Aerenden: The Child Returns (Ærenden) (37 page)

“There
are others?” Meaghan asked.

“There
were. When I saw you tonight, you’d fled to the alley because of your empath
power, correct?”

“Unfortunately.”

“That
means Nick needs to be closer to you than I realized. You start training
tomorrow, as I’m sure he’s told you. Until you have better control over your
power, he should stay with you in the guest cottage.”

“That
won’t look right,” Nick protested. “People here gossip too easily and since I’m
already under review—”

“You’re
wed now,” she reminded him.

“No
one knows.”

“We’ll
fix that in the morning. The Elders will understand. For now, your priority is
protecting Meaghan, even if it’s from her own power. The best way you can do
that is to stay at her side.”

Nick
stood. “Then I think it’s time we slept. Especially if we intend to talk to the
Elders in the morning. I’m certain that won’t be easy.”

“They’ll
understand,” May repeated and rose from her seat. Crossing the room to a
bookcase, she slid a brown journal from the shelf and brought it back to the
table. Without opening it, she handed it to Meaghan. “As I said, you aren’t the
first to have a prophesied wedding. This book will explain the rest, but don’t
open it until you’re alone. The story was penned by a Writer.”

“What’s
a Writer?” Meaghan asked.

“Someone
who can infuse words with life,” Nick explained. “You aren’t just reading the
words, you’re watching the story the way it happened. You’re living it.”

“I
see,” Meaghan said and looked down at the book in her hands. At best, it
appeared nondescript, nothing more than a cloth journal she could find in any
bookstore, but she had a feeling its appearance belied its importance. “So this
book is based on a true story?”

“About
your family,” May said. Meaghan’s heart jumped, but she had no time to ask any
further questions before May pulled her from her seat. “Go to bed,” May said. “You
have an early day tomorrow.”

And
with those last words, she scooted them out the door.

T
HE NEW
day
had already started when they returned to the guest cottage. Meaghan could hear
the clock in the town square chime the one o’clock hour. Though she wanted to
read the book May had given her, Nick removed it from her hands, and ushered
her to bed. He did not have to say anything. She knew they needed rest. But her
body still reeled from the day, and her mind still clung to what May had told
them. The answers were in the book and Meaghan had to learn them. When Nick’s
breathing deepened into sleep, she climbed from bed and retrieved the book from
the small table where Nick had left it. Tucking it under her arm, she found a
seat beneath the window, and then opened it to read by the patch of moonlight
streaming into the room.

As
soon as her eyes fell on the first words, the cottage surrounding her
disappeared. Much like the sensation she had felt while being teleported, her
world shifted, and she landed in another place, watching two women from another
time hurry past.

§

Q
UEEN ADELINA
threaded her way through the maze of stone hallways, easily avoiding the pools
of stagnant water that hid in the shadows lining the underbelly of the castle.
Few people would have guessed the glistening quartz walls and colorful gardens
housing the royal family could harbor such a dark and dreary place. But few
people could understand the need for such a place. Most prisoners, those
convicted of petty crimes, were housed in village facilities, kept well, and
provided standard comforts until they had served their terms.

Those
brought here and tossed into the dredges of the Pit, as this place had been
nicknamed by the guards, held worse intentions in their hearts. They were
repeat criminals, murderers, rapists, and traitors. The Pit housed them until
trial. If proven innocent, they found freedom. If not, banishment or death
became their fate.

Few
received an innocent verdict, though that came as no surprise. A criminal’s
guilt had to be almost certain for the person to gain entrance into the Pit.
Punishment was inherent in its design.

Stale
air lay thick and oppressive over an endless maze. Stone walls coated in water
from long-forgotten leaks had sprouted black mold and white chalk. Prison cells
offered no beds or blankets to keep the prisoners warm. And meals, though provided
three times a day, did no more than sustain minimum life. Bland porridge
started the morning. Bread and a hunk of horsemeat marked the noon hour. A hash
of vegetables and potatoes came at the day’s end. Water accompanied each meal,
though Adelina loathed calling it that. Tinged a light shade of gray, she
questioned not only its quality but also its cruelty.

The
place appalled Adelina. She considered it a violation of basic human rights.
When she had first discovered it as a teenager, she had demanded her mother
shut it down. She and her father had argued over it for weeks. She had sulked,
pouted, and used every manipulation technique in her arsenal. In the end, her
father had used only one. He had made her sit through the trial of a murderer
housed within the Pit.

The
prisoner had been a Healer with a specialty in potions. Known to be both
conniving and ambitious, his goal had been to create a potion that would allow
him to advance on the royal family and take over. He had never had the chance
to fulfill his goal. Because of the secretive nature of his plan, he had tested
his potions on himself. One concoction had snapped his sanity and he had gone
on a rampage, killing not only his entire family with a butcher knife, but
everyone who happened to be within throwing distance of his house. By the time
the village Guardians had detained him, twelve bodies lay at his feet,
including four children, two of which were not his own.

Declared
insane, even though he had arrived at that condition by his own hand, the laws
would not allow the judging panel to execute him. He had been banished, sent
into the wilderness where Adelina felt certain he had met his death. The
punishment seemed fitting for the crime. She had never forgotten the sobbing of
the surviving villagers as they described the carnage they had witnessed, nor
the despondency of the couple who had lost their children. No punishment could
make right their grief or make whole their loss. She had never forgotten that
lesson, and she had never forgotten the name of the white haired man who had
sat through his trial with a crooked smile on his face and malice in his eyes.
Finnil.

