Curse of Shadows and Thorns: A Dark Fantasy Romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 1)

The alehouse was tucked far back in the trees. In the stuffy garret, between boxes and crates and old pelts, I’d opened a box to an old hand drawn map of New Timoran. It was missing a few towns and farms, but it would be enough to orient myself. Enough to begin finding a way out.

From an upper window, in the ashy dawn, it wasn’t easy. Trees here bore damp like they bore the weight of their leaves. A constant mist hovered in the air. After too many moments pretending I knew what I was doing, I found a distant cliffside in the gilded morning which mirrored the map.

“Three hells,” I cursed under my breath and held up the map to the new sun, comparing the landmarks. If I was right, then we were near the Cliffside Falls, in the east. A solid day’s walk from the Ribbon Lakes and my family’s land. It’d be a gods-granted miracle if I made it away from here, through the tangle of forests and thickets, across the trade roads, and to the west side of the kingdom before Legion Grey found me again.

But I couldn’t stay here.

All night terrible sounds kept me awake. The kind I felt to my bones. Shrieks, shouts, wails—as if a war raged outside. But in the light of the dawn, nothing seemed amiss.

Night creatures were part of the fae, and this far into the trees perhaps Night Folk had come out to play under the moon. Thoughts wandered to water nyks, to the wolf Fenrir haunting the trees. But the sun chased them away.

Morning. A new day. No foolish bond of loyalty. The loyalty I had was to myself alone.

“Don’t do this,” Siv whispered at my back.

“I have the choice to leave. You ought to do the same.”

She shook her head. “I have nowhere to go. I leave, the Guild of Shade and Agitators hunt me. I stay, well, at least they have not killed me yet.”

I wanted her to leave. The Guild of Shade might retaliate against her, but I wouldn’t fight to convince her to choose differently, either. Friends were enemies now, and none of us had any business trying to alter the course of anyone else.

When the first hints of dawn came through the window, the aleman had poked his head in to ensure I hadn’t slit my own throat or something. I pretended to sleep as he wheezed and repeated, “Young miss” in the doorway five times before he gave up. How could a man who seemed so ordinary be in league with the Blood Wraith? How could he stand for the mistreatment of an innocent woman? I didn’t think the aleman was Timoran, but neither was he Ettan. Perhaps he held no loyalty to any people here.

I didn’t want to see Legion, or his guild. They’d rescind their offer to let me choose, no doubt, and I couldn’t stomach his face again. Not when I still had a desire to feel safe in his arms when those arms had also tried to kill me once.

When the corridors and immediate area outside my door were quiet, I set to work.

The window was cheap, bubbled glass with a narrow latch. Easily broken. I shot praises to the All Father when I peeked outside the window to three vine-covered trellises on my side of the building. Questionable, perhaps, in their stability, but risking a fall was more favorable than remaining.

I wasn’t one to sit around and wait for death.

I used a scrap of linen to tie my hair off my neck and bunched the rough pillows in the center of the bed, shaping them to look like a body was tucked beneath the quilt. If the aleman decided to look in again, at least I’d buy myself some time.

“Good luck, Elise,” Siv whispered.

I paused, then turned over my shoulder. “And you.”

At the window, I held my breath, clutched the sill, and leveraged one leg over the edge. My boot kicked around, searching for the rung on the trellis. I tested the give of the wood, and when I was confident it would hold, I pulled my other leg over the window’s ledge.

The vines were littered in thorns. “Damn the skies,” I cursed when my thumb stuck against a harsh thorn and blood coursed down the meat of my palm.

I gritted my teeth and went on, carefully selecting each spot to place my feet.

Ten paces from the ground, I lodged my boot on a rung of the trellis and before I could get my foothold, my stomach lurched into my throat. The snap of wood, the scrape of leaves on skin, the tug of my hair getting tangled in the thorns. All of it collided as I plummeted.

I hit the ground with a grunt. Breath ripped from my lungs and my body shuddered as a painful ripple danced up and down my spine. I coughed and rolled onto my side. My ankle throbbed from twisting, but I didn’t think I broke any bones.

The window was open, twenty paces above me, and no calls for my capture came from the alehouse. A cautious smile spread over my lips. Legion Grey was wholly arrogant to underestimate me, to manipulate me into staying.

Before my run of good luck changed, I limped into the dark tree line and didn’t look back.

