Wicked Crown (Shattered Kingdom Book 2) Page 7

  Gandrett couldn’t tell how long she was standing there, torn between awe and terror at what Nehelon was capable of even without using his powers. But when, after a long time, Nehelon stowed away the pen and pouch and held out one hand for her—“From now on, you’ll have to ride with me. Your brother will be fine. I promise.”—a burden fell off Gandrett’s shoulders, and before she could think, she took his hand, letting him pull her behind him onto the horse.

  “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder—

  And the moment the words had left her lips, she regretted them.

  Chapter Ten

  Alvi’s walk was smooth and easy. Not that Gandrett had excessive experience with horses. The mounts at the priory were there to learn to stay in the saddle wielding a sword and not a true means of transport. And Lim…

  As hard as she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to think of the bay gelding or the destination to which he was headed. Something more profound was using up her full mental capacity.

  In front of her, Nehelon gave no sign he had heard her. But, of course, she didn’t rely on that being the meaning of his silence. She had thanked a Fae. What had gotten into her?

  With immaculate caution, she balanced behind the saddle, careful not to touch the leather-clad, muscled shoulders and back of the Fae in whose debt she now stood.

  “Where are we going?” She tried to divert his attention, and hers, from that fact by changing shifting her focus on the present. “You said I wasn’t supposed to be going anywhere until I had my magic under control.”

  Nehelon snorted. “We aren’t going anywhere,” he said and leaned forward a bit to stroke Alvi’s mane as he steered her into the thicket. “We’re already there.”

  Alvi whinnied softly as if in agreement.

  The melody of a stream was the first thing Gandrett noticed, then the fading sunlight as the trees grew thicker and denser. She had to shift left and right and duck under the branches that were the perfect height to hit her face. Nehelon did the same in front of her, his hands reaching up and sideways to bend the stronger ones out of their way. And all the while they were riding, there was nothing that indicated they were anywhere where practicing magic would be safe. Too much wood and shrubs in too little space to make it a place of easy escape if she accidentally conjured flames.

  “Already where?” she prompted, but Nehelon just held up one hand, gesturing for her to be patient.

  So Gandrett held her questions to herself, her doubts that she had made the right choice, and naturally, that thought that would dangle above her like a hawk ready to collect prey—her debt to the wicked creature before her.

  “Here.” Nehelon half-turned in the saddle as he led Alvi out of the thicket into a clearing. The stream Gandrett had noticed earlier crossed the open space at the opposite side in a gentle curve with blossoms of first summer flowers growing along the water and dotting the meadow with shades of pink, yellow, and red.

  Beautiful, was what Gandrett wanted to say. What she said was, “The stream seems practical.”

  Indeed it was. Considering that Nehelon might keep her in the clearing for a while—because there was no scenario where Gandrett could see herself mastering her magic any time soon.

  “I hope you have enough provisions,” she said and hopped off the horse, eager to get out of the male’s immediate proximity.

  To her surprise, Nehelon chuckled as he eyed her from above, his mouth a sensual curve now.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked before she stalked ahead without knowing where to go exactly, just to put more distance between them.

  Nehelon’s chuckle stopped as if she had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

  “When were you thinking of starting that training?” she asked, watching him as he lazily slid off his horse.

  “I was thinking of protecting the clearing first so if anyone gets lost in the woods and ends up here, all they will see is a thicket so dense it is impossible to get through and will choose a different path.”

  He let go of Alvi’s reins, and the mare trotted toward Gandrett where she stopped and dropped her head to graze the lush summer grass.

  Nehelon took a couple of strides into the clearing before he halted and opened his palms beside him.

  In response, the earth shuddered, and the trees at the edge of the clearing sprouted new branches. They grew and grew until they started weaving into each other, creating a wall made of wood and leaves, protecting them from sight, making certain no one got in—and no one got out, Gandrett thought as she realized the entire clearing was now encircled by that wall without beginning and ending. She would have to climb high up into the treetops in order to escape the pretty prison Nehelon had just built.

