Wardens of Archos Read online

  Wardens of Archos

  by Sarina Langer

  ISBN-10 1545335435

  First Kindle edition © 2017 Sarina Langer

  Cover © Design for Writers

  Map Design © MonkeyBlood Design

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form other than that in which it was purchased and without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The author is not responsible for websites or their content that are not owned by the author.

  www.sarinalangerwriter.com

  Chapter One

  It was cold this early outside in the courtyard. The sun hadn’t gained enough strength yet to warm the chill inside Rachael. The carefree chirping of birds was too strange company for the funeral pyres before her.

  The sight had haunted her nightmares since the night she killed King Aeric five days ago, but this time she wasn’t trapped in an endless dream. This time it was real, and she was more trapped than she’d ever been in sleep. Guards awaited her command, torches ready and blazing.

  Arlo and Ailis were to be burnt alongside Commander Videl. Her stomach churned. The commander had murdered Arlo, had tortured uncountable innocents in that terrible prison of his, and had come after her and Cephy in Blackrock. Rachael had asked for a delay, to pay Arlo and Ailis the respect they deserved, but understood the need for a joined funeral. Too many others were laid out before her. So many people whose names she didn’t know, who had died because some prophecy named her the Sparrow. They were all grouped together in one mass cremation, yet Rachael couldn’t take her eyes off the people she’d known.

  The fight had cost Rifarne many lives, and while the White City was undergoing repairs it was still bruised from the battle. The rubble from the explosions had been cleared away, but lots of houses were still destroyed and for many parents, children, and loved ones the king’s death wouldn’t end their mourning.

  The people needed to move on. The city needed closure. One funeral was enough—they deserved time to grieve and heal.

  Lon, one of the Sparrows who had survived the raid on their hideout, said it wasn’t for her or anyone to judge them. The Maker would judge them fairly and punish Commander Videl for his crimes. Rachael didn’t agree but kept her thoughts to herself. Lon believed and was welcome to it if it brought him closure or even peace. She wasn’t about to start believing now, after she’d seen the worst of what the world offered.

  Her gaze wandered across the pyres. Arlo, who had been so kind to them and who’d looked after the animals in his forest with love, lay broken on the pyre. Their bodies had been cleaned and dressed, but his injuries were still visible. The memory of Commander Videl running him through with his sword would never leave Rachael. No matter how much the priests tried to hide his wounds, there was no denying their presence.

  Ailis, who had been so patient and kind and innocent, lay next to him. Rachael couldn’t focus on the slits in Ailis’s wrist. If she hadn’t left Ailis alone, Cale’s sister would still be alive. They would have looked after her, made sure she couldn’t hurt herself.

  The servants hadn’t given the commander the same respect. The wound in his gut was all too visible, the dried blood a bizarre contrast to his pale, lifeless skin. He hadn’t been cleaned or treated with care. It should have bothered Rachael that people who now worked for her had been sloppy, but she couldn’t blame them. She had no sympathy left for the man.

  Rachael balled her hands into tight fists. One body was missing.

  Cephy deserved the same ritual, but no one had found her. Rachael had gone back to the spot where Cephy died, but besides the ashes of burnt wood and black, charred marks on the ground, there’d been no sign of her. Cephy had disappeared, and that worried Rachael more than her impending rule. She’d been there when Cephy died. She’d held Cephy in her arms when the light in Cephy’s eyes went out. Cephy’s body had gone limp in Rachael’s arms. So what had happened to her? Cale had told her Aeron was dead, but what if he were wrong? Aeron had been a Mist Woman beyond evil. Could she have taken Cephy’s body for her own vile purposes? What would she hope to gain?

  The implications and what-ifs made Rachael sick. If Cephy was still alive, there was hope. Aeron had corrupted her mind, but Rachael remembered the little girl clutching her teddy bear, who adored Arlo because he cared for wild animals and had treated her wounds. If there was any trace of that girl left, Rachael had to get through to her. Perhaps it was wrong of her to hope—Cephy had tried to kill her, after all—but there it was.

