Shadow of War Read online

  Tears streaked down Declan’s face, though his eyes remained closed, held tight in fear of what else he might see if they opened.

  Órla spoke, her voice deep and grave. “What else did you see? We need to hear all of it. We need to know.”

  “There was a man with silver hair. He wore regal clothing and carried himself like he was used to people jumping at his word. First, I saw him walking through a town square. Then he was lying on a bed with his eyes closed.

  “Then a teenage girl with long brown hair was running. She wore a golden gown. Not trimmed, but all gold. I saw her over and over. But in every image, she was running. She looked frightened, but strong.

  “Then there were soldiers, more soldiers and archers and pikemen than I could count. They killed everyone. I saw a small boy, no more than five or six. Arrows slammed into him from every direction, as though he was the object of some sick game. I could almost hear men laughing. The boy stared at me through the image. I could swear he saw me watching.”

  Declan reached a hand to his face and covered his eyes. His breathing heaved. When he finally gathered himself, his voice was barely a whisper.

  “Saltstone burned. The gates were ruined. I watched as wide cracks sprouted across the Mage’s Tower. It shattered, and the top third fell. The whole thing crumbled.”

  The Keeper rocked backward as if punched. “That’s not possible!”

  It felt like an eternity before Declan spoke again.

  “What was all that?” Declan asked, sitting up.

  Larinda leaned forward and helped him. “More of yer magic is awakening. Ya have the Sight.”

  Declan stared blankly, so she continued. “I only knew one other t’ have the Sight. She tried to explain it to me once: ‘Sight shows what has been, what is, and what may be.’ I never really understood. She said ‘tis confusin’ and ya never know what’s now or then or still to come or may never come. But one t’ing was always true. Visions came wit’ great emotion, mostly pain or sadness. And most of t’em were true.”

  The Keeper picked up as Larinda’s voice fell. “The Sight is magic’s warning beacon. It’s the Phoenix or the Well . . . we’re not sure . . . raising an alarm for things that may happen if they aren’t stopped, their path altered. Given everything else you’ve learned about your magic, I’m not surprised the currents have spoken through you.”

  A memory tried to surface. Declan grasped for it, but comprehension was just out of reach. Something about a shimmering mist curling around me, following me. Spirits, I’m going mad.

  Larinda caught the flicker of emotion. She took his hand in hers. “Declan, ya are the key. Ya are the one who must learn the truth and alter the path.”

  “Me? I know I came here looking for help. But I don’t know how to stop a war or change history. That’s crazy.”

  “This is what ya’ve been preparin’ fer, Declan. Ya came in search of help for yer people. And magic has given yer people ya.” Larinda smiled with a touch of sadness in her eyes. She couldn’t know everything he would face, but she did understand the weight of the burden now resting on his young shoulders. She’d carried a similar burden most of her exceptionally long life.

  “I’m just one man against a whole nation and who knows what else. What if I’m not enough?” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes pleading as they found Larinda’s.

  She squeezed his hand. “Ya are so much more than just one man. And yer not alone. The Daughter will be wit’ ya. Always.”

  On cue, Órla stood from her nesting spot on Declan’s chest. “Alone, you are powerful. Together, we are the shield that guards the world of magic. Bond-mate, do not question whether you are enough. We must be enough.”

  There was a gentle reprimand in her voice, threaded with a depth of love and compassion that flowed through their bond. He took the hand Larinda was holding and cupped the owl affectionately. Warmth poured into him.

  “You have grown into quite the little owl, my friend. I could hope for none better,” he said, gathering himself again.

  “You are growing wise. Finally.” She strutted around his chest, her husky voice contrasting with her comical dance. Declan found himself smiling.

  The Keeper stood and motioned for the others to do the same. “Enough of that. You’ll need to think through those images, remember them. Their warnings may become clearer over time.

  “Now, Larinda, I believe you were about to give the boy a gift.”