  The palace had turned quiet over the past days. It wasn’t as much the absence of noise but the absence of anything exciting—and that might have been because he was no longer anticipating that a certain young woman would sweep in through the gates and challenge everything he’d ever believed in.

  “You’re not paying attention,” Mckenzie scolded Brax, poking a finger into his shoulder.

  Brax sighed through his nose and forced his attention back to the fabrics on the table. “You look great in any of these.” He pointed at the assortment of silk, satin, and ornate embroidery—most of them in Brenheran burgundy.

  “Gosh, Brax, I am not asking because I believe you are particularly gifted with fashion”—she gestured at his plain white tunic and the unbuttoned black jacket on top of it—“but because we need to make a good impression on the rulers of Neredyn at the reception in Josh’s honor.”

  Right. A response to Josh’s invitation had arrived from Armand Denderlain a day ago that he would be honored to visit Ackwood as a guest and to demonstrate the new ties between the two courts. According to Josh, it was time Neredyn learned that Sives was no longer a weak, split territory but united with two armies ready to flatten anyone who dared invade. Not that anyone had tried.

  But even Father had agreed that in order to discourage future attempts of the southern territories to claim Sives in parts or as a whole, demonstrating strength was the way to go. Even the fights for central Sives had ceased on both Father’s and Armand Denderlain’s command, leaving the lands mostly unpatrolled—unlike the daily groups of soldiers who had taken care of the Denderlain mercenaries who had burned down hosts of supporters of the west. So much bloodshed for so many years—

  At another poke in his arm, Brax looked the fabrics over more closely before he picked up a deep burgundy velvet textured with ornate beading and held it up to his sister’s face. “This,” he said, not bothering to explain how it contrasted her complexion and her fair curls, how the shiny beading brought out the shades of sapphire of her eyes. He didn’t need to. He knew as well as Mckenzie that his twin would have chosen the same fabric, even blind.

  “Great choice,” she confirmed and snickered as she roamed the table and pulled out some tulle from under the heavier fabric. “And this for the skirts.”

  “You know Mother has different plans for this year’s Midsummer Solstice celebrations,” Brax had overheard his parents the other night on his way out into the gardens.

  Mckenzie raised her blonde eyebrows in question.

  “The moment the world learns that Joshua is a Prince of Sives, not just a Brenheran, you will be the sister of the future king.” He watched her eyes shutter with understanding. “Mother’s words, not mine.” He held up his hands in defense.

  “They want to sell me off to the best bidder?” Her question, the way she phrased it, hurt in Brax’s gut.

  “Father will never allow that.” How he hoped he was right. But their mother… She had changed. She was no longer the smiling mother he remembered from his childhood or the grieving stepmother who had cried over Josh’s abduction for so many years. The new Lady of Ackwood was a quiet, joyless woman who rarely joined their meals in the great hall. Whether it had something to do with Josh’s return, Brax cou
ldn’t tell.

  “Josh will never allow it.” Mckenzie folded her arms across her chest, covering what most male visitors in the palace craved to see. Brax smothered the anger.

  Whether Father or Josh would allow it, he wouldn’t rely on it. “I will not allow it,” he growled and earned a hearty laugh from his twin. “You don’t believe me,” he realized with some awkwardness. “Mother said she’d invite all the young rulers and heirs of Neredyn for the grandest Midsummer Solstice in a century.”

  “All of Neredyn?" Mckenzie squinted her eyes. “I’ve heard Ulfray doesn’t have any young rulers.” She snickered again like the little girl who he’d grown up with.

  “Of course not Ulfray.” Brax rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, wondering if he’d done the right thing by bringing it up. But one look at his sister, and he knew he wouldn’t depend on anyone but himself to keep her from harm. Josh had disappeared once.

