Eden Conquered

  “So what do you suggest I do about these women?” And the children they claimed belonged to him. They could not belong to him. He wanted children, certainly, but not like this. By the Gods, he was King.

  “There is little to be done, Your Majesty.” Elder Jacobs shrugged. “I cannot say for sure who convinced them to make these claims or to what purpose.”

  Andreus set the goblet down with a thud. “Then why tell me of this at all?”

  “To give you the advice your father once gave your brother from that chair.” Elder Jacobs’s braid undulated as he turned toward the high-backed seat near the fire and pointed. “There are always those who will try to distract your attention with one hand so you do not notice what they are doing with their other. I have done nothing but support you, yet you do not fully trust me. I hope someday you will. I am loyal to your mother the Queen and to you. I cannot say the same of the others who sit on the Council. There are some who will use your every move to undermine you, even as they claim to be your ally.”

  “You think I don’t understand that?” His chest tightened. “Despite what you might think, Elder Jacobs, I am not stupid.”

  “No, you are not, Your Majesty, which is why I supported your claim to the throne from the first.” The Elder bowed his head in apology. “The orb of Eden and the lights that keep the city safe from the Xhelozi are stronger because of you. Your understanding of the windmills is that of a Master. However, you must realize that people are not like windmills. They do not follow your design. They do not act according to logic. Your sister understood this.”

  “And I don’t.” Guilt and anger crackled in his words.

  Elder Jacobs stroked his long braid. “I fear I am bungling this, for that is not what I intended to imply. What I am attempting to convey is that you have lost a number of those you care for in recent weeks and are now looking for counsel as to how to best lead. I know you wish for the people of the kingdom—your people—to see you as a strong leader. For the good of Eden, make sure you choose to listen to those who have your best interests and those of Eden at heart.”

  “As you do.”

  “There is much I have and can help you with, Your Majesty, especially if you were to publicly show your confidence in my counsel.”

  Here was the endgame. Elder Jacobs wanted a demonstration that he alone had the ear of the King. To what end, Andreus wasn’t certain. “And what private advice would you give me if I asked, Elder Jacobs? Surely you have something more you’d say.”

  “Years ago your father was supposed to marry a princess of Adderton to ensure cooperation between our two kingdoms. He broke that treaty by marrying your mother, the Queen. That single action led to the war we have been embroiled in for years. By marrying one of the Adderton princesses, you could honor the treaty, and bring the peace our kingdom requires. Give the people a queen they can love, end the war in a strong show of leadership—and confound all of your enemies at the same time.”

  A bitter taste filled his mouth. “You want me to . . . get married?”

  Elder Jacobs’s lips curled. “If you keep people looking to the future, they will forget the complications of the past. I will leave you now. I know it has been a long day. You have much to contemplate before the Hall convenes again on the morrow.” The Elder bowed deeply and didn’t wait for Andreus to dismiss him before he pulled open one of the large gold doors and disappeared through it.

  The door closed and Andreus grabbed up the goblet and smashed it into the fireplace. Glass shattered and flames leaped.

  Damn it all. He was King.

  He had won the Trials of Virtuous Succession.

  He was wearing the crown.

  He was supposed to be the one in charge, yet Elder Jacobs and the rest of the Council were determined to push and prod—to shove him into doing things he didn’t want to do.

  Married.

  The word turned everything empty and cold.

  Imogen was gone. When she died, his interest in taking a queen died with her. He’d insisted she be buried in the Tomb of Light when the court buried Carys. The Council of Elders had fought him. Even Elder Jacobs tried to talk him out of the idea. None but those who were members of Eden’s royal family had been laid to rest in the tomb. Elder Cestrum had warned Andreus the unusual command would cause questions to be asked and perhaps uncomfortable answers to be revealed.

  It had been a threat.

  Andreus saw that now.

  He grabbed another glass, cocked his arm back to throw it, and could almost hear his sister warn him not to take out his anger here.

  The guards stationed outside the door would hear the sound of the crash. The maids would whisper to each other about how they had to clean up the goblets hurled in a rage by his majesty.

  Carys always saved her personal outbursts for the dirt-packed tunnels beneath the Palace of Winds. Her public ones were a farce—performances only undertaken when Andreus needed attention distracted from him.

  The attacks he suffered—his curse—if known, would cause turmoil in the kingdom. When Carys saw one coming, she would make a spectacle of herself so none would notice his struggle.

  A part of Andreus wondered if she was secretly glad of the chance to scream and rage at all those she held in contempt. Then he remembered the lash. How she would be punished, all so his secret would never be revealed. Had the pain Carys suffered in his defense been what finally caused her to turn against him?

  He limped to his father’s desk and looked down on the maps and messages. Andreus had reviewed at least a dozen times these plans for a war his father and brother had been determined to win. Victory was just as far out of reach now as it had been when the war began, only now it was Andreus’s responsibility to stop the fighting in a way that would make Eden look strong. Anything less would paint him as weak. If there was one thing he’d learned from his father it was that the crown could never look weak.

  Gods.

  Pressure built as everything he now faced as King swirled in his head.