The ground sloped and bent and caused my ankle to scream its protests. I didn’t stop. If I didn’t orient myself soon, I’d be wandering the trees into nightfall, and those haunting screams would be mine to deal with. I wasn’t sure how long I’d wandered away from the alehouse, but when the trees thickened, I cursed my stupidity for leaving without a blade, or at least something to hold water.

My leg went numb, my limp had worsened to the point my strong leg burned, and my skin raised in gooseflesh even though sweat dripped off my brow. I almost considered returning to the alehouse and pleading for my life when at long last I found a road sign. The wood pallet was covered in thick brush, and the road was so overgrown it could hardly be called a road.

I fell to my knees, beaming in relief.

One direction led to the Southern docks, the other to the Ribbon Lakes. My manor was maybe a two length walk from the Ribbon Lakes township. I didn’t plan to return there, not with Calder and Runa seeking me out, but at least I could find my way to Mattis. He’d help me without question.

I almost smiled imagining Mattis’s face when I told him the truth about Legion Grey. I believed he’d come to admire the vow negotiator, and now Legion’s skill with sparring would make much more sense.

A child waif. I puffed out my lips. He said he never lied. Legion knew a blade because he was the Blood Wraith, not because he was orphaned.

I sat on a fallen log and stripped the tattered jacket I’d stolen. The threads burned in old sweat and dust from the storage trunks. I stared at the road sign, as if it might offer some enlightenment. If I recalled my maps and my geography lessons well enough, there would be at least three small townships on the way to Ribbon Lakes. Already the chills and what felt a bit like fever settled in my head. I didn’t have time to be ill. The trauma of the night would need to wait until I could find a safe place to crumble.

I rose and began the trek into the trees again.

By the time the flicker of lanterns in the windows of quaint little homes came into view, my knees quivered holding my weight. The Ribbon Lakes were in sight, and the memory of spending time there with Legion, being attacked there, stirred my emotions into a tightly woven knot. Hells, everything reminded me of Legion Grey. I shamed my bleeding mind to remember he was a wretch and liar and killer.

And sometimes all of it didn’t matter. What sort of person did that make me?

I shook out my hands, shook out the worries, and focused on pressing forward. My hair stuck to my clammy forehead, and my breaths were harsh, labored.

Not long now. Not long and I’d be home.

I kept to the backs of buildings, avoiding the main roads. The sun hung low in the sky, not yet sunset, but dusk wasn’t far off. My throat yearned for something cool to drink, ached for a bed to curl against. How foolish of me to think I could make such a journey in such a pitiful state. I should’ve eaten. Should’ve taken medicines or blankets for the night. I should’ve looked the Wraith in his eye and told him I was leaving.

Silent tears carved lines through the sweat on my face as I struggled up an incline on the backroad. I’d die here. How ironic that I had escaped to avoid death, and here I would die, alone and in the open for wolves to gnaw my bones.

At the top of the incline, what little feeling I had left in my body abandoned me. A line of Ravenspire patrols blocked all roads leading to Mellanstrad.

A watch row, it was called. Impossible to breech on the best days, but in my haggard state, I wouldn’t be able to take a single step without being seen.

“Captain! At the ridge!” A patrolman shouted.

My pulse pounded in my head. I used what energy I had left to turn to make a run back toward the cold forest, but two hands grabbed me on either side.

I cried out as the guard tossed me to the ground. Facedown in the wet grass, a boot pressed between my shoulders. Steps rustled through the weeds until polished boots stopped in front of my face. A man sniffed, then crouched, using his fingertips to tilt my chin so I might see his face.

“Elise, my love,” Jarl said, a touch of arrogance and hatred bled through each word. “You’ve come home.”

I struggled beneath the boot, panic clouding my thoughts. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

“No, shh,” Jarl said, reaching out and stroking my hair. “No need for that. I had hoped you’d return. I’d hoped to see you again. So much has changed, you see.”

“Yes,” I said, face in the dirt. “You committed regicide. How noble of you.”

Jarl chuckled. “Ah, Elise this is the new order I spoke of. I thought we could share it together. We still can, we can still help bring about a new rule, a stronger Timoran. All our king and queen need is your loyalty. Though, I must admit, your sister is not especially hopeful you’ll join.”

“Tell Runa she will never be my queen. She’s too ill read for my liking.”