  Chapter Eleven

  The sun was a nice change after the constant rain that had graced the past couple of days as Gandrett stepped out of the tent. Tent was the wrong word. It was something magical in the shape of a tent, grown from branches and leaves and sculpted soil.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the empty bedroll on Nehelon’s side of the tent. He had insisted they shared one tent, not because he thought it was safer for her but because he didn’t trust her to not sneak away in the dead of night. Somehow, it pleased Gandrett that there was something about her trained skills that put the Fae male at unease.

  He had offered her the bedroll since she had sent her pack and supplies to her brother on Lim’s back, but she had declined. She wouldn’t take any more than necessary from him—especially not after she had accidentally thanked him and put her life into his hands. He hadn’t commented on that once. And she hadn’t brought it up. Almost as with the kiss in Eedwood forest, which she still had no idea whether she had dreamed it up or it had actually happened.

  “If you continue sleeping in like that, people might start thinking you’re lazy,” Nehelon said by way of greeting, hanging from a nearby branch and pulling himself up again and again as if his muscled body was a feather-weight.

  Gandrett frowned and faked a yawn. “I don’t see any people here.”

  She reached into the tent and picked up the bundle of wet clothes from the night before, when rain had been drenching her all day. Nehelon hadn’t offered her the shield he had put around himself so he stayed warm and cozy. Instead, he had informed her that the moment she mastered her magic, she’d have a shield—and no second sooner. Gandrett glowered at the Fae as he smirked when she hung her clothes on a nearby tree then crossed the clearing in her spare acolyte uniform—the only dry set of clothes she owned at that point.

  She had gotten up later and later each day, reluctant to leave the tent at all when the weather was cool and windy—and wet. Most of all, wet. In her childhood, her mother had always called her and Andrew to the house when the early summer showers had started. And even when rain didn’t bother her, per se—she had been craving those chill deluges during her years at the priory—one day of training in her wet clothes had been enough. Nehelon had found it amusing how she had shivered by noon and given up on training by early afternoon. It didn’t matter if he considered her weak because of it. Gandrett knew that if she wanted to get to her brother soon, if she wanted to take on the Shygon cult soon, she needed to be healthy and in shape.

  So she had traded magic training for physical exercise, challenging the Fae to sword fights. At least, that involved moving her body rather than standing and watching the air around her do … well, nothing. Nehelon had denied her first, but when she had drawn her sword, reminding him with a glower that it was made of iron, he had nodded He had drawn his jeweled blade, rain fizzing off his shield while leaving his leathers, his hair, and even his blade untouched.

  The Fae’s chuckle followed her as she crouched beside the stream and washed her face and neck. “Not enough water the past days?” he mocked, and Gandrett didn’t need to turn to know he was still hanging in that tree, showing off his sculpted torso and inhumanly strong arms. Even if those first days after she had found her mother dead under the rubble of the family farm, his banter had helped her focus—forget for a moment that she had lost her dream of returning home—now, every time she looked at him, she saw her life-debt and not the male who might have a shred of decency buried deep down beneath his layers of muscle and leathers and calculated coldness.

  When Gandrett straightened and turned around, Nehelon loosed his grip on the branch and landed on his feet, silent like a cat. “Don’t tell me you are still upset about the shield.” He strode to where Gandrett had hung her clothes and eyed them with interest.

  To her dismay, her cheeks flushed. Her underthings were laid out right there before him, and he didn’t even try to hide that he was eyeing them with interest.

  Decency. Had she deluded herself that there was a shred of decency left in him? With a snort, she returned to the tent and flung herself on the ground where she had slept on a heap of leaves she had collected from the walls Nehelon had grown around the clearing.

  She wasn’t upset about the shield or about him excluding her from his. She had endured far worse for far longer at the priory. If she was upset about anything, then it was the fact that she hadn’t managed to focus enough to reproduce even a fraction of what she had done before. No fire. Not even a flame. No canyons… No, she hadn’t even been able to draw a line in the slippery ground.

