The Source (Creasan #1)

Favian sat behind his ornate desk with his elbows perched atop it and his head in his hands. He rubbed his temples hard, pressing down on the soft tissue there in the hopes of quelling the incessant pounding. The headaches had gotten so much worse in the past month or so, and nothing the healer had prescribed had so much as put a dent in it.

He had known, of course, what awaited him. All the Lances knew of the family affliction. Turn fifty and be faced with pain of the brain that would eventually either kill you or drive you mad enough to end your own life. Perhaps it was time to turn away from medicinal herbs and request something…more affective.

Ana’s constant talking wasn’t helping matters. She stood on the other side of his desk repeating exactly the same thing she’d been spouting for the past twenty minutes. “You must believe me, sire,” she said again. “I would never lie with another man. I would not bring such shame upon you.”

“I am not ashamed,” he ground out, pressing harder against his temples and squeezing his eyes shut. “I do not care what you do with other men. Or women.”

Ana’s hands had been clenched tightly in front of her, but now they loosened as she gave a small, humorless laugh. “Surely that can’t be true.”

The pounding had mixed with a high-pitched ringing and it was all he could do not to lean over his desk and throttle his wife into silence.

“You must care, at least a little.”

“I care as far as it pertains to our son, which I know to be mine because he has my red hair. Otherwise, your body is yours to do with as you see fit.” Her face dropped and Favian gritted his teeth. He was about two seconds from exploding. “What do you want from me, Ana? Would you rather I hang you for treason? I have granted you both life and freedom, yet that doesn’t seem—“

“I am your wife, Favian!” Ana’s hands fisted in her skirts. “Is it so difficult to believe I would want you to care about rumors of my infidelity? If such rumors swirled about you, I would surely—“

Favian slammed his palm against the table and the sound went off like a canon in the large room. The baubles on his desk trembled with the force of it. He rose to his feet as the ringing in his head reached a fevered pitch and looked directly into his wife’s eyes. “No such rumors would ever spread about me because I have the intelligence to conduct my affairs in private! You are allowed to be a stupid woman—I did not marry you for your wits—but when your own stupidity comes back to bite you in the arse, I would appreciate it if you did not bring it to me. I have more important matters to deal with than whether or not your bed has been empty.”

Ana was breathing hard, seething. Favian supposed this is what he ought to have expected from marrying someone so many years his junior. She was an immature, attention seeking child, and he did not have the time nor the patience to deal with it. He could see in her brown eyes that he had hurt her, but he couldn’t seem to find it within himself to care.

The door to his study was thrown open and his brother strode in with wild eyes. He didn’t bother to bow in his rush to cross the room.

Favian was immediately on alert. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The man you’ve been searching for,” Fendrel said. “The leader of The Source.”

“Yes, yes,” Favian pressed impatiently.

“You’ve caught her.”

Carac was rocking back and forth with his head hanging low. “This is bad. This is so, so bad.”

“Stop it,” Thea hissed, eyeing the Guards whom were still watching them in the dining hall. “We’re going to be fine.”

Fendrel had left so quickly that Thea hadn’t had a chance to come up with a believable lie. She wasn’t sure how he’d figured it out so quickly; most men tended to dismiss the idea without even a second thought, and Thea almost didn’t blame them. It was difficult to believe an eighteen-year-old could be the leader of a rebellion as large as The Source. She’d only gained the role through Lief.

Everything she had was because of Lief.

“You have a plan then?” Merek whispered.

“I’m working on it.”

“Right.”

She shot him a glare from the corner of her eye. “You know, you could help me.”

“What do you think the king will do to us?” Carac asked.

“He’s not going to do a bloody thing,” Thea promised.

“But we’re unimportant. You’re the one in charge. You’re the one with all the answers. It’s you he needs, not us.”

“Well, I need you.” She glanced between both men. “The Source needs you. We were so close today. Imagine, next time—“

“It doesn’t look like there’s going to be a next time,” Merek muttered. He coughed suddenly, harsh body-jerking coughs that wracked his whole frame. A clot of blood dropped out of his mouth, landing with a splat on the cold stone floor. His eyes were beginning to lose focus and Thea hissed his name, trying to keep him awake. But his body had gone slack.