  “How is he?” Rachael asked Lon with a nod to Cale, who was standing on the other side of the pyres. She tried not to watch him, but couldn’t help herself. They’d lost so much in the battle; that he was alive and standing right there, within reach, but wasn’t willing to talk to her or even look at her, hurt worse than any wound she had endured. He hadn’t spoken to her since that night in the palace. There had been times when she hadn’t been sure if he wanted to reach out and hold her hand, hold her, but she wasn’t ready to be this close to someone. She just didn’t want his silence.

  “Why don’t you go and talk to him?”

  Her heart beat faster at the idea, but it wouldn’t work. She had tried talking to him, and he hurried off, like he couldn’t bear to be near her.

  “No, I—” She wouldn’t admit she couldn’t do something as simple as talking to another person—someone who was supposed to be her friend, no less. Her coronation was tomorrow; weakness was a luxury she could no longer afford.

  “He’s grieving,” said Lon. “He’s just got an odd way of showing it. Ailis was his only remaining family by blood, and he’s lost most of his extended family, too. He’ll come around, you’ll see. He just needs time.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then I’ll drag him to you myself.” He gave her a brief pat on her shoulder. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

  She wanted to believe it, but Cale was stubborn. If he didn’t want to see her, he wouldn’t. After tomorrow she could order him to explain, but it wasn’t right and she wouldn’t. She needed him to talk to her because he wanted to, because he missed her.

  “Go to him,” she said. “He shouldn’t be alone.”

  Lon nodded and hurried off. The other Sparrows stood behind Cale, but most of them were new recruits. He didn’t know them well, but he’d known Lon for years. His sister was about to be burnt. Rachael didn’t want him to stand alone for it.

  “Rachael?” Kiana, a Sparrow and Cale’s second in command, nudged her, and Rachael looked up. Ten men and women of the White Guard stood in front of her, waiting for her signal. It didn’t matter that they now worked for her. Their white armour still made her want to run the other way.

  One word, one nod, and they’d burn the remains before her.

  Rachael’s eyes were fixed on the lifeless bodies when she nodded. The guards, her guards, saluted by clutching their fists to their hearts, and held the hungry flames to the pyres.

  She’d thought Arlo invincible. She’d believed Ailis too innocent to join the fight. But Arlo had been murdered all the same, and Ailis had been dragged into the fight against her will. How many others just like them had died because people feared magic?

  Through the flames, she sought Cale. His head was bowed, but she saw the scar that ran from one eye to his other cheek regardless. In the light of the flames it looked fresh, a raw wound rather than a healed one. His fist w
as rooted firmly over his heart, and his lips moved in what she assumed was a silent prayer. Cale wasn’t as pious as some, but he believed, as had Ailis. Watching him pay his last respects, asking the Maker to look after them, made her feel inadequate. Was this expected of her now that she would be queen of Rifarne? Was believing in the Maker a necessity for royalty?

  “Are you all right?” Rachael turned around to meet Kiana’s eyes. In the glow of the fire, the Sparrow’s red hair was a flame that danced in the light. “I don’t believe in the Maker, either.”

  Rachael had liked Kiana from the moment she’d first met her. There was something feline about the woman, something alive. Rachael admired her for her strong will as well as her skill with her daggers. Even Kiana’s weapons had personality; slender, curved, and the leather around their hilts redone by Kiana herself, they looked used and loved. Rachael hadn’t pegged her as someone who devoted herself to any kind of deity, but the subject hadn’t come up before now.

  “What do you believe in?” Gossip in Blackrock suggested that other countries didn’t believe in the Maker. They all believed in something, but they gave different names to their gods and sometimes had more than one. Kiana wasn’t Rifarnee, but Tramuran. Rachael couldn’t imagine her praying in devotion, but Rachael didn’t know enough about the Tramuran beliefs to make assumptions. From what she’d heard, Tramura treated its gifted without mercy. Cale had told her how his own parents fled the country because his grandfather had the gift. His mother hadn’t possessed it, but they were hunted down and killed anyway, because of her father. Perhaps their gods reflected that cruelty.