  3

  ISABEL

  Isabel’s eyes blazed with crimson fire as she strode down the winding stair. She smiled, remembering the rush of power that filled her as the spirit of Irina returned and nested within her soul. A thousand years of caged anger coursed through her veins, furiously demanding to be released on anyone within reach. It took all of her will to contain her sister-soul.

  Soon, very soon. She grinned to herself.

  Children in their long brown robes and ridiculous masks of twisted beasts flocked to the base of the stairs, anxiously awaiting their Queen’s arrival. Through the pulsing soul-gems on her crown, she could feel the abject devotion pouring from each of them. The waves of emotion were unnerving. Empathy was just one of the Gifts she had stolen through the seven sacrifices. She now commanded more magical abilities than anyone who had ever lived.

  Except me, her sister-soul chided from within.

  Isabel’s grin faltered. Apparently, Irina could hear her thoughts, share her feelings. That could prove inconvenient.

  When she reached the bottom step, High Chancellor Thorn, the only figure not in a mask and robe, dropped to one knee before her.

  “Your Majesty,” he said respectfully, as he stared at her now scarlet eyes.

  “Yes, Thorn, we succeeded.” She stunned him by placing a hand on his shoulder. “But this is only our first step. What happened with Jess? With those men who tried to stop our ceremony?”

  “Most died, Your Majesty. Jess and three men in black fled across the lake. Our archers failed to stop them.”

  She retracted her hand and walked through the ceremonial chamber, its roof now open to the night sky. Thorn trailed a few steps behind, struggling to keep up with her purposeful strides.

  Thorn craned his head to watch as she closed her eyes. Ripples of magical energy flowed throughout the room as her senses sought her quarry. After a long moment, her eyes flew open.

  “She’s in a field, sleeping by a small fire. The Melucians are with her, but I couldn’t See much else. There were no landmarks, no hills or roads to mark their location.” She thrummed her fingers against her chin, thinking. “As long as she’s on the run, she can’t trouble our plans.. I’ll deal with her later. Did the Generals on the border receive our plans?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I sent three plans, two of the King’s war games, and yours.”

  “Where are they in preparation? How long before they can send the advance units to clear out the Rangers?” she asked.

  “I received word only a few hours ago. The men and equipment are in place. When the weather clears, they’ll be waiting for your command,” Thorn said.

  “Excellent. Send word to them. Begin Phase One. Take out the Rangers immediately.”

  Thorn missed a step. “But, Your Majesty, what about winter? The plan is to wait until spring. First snows have already fallen in the mountains, and we can’t get siege equipment through the pass. Our men will die in the cold of the peaks.”

  She stopped at the door that led to her private chamber, knuckles white as her hand clutched the handle, then turned to face him. Her eyes flared as a bloody mist swirled around Thorn’s shoulders, gripping him with its icy touch.

  “Begin. The. Invasion.” She glared down at Thorn. “I will deal with winter. And never question me again.”

  He dropped to a knee as she released him, head bowed, shoulders trembling. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  She slammed the door behind her, leaving Thorn on his knees.

  Idiot! A thousand years of waiting and
he wants to let a little snow slow us down? Irina’s spirit stirred angrily inside Isabel.

  Isabel reveled at Irina’s touch.

  4

  KEELAN

  Keelan carefully pried the King’s tongue back with the only instrument he could find in the room, a butter knife. Alfred couldn’t have been dead more than a few hours, but a noxious stench greeted Keelan when he disturbed the man’s tongue. The examination moved to the monarch’s eyelids, then his palms and fingernails. Keelan closed the King’s eyes respectfully and stepped back, setting the butter knife on the bedside table.

  After Jess’s unceremonious declaration as the new Queen, she had been hustled to the safety of the inn in the warm embrace of a protective cordon of Royal Guard. Keelan hoped the poor girl would be able to rest without advisors dogging her every step. The weight of the Crown now rested on her head. Once she was out of sight, Sheriff Wilfred had asked Keelan to accompany him. He’d refused to offer any clue to their destination until they’d entered the King’s room, and Keelan stared down at the lifeless monarch.

