The Bound Read online

  “I don’t know. No one. He found me in the woods.”

  “He found you in the woods?” Avoca breathed out heavily. “I’m going to have to stay in the room with you, aren’t I?”

  “What? No. I’m not going to go back out there. Avoca, don’t you know what happened? I found a pulse.” Cyrene looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Fire.”

  “Fire?” Avoca asked in surprise. “Your first element was fire?”

  “Yes, it was a heartbeat.”

  “There hasn’t been a Leif with their first element as fire for two thousand years,” Avoca said. “Are you sure? What did it feel like?”

  “It’s a strange story,” Cyrene said. Then, she recounted what had happened in the woods up until Dean had wandered in to retrieve his fallen buck.

  Avoca stopped dead in her tracks. “You felt the actual heartbeat of the buck?”

  “Yes. I think I picked up the pulse because it was so frantic. It drew me to him, and then I felt the pulse weaken and die just as he did,” Cyrene explained. “It was wonderful and painful. I’ve never cried like that before.”

  Even thinking about it still hit her head-on. She had felt the life drain out of the buck. It was something she would never forget.

  “No, no, no. That’s not fire,” Avoca said contemplatively. “I mean, it’s partially fire because there is a spark of fire in life. But it’s also water and air and earth. If you were strong in just one element, you would be able to feel them individually, but you’ve not mastered any. And you said it was overwhelming.” By this point, Avoca was speaking fast, as if trying to get all her thoughts out at once. “I’ve read about this. I’ve heard about things like this before. Things Leifs aren’t able to feel. Things long forgotten, long lost with the death of the Doma. So much loss.”

  Cyrene put her hand on Avoca’s shoulder. “Slow down. What are you saying? I didn’t feel fire? That wasn’t the pulse?”

  “No. I believe you felt spirit, the fifth element though not an element at all. I’ve not done enough research in the area to know for certain. I never thought I’d encounter a Doma, after all. But spirit is the essence of a thing. You effectively touched the deer, the essence of the deer.”

  “That can’t be right. Can it?”

  “I don’t know,” Avoca admitted. “Spirit users are rumored to be able to touch all four elements equally, as strongly as a normal user. I don’t know if that’s true. It is an inborn ability, an old ability, something I could never touch.”

  “I don’t know what any of that means.”

  “Neither do I,” Avoca said softly. “It gives me something to think about though.”

  Avoca continued down the street, muttering to herself. At least she wasn’t yelling at Cyrene anymore, but Cyrene didn’t know what to think about this spirit thing. All she felt now was a renewed need to get to Eleysia and find Matilde and Vera. They had to be there. They had to know how to help.

  Avoca and Cyrene rounded the corner to the inn and walked in the front door to complete and utter chaos. Orden, Ahlvie, and Ceis’f were standing there with their swords drawn, facing off with half a dozen Aurumian soldiers. Madam LaRoux was fluttering her hands about and shrieking. The serving girls were all huddled in a corner, crying.

  Avoca quickly obscured Cyrene from view of the guards in case they were here for her.

  “What in the Creator’s name?” Avoca whispered.

  “Put down your swords,” a soldier commanded.

  “You storm in here with swords drawn and expect us to lower ours?” Ahlvie asked. He snorted and cocked his head to the side, as if they were stupid.

  “What is the meaning of all of this?” Orden demanded.

  “We have a summons from King Iolair himself,” one man said. He took a step back from the other soldiers and sheathed his sword. He pulled a rolled parchment from a pouch at his waist. “I, Creighton Lanett Cavel Iolair, King of Aurum, Arrow of the Huntress, Guardian of the Eagle, do request the presence of Lord Barkeley Iolair of the Asheland Moors and keeper of the Halstedt provinces and his companions in the Draydon castle upon receipt of this summons.”

  Lord Barkeley. Why did that name sound familiar? It was the estate they had first traversed when they left the boat from Strat. Orden had claimed he was not to be messed with. Why on earth would these men be looking for him?

  “We don’t know of any Lord Barkeley,” Ahlvie cried. “So, you can all withdraw immediately.”

  “Actually,” Orden said, lowering his sword and stepping forward, “we do.”

