Shielded Read online

  My father rubbed his hand across his forehead as he studied the note. Then he handed it to Ren.

  “Where did you find it?” Ren asked.

  “The retiring room fireplace. I thought it was an odd spot to find it, but…You really didn’t know?” I gripped the edge of the desk and scooted my chair closer. “Have you ever heard of magic like this? Cattle left as husks? Mines collapsing?”

  Dread filled my chest, heavy and sour, choking me until I realized most of the fear came from my father’s tether. A few deep breaths, and my emotions were once again my own.

  “What is this about a search for the mages’ library?” Ren asked, pointing to the top of the fragment. “Did you authorize one? And what of a key?”

  My father shook his head and rubbed his thumb over the Medallion, staring at the note without seeing it. I had heard the tale of the mages’ library—everyone in the kingdom had. But it was a bedtime tale for children, a legend from a different time, when mages roamed the Continent across the sea. Every hundred years or so, someone would foolishly set out to find the mages’ library, but no one returned with any success, if they returned at all. Why would someone waste time looking for it instead of focusing on the attacks?

  I cleared my throat. “Surely, with magic being used, you won’t send Ren.”

  My father settled the Medallion against his tunic and nodded. “This must be why my thoughts keep urging me to send Atháren. His magic will turn the tide for us.”

  “I could help, too.” The thought of my brother in danger and my not being there to guard his back made me ill. I took a deep breath. “I have m—”

  A sharp pain in my foot cut my argument short. I glared at my brother.

  “I will find out what’s happening, Father,” Ren interjected with a nod.

  “You’ll be safer if no one knows you’ve gone to North Watch,” my father continued, his eyes fixed once again on the note.

  “And when he’s suddenly not in the castle anymore?” I asked, wondering how they planned to keep this from the courtiers, whose daughters constantly tracked Ren’s movements in the castle so they could flirt with him. He’d never be able to leave without someone noticing.

  “By then, it will be too late for anyone to interfere.”

  So not even the council knew, which could mean only one thing. “Who don’t you trust, Father? Do you know who wrote the note?” The worry my father had been feeling for weeks tightened my shoulders.

  “I do not want you involved in this, Jennesara,” he snapped. He leaned toward me, and the Medallion around his neck swung forward. He caught it before it hit the desk.

  Then he did something I’d never seen him do. He pulled the chain with the Medallion over his head and took it off. He brushed his thumb over the engravings on its surface and extended the artifact to Ren.

  “Atháren, take the Medallion of Sight. As heir to the throne, its magic will be strong for you. It will keep your mind clear from deception and aid your decisions in North Watch.”

  Ren’s wide eyes met mine before he deftly took hold of the Medallion, reverently slipping it around his neck and under his tunic. But over all of his astonishment and excitement, his determination is what made my stomach sink.

  “Thank you, Father,” he said. “I won’t disappoint you.”

  The ache inside me spread. He would leave me behind, then. I started to stand. “I should—”

  “Sit, Jennesara.” My father shifted in his seat. Stood from his desk. Faced the window. “Atháren, you may go.”

  My brother hesitated and felt…unease? No, something else. Whatever it was, he knew what was coming.

  “I— Yes, Father.” He brushed his knuckles against his chin as he left, a subtle gesture he used countless times when he couldn’t speak the words aloud—chin up, Jenna.

  I kept my breathing steady, unwilling to break the silence. The click of the door stretched through the quiet of the study. But still my father faced the window.

  “You will turn seventeen tomorrow,” he finally said. I waited, cautiously opening myself to his tether, ready to pull away if it threatened to overwhelm me again. But his feelings were softer now. Tender. With the smooth edges of age-old sorrow and grief as deep as time. “I met your mother when she was your age.”

  I went perfectly still, my breath catching in my lungs. He never spoke of my mother.

  “She was visiting Hálenborg with her parents. She’d lived on the coast her whole life, in Hálendi’s only port city, and she brought the waves and wind of the sea with her into the castle.” He swallowed hard. “You look just like her, you know.”

  He turned then and shuffled his feet. Swallowed again. “I know I haven’t…” He straightened his shoulders and started again. The relief in his tether strengthened. “I’m glad you’re here, because I have news. Last fall, King Marko sent an official betrothal request to join his eldest son to you in marriage.”

  I flinched at the change in subject, at the switch in his emotions from tenderness to unyielding determination. He continued before I could form a response. “I sent your acceptance before the pass closed. If—”

  “What?” I blurted. My heart pounded so hard my hands started to shake. “I didn’t accept anything.”

  He pursed his lips, and a hint of regret laced the determination in his tether. I didn’t like that regret.

  “You can’t force me into a betrothal,” I insisted. “It’s—”

  “It’s done,” he said as he rubbed his neck where the chain of the Medallion no longer rested.

  My jaw hung open, but no words escaped. There were rules in place, centuries of customs that protected our citizens from forced marriages.

  When I didn’t respond, he cleared his throat. “A messenger arrived this afternoon. The prince invited you to Turia for the monthlong evaluation of the betrothal. I replied, agreeing to the invitation on your behalf.”