  “You can keep your shield,” she muttered, well aware he’d hear her, and rolled to the side, ready to go back to sleep.

  It didn’t take long before Nehelon’s shadow spread on the wall of woven twigs, naturally, his footsteps not announcing he was nearing. And why would he fake treacherous, human footsteps when he was Fae—gifted with soundless motions and utter stillness. What would she give to have that skill—

  Gandrett watched his shadow as it floated higher on the wall, but she didn’t bother turning. What was the point now that he could collect that debt anytime? There was no trying to escape. If she believed the stories, the magic that bound her to him now was beyond escaping. There was nothing that could keep her safe from him and his brooding moods now.

  “Get up.” He was standing right behind her, his tone making her sit up on her leaf-bed.

  As she looked up, Nehelon glared down at her with blue eyes, clear as crystal. “Move your ass out of that tent, Gandrett. It’s time to train.”

  “What … no breakfast today?” Gandrett provoked as she got to her feet, staring him down even if he was towering over her by more than one head.

  “Hunt your own damn breakfast, Gandrett,” he spat. “I have done enough for you.”

  With those words, he turned and stalked out of the tent, not looking back to check if she was following, but every tense muscle in his bare back suggested that she’d better obey.

  When she joined him in the bright morning sun, Nehelon simply gestured at the heap of soil in the ground. “You’ll get your breakfast once you move that an inch.” He didn’t bother to heed her a look as he picked up his shirt and leathers and donned them before he jogged across the meadow.

  When he was almost at the wall, Gandrett swallowed her pride and called, “Where are you going?” Even if one part of her hated him for being this cold, unpredictable male, there was a part of her that would feel bad if he left her behind. After all, he had done so much for her—even if the means had been questionable.

  “Today is a good day for mastering your magic, Gandrett,” he said without turning, one hand raised toward the wall, which unknitted to let him pass, “I’d better go hunting. I have a feeling breakfast will be soon.”

  Greenery filled the gap he had stepped through, leaving Gandrett in the prison he had built, not to contain her but to protect her from curious eyes, making the small clearing suddenly seem too spacious and much colder despite the warming rays of sun that streamed in through the
fading clouds.

  Today is a good day for mastering your magic, Gandrett. It bothered her that his words had sounded as if he believed she was ready, that he didn’t care about her grumpiness or her rebelling against his methods of training. He actually wanted her to succeed. The same as he had wanted to help her with Andrew. And with her mission in Eedwood.

  With a sigh, Gandrett dropped to the ground where she folded her legs and forced her attention away from the male who kept pulling her triggers.

  Soil. It was only a little bit of soil. She had cleaved the entire cave apart under Eedwood Castle. It couldn’t be that hard…

  Nehelon had explained how to tap into her magic, how to tame that beast inside her chest that was pacing under her ribs, eager to leap at anyone or anything, and yet she was unable to unleash it. She breathed and raised her hand the way Nehelon did when he moved earth, hoping that it would help focus, that she would somehow magically feel the soil before her.

  Nothing happened. Even after glowering at the heap before her for what felt like hours, her stomach growling with hunger and her patience coming to an end, nothing happened.

  “I would have thought you’d figured it out by now,” Nehelon commented beside her, seemingly appearing out of thin air, and studied her with what looked a lot like amusement. “I guess I’ll have breakfast on my own then.” He held up a basket full of berries that made Gandrett’s mouth water and picked up a fistful, popping them into his mouth, one by one, then grinned widely before he turned around and prowled to the tree he had done pull-ups on, hoisted himself up with his free hand and a push of one foot against the tree trunk, and ended up watching her from the branch, feet dangling in the rhythm of a melody he was whistling.

  Bastard.

  “Keep trying, Gandrett,” he called from up there as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “We have all day—” He glanced at the only slightly cloudy sky as if he was thinking hard. “All week, all month, however long it takes for you to spark that magic of yours.”