Thea turned forward again, letting her lids fall shut as she tried to reign in her fear. It was a basic lesson Lief had taught her: Emotions clouded judgement. If she allowed herself to get worked up, they would never get out of there. And they had to, especially if Fendrel had already told the king who she was. The Source needed her. And she needed The Source.

She opened her eyes again and took in their surroundings. Besides the long tables of food, the walls were decorated with sconces holding torches and banners with Lance family crest—the image of a lance impaling a dragon. There were about ten Guards left in the dining hall, all their empty eyes trained on the trio. Thea estimated they had about five minutes left before Fendrel returned with the king. Those sconces could work has weapons, their edges were pointy enough, but it would take far too long to detach them from the walls. The torches inside might do well enough. If Merek had been in tip-top shape, they might have been able to take on ten Guards at once, but as it was, that didn’t seem feasible. But even they could, even if there was a slight chance they’d win against The Guard, they’d have to get out of their restraints first, which seemed impossible.

Another idea suddenly occurred to Thea and a slow smile spread across her face. But she could open her mouth to tell Carac her plan, the door opened, and the prince and king rushed in.

The king headed straight for Thea. He’d discarded his coat on the way to the hall and now looked much smaller. She supposed it was the added fur that had alluded to a pot belly. He pointed his finger threateningly at her. “I should have known it was you.”

“Whatever do you mean, sire.”

The king kicked out the legs of her chair and Thea fell backward, landing heavily on her bound hands. There was a sickening crunch and agonizing pain shot up from her left hand. She bit her lip to keep from crying out; she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

The king crouched beside her, teeth bared like a rabid dog. “Enough of these games, girl. You are accused of high treason against your king and country, and I sentence you to be scourged and hanged at first light.”

“Sire,” she said softly so only the king could hear, “a hanging is of course warranted for the misdeed my companions and I have attempted. But let it not be for the leading of a rebel group. You and I both know that is beyond my capabilities.”

“I do not know you at all, girl,” he growled, but thankfully matched her low tone, as she had hoped. “Yet it makes the most sense. And without you to lead the traitors, they will disperse and no longer be—“

“I urge you to think it through, sire.” The pain in her hand was starting to become unbearable and sweat beaded her forehead. “Who told you this information? I know it never escaped my lips nor those of my companions. Was it not from the prince’s mouth? The prince, who would have the most to gain from your demise.”

“What are you suggest—“

“He tells you that you’ve got The Source in your grasp. You execute me, only to find out in a few days time that it was not I who led the group, but another man entirely. The King of Creasan looks a fool. Looks weak. And what does that pave the way for if not for a younger, perhaps more adept king? Your crown taken by your own brother.”

The king was shaking his head, but there was a grimace in his eyes that told her she’d made an impact.

The chair was pressing heavily on her broken hand, and her entire body began to shake with the effort it took not to cry out in pain. In a few more moments, tears would be gathered in her eyes. “I’ve been here but a few hours, sire, and I already see the way the people listen to him. Your people. He tells them to leave the room, and they are gone. He orders you to bed, and off you go.”

“I do not take orders from my brother.”

Thea said nothing else. As it always did, her arrow had hit its mark. There was nothing to be done except watch it quake with the force of her shot.

“I do not!” he shouted, blowing his hot breath in her face.

“What has she said?” Fendrel asked.

Thea offered a smug smile as if to say See?

Favian’s hands curled into fists and he stood, speaking to a Guard. “She is to be whipped first thing in the morning. Take her to the dungeon until then.”

“And the others, sire?”

The king glanced between Merek and Carac. Carac’s eyes were screwed shut and his mouth moved with fervent prayers to Aestus. Thea watched him carefully, holding her breath as she waited for his next words. Please, she begged, please let that have been enough.

Favian looked at her over his shoulder, noting her concern before she was able to wipe it away, and grinned. “Remove her first.”

Thea glared at him as a Guard hauled the chair to its feet, mercifully relieving the pressure on her hand. He freed her from the chair only to shove her forward toward the door. She refused to cradle her burning, throbbing hand on her way out. Her bones might’ve broken but her resolve would not. The king would learn that soon enough.

He was smiling as he watched her go, there was a darkness behind his eyes, an uncertainty, an insecurity. And Thea took great satisfaction in knowing that it was she who had put it there.