For
Finnil, she had allowed the Pit to continue housing the unworthy. And to ease
her own guilt, she had vowed never to set foot in the dungeon again.

A
rat scurried across her boot and she froze in her path, checking the shudder
creeping up her spine. Strength, she remembered. She must only show strength in
the presence of others. Especially those she could not trust. Although the
Guardian who walked a step behind her had come with high regards from the
Elders, Adelina could not find the will to trust her. She missed Ellida too
much. The woman had been her mother’s Guardian for forty years and Adelina’s
since she was born. But Adelina had no control over who guarded her. The Elders
dictated those assignments, for good reason, and it had been determined that
Ellida had earned a peaceful retirement. Translation: Adelina had proven to be
too much of a handful for the seventy-year-old woman. Since Adelina’s mother
had been dead for a year, Ellida had moved back to the Guardian village and her
granddaughter had taken the job.

Adelina
did not dislike her new Guardian. She found the woman capable and smart. She
just did not see the point in having a Guardian. There was nothing she could
not do on her own. She had wielded a sword since childhood. She could race
horses with the best soldiers in the kingdom. She had even fought in a battle
during the Zeiihbu War. The latter, of course, had happened despite Ellida’s
protests. Adelina had ridden off without her personal Guardian, protected by
the youngest and strongest of the royal army. And she suspected that decision
had something to do with the elder Guardian’s retirement. The thought tugged at
her heart, but she knew she had done the right thing. She had needed to meet
with the leader of the Paecis in person for her plan to succeed. And she had
needed her plan to succeed to bring peace to the northern kingdom.

Her
participation in the battle had been incidental, an error of timing. She had
intended to return before the battle started, but the Zeiihbu ruler she had
wanted to overthrow had a different strategy in mind. He forced the battle
early and she fought in it. She supposed she could have heeded the head of the
royal army’s command to hide, but she had not felt right about it. They fought
for her vision, and so should she.

When
she returned from the battle, Ellida’s face had looked more lined, her hair
whiter than it had when Adelina left. Of course, it had not helped that the
majority of the royal army who had flanked Adelina when she rode out had not
returned with her. Their deaths also tugged at her heart. At night, she
remembered them and mourned for them. But during the day, she remained as
passive as her role as Queen required. As passive as she also felt she needed
to be around her newly appointed Guardian.

She
entered the cellblock housing the vilest of the prisoners and her stomach pitched
when the stench of body odor, rot, and feces greeted her. She clenched her jaw
to prevent her supper from abandoning her and pushed forward. The cell she
wanted was last on the block. She needed to see him. She needed to lay eyes on
the man who ruled the tribe known as the Raiders.

The
Raiders had existed longer than Adelina had been alive. They roamed the country
in the north, robbing villages, burning what they left behind, and taking women
at their will. The villagers who resisted were murdered, their throats slit
without hesitation. As far as Adelina could tell, the Raiders had no home and
no origin. And though they had been a bane for her parents, the Zeiihbu War had
kept everyone’s focus off them. They thought themselves untouchable. But now
Adelina had brought peace to Zeiihbu, and she refused to stop there. Her focus
had been set on ending the Raiders’ plundering. Three months ago, the royal
army had killed the head of the tribe, and today, they had captured his son.

She
had been riding when she received word the prisoner had arrived at the Pit. In
her excitement, she had rushed her horse to the castle and bounded down the
stairs to the dungeon, her feet barely touching the stone as she ran. She did
not bother to change her clothes. Though mud had now dried on her riding slacks,
and her jacket held a thin coat of dust, she did not care. A prisoner of the
Pit deserved no decorum. She also ignored her vow not to set foot in the
dungeons. Today would be a one-time exception. Today she had to see the face of
the last enemy against her plan for peace.

No
sunlight reached the inhabitants in this part of the Pit. They were too far
underground. The only light came from a few torches standing like sentries
against the dark. Instead of adding warmth, their flames added eerie shadows to
the chill clinging to the walls. She felt no less horror in this place than she
had the first time she had set foot in it. But that was the point—to
remind the prisoners of the gravity of their crimes, of the sorrow they had
caused. This environment served that purpose.

She
located the last cell, squared her shoulders, and prepared for the verbal
battle she wanted. Although the Raider had not been here long, only hours, she
expected to see misery on his face, remorse in his voice. She expected him to
beg for his life, and she intended to capitalize on that to put a stop to the
rest of his tribe. She did not expect to hear him singing.

She
froze in her tracks outside visual range of the cell. She had heard many noises
down here the last time she had visited. She had expected those, and steeled
her heart in preparation for them. Wailing, crying, moaning—those were
the standard sounds in this place. But not singing, and certainly not a joyful
song about love. She listened, recognizing the song from her childhood.

Her
mother used to sing it to her. The lyrics told the tale of the great love that
had flourished between the first King and Queen of these lands, of the peace
their love had brought and of how their love had lived with them into old age
when they died in each other’s arms. Her mother had been a soprano. Her
beautiful voice had drifted on the air as delicate as a leaf on the autumn
breeze, captivating her audience. The voice Adelina heard now held the same
command, as did the stringed instrument accompanying it. It brought Adelina
back to her childhood, and it drew a smile across her face.  She waited,
and listened, though she knew she should not. This man did not deserve her
devout attention, but she could not help the reaction. His voice chased away
the cold of this dreadful place, warming her, and she held on to the feeling as
long as she could.

When
the song ended, she felt disappointment, but discarded it. She was Queen now,
and had no time for such foolishness. Nor did she have the luxury of allowing a
prisoner to sway her resolve, even if he did have a wonderful voice.