  “What?” Ahlvie asked.

  “I am Lord Barkeley,” Orden said. “Put away your weapons at once. You are causing a scene.”

  The shock on Ahlvie’s face perfectly matched what was written on everyone else’s in the room.

  Orden is a Lord? And not just a Lord…an Iolair? Related to the King? What alternative world did I just step into? This surely had to be a joke.

  “A Prince?” Ahlvie spat. “You’re a Prince?”

  Cyrene couldn’t believe this. This man had helped her when she had passed out from a Braj, trekked across Aurum with her, saved her from arrest, broken out a prisoner, bribed a sailor, and all the while, harbored a wanted fugitive and allowed himself to be seen as a kidnapper. This man was a Prince!

  “We’re ready to head out,” the soldier said. “You will bring the rest of your party with you.”

  “No. They will stay,” he said.

  “The summons requests your party as well,” the soldier said.

  “They’re not necessary. Just some people I traveled into the city with,” Orden said.

  “A summons from the King is a summons. I cannot leave without the party as well.”

  Orden ground his teeth and then nodded. He turned toward Cyrene and Avoca. “Perhaps the women should freshen up first.”

  Avoca grabbed Cyrene’s arm and hurried her toward the stairs. “We’ll only be a minute.”

  Cyrene waited until they were upstairs before unleashing. “A Prince! By the Creator, how did I not see it before? The man is the most infuriating person I’ve ever encountered, and I thought Ceis’f and Kael were high up on that list. Now, he is dragging me into the castle to meet the King while Kael is up there!”

  “Would you be quiet?” Avoca said. “I want to slaughter him as much as the next person, but we have got to get you out of these Byern clothes and do something about your hair. You can’t stroll into a castle, looking like a fugitive. When my mother issues the equivalent to a summons, she never sees the whole party unless it’s for a specific reason. So, let’s just use this opportunity to scope out the area for Maelia and try not to be seen.”

  “If I get the opportunity, I’m going to punch him in the face,” Cyrene grumbled.

  “Allow me to do it for you.”

  Cyrene acquiesced, and then they went to work, changing her clothes into proper Aurumian clothing—a dark green dress with huge overlapping skirts and enormous long sleeves that tightened around her biceps. Avoca plaited Cyrene’s hair and then hastily pinned it up into a bun.

  “That’s going to have to do. Look at me quick.” She used her earth skills to paint Cyrene’s face.

  Cyrene’s lips turned a fuller red, her eyes changed from their vivid blue to a dull brown, her cheeks tinged with red rouge, her nose appeared thinner by the makeup, and her cheekbones were severely accentuated. She hardly even recognized herself.

  Cyrene touched her cheek in awe. “You will teach me how to do that?”

  “Eventually,” Avoca said. “It won’t last forever. I’ll have to touch you up, but it should last through the summons. If I had more time, I could change your hair color, but we have to go.” She produced an Aurumian hood, which was in fashion at the time. It was rounded at the top with a dark veil to cover her bun, obscuring most of her hair from view. After securing it in place, Avoca nodded. “Let’s hope that’s enough.”

  “Ladies,” Madam LaRoux called from the other side of the doo
r as she banged on it. “You have an appointment with the King. You should not keep him waiting.”

  Avoca swung the door open and walked briskly past Madam LaRoux without saying a word. Cyrene grasped her cloak in her hand and followed after Avoca.

  The soldiers ushered them outside. Their horses had been saddled while the girls were upstairs.

  As Cyrene looked around for Ceffy, Orden walked right up to her.

  “This is yours,” he said quietly. “Your dapple is too recognizable in the city.”

  She nearly cursed but nodded. “You lied to me…to all of us,” she said softly.

  “And you were always so forthcoming?” Orden asked. “My past is my past. Lord Barkeley is as much me as the meek girl who tripped over the soldier’s boots in Strat is you. It is a part I play. Now, the most important part that you will play is an invisible one. Your disguise is good but not perfect. Do not, under any circumstances, draw King Creighton’s attention. He has a habit of keeping pets around.”

  Cyrene arched an eyebrow. “Pets?”

