Untethered Read online

  Also by KayLynn Flanders

  Shielded

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2021 by KayLynn Flanders

  Cover art copyright © 2021 by Alex Dos Diaz

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 9780593118573 (trade) — ISBN 9780593118580 (lib. bdg.) — ebook ISBN 9780593118597

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  Contents

  Cover

  Also by Kaylynn Flanders

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One: Ren

  Chapter Two: Chiara

  Brownlok

  Chapter Three: Ren

  Chapter Four: Ren

  Chapter Five: Chiara

  Koranth

  Chapter Six: Ren

  Chapter Seven: Ren

  Chapter Eight: Chiara

  Chapter Nine: Ren

  Marko

  Chapter Ten: Chiara

  Chapter Eleven: Ren

  Chapter Twelve: Chiara

  Chapter Thirteen: Ren

  Enzo

  Chapter Fourteen: Chiara

  Chapter Fifteen: Chiara

  Brownlok

  Chapter Sixteen: Ren

  Chapter Seventeen: Chiara

  Chapter Eighteen: Ren

  Chapter Nineteen: Chiara

  Chapter Twenty: Chiara

  Chapter Twenty-one: Ren

  Redalia

  Chapter Twenty-two: Chiara

  Marko

  Chapter Twenty-three: Ren

  Chapter Twenty-four: Chiara

  Chapter Twenty-five: Ren

  Chapter Twenty-six: Chiara

  Chapter Twenty-seven: Ren

  Chapter Twenty-eight: Chiara

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Ren

  Chapter Thirty: Chiara

  Marko

  Chapter Thirty-one: Ren

  Chapter Thirty-two: Chiara

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To my children:

  You make the world brighter.

  Ren

  The flowers on my father’s tomb had withered and died two months ago. And though it was my duty to replace the flowers, to remember my father’s life, those dried husks remained.

  The white entrance to the castle’s crypt arched over my head, beckoning me in as it did at least once a day since I returned to Hálendi.

  I clenched a cluster of the season’s last blooms in my fist, their fragile stems already broken.

  This was my duty. Whether or not I accepted my father’s death, or wished I’d never left for North Watch to protect the border, or taken the Medallion from him when he’d offered it, this was my duty. To care for his tomb. To honor his life.

  Black ash stained the stone walls above the dimly lit sconces on either side of the archway—the perpetual flames standing guard to the tombs of the kings. They’d started carving my section of the crypt the day after my coronation.

  Down here, the crash of light and sound from the dining hall were a distant memory, though my stomach still swirled with cider. After a full month of parties and dinners to celebrate the commencement of my reign—festivities the kingdom couldn’t really afford—one would think I knew my limits. Yet here I stood, swaying.

  I took a few deep breaths, hoping the cool air would clear my head. The Medallion rested against my chest, right over my heart. It had warmed during dinner, a tingling sense of foreboding that was gone before dessert had been served.

  The Medallion had been like that ever since I’d left Turia. Warm, then cool. Warning, then nothing. It had been nudging me for the past two weeks, but toward what, I couldn’t decipher. It was a key to the Black Library, but my father hadn’t told me about that. He’d said the Medallion would guide me, help me detect deceit. He was supposed to teach me more, but…we’d run out of time. The last advice he’d given me was to trust it. But how could I if I didn’t understand it?

  My stomach lurched again, like it couldn’t decide if it should eject its contents. The Medallion warmed again. If it was poison coursing through my system and not cider, deep breathing wouldn’t exactly help. But my magic would protect me.

  It was time to pay my respects.

  Orange petals shook to the perpetually cold ground, and a puff of breath escaped as I relaxed my grip on the flowers and stepped into the crypt.

  I’d slipped away from my ever-vigilant guard and left the party because I couldn’t pretend to laugh and charm anymore. I was too tired to carry my father’s kingdom tonight.

  The rough ceiling arched from one stone column to the next, and with each step I took past the kings of old, their stone coffins tucked away in the shadows, the columns trapped more light behind me until everything was more shadow than flame.

  My parents lay side by side now, and would evermore. Both entombed in coffins of the whitest stone, casting an unearthly glow in the dim, wavering light.

  The little stool I’d hidden behind my mother’s tomb fourteen years ago remained untouched in its alcove. The jumble of emotions inside me pushed for release, but I couldn’t sit and chat. Not tonight.

  Although I’d been training to become king my whole life, I couldn’t seem to manage anything. I’d thought it would be easy to step into my father’s role and lead our people. But his assassination and Leland’s betrayal had left the council in shambles. Leland’s war with Turia fractured the peaceful relations we’d maintained with them for centuries. We’d signed treaties, but the damage would take much longer to heal.

