules as Roddick told him a guardsman must. This time he wouldn’t let anyone he wanted to protect push him away.
EXCERPT FROM EDEN CONQUERED
TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT THE THRILLING SEQUEL TO DIVIDING EDEN
EDEN
CONQUERED
1
Something whispered.
Carys stared at the hills surrounding her traveling party. Nothing moved. The only sounds were the crunch of the snow beneath her quivering horse’s feet and Garret’s irritated voice as once again he insisted they were going the wrong way.
No branches rustled on the trees that dotted the landscape. The air was still.
But Carys heard whispering.
The wind. It was calling.
She shivered, wiped the trickle of sweat off her forehead, and burrowed deeper into the coarse gray cloak that Lord Errik had wrapped around her on their escape from the Palace of Winds. The biting cold both inside and out had made the first several days a blur of bone-aching pain, a desperate fight to stay on her white-and-brown mount. The voices of Lord Errik, Lord Garret, and Larkin grew increasingly angry. All three felt they knew what was best for Carys, after all, now that she was dead.
Carys would truly have been dead if her twin had gotten his way.
Years of drawing punishment onto herself—diverting attention from Andreus and his secret—should have ensured their trust was unbreakable. She had always been there for her brother. Defended him. Yet, when it most mattered, he had abandoned her.
She clutched the reins tight in her hands. The whispering inside her head grew louder.
The trees rustled. Her horse danced beneath her as a branch snapped and fell to the ground to her left.
“We need to go faster,” Lord Garret complained from atop his limping gray mare. “Someone could be following the tracks we’re leaving in the snow.”
“No one is following us,” Lord Errik countered. “We traveled in that stream to ensure there were no tracks. Or maybe you forgot that’s why the horses are so worn. If we push them to go any faster, they’ll give out and we’ll be stuck traveling on foot. Something I’m certain you have never done in your life.”
“If you had found better mounts instead of these plow nags, we wouldn’t have to worry about them giving out.”
More arguing. It got them nowhere.
“Next time I have need to steal several horses without raising suspicion from the guard and anyone else inside the city, I will have you take the lead. You’re lucky you even have a horse. You, Lord Garret, were not supposed to be a part of this journey.”
“Garret.” The word scraped her dry throat. A breeze tickled her neck.
“I’m here because Princess Carys wishes it.”
“You’re here because Princess Carys had no choice but to bring you,” Errik snapped, then shook his head. “Of course, Lord Garret, if you are feeling tired of this journey you have only to say the words and . . .”
“Call him Garret.” Carys straightened her shoulders. “Only Garret.”
Despite the effort, her voice still sounded weak to her ears. But it was stronger than yesterday and stronger still than the day before. Six days in all had passed since the Kingdom of Eden was told of her death, thus ending the Trials of Virtuous Succession. Prince Andreus, being the only “surviving” competitor, was now the occupant of the throne.
Her twin was now His Majesty King Andreus. Guardian of Virtues. Keeper of Light.
And she was nothing.
She was outside of the confines of the walls that surrounded Garden City and the Palace of Winds, but she was still not free. Not the way she had once dreamed. Instead, she could feel the pull of the walls and the people inside them growing with each mile she put between them. Calling her back to face the darkness.
Calling her back to bring them the truth.
“What did you say, Princess?” Larkin called.
“I said that Errik should call him Garret.” Carys tugged on her reins, bringing her trembling mount to a halt. “Titles command attention.” People—especially commoners—notice them for fear of the consequences if they don’t. “I can’t risk word getting back to the Palace of Winds that there are nobles traveling the roads with a mysterious girl. No one must know I’m alive.”
No one. Not until she discovered who in Garden City had killed her father and older brother and was plotting against Andreus at this very moment.
She shouldn’t care about Eden or her brother anymore.
She knew it marked her as weak that she did.
Her twin had tried to kill her. He intended for her to die and probably celebrated now that he thought she had breathed her last. She hated him for that. She wanted the Gods to strike him down for turning against her—against the trust they had forged in the womb. And still . . .