  “He was definitely poisoned. Whatever the killer used, it was subtle. There’s no discoloration or swelling in the mouth or tongue. But there is something I recognize. The gas he’s expelling is sickly sweet, similar to another case I had a couple years ago,” Keelan said.

  The High Sheriff nodded. “That confirms what I was thinking. Did you find any signs of struggle? Anything other than poison as a method?”

  “No. Nothing under his nails. No marks or scratches on his arms or neck. Even the blankets on the bed look undisturbed, as if he just lay down. I’d say he knew the killer—very well.”

  Keelan turned and carefully scanned the room. His heart sped as investigative instincts took over. Murders in Saltstone were rare, but they did happen. As the chief investigator for the Melucian capital, Keelan was inevitably called to the scene, and he’d learned through experience that the rush of an investigation helped him focus, honed his senses. He hated death as much as anyone, but he loved the thrill of a new mystery begging to be solved.

  After another twenty minutes of searching, he turned to Wilfred. “Who had access to the King?”

  “Access to the King’s chambers, wherever he might be, is limited to the royal family and the Royal Guard assigned to his personal detail. Prince Justin and Queen Isabel were the only two others to enter this room over the past eight hours. I’ve already spoken to all the men on duty individually,” he said.

  Keelan nodded and said, “The Queen killed her husband. Poisoned him and fled across the lake to resume her ceremony. She failed to kill her daughter but succeeded with her son.”

  The color drained from Wilfred’s face. “You’re sure Prince Justin is dead?”

  “Sure? No. But it’s highly likely. Four of us made it out, and I saw the Prince’s guards as they fell. At the very least, he’s their captive, but I doubt they let him live. He was wearing one of their robes and masks, so they wouldn’t have known he was anyone important.”

  Wilfred reached out a hand, and Keelan took it. “Thank you, Lieutenant. This can’t be easy for you, but I appreciate your help. Go get some rest. If you’re willing, I’d like to compare notes later this morning.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  * * *

  “It was a complete disaster.” Keelan flopped onto his bed, eyes fixed on nothing. “Why did the King make us take Justin? I lost four men tonight, including the Prince.”

  Atikus listened intently. He felt for his adopted son but was more concerned about the new political reality they faced. Only a few weeks ago, their small investigative team had been sent across the border to find a missing Healer. It was a simple kidnapping. Well, maybe not simple, but the fate of nations didn’t hang on the investigation of one kidnapped woman.

  Before they’d even set foot on Kingdom soil, their neighbor’s massive military buildup became obvious. They made their way into a couple of towns, and flyers calling for recruits confirmed their worst fears: the Kingdom meant to invade.

  Despite everything they’d faced, Atikus couldn’t stop himself from playing the father figure. “Son, there’s nothing you could’ve done. For whatever reason, the King chose to send his boy. You did what you could to protect him, but it sounds like the Children were waiting for you.”

  Keelan nodded, reliving the scene in his mind’s eye. “I was down on the stage, watching a woman in red as she lead them in a ritual—the same woman who killed Tiana. When I looked up, Justin and his two Protectors were visible on the balcony. I don’t understand why they didn’t pull him down, keep him hidden. He cried out when he saw Jess walking down the center aisle.”

  “And you said the Children had men positioned on the balcony, waiting?” Atikus asked.

  “Yeah.” Another nod. “I couldn’t see how many were up there, but the men guarding the Prince took multiple bolts. They never had a chance. Justin made it out of the room, but I think they trapped him in the hallway. I knocked the red woman out and grabbed Jess but couldn’t see what happened to him. We barely made it to the boat and out of range before archers started shooting.”

  Atikus gave him a moment before asking his next question. “Tell me what you saw from the boat again. I’m still trying to understand the magic at play here.”

  Keelan replayed the trip across the river, detailing the scarlet glow that spread from the temple across the sky, coloring the full moon a bloody red. They’d heard the Children chanting something but were too far away to make out the words. He walked the Mage through everything Jess had told him. About running away. About her capture. About the regal bedchamber and mystical ritual. About her mother’s ring.