The bitterness in Jarl’s laugh sent a shiver down my back. He whistled and the patrol removed his foot, but soon the hands that pinned me forced me to my feet again.

“Bring her,” he commanded.

The guards dragged me forward, uncaring if I had solid footing or not.

“Jarl . . .” I started, but lost strength to even plead for my life.

“Look, Elise,” Jarl said through a strange chuckle. “Just look.”

The patrolmen stopped once the path curved to the drive of my manor. One lifted my chin, squeezing my jaw too tightly.

Perhaps it was good the patrols were holding onto me, or I would have fallen straightaway. A choked kind of sob burst from my throat as I stared at the charred ruins of what had once been my home. The white marble walls were broken, crumbling. Smoke and ash perfumed the air. My mother’s wolfsbane and rowan bushes were nothing but briars and dead twigs.

Jarl yanked back on my braid. He whirled me around and held me against his broad chest, his lips against my ear.

“This,” he whispered, voice harsh, “this is what happens when you cross me, Elise. When you cross the king and his queen.”

“Where are they?” the words burst out of my throat, raw and desperate. “Where are our serfs, our . . . people!”

I felt Jarl smile against my cheek, felt his fingernails dig deeper into my back. “Dead.”

One word had power.

One word had the strength to break me.

“I know you had such affection for so many gutter rats,” Jarl went on and tossed me into the hands of the patrols.

I knew little else of what was happening for the next moments. I hardly realized the patrolmen were dragging me forward again. I cried silently as they led me into the skeleton of my home, forced me to soak in the blackened walls. I gagged on a scream when a burned form was sprawled out in the corridor. Rotting. Who was it? A servant? Three hells, was it Bevan? Had the old man returned to the manor from Ravenspire, or remained at the castle with my parents, who cowered beneath their vicious daughter?

“Take her to the master room,” Jarl demanded.

The deeper we went into the home I realized the lower floor was the worst of the flames. The staircase was intact for the most part; one missing step caused me to fumble, but it held our weight. Upstairs, filmy smoke had stained the walls and portraits. It reeked of flesh and ash, but the doors were still closed on the floors.

The patrolmen tossed open my parents’ suite. I blinked through the tears. The master bed was made up, untouched. A new suit for my father was still being tailored. My mother’s hairbrushes were still aligned in perfection on the white vanity. A ghostly sight. The space was as if they’d simply disappeared. But they hadn’t disappeared, no. They had left those who’d depended on them to slaughter.

“Restrain her,” Jarl commanded the patrols. “By the looks of her I doubt it’ll take much to keep her down.”

Two guards shared a laugh at my expense. I struggled to lift my chin. Let them mock me, I would not rise to the occasion. The patrolmen forced me onto my back, tethered my ankles, then wrists to the bedposts.

The hiss of the wooden vanity seat scraped across the floorboards. Jarl settled in the cushion with a sigh. “Elise, my dear, we have been searching for you through the night. I’d nearly given up hope that we’d see you alive.”

“Glad I could oblige,” I snapped.

“Do you think being witty when I have your hands bound is the wisest choice, Elise?”

“Are you asking if I’m pleased to injure your pride by not groveling for my life at your feet? Yes, absolutely.”

Jarl’s smile faded and he leaned over his knees. “Do not be a fool, Elise. I am authorized to cause pain to traitors of Timoran.”

I turned away, refusing to allow the tears to fall. My heart was in shambles. I knew I’d die. Jarl had placed me in a completely vulnerable state, and as his true nature bled out, I was certain he’d make me suffer as much as he could.

“I found your dead maid,” Jarl said. I clenched my eyes. “We heard you left with Legion Grey. Abandoned your new king. So, this is how King Calder answered your disloyalty. Do you suppose he would allow the estate of a traitor to stand?”

“They had nothing to do with it!” I screamed.

My lack of control drew out a vicious smile on Jarl’s face. “Our king does not care in the least.”

Air ripped free of my lungs. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. When I closed my eyes, I saw our serfs. The faces of Cook, of little Ellis. Mothers, children, fathers. Their screams boiled in my brain.

“Kill me,” I said. On the verge of pleading.

“Not yet,” Jarl said. “I would like to know where Legion Grey has gone. Castle Ravenspire has use for him. I hear he is quite skilled with a blade—quite the tracker, too.”