  “Beautiful young women. He goes through them weekly. We cannot afford the delay that would bring or the chance that you would run into Prince Kael while there.”

  “No, we cannot.”

  “Up you go,” he said.

  He hoisted her up into the saddle, and she adjusted her skirts to fit on her perch. She would have killed for her divided riding skirts from back home.

  Orden hurried into his saddle and then rounded on Avoca, sitting on her horse. She glared at him while he spoke but eventually nodded. Clearly, he had gotten the same information into her head because she kept shooting furtive looks back at her.

  “Formation,” the soldier called.

  Then, the men formed up around them.

  Cyrene heeled her horse into line next to Ahlvie. He gave her an easygoing smile that he always had plastered on his face. She could tell, underneath it all, he was anxious for her, but he kept up a stream of jokes the entire way through the city and up to the royal castle.

  “So,” he asked, leaning over toward her, “has she asked about me?”

  “Who?”

  Ahlvie gave her an exasperated look.

  She returned his look with a coy wink. “Oh. I think I know who you mean. Didn’t I tell you to steer clear of her?”

  “Do I ever listen?”

  “No.”

  “And you said that our good friend Roran would kill me if he knew my intentions. There have been no deaths.”

  Cyrene rolled her eyes. “Don’t think I’m dense. I’m sure it is only because our good friend Roran has not learned of your intentions yet.”

  “You never show your hand to your opponent,” Ahlvie said with a smirk.

  “Of course not. You just cheat.”

  “Now, you’re getting it.”

  She shook her head and tried to put thoughts of Ahlvie, Avoca, and Ceis’f out of her mind. She had too much else to focus on as they trotted up the massive hill to Draydon Castle.

  Draydon castle was an ugly blemish on a hill of an otherwise perfectly acceptable-looking city. It was like a black box that jutted out of the ground without even a fortress to protect it from attack. Its only advantage was high ground. The city itself had switched hands with so many rulers in history that Cyrene, even with her affinity for history, couldn’t remember past the last five hundred years. The current King held the land tenuously at best.

  They stopped in front of the large wooden door branded with the Aurum symbol—an eagle wearing a crown of oak leaves, the symbol of the Huntress.

  “Wood,” Cyrene said softly, shaking her head.

  They dismounted, and Cyrene’s horse was shepherded away.

  “This way,” a soldier said as the doors creaked open.

  Cyrene’s mouth dropped open at the interior of the castle. It was night and day from the ugly exterior. The walls were a soft blue color with intricate molding. The floors were covered in the most elaborate Aurumian carpets that she had ever seen. Her parents had Aurumian rugs in their foyer, but they looked paltry into comparison to what she was sinking her booted feet into. Framed portraits lined the walls, and Cyrene had a hard time believing all of the beauty before her.

  After a few turns, a man opened a door into a large room and stepped through. He bowed formally. “Announcing Lord Barkeley Iolair and his traveling companions—Master Haille Mardas, Madam Haenah Mardas, Master Roran Rourke, Madam Ava Rourke.”

  Cyrene nearly rolled her eyes. The last time she had pretended to be Ahlvie’s wife, they had nearly been killed. She wasn’t looking forward to that cover story, but if being married kept the King at bay, then so be it.

  They were ushered into the room. Cyrene lowered her face, but she kept her eyes trained on the throne room they had entered. It wasn’t half as elaborate as the one in Byern, but it was still gorgeous, set in Aurum reds and blues.

  The King sat in the Iolair eagle throne. He was a red-faced, overweight man in layer upon layer of fine silks and a long fur cape that hung past his feet when he sat. He had straggly red hair and seemed to be balding at the crown of his head.

  They all dipped into demure bows and curtsies befitting the royalty before them.

  “Lord Barkeley!” the King crooned.

  He stood from the throne, wobbled considerably, and then paraded down the small set of stairs. A group of attendants jumped forward to help him.

  Cyrene nearly grunted in disgust at the drunk pig. What a way to hold court.

  “Rise, rise, of course,” King Creighton said dismissively. He finally reached Orden, who stood and towered nearly a head taller than the man. The King clapped him on the back. “Barkeley, my old friend. It has been a long time, cousin.”