  Living in the shadow of his father and Micah, even in death.

  The Xhelozi awake, and from recent reports, they were hunting in greater numbers than ever seen before.

  A new seer on the way despite Andreus’s belief that all seers, even the one that he had wished to make his Queen, were charlatans.

  Women claiming to be pregnant with his children.

  Elder Jacobs pushing for him to wed and bring peace.

  The sight of his sister’s bloody, broken body that chased him each night to the dawn.

  He was King because he let her die.

  He was King for that reason only.

  He moved to the stack of scrolls on a large wooden table along the wall. They were filled with things on which the Council wanted him to focus. Things his father would have found important. But the sabotage of the wind-powered lights the night his father’s and brother’s bodies had been returned to the Palace of Winds still had not been explained. That was important, too. More important, since the lights going out could spell disaster for Garden City.

  The Masters said the lights were fine now, but Andreus knew there was something wrong. If no one would tell him, then he was going to have to find out for himself. He might not know how to discuss new trade routes for grain or win the war against Adderton in the middle of winter, but he knew how to keep the orb above the Palace of Winds, and the lights that lined the city walls, glowing. In that way, he would keep the city and the kingdom safe.

  Andreus unfastened the fur-lined, ceremonial robe and dropped it on his father’s chair. Then he removed the heavy gold-braided crown edged with sapphires that his father had worn only on formal occasions. Andreus had donned the crown, a visual reminder of his authority, almost every waking moment, but now he placed it on the center of his father’s desk and turned his back on it.

  He told the two guards outside his doors to remain at their stations and strode down the hallway. Several startled servants dipped into deep curtsie
s as he passed. He slowed for a second when he recognized the dark-haired girl that he encountered just a few weeks ago in a dark corner of the stables. She had smiled an invitation at him that he had been more than willing to accept. Now she kept her eyes downcast as he strode by and didn’t move until he turned in to the stairway and made the three-story climb to the battlements.

  His injured leg throbbed as he pushed open the door and stepped into the biting winter cold.

  Yes, his calf ached, but he felt the tension in his shoulders ease for the first time since he sat on the Throne of Light. He looked up at the glowing orb stationed atop a tall pedestal high above the easternmost tower. His father would never have approved his design modifications had the Masters presented them as such. Instead, they claimed them as their own, so his father never knew. But it was the truth. The orb was Andreus’s. Not only had he secured its light, but he had identified a flaw in the design of the wind-power flow. It was a fatal flaw—one that allowed the orb and the lights on the walls to be severed with one cut.

  Someone exploited that discovery. Back at the beginning of it all. Carys had been certain that the power outage was designed to strike a blow against them—to discredit Andreus or their family in the eyes of the people.

  At the time, Andreus thought his sister’s imagination had gotten the best of her. Now . . .

  The gears of the windmill creaked. Two guards huddled near the base of it startled when they saw him, but he waved them back into the alcove. He crossed the battlements listening to the sound of the slats churning the air. The blades moved slowly. Far slower than was normal. But the lights currently appeared to be working as they should.

  He peered over the white stone battlement wall to the city below. The lights shone with a steady, bright light along the perimeter. No dimming or flickering. He looked back at the battlements and—he saw her. His sister dressed in fitted black pants on the platform that was no longer there. He saw it as clearly now as he had then. Her face pale and sweating despite the bitter cold.

  He’d done that. He had vowed to do worse after she took Imogen away from him. And he had.

  Still, he could see her standing on the platform, shivering and weak, with eyes somehow filled with strength.

  “My life has been pledged to you since the day I was born, and no matter what you decide—I will be here for you.”

  Something darted out from the darkness, and the vision dispersed. Andreus grabbed the hilt of his sword and pulled it from the scabbard as the small figure stepped into the light.

  “King Andreus! It’s me.”

  “Max.” Andreus let out a relieved breath as the boy crossed the stone battlements toward him. He stopped several lengths away and kept his eyes down at the ground.

  When Andreus had found the boy in the streets, Max had been left for dead—his family believing his illness was caused by evil spirits. Thankfully, Madame Jillian’s concoctions ensured Max was healthy, so long as he didn’t do anything to create problems. Being out in the cold was a problem.

  “I thought Madame Jillian told you to stay out of this weather.”

  The boy kicked at the stone beneath his feet. “I haven’t had any problem breathing for days. One of the ’prentices said the Masters were gathering so I had to come.”

  “The Masters are holding a meeting?”

  “The Masters are meeting at the Northwest Windmill,” Max said, his dark curls bouncing as he nodded. “I was going to sit near the door and try to listen, but I had to hide when Elder Ulrich showed up.”

  Andreus’s smile faded. “Elder Ulrich is meeting with the Masters?”

  Max nodded again. “He did. For a short time. He left and . . .”

  “You can tell me about it later.” Andreus put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and felt him flinch. Two weeks ago, Max would have grinned up at him wildly, but the choices Andreus had made during the Trials had been frightening for a boy his age. Andreus was determined to put him at ease again. “I’m going to talk to the Masters, and you are going to go to my rooms and sit in front of the fire so Madame Jillian doesn’t have reason to fret and fuss. Once I’m back, we’ll have dinner and you can tell me everything that’s happening in the castle. Do we have an agreement?”

