Untethered Read online

  Maybe her reading my emotions wasn’t so bad.

  * * *

  I was nowhere near as steady with a staff as Jenna was, but focusing on something that required all my concentration was exactly the distraction I needed.

  “Keep your feet apart, balanced,” she said, and waited for my swing.

  I twisted as I swung to get more force behind the move, like Jenna had taught me. My staff hit hers with a satisfying crack.

  “Good. Again,” she said, holding her staff out parallel to the ground with both hands. She was always like this. Focused. Ready. Powerful.

  I swung again. And again and again. Until I wasn’t thinking about my form or where my feet or hands were supposed to go or what I would do next. Until Jenna’s staff was the palace walls, my father’s rejection, the kingdom’s expectations, Koranth’s grasping hands, Sennor’s leer.

  I swung again, and Jenna’s staff wasn’t there. My staff careened through the air, into the ground, and I toppled forward, barely catching myself from hitting face-first. My chest heaved; I sat in the dust, not caring about the dirt on my borrowed trousers or the sweat streaking down the sides of my face or the splinter in my palm.

  Jenna, who’d jumped out of the way of my furious attack, tossed her staff next to mine and sat nearby, stretching her arms. “I owe you for getting me out of that meeting. Your mother has the softest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, but she is very determined when it comes to weddings.”

  Jenna gave a small sigh, and her smile was only a little forced. Even though we’d signed treaties, her and Enzo’s wedding, planned for the spring, was the final seal that would unite our kingdoms. It was a symbol of the peace Hálendi had promised—meaning every detail had to be perfect.

  I wiped sweat from my temple. “We’re even, then. I didn’t realize how cathartic hitting something could be.”

  Her lips tipped into a true smile. “There’s not much else you can do in the winter back home. And winter is long in Hálendi.”

  I laughed with her. She’d complained of the heat in Turia all summer, but now that fall had arrived and leaves were changing and the temperature dropping, she had a spring in her step. Would she be disappointed when the snow only reached her ankles?

  Jenna shifted to one side and reached into her pocket, her features relaxing as she pulled out a small book and brushed her fingers across the cover. “I was cleaning out my room and found this. I want you to have it.”

  I tilted my head and tentatively reached for the gift. “A novel?” I asked. She had held it so carefully, like it contained all the treasures and secrets in the world. Flora and Fauna of the Wild was stamped on the leather cover; most of the foil lettering had flecked off. When I flipped it open, the pages were blank. “It’s…there’s nothing here.”

  Jenna clutched her hands in her lap, and did she shiver? “The ink got washed away in the Wild, but it helped me remember my purpose when…when I forgot. It helped me figure out who I wanted to be. I thought you might like to have it.”

  I studied the gift anew. She never talked about her time in the Wild. Never. “Thank you.” I wasn’t sure how a small, blank book would help me figure out my purpose, but she’d noticed me, when it felt like no one else had.

  “Princess?” a voice called from the edge of the practice ring we sat in.

  We both turned and responded, “Yes?” then laughed at each other.

  The young girl’s gaze darted away from mine. “Princess Jennesara, you’ve been summoned to the queen’s sitting room.”

  Jenna cleared her throat and stood. “I’d better get back.”

  I forced a smile. She was needed. “Of course. Thank you again for this.” I held up the book, and Jenna pressed her fist to her shoulder and followed the girl back toward the palace.

  I flipped through the pages again. Blank.

  We faced so many perils—as a kingdom, as a Plateau. I was just one girl with good posture who could barely heft a sword. I couldn’t even get my father to agree to let me travel with him. What could I possibly do against a mage?

  Brownlok

  “This plan is unwise,” Brownlok said for the second time, and yet again, Redalia wouldn’t listen.

  “It’s necessary, Brownlok; you know this.” Redalia dug her nails into her scalp and twisted her red hair up, angling her head one way, then the other, staring into the water of the broken fountain in the palace’s gardens to see her reflection.