  Keelan thought a minute, then asked, “Do you know anything about Danym?”

  Atikus’s brows knitted together. “He’s the High Sheriff’s son. That’s about it. Why?”

  “High Sheriff Wilfred?” Keelan was shocked. “The man who met us at the edge of town and gave Jess the monarch’s seal, proclaimed her Queen. Danym is his son?”

  “I’m afraid so. I think the Sheriff is a good man, loyal to the Crown. That makes his son’s deception more troubling. Danym got close to the Princess and might’ve gained the King’s blessing to marry her if she’d gotten her way. He would’ve become King when Jess inherited the throne,” Atikus said.

  “It doesn’t sound like that was his goal, though. He was just a decoy to get her into the Children’s hands so she could be part of their ritual. What do we know about that ceremony? What were they trying to accomplish?”

  “I’m not sure. We know that four Gifted were kidnapped throughout the Kingdom, including Jess. Well, Justin would make five, but Jess got away. Add the three from Melucia. Seven were sacrificed, assuming they all met the same fate,” Atikus said.

  Keelan’s investigative brain was spinning. “Let’s go with that for now. Assume they were all sacrificed. What else? What’s the goal?”

  “Right. The goal . . . I have no idea,” Atikus said. “No one on this side of the lake seemed to know what that red glow was. They were as stunned as I was. And I’ve talked to a lot of people here, soldiers, guards, regular townsfolk. Spirits, until last night, they believed Melucia had stolen their people. No one knew why the Children were sacrificing Gifted . . .”

  “No one who was willing to talk, at least. Someone has to know. The Children’s temple is just across the lake. Somebody here had to see masked figures passing through town. They’re not exactly subtle. The townsfolk might not have known it was important, or part of a kidnapping, but somebody saw something.” Keelan stretched his sore neck. “I feel like we’re close, but my brain hurts, and I need sleep. I’ve been up for more than a day and night.”

  As Keelan peeled off his boots, Atikus walked to the door. “It’ll be daybreak in an hour or so. I’m going to see if they have anything to eat downstairs while you rest.”

  Keelan rolled his eyes and smiled at the Mage’s omnipresent appetite. The world could be
ending, and Atikus would still want a hot, buttered dinner roll.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Keelan woke to the sun streaming through the window. He hadn’t slept nearly enough, but his mind was racing, and he knew staying in bed was pointless. He rubbed his eyes, stretched, and began dressing in his cleanest clothes. He couldn’t remember the last time anything had been properly washed. He strapped on his belt and looked down at his empty scabbard. The Royal Guard seemed to accept his good intentions—as long as they were able to take his weapons. His nearly fourteen hands of toned muscle were weapon enough. They didn’t want him having access to a sharpened blade, too.

  As he entered the common room, intent on breaking his fast, he was surprised to find Atikus, the High Sheriff, and Royal Guard Captain Marv Proctor huddled around a small table in the corner. A couple of other tables were occupied by folk from the town, but the rest of the room stood quiet and empty. Atikus looked up and waved him over.

  “They’re still making breakfast, and you’ve got to have one of the biscuits. They’re incredible.”

  Keelan chuckled as the mountainous Royal Guard rolled his eyes and grunted. Clearly, Atikus had said a word or two about the food while they chatted.

  A short, thin girl with her rusty-brown hair tied in knots brought Keelan a basket of biscuits and a plate of eggs. She scurried away, promising bacon and coffee. As soon as she was out of earshot, the Sheriff leaned forward and continued the conversation Keelan’s arrival had interrupted.

  “I have two different agents reporting the same thing. Queen Isabel was at the center of the ceremony that nearly killed Jess.”

  Captain Proctor scowled and crossed his corded arms.

  Sheriff Wilfred snapped at the hulking guard’s scowl. “Fine, Her Majesty, Queen Jessia. Can we please worry about courtly titles later and stick to the subject?”