  Jenna had had to remain in Turia—her wedding to Enzo a promise of peace. I clutched the poor flowers tighter. She could handle herself there, but I wished she were here next to me. Wished my sister could help me with this burden.

  Two months since burying Father. One since my coronation. Yet nothing was secure—not the council, not the kingdom. My stomach heaved. Not even my own castle, apparently.

  I stood silently in front of my parents’ tombs. I couldn’t ask why or how or what to do next. Not again. Not when the answer was unending silence.

  While I had brought countless bundles of flowers to the crypt, I hadn’t l
aid a single petal of my own on his tomb. It had been two months of unanswered questions and broken flowers tossed away.

  Tonight, instead of pleading for guidance, my gaze slid from my father’s tomb to my mother’s. She used to ruffle my hair whenever I’d run by her, and I still remembered the bright sound of her laugh. If I’d been there when she passed, she wouldn’t—

  Gravel crunched behind me. One step, then two.

  The fresh air hadn’t cleared my head as well as I’d thought, because as I spun, I didn’t quite dodge the knife slashing toward me. It tore through my dress jacket and tunic, then through my skin.

  I slammed my forearm into my assailant’s arm as a burning trail blossomed across my stomach. Someone else reached around my neck from behind, choking my airway. I leaned back into him and brought both legs up, kicking the knifer as hard as I could in the chest. He grunted and rolled away. My lungs screamed for air.

  I tucked my leg up and slipped a knife out of my boot, then jammed it into the thigh of whoever had been stupid enough to attack me in the land of the dead.

  This was the closest I’d ever be to my parents now, and at least here, in this place, I wouldn’t let them down.

  The arm around my neck fell away. I yanked my dagger from his thigh, then forced my elbow into his gut. I had time for one gulping breath before the knifer’s blade slashed at me again. I jumped back, tripping over the man who’d tried to choke me. My backside hit unyielding stone and a spasm shot up my spine. I rolled to my feet and deflected his next attack, slicing my blade through his forearm, then shoving my elbow into his face. He spun into a kick. But my knife was there first, slashing through his calf muscle before he could connect.

  He fell to the ground, his scream rattling in my aching head. I kicked his weapon, and it spun into the shadows. My chest heaved and dark splatters of blood marred my once-fine jacket. Both attackers wore the gray uniform of the king’s guards—my guards.

  I pressed my hand against my sputtering heart—the Medallion had fallen out from its hiding spot. I tucked it back under my tunic, hoping neither of my attackers had seen it.

  “Arrest him!” a high-pitched voice yelled, adding to the banging in my head.

  Lady Isarr stood under the crypt’s arch, one long fingernail pointed directly at me. A whole troop of people crowded around her, pushing their way in, with gasps from the wide-eyed courtiers, shock and anger from the guards she’d conveniently brought along.

  Well, this complicated things a bit. My opposition was moving openly.

  “Do not screech at your king, Lady Isarr. My head is already pounding, and I need to think,” I said, rubbing my temple.

  “What have you done, Your Majesty?” Isarr breathed out, oil dripping from her words like I’d never heard before. “You’ve murdered them!” she accused, spreading her arms to indicate the two groaning men sprawled at my feet. The men who clearly weren’t dead. But who’d clearly wanted me dead.

  The Medallion warmed against my chest, but I didn’t need its help to sense her lie.

  My dagger hung limp at my side, dripping blood into the cracks in the stone. The guards Isarr had brought in her entourage rushed to their fallen comrades.

  “May I ask, Lady Isarr, why you and your associates are visiting the crypt at this hour?” I asked as I wiped my blade on my trousers. I’d known most of these people my entire life, yet they would charge me with murder?

  Her hand flew to her chest. “We heard yelling and came at once!”

  My eyebrows shot up and I stared down her entourage. “You heard yelling through all this rock?” I shook my head. “Try again.”

  Some in the crowd shifted. Others watched Isarr, to see how she would respond. The man on her immediate left and the woman on her right—her best friend and her known lover—didn’t flinch. Loyal to Isarr, then.

  She’d been relentless at the dinner parties over the course of the month, always pursuing me, always on the hunt. I thought I’d known her, her type. A harmless title chaser. Yet something in her countenance had changed. As though a mask I hadn’t known she was wearing had fallen off. The worst part wasn’t seeing her true nature. It was that I hadn’t realized she’d been wearing a mask in the first place.

  I studied her and those she’d surrounded herself with. Pieces clicked into place—snippets of conversations I’d overheard in the halls, looks, messages. She’d done well, filling her witness pool with some who were loyal to me, as well as those who would support her.