  Most everything in this kingdom showed some form of decay, and though Redalia had managed more progress than Brownlok had expected, he wasn’t sure even she could salvage something here.

  She smirked at the bow slung across his back. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you with a bow.”

  Brownlok ignored her jab and paced, his dark cloak out of place among the last of the bright blooms. The breeze from the ocean rustled the branches of the trees on the palace grounds, but the sunlight couldn’t penetrate the shadow they’d met in. “The plan is flawed.”

  Redalia went perfectly still, the breeze ruffling the lace at her sleeves. Her eyes moved slowly from her reflection to him.

  Brownlok continued, treading carefully. “Graymere didn’t hold all my loyalty,” he said softly, willing her to listen for once. “He never did. I didn’t leave everything for—”

  Redalia scoffed and shook her hair back over her shoulders, letting it fall to her waist. “Graymere’s remaining power within Koranth and me is all that is keeping you alive right now. You will follow his plan. We both will.”

  Brownlok paced deeper into the shadows. “We are missing something. The artifact I found in Turia cannot be everything.”

  Redalia stroked the dagger at her waist. “These are simpleminded creatures. Perhaps it is everything.”

  “In the book, there was a page cut and Kais—”

  Redalia was at his throat so fast, nails digging into his skin, that he couldn’t finish, couldn’t do anything but hold her wrist and hope she didn’t snap his neck.

  He’d forgotten. A stupid mistake.

  “Do. Not. Speak. His. Name,” she hissed, tightening her hold with every word.

  Brownlok stared her down, unmoving, black spots filling his vision. His bow would be useless against her if she decided to kill him. But she needed him. And she knew it.

  “Fool,” she muttered, and released him. Brownlok tried not to gulp in air, but he couldn’t help his body’s reflex. “Before I gutted him, Janiis’s advisor said the library was in the Wastelands to the west.”

  Brownlok shook his head. “That’s not enough to go on.” He didn’t say that she should know that, that she should share her plans with him, that he wouldn’t betray her like Kais had. Because no matter how much she needed him, he’d end up with her golden dagger in his stomach before he could finish. “You still have your artifact. We could build our own empire on the Continent.”

  “The Continent is broken and will fall easily.” Redalia drew her dagger from its gilded sheath. She pressed the blade into the tip of her finger until a drop of blood formed, then sucked it clean. Her eyes flashed red in the shadows, the tendons of her neck creating stark hollows. She leaned closer and wiped the next droplet of blood onto Brownlok’s cheek. “Koranth’s plan will work. And then the game will really begin.”

  Ren

  Icy water engulfed my head, freezing and burning all at once. I gripped the sides of the bucket that held water for cleaning my hands in my bathing chamber. I stayed under until my lungs ached and the dream faded.

  The woman in red had haunted me again. The same dream from the night my father died.

  I lifted my head and shook out my hair, then rested my elbows on the sides of the bucket. The muscles in my neck screamed at me for falling asleep sitting up, and everything hurt. It had been months since I’d used so much magic in one day. But it didn’t matt
er how tired I was, how sore—I had a kingdom to put back in order.

  I stripped down—except the Medallion—and climbed into the now-cold bath that had been drawn last night before I’d come to my room. I scrubbed at the blood still caked on my hands and torso until the water turned brown. By the time I was dressed, with two more knives hidden at my waist and my cleaned dagger in my boot, the door to my chambers rattled against the lock, followed by a timid knock.

  “Fresh water, Your Majesty?” a small voice called out.

  I pushed my fingers through my hair, exposing the white streak—the mark of my lineage and my magic—and straightened my spine despite the aches and twinges. My father had set aside his personal concerns to rule his kingdom, and I would do the same.

  Dawn glimmered through the thin slit window in my room as I passed through, shoving the papers from the stand by my bed into the drawer, careful of the topmost note that had been burned.