  The message he’d been so eager to send, it was this?

  He stopped fidgeting and finally met my gaze. “If you find anything amiss, any reason to back out, I will support you.”

  I shook my head and shot to my feet. The hem of my dress caught under my boot, and I lurched to the side. I yanked the fabric away, crushing it in my fist. “Then why send an acceptance I didn’t agree to in the first place? Why the secrecy?”

  “The fighting at our border should have been resolved months ago, but it’s only worsening. The majority of our people are not the warriors they once were. The courtiers—”

  “It’s not my fault those lazy courtiers won’t lift a sword. What if I trained—”

  His hand sliced through the air, batting my words away. “We need support from Turia, especially if magic is involved. And the Riigans are pressuring Marko into an alliance—one Marko doesn’t want.”

  I folded my arms and widened my stance. “You agreed to the marriage months ago, before you knew magic was involved,” I said, trying to stay calm, trying to make him see reason. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  My father sighed, deep and long. The moaning wind and the crackling fire filled the silence as I waited him out. “It’s the Medallion.” He began pacing, and his tether coiled so tight with anxiety I had to roll my shoulders back. “For weeks—months, if I’m being honest—it’s been warning me.”

  “Warning you?” I asked, staying still in hopes he’d say more. He’d never spoken to me about the Medallion before. “About the border?”

  He nodded, then shook his head. “The Medallion of Sight doesn’t reveal a defined path—more like impressions. Something’s coming. I’ve done everything I can think of to protect our borders, but with this report of magic…” He stopped speaking, lost in thought.

  I stepped forward eagerly. “Father, I can help.”

  “No.” He sliced his hand through the air again. “I need you in T
uria.”

  “I don’t want to go to Turia!” My voice rose, the words tumbling out before I could catch them.

  “I signed the documents!” My father slapped the desk, papers flying under his hand. “It is done. This is how you can help.”

  Then it clicked, the feeling I’d sensed in Ren. It was guilt. He’d known about the betrothal, but for how long? I pushed the prickling ache down—I’d get answers from my brother later.

  “You will be safe in Turia,” my father muttered as he rubbed his forehead.

  I swallowed my angry retort. Instead, I drew inward until I could sort the emotions in his tether more clearly. Frustration, unease. Regret.

  I sat in my forgotten chair and folded my hands in my lap. “You don’t really want to send me away to Turia,” I started softly. “I know you don’t.”

  His eyes fell shut, and his brow furrowed.

  I licked my lips, hoping I could prove my loyalty to Hálendi in another way. “I could go with Ren to North Watch, or—”

  His eyes snapped open, his shoulders tense and his eyes fierce. “I would not send you into a war unless you were the last able-bodied warrior in Hálendi.” He turned away from me to study the tapestry behind his desk.

  I controlled my frustration and measured my words carefully. “I want to help, Father. My skills are unmatched. Surely—”

  “I know you are adept in a practice ring, but that’s all it is, Jennesara. A practice ring.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have no real experience in battle, or even in training others.”

  I flew to my feet and braced myself on his desk with both hands. “Whose fault is that? All I’ve ever sought is to prove myself beyond our castle walls, and you’ve done everything you could to keep me from that. Now you tell me I’ll be packed up and shipped away, married to a prince I’ve never met and pretending a foreign kingdom I’ve never visited is my home. I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked, and at the moment when I could be of use, could aid my brother and my kingdom, you dismiss me?”

  “I cannot send you to the border!” he shouted. His eyes flashed; the tendons in his neck tightened. A wave of his frustration slammed against me.

  He inhaled deeply and crossed his arms over his chest. His voice was quiet when he spoke again. “I cannot send you to the border.” He looked down at his desk. “I will not.” He lifted his head to face me again, deep pools of sorrow and exhaustion reflected in his eyes. “We are sending more troops to the north. Atháren will direct them where they are most needed to prevent attacks deeper within our borders.”

  An ache formed at the back of my throat, and a chill bled through me. “You just said we don’t have enough troops.”

  “It is part of the betrothal agreement. When you set a date for the marriage, King Marko will send his troops to assist us.”

  I fell back into my chair. So the sooner I accepted my fate, the sooner my countrymen would cease dying on the border. I’d fallen through ice into a lake once and the cold washing over me now felt the same as it had then.

  “You said you’d support me if I found a reason to break the betrothal,” I said, the walls looming closer with every breath.

  My father sagged into his own chair. “And I will. Should that happen.”

  But I could feel his hope. Hope that I would set a date and marry, and stay safely tucked away in Turia.

  I clasped my hands in front of me. Anger, frustration, and sorrow leaked out of the tiny fissures widening within me. I wished I could hold on to anything other than the emptiness.

  “When will I leave?” I asked, biting off the words like a bitter medicine.

  “The day after your birthday. Ren will accompany you until you leave the outer villages of Hálenborg, then discreetly separate from the party.”

  The air whooshed from my lungs. “So soon?” I’d always loved my birthday—a day of freedom from my usual routine. And now it would be my last day at home.