  “Indeed it has,” Orden said.

  “Years in fact. When I heard that you were in the city, I just had to see you! Couldn’t miss the chance to see my favorite cousin.”

  Cyrene narrowed her eyes and waited for the punch line. The guy sounded like he was telling a joke, but she didn’t quite understand the humor in his words.

  “Yes, of course, King Creighton. I am your humble servant,” Orden said sardonically.

  The King didn’t catch the difference.

  “Enough with the formalities, Barkeley! We’ve known each other since we were children.”

  “As you wish, King Creighton.”

  The King’s smile wavered, and then it returned just as quickly. “So, tell me everything. Where have you been all of these years? And who are your mysterious traveling companions?” He glanced over at them, his eyes lingering on Cyrene and Avoca just a touch longer than everyone else.

  “As I told your commander, they were just people I happened to pick up along the road. I hardly know them,” Orden lied.

  “How long will you be staying? Long enough for the ball, I hope! I know how you love a ball.”

  “You’re throwing a ball? For the Eos?” he asked, acting coy.

  “We have visitors!” he cried, clapping his hands together. “For the first time in the-Creator-knows-how-long, three royal houses are under one roof, Barkeley. It will be a splendid occasion. You and your friends can stay here until then, of course. That will give us all the time we will need to catch up.”

  Orden tried not to look panicked, but if Cyrene could see it on his face, then surely, someone who had known him his whole life might be able to see it. Of course, the King was intoxicated.

  “We already have rooms. Paid in advance, Creighton. All our belongings are there.”

  “Nonsense. At The Lively Dagger? No Lord of mine is going to be staying at a dastardly inn. Since your Lordship accommodations in the city have gone out of use, you can stay here with me and my little Jesi flower.” His eyes sharpened for a second as he waited for Orden to disagree with him.

  Cyrene nearly opened her mouth to do it herself. We can’t stay here in the castle! Kael was here in these walls, and there would be no way to escape then.

  Ahlvie nudged her w
hen he saw that she looked ready to speak up, and she ducked her head again. She needed to get herself under control. Orden had said to remain invisible.

  “What a wonderful suggestion,” Orden said smoothly. “I’m sure Queen Jesalyn would love to have two new female attendants who are so reserved, soft-spoken, and altogether well-rounded ladies.”

  Cyrene didn’t dare look at him. She plainly understood his suggestion.

  “Yes, I believe my wife would love some new attendants. We should keep them close by,” he said, eyeing them carefully. “Schumle, please escort these women to the Queen and let her know that I have given her these ladies-in-waiting as a gift with my blessing.”

  One of his female attendants dipped a curtsy to the King, her bosom nearly falling out of her corset. “This way,” she said to the girls.

  Avoca shared a glance with Cyrene before following. She was glad to be leaving the heinous King behind them, but she was not looking forward to meeting Kael’s sister.

  Cyrene straightened out her shoulders and held her head high. This was no time to panic. She couldn’t change anything that was about to happen.

  Schumle stopped in front of a huge gilded door. Music was playing on the other side, and they could hear laughter. Schumle didn’t look pleased about entering these quarters.

  Schumle entered the room and announced them. “Your Highness, gifts from your husband, the King. Two ladies-in-waiting, Madam Mardas and Madam Rourke.”

  Cyrene and Avoca curtsied lowly before Queen Jesalyn. The music stopped playing, and all around them was silence.

  The room was filled with over a dozen women in extravagant clothing with their hair piled high on their heads in extreme curls and their fingers dripping in jewels. The room itself was plush and lavish. The divans were all a soft cream, blush, and champagne-coloring and heavy on the lace with excessively gaudy trim.

  The Queen sat among her ladies on a large circular cushion covered in cream silk. She wore a pink dress in the highest of Aurumian fashion with skirts that bunched around her hips to reveal several layers of darker pink and a corset that accented her tiny waist. It seemed the trend in court hadn’t yet trickled down to the commoners for the billowy sleeves had been replaced with a tight fit to her elbows and lace trim on the sleeves and the neckline. Her dark hair was in the same enormous curls with a long white feather pinned in, attached to a brooch of diamonds.