  It was a stack of notes I’d found in Leland’s belongings. I’d picked out his handwriting, but there were multiple correspondents. Which meant there were more within the kingdom who believed like Leland had, that we should use our strength to expand Hálendi’s borders.

  I pulled down the blankets on my bed before I went to the door, mussing them up and punching down the pillows. Servants talked, and I didn’t want rumors or questions about why I’d slept on the sofa. It was bad enough I hadn’t moved into the king’s chambers. That room would remain my father’s for a long while yet.

  I quietly moved the table back and unlatched the door.

  A small boy stood with a bucket of fresh hot water. Kaldur stood behind him, dark circles under his eyes.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, hands moving to his hips.

  I tipped my head to the boy, and he darted around me to complete his chores. “There is too much to be done to spend a day languishing in bed,” I said, starting down the hall.

  Kaldur fell into step beside me. “Sire, your injury—” He cleared his throat. “Take the day to rest. No one expects you to attend to your duties today.”

  Kaldur was all about protocol, and while it was usually good—and predictable—I didn’t miss a step. “Which is exactly why I must continue as before. I won’t give anyone else a chance to plot against me. Not in my own council room.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and changed the subject. “Did you have a nice night in the hall?”

  Kaldur scowled at me, then at every servant we passed. “You should hang me along with those traitors.”

  I stopped fast, and he retraced his steps back to me. The servants dusting the slot windows scurried away. “Why would I do that?”

  He lowered his voice. “I should have been there. Should have protected you. If I’d performed my duties—”

  “I underestimated my opposition. It won’t happen again.” My neck was abominably sore. I kept my hands in my pockets to keep from rubbing it. “Besides, if you were hanged, there’d be one less man in the castle I could trust.”

  Kaldur stood straight, chest up, shoulders taut, staring at some invisible speck over my shoulder. “I let you down, sire, but it won’t happen again. From now on, where you go, I go.”

  I wouldn’t always be as lucky as I’d been in the crypt, but I wouldn’t agree to another shadow. There were already too many of those chasing me.

  I pressed a hand to my shoulder, accepting his pledge for what it was. Loyalty. “Thank you.”

  He breathed out a sigh and touched his fist to his shoulder.

  Three soldiers marched down the hall, and we were silent until they passed. There had been more patrols, more guards, ever since my father had been killed. But it wasn’t comforting anymore—not when the assassins last night had worn the same uniforms.

  A throat cleared behind me—a small girl from the kitchens stood against the wall opposite us, carrying a rattling tray.

  “Pardon, Your Majesty,” she said, eyes fixed on my boots. “But would you like your tray in your room still? Or…” She trailed off and the tray rattled even more.

  I held in a sigh. Everyone spoke and acted with such deference now. I missed the ease that used to come so readily. No one wanted a king who teased and laughed. Still, the girl had shown courage to address me at all, so I waved her closer.

  She took tiny steps, approaching me as she would a lion. Her hair hung in two braids down her back like that of most young Hálendian girls, but something about her was familiar.

  “Do I know you?” I asked.

  She froze, then nodded. “You healed my whole family, Majesty. When the fevers spread. You came to our house, and you healed us.”

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s it. How is your family?”

  Two years ago, a sickness had ravaged the mining towns. I’d begged my father to let me help until he relented. His council had turned it into a campaign to flaunt the future king, but I hadn’t cared—I rarely got to use my magic to actually help people, then or now. I was always kept from the people. Separate.

  “They’re well, sire,” she whispered, though she’d lifted her chin. The tray steadied.

  “Good,” I said. Despite being proud that an heir had been born with magic, most Hálendians didn’t want to see the magic. I understood the sentiment—a regular weapon couldn’t defend against magic, against the unknown. But the three weeks I spent using my magic, testing its boundaries and weaknesses, had been the most exhausting and informative three weeks of my life.