  Isarr tilted her chin, looking down her long nose at me. “You killed those men,” she said, her words snaking toward me.

  I nudged the guards surrounding the man who’d tried to choke me to the side and slowly knelt, one knee digging into the unforgiving rock. A tremor racked my hand as I covered his wound, which bled more than it should have. “Not yet, I haven’t.”

  A wave of unease moved through the crowd. There—a darted glance, shuffling feet. More were involved than just Isarr. But how many? I didn’t sheath my knife.

  “Your Majesty,” one guard started, leaning toward me like he thought I would hurt the injured man. Well, hurt him more than the knife I’d stuck in his thigh.

  “If you want him to live, stand back,” I snapped.

  The guard swallowed, but retreated. I turned my focus inward, on the man’s wound. My skin prickled at the risk of diverting all my attention into the healing magic that flowed from my hands. But I needed him alive—for questioning, and to prove my innocence. And because Hálendi didn’t need more death.

  My surroundings faded to a dull murmur. My focus narrowed to his skin knitting together, the veins reconnecting. Energy flowed out of me and into this man who’d tried to take my life.

  My vision spun as I pulled my hand away, and the watchful crowd came back into my peripheral vision. I pushed against my knee, forcing myself to stand tall, shoulders back.

  Another guard, a silver knot on his uniform, inspected the other would-be assassin, who lay on the ground, still groaning, clutching his calf as others tried to wrap it. Isarr had brought a captain. One recently instated since I’d had to clean out the ranks loyal to General Leland. He shifted his feet, his eyes darting everywhere, one hand on the hilt of his sword. “Sire, according to law—”

  “Am I not allowed to defend myself from assassins?” I cut in before he could commit treason and accuse me of murder. I’d give him one chance to show his loyalty.

  The captain swallowed so hard I could see the bob in his neck. Hesitant. Not part of the plot, then.

  Isarr clucked her tongue. “But how to prove it was defense? They are wearing your uniform, Your Majesty. Why would your own guards attack you?” She smiled as though she’d proved her point.

  And she had, in a way. Proved that the list of those I could trust had dwindled far indeed. Ever since my closest friend, Cris, had drawn his sword and attacked me in the tent on the Turian front line, my friends and allies had fallen away in betrayal one by one. My stomach clenched and swirled until I thought I’d be sick. Who would be next?

  They wanted proof of self-defense? Fine. I gritted my teeth and unbuttoned my dress jacket, then hooked a finger under my blood-soaked tunic, lifting it slowly. A red slash—not deep anymore, but long—slanted along my stomach from ribs to hip. Blood still dripped from it onto my trousers.

  Gasps rang out so loud that the urge to laugh bubbled up. Everyone already thought me a murderer, though; I wouldn’t add crazy to the list. I wished again that Jenna were here—not only did I need her support, I desperately wanted someone to laugh with. To talk to. One single person I could trust not to shove a knife in my back. Or stomach, as the case may be.

  “As I said, am I not allowed to defend myself? Now, what is your excuse for interrupting my mourning?”

  Isarr’s reaction was slight: a lift of her chin, flashing eyes that had once lured me into
a dark hallway for a kiss.

  I kept my growl back, but only just. “Unless, perhaps, you orchestrated the assassination attempt? And conveniently brought your friends as witnesses?”

  The courtiers behind her began to whisper, and more than a few stepped back, no doubt remembering in a new light whatever Isarr and her companions had said to lure them here. Distancing themselves from the guilty.

  Isarr’s narrowed gaze focused on the man clutching his calf. “If either of them die,” she said, nodding to the attackers still on the ground, “you’ll have to stand trial before the council.” Her lips pulled up into the barest hint of triumph.

  I smirked, and though it wasn’t wise to taunt her, I couldn’t help it. “Haven’t you heard, or did you just forget, Isarr,” I said, intentionally leaving off her title, “I’m a healer.”

  My cursed hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I brushed my fingers over the assassin’s calf. His cries immediately quieted even as my reserve drained. I lifted his trouser, and instead of a knife wound, there was only a line of pink skin. He could keep the cut on his forearm.

  Silence dropped heavy over us, weighing as much as the castle over our heads.

  The courtiers and guards bragged of Hálendi’s magic. I wore the white streak in my hair prominently. But seeing magic was another matter altogether. And now that I’d revealed how strong my magic actually was—beyond healing a scrape or an illness—the next assassin would no doubt account for it.

  Glaciers, I was an ice-headed idiot. I could blame it on whatever my cider had been tainted with, but I was also tired. Tired of secrets and betrayal and deception. And I wanted these men to spill the names of every courtier who’d funded this little endeavor.