“I don’t know where he is.” Not a lie. Not entirely the truth, but why was I defending him anyway? The Blood Wraith could slaughter Jarl without question. Maybe I ought to lead Jarl right to him.

“I swear to you, Elise, if you serve the Crown, you will have position. We can wed and bring about change in this land.”

“You will enslave Night Folk. Use their fury for your benefit.”

“The gods led us here and we are entitled to the powers of the land. King Zyben wasted fury. We can study it, make it our own. There are more powers out there being wasted by mystics hiding in the shadows. If the gods gave us this land, then they want us to use their gifts.”

I thought of Bevan and the Alvers he spoke of. How many kingdoms had different magically inclined? Like the witch girl at the castle. Where had she come from? They’d all be taken, used. Studied. My jaw tightened. “If the gods wanted you to have fury you would have been born with it. I will not stand by and watch you torture and dissect the innocent simply because of their gifts. I want unity, to work with fury the way Ettans did once.”

Jarl’s arrogance dissolved, replaced by darkness. “Now you sound like an Agitator. The ones who worship a dead bloodline.”

I chuckled because I would die. There was no reason to hold back. “Maybe they were on to something. I’d rather be classed with Agitators than cowards like you and a false king and queen.”

Jarl’s eyes turned to black slits. He rose from the edge of the bed and stripped his captain’s coat, then his belt with his sword.

“What are you doing?” I asked, heart racing.

Jarl kneeled on the edge of the ash-soaked bed. He crawled to my side and scoffed. “You don’t expect me to let you die without having you?”

Blood drained from my face, and he took pleasure in it.

“I tried so hard to find favor with you and Herr Grey, after all,” he rambled on. Jarl placed a hand on my leg, lifting the hem of my dirty gown until he could see my exposed skin beneath it. He clicked his tongue, grinning. “Lovely.”

“Bastard.” I tried to kick him off.

He released my dress, but left the skirt too high on my thighs. Jarl touched my calf, skating his hand up my knee. “I’ll take our vows now. It is all arranged. The deeds to the second royal house, the fortunes will be mine by law and by the order of the king. But, you know, such a thing must be consummated between a husband and his wife. I’ll have you now. As long as I want, as many times as I want. Then, I’ll grant you a swift death out of thanks.”

“You won’t lay a hand on me,” I spat, disgusted.

Jarl trapped my chin in his hand. “Perhaps you do not understand the duties of a wife?”

His hand traced the line of my waist. I tried to roll away, but the fetters kept me in place. He curled his fingers around the laces of my bodice.

“Bring in the officiator,” Jarl said to the guards who’d remained in the room. “I’ll vow with the bitch, then leave her to the men to kill.”

“Too cowardly to kill me yourself?” I shouted. What use was it to hide my hatred now?

Jarl gripped my chin and clambered over my body, straddling my hips. One hand pinched my skin along my thigh, a sneer grew on his face as he tried to frighten me during my last moments. “I’m wearing my best uniform, Elise. I’d hate to soil it,” he whispered against my lips. “But trust me—I’ll watch.”

Jarl slid off me and adjusted his gambeson. The door opened and a stoic clergyman entered, draped in his red marital robes. A man of the gods, of the All Father, or so he said. Yet, he would vow a monster to a woman bound on a bed.

“Skam vara din! Smӓrta från eld!” I shouted my curse of his shame in the old language. No doubt the man understood. For the first time, I was grateful my mother had insisted I become fluent. I rolled as best I could onto my shoulder and spat at his feet.

I took a bit of pleasure in the way he ruffled at the insult.

“Get started, holy man,” Jarl commanded.

The clergyman sniffed in disgust and opened the thick leather book of sagas and poems that were traditionally read in Timoran wedding ceremonies.

As the clergyman opened his mouth, the bones of my family home shuddered as someone pounded into the lower entrances.

Jarl held up a hand. Silence entombed us in the smoky room. I held my breath, confused, too frightened to admit.

From outside shouts rose through the hush. Another shudder rocked as footsteps pounded below us. Shouts bled into screams, into the glide of steel on steel.

Jarl withdrew his blade as heavy footsteps smashed up the stairs, down the hallway, until the bedroom door smacked against the wall. A tall patrolman tumbled into the room clutching his middle, fresh blood on his hands. “They . . . the . . . Blood Wraith.”

The guard fell forward and the next breath he took was his last.