  “Well, I hope the scones are warm, at least,” I said as I wrapped my fingers around the pastry on the tray she held out.

  “Y-yes, sire,” she stuttered. She was likely the one who left the tray next to my bed when I bothered to sleep in it. I paused, pastry halfway to my mouth. Why had she approached me when I was clearly leaving, when she had to know I wouldn’t want the tray in my room?

  “Tell me,” I asked in a quiet voice, “do you have a key to my room?”

  She shook her head, wide-eyed.

  I took the wooden cup of cider from the tray that still rattled a bit, and swirled its contents. Her eyes followed the movement. “Then what do you do with the tray if my door is locked?” I took a bite of the scone, and the flaky softness almost distracted me from my inquiry. Almost.

  She swallowed, still staring at the cup. “I return the tray to the kitchens, and the castle steward takes it—he has a key. Or I find Master Kaldur—he has a key, too.”

  Kaldur nodded, brows furrowed as he watched us converse. I licked the crumbs from my fingers and winked when she widened her eyes at my lack of manners. “Makes sense. Tell me, oh bringer of delicious pastries, do you know if anyone else has a key to my chambers?”

  She shook her head, then paused. “There is one lady who has been awfully friendly with the steward lately, though,” she finished in a whisper so quiet I knew this girl understood how fast news could travel in an empty hallway. She took the cup out of my hand and returned it to the tray. “And I’d be careful with your drinks, Your Majesty. I…I didn’t pull this cider myself, and it might be fine, but, well, the steward was in Cook’s way this morning, making a fuss about things.”

  A knot unloosened in my stomach. I believed her. Which meant Cook hadn’t been involved in the attempted poisoning last night. “Thank you,” I said, pressing my fist to my shoulder. She opened her mouth like she was about to say more, but something over my shoulder snapped her jaw shut. She curtsied, then scurried off.

  So the castle steward was in Isarr’s pocket as well. I tapped my fingers against my leg. “Know anyone who could fill in as steward in a pinch?” I asked Kaldur.

  Kaldur scratched at the stubble on his jaw, staring after the girl with a frown. “I’ll handle it, Your Majesty.”

  I finished off the scone as we walked the cool halls, then rubbed my hands together to get rid of the crumbs. The doors to the council ch
ambers were closed when we reached them. I wasn’t late, which meant they’d started without me.

  What would the council discuss when they didn’t think I’d be in attendance?

  I tilted my head, the bones in my neck popping, then opened the door with a whoosh. No matter that I was nineteen years old, had seen battle at North Watch, and lost both parents, I always felt like a child when I entered this room.

  Murmurs skittered around the long table in the middle, and the five slot windows let in the cool morning light. “Your Majesty.” One of the council members stood, hands on the table. “Surely you should be resting!”

  I made my way to my seat, the one directly next to my father’s wide, padded chair. “I appreciate your concern.” The fireplace behind me crackled, a full four logs strong. “In the future, do not begin council meetings until I am present.”

  No one responded; no one met my stare. I sat quickly, scooting closer to the table. Were they trying to make me so uncomfortably warm I’d acquiesce to their demands sooner?

  Kaldur shut the door and stood next to it, though he usually stood outside. Jenna’s old tutor, Edda, sat to my right. Jenna had trusted her, and I hoped she was still trustworthy, because I’d given her the top position on the council. Waves of discontent had pounded through the castle at that, but I hadn’t regretted it yet.

  “I am relieved to see you recovered, Your Majesty,” she murmured. I nodded my thanks. At least someone was happy to see me.

  Everyone else shuffled their papers and wouldn’t look at me. I cleared my throat. “What is on the schedule to discuss today?”

  The man across from me tapped his pen against the table. “Your Majesty, with the events of last night, you really should consid—”

  “I will worry about my health, Councilor. You worry about yours,” I said, and the muttering finally stopped.

  A throat cleared down the table. “About the assassins, Your Majesty, what is being done?”