  He held out his hand to the boy with mock sincerity. Slowly, Max took Andreus’s hand. “Can we have apple tarts? Madame Nadila made a batch earlier today.”

  Andreus smiled. “Get going. I don’t want Madame Jillian scolding me for your going out into the cold.”

  “She’ll never know, long as you don’t tell her, Your Highness.” Max flashed a gap-toothed grin and hurried off. Andreus couldn’t help but notice the boy took the longest path to get to the proper tower. Maybe, Andreus thought, he’d ask Max tonight whether he wanted to study the windmills since he always seemed interested in . . .

  “Let me go!”

  Andreus spun at Max’s scream.

  “Leave me alone!”

  Andreus ignored the flare of pain as he raced across the battlements. He peered into the shadows and . . . there! There was a cloaked figure and Max struggling against the wall in the shadows of the Northeastern tower.

  “Let him go! I command you!” Andreus screamed. He ran faster, but the iron brace slowed him down. He reached for his sword and felt his heart stop as the cloaked figure picked up the kicking boy and shoved him over the battlements.

  3

  She should have killed him.

  I found something more important. I found you.

  Carys tried to shake Errik’s words away as she tethered her new horse—a large gray mare—to a squat bush just outside the cave Larkin had directed them to.

  She should have killed him, only the words kept repeating in her head.

  She had seen deception up close all her life. She had watched for it. Measured it. Guarded against it. And everything in her heart told her Errik had been telling the truth when he said those words. He believed in her. And now she was uncertain how to proceed.

  The opening of the cave was narrow and hidden behind a grove of pine trees. Larkin was the only one who could stand up inside without cracking her head on the stone and dirt above. It was small, but it gave them cover from the snow that was starting to fall in earnest from the night sky.

  “So, tell me again how you found this place?” Errik asked as he secured his own mount, a brown stallion that pranced in a way that said the animal still had energy and wished to run.

  Larkin shrugged. “I accompany my father on his trade routes. Before the war, one of them was to the south. When I was a girl, he told me that if we ever needed emergency shelter, I was to watch for the three-pointed rock formation.”

  “And you remember those rocks after all these years?” Garret asked, pulling his travel pack off his new mount. “That’s remarkable.”

  “What part do you find remarkable?” Larkin asked, taking a bundle of the clothing she’d stripped off the dead men to the cave. “That my father bothered to tell a mere girl about the cave or that a tailor’s daughter is smart enough to remember what he said?”

  “I was trying to pay you a compliment,” Garret said, following after her.

  “Oh, well if that’s what you were doing,” Larkin called, ducking inside the cave, “you will have to try harder.”

  “Or you will have to . . .” Garret disappeared into the cave, which muted the rest of his words. Carys considered going after them to broker a peace, then decided against it. This wasn’t court. Without the inequality of power that would normally hold her at a disadvantage, Larkin could handle herself.

  “Do you think we should brush the horse tracks in the snow?” Errik stepped beside her.

  She thought of the way he cradled her in his arms when he took her back to the Palace of Winds to help her manufacture her death. The drink he gave her to keep her fast asleep had taken hold. Her eyes had been so heavy she couldn’t keep them open. Before she plunged into nothingness, she heard him speaking to her, telling her not to fear. T
hat he would keep her safe while she slept. That he would give his life before she lost hers.

  Errik had smuggled her out of the castle. He had helped keep Larkin out of Imogen’s hands and ensured she avoided the death sentence that would have surely followed had she been captured.

  Errik claimed he wanted peace, and that he believed in her.

  But he was a Bastian. Even now his family was plotting to take back the Throne of Light. His own cousin had tried to kill her. Carys shouldn’t trust him. She shouldn’t care about him.

  She didn’t want to . . .

  “No,” Carys answered Errik’s query. “Tracks in the snow might command interest, but most will think they are made by someone like them—trying to get out of the cold. Brush marks will make certain that anyone who passes wonders why someone wished to keep their passage a secret.”

  He nodded. “For someone who rarely left Garden City, you are proving to be a good travel companion.”

  “Because I have common sense or because you still have your life?”

  “Do I have to pick one or can I be grateful for both?” He smiled. “While I am obviously thankful you didn’t use me for a pincushion, would it be too forward to ask what stilled your hand?”

  “Self-preservation,” she snapped, her answer no less true than any of the others she could give. His dark eyes met hers. The pull was there between them as it had been from the first. “I am not fully recovered from my . . . illness. And Larkin is not able to help defend us. Your sword arm, for now, is required.” Admitting any more would be a risk she wasn’t willing to take. Not when she didn’t trust her own feelings. Her brother, whom she had faith in and whom she had loved, had turned on her. How could she take the chance of caring for someone else?

  The wind whispered again. The spark of anger that lived deep in her heart flared hotter.

  “My sword arm is yours.” Errik stepped forward. She automatically slid her hand into her pocket to grasp one of her daggers, and Errik sighed. “I would draw my sword and give an oath of allegiance to you if I thought you would accept it.”