Carys pulled her cloak tight as Errik and Garret brought their horses to a stop. Larkin struggled to bring her own mount under control. The mare bucked and pranced before finally coming to a halt fifteen feet away from the others. As someone who typically rode in the cart alongside her father on trips, Larkin never had need to learn how to do much more than sit a horse. Carys would have to teach her childhood friend that she had to take control if she wanted the horse to follow commands. Just as Carys would have to take control now.
Her brother had weakened her body and soul. She had no choice but to follow Errik and Garret away from the Palace of Winds if she wanted to stay alive and gain the power to return. Now the Tears of Midnight she’d relied on for so many years were almost purged from her body. Her body was still pained and weary, but she would be stronger than before when she saw her brother again. She would be free of the drug’s cursed withdrawal. She would do whatever it took to make that so.
“I am sorry, Your High . . .” Errik stopped himself. He shook his head, causing the gray hood to slide off and down his back. His dark hair fluttered. He gave a slight smile that warmed his rich brown eyes. “Carys. You were right then and you are correct now. You are not only in danger from those in Garden City, but from the company you keep until your return. Any threat to that safety must be swiftly dealt with.”
“I am not a threat to . . . Carys,” Garret snapped. His red hair gleamed in the dying light of the sun. “If I were, do you think I would be here with you now trying to help her get away from my uncle and the rest of the Council of Elders? I could have remained in the Palace of Winds and helped my uncle to gain more power or gone home to take my place as High Lord of Bisog. Instead, I’m risking my title, my lands, and my life out here in the cold on this nearly crippled horse.”
“If you’d like to go back to Garden City, I won’t stop you,” Errik said with a laugh. “But I will insist you leave your much-maligned steed.”
“And leave her with you? I have waited too long and worked too hard to leave her in the hands of someone . . .”
“Quiet!” The word echoed through the trees. Carys’s cloak billowed. Another branch snapped in the wind.
Her mount danced anxiously, and she yanked on the reins.
“I’m sorry, Your . . . Carys.” Errik’s eyes caught hers and held them. “It was not my intent to upset you. I know you aren’t feeling well.”
“I’m
fine.” Her head rang. Her back throbbed from the lash marks that had yet to heal. More than anything she wanted to find a place to curl up and wait for the pain to end—both inside and out. “I would be better if you stopped bickering like children.” And if the whispering at the edge of her thoughts would stop. The whispers compelled her to listen, but spoke no discernible message. It pushed at her mind as her frustration built. She felt as if she were going crazy.
Seers talked of calling the wind. Of having the power to bend the air to their purpose. To travel on its back. To compel it to level armies.
While she was growing up, Seer Kheldin claimed to have stopped a wind tunnel from destroying Garden City and the palace. It was a tale so heroic it was akin to the children’s fables of seers from hundreds of years ago. But in none of the stories about the seers did they speak of hearing the wind. Of feeling the pressure of the element in their mind and its urgency and . . .
“I didn’t start it,” Garret said. She frowned at him, and he let out a chuckle. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Andreus used to say the same whenever Micah and I stumbled upon you and he squabbling. Do you remember?”
Micah’s stern expression and Dreus’s answering grin echoed in her mind. The memory clamped onto her heart and squeezed. She shook off the sorrow that threatened to pull her under.
“Andreus never liked anyone believing he’d done anything wrong,” Carys said. “He still doesn’t.”
“That’s something we can use to our advantage when you return to the Palace of Winds to claim your rightful place on the Throne of Light,” Garret said. “The sooner you return, the better it will be for the kingdom. We need to start gathering forces.”
“I hate to admit this, but Garret is right.” Errik frowned. “If you do plan on returning, we will need to start planning for that moment. I know you are still weakened from the competition, but each day that passes will increase your brother’s confidence and power.”
And each passing day would give whoever had been working with Imogen the chance to stab Andreus in the back and take the throne. The seeress was dead now, but in the months she had exerted influence in the Palace of Winds, she had fooled them all. Because of her, Carys’s father and oldest brother had paid with their lives. Andreus had paid with his heart.