  “We cannot delay,” he said, his spine bowing until he looked much older than he was. “This is what I need from you. What Hálendi needs.”

  His words struck me, their echo silencing the arguments I had ready. I stood and straightened my dress. My eyes stayed fixed on the edge of his desk.

  “I am a princess of Hálendi. I will do my duty to my kingdom,” I said, echoing what he’d admonished me with so many times. The words tasted sour, and my voice crumbled until it was barely a whisper. “But you’ve known for months. My birthday is tomorrow. Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

  The dimming light of the fire reflected off the white streak in his silver hair and deepened the lines on his face.

  “Jennesara, I—” He swallowed, then shrugged helplessly. “Because I’d hoped the kingdom could be put to rights by the time the pass opened. I needed options. But the note you brought is only further proof we’ve a traitor among us. We’re out of time.”

  His logic made sense. It did. But it still hurt enough that I couldn’t respond.

  “We will announce the betrothal at the end of your birthday celebration tomorrow.” He put his hand over his mouth as though he could take the words back. But he’d said them. He’d signed the agreement.

  Bitterness and regret and anger fought inside me, both my own and my father’s. “Good night, Your Majesty.”

  I walked slowly to the door, wishing he would say something, anything, to repair the cracks in my heart, but he was silent. I pushed his tether away. I couldn’t bear to feel his emotions when my own were choking me.

  My world was tipping, my shattered life scattering like glass across ice. How was I going to find my place in a new land when I couldn’t find a place among my own people? How would I keep my magic a secret under the scrutiny of an entire new kingdom?

  I passed through the castle in a daze, staying far away from the bright dining hall. The practice ring beckoned, calling me out into the night to fight the weight pressing down on my heart. But I couldn’t win when my enemy was my own secret, my own father, my own kingdom. This was a battle I couldn’t fight—my freedom for my kingdom’s? It was an impossible choice.

  I stalked upstairs to my chambers. A single log burned in the hearth, its warmth barely penetrating the room. My sword—one the weapons master had had made specifically for me before my father could forbid it—lay on the sofa near the glowing fireplace.

  My mind returned to the note, to the worry and frustration and doubt my father had been feeling for months. And then I realized I’d asked the wrong question when I’d asked who had written the note. The real question was: Who had burned it?

  Training with Master Hafa, the weapons master, always pulled me from bed early—usually before the sun had even crested the hills. Today, my birthday, I burrowed deeper into the down-filled blankets. My father had signed betrothal documents for me, the seamstresses had picked out my dress for the celebration tonight, but I would get up when I wanted.

  My mind had traveled too many paths overnight, wondering who could have written the note, who had burned it, what I would find in Turia. I’d looked forward to this day for months, but now it was the day my betrothal to a complete stranger would be officially announced to the kingdom. I’d have to act as if everything were fine. As if I didn’t now have a man waiting to marry me. As if I weren’t leaving tomorrow. As if there weren’t a traitor somewhere in the castle.

  My door creaked open just after dawn, and three maids poured into my room. I groaned and pulled my pile of blankets higher around my ears.

  “Don’t know what he’s about,” one of the women muttered to the other maids as they opened the door to the small room that served as my closet and walked right in.

  I poked my head out, smoothing back my hair and glaring at the doorway to my closet. “What are you doing?” I croaked, my voice rough with sleep. “Where’s Aleinn?”

  The tall
est of them shuffled out, her arms already full of dresses, and dumped them on the back of the chair by my mirror. “Your maid had other tasks assigned to her this morning. His Majesty asked us to prepare your things for a long journey. Only gave us one day, if you can imagine.”

  The other two emerged as well, one holding the fine gold and silver chains that laced the bodices of my dresses, the other with my most intricately engraved belts—all of which I wore only for special occasions. The three of them watched me, expressions carefully blank. I wasn’t sure if they wanted gossip or if they were just annoyed at the lack of notice.

  Excuses lay at the tip of my tongue, how I didn’t want to go, that I was going for them, for all of Hálendi. For everyone but myself.

  I didn’t elaborate on the king’s request. In my father’s house, it didn’t matter if you were daughter or servant, princess or peasant—you obeyed. Besides, if these servants knew the real reasons for my journey, word would spread around the castle before the day’s end. Including to whoever had burned the note.

  The maids sent each other a look, one I’d seen often but could never decipher, and bustled back to the closet to decide which pieces should be packed.

  I groaned and snuggled into my pillow. I’d miss this pillow.

  “Fine,” I grumbled to myself, and yanked the blankets off, shivering as my feet hit the woven rug. Better than the freezing floor, but not by much. My closet was fast emptying of dresses and wraps and dainty court shoes, but my gear for the practice ring lay untouched.

  I frowned and threw on my oldest pair of trousers, a soft burgundy tunic, and my favorite sweater, which had an intricate snowflake design over one shoulder. Then I gathered a bundle of clothes the maids had skipped over—leather boots with the warmest lining, my best trousers, three tunics that I could move in easily—and tucked them into the maids’ pile.

  In my bathing chamber, I rebraided my hair to hide my white streak. If today was to be my last day here, I had a lot to do.