  Kiana didn’t look away when she spoke. “I believe in myself.”

  Rachael nodded. That, she understood. “What are their gods like?”

  “Whose gods?”

  “Tramura’s. People here thank the Maker for everything and think we go to His side when we die. I don’t find that comforting.”

  “It’s much the same in Tramura, with more war and battle cries.”

  “They believe in fighting?”

  “You could say that. Tramura doesn’t have a good reputation. It’s known throughout history for how well it betrays other countries. For how easily they trick other people into letting their guard down. Before their armies go to war, they ask their gods for strength, endurance, and bloodshed. They revel in the gore. They think it brings them glory.”

  “And you don’t?” Rachael regretted asking. Of course Kiana didn’t.

  “No. I’d never take a life just to see the light go out in my victim’s eyes.” Kiana glared at the smouldering remains of Commander Videl. “I’m not a monster. Tramura’s history is full of monstrous things they should be forgetting, but instead they celebrate them. I kill because I have to, not because I enjoy seeing the terror in their eyes when my knives pierce their skin and they know they’ve lost.”

  A shiver ran down Rachael’s spine. Kiana looked far away.

  Rachael had to remember that Kiana had lived on the streets before a Sparrow found and recruited her, just like Rachael. Kiana knew what it was like to be on her own, to fight for every scrap of food, and to not know whether you would see another summer. Kiana knew the danger that lurked in the shadows, and the safety. They hadn’t talked about their pasts, but Kiana understood Rachael better than anyone. They were both unwanted street rats, with no one to mourn them or notice they were gone if the cold of winter finished what the constant hunger had started. Rachael was suspicious of everyone, but Kiana wouldn’t betray her.

  “Let’s go,” said Rachael. She was done watching her friends burn, watching Cale look anywhere but at her.

  Kiana’s eyes flitted to Cale. “Don’t you want to say something?”

  Rachael stood rigid as she pretended Kiana was talking about Ailis and Arlo. “No. It doesn’t matter now, does it? They can’t hear me.”

  Chapter Two

  Rachael couldn’t breathe. The darkness wrapped all around her, slithered around her ankles, and squeezed her wrists and legs. In that darkness, something waited. Something prepared to pounce, and she was powerless to stop it.

  Somewhere beyond the dark, or perhaps inside its depths, a door opened and closed. There was the familiar scratch on the stone floor, and the thud as it fell shut behind her captors. No light shone through the dark. No other sound was made.

  Rachael couldn’t see them, but she knew they were there. The air changed when they were in the room. She gasped for even the smallest intake of breath, but no air filled her lungs.

  A cold hand, ethereal as black mist, reached out for her. A phantom finger caressed her skin, leaving burn marks on her cheek.

  Tears filled her eyes from the pain, but she wasn’t about to cry. Emotions meant nothing to these demons. It was the Dark One who fed on them, and His vessel. Who also fed on her.

  A sob escaped Rachael’s lips. How had things gone so wrong? This was her fault. Maybe she deserved to be in this wretched position. Maybe—

  The darkness cut into her flesh and tore at her clothes, sucking on her blood as it cut.

  Finally, the black mists covered her eyes. The pain faded as her mind entered oblivion.

  With a scream that caught in her throat, Rachael sat up, her mind spinning from the movement. She reached for the first thing she could find to steady herself and gripped soft fabric.

  It was dark in her room; dark because it was night, not because the demons had come for her. Servants scuttled in the corridor, and a sliver of light peeked into her room from underneath her door, coupled with the pale comfort of the bright moon outside. Rachael was as safe as she was ever going to be.

  As Rachael’s mind calmed, her eyes adjusted. The candle at the side of her bed was still burning, and bathed her bed in a warm, soothing glow. Beyond that lay dark shapes and silhouettes.

  With a sigh, Rachael fell back into her soft pillows and the welcoming embrace of her silk sheets. Orphans who lived on the streets didn’t get to hope for something as extraordinary as this. Rachael doubted she’d ever get used to it, but she had come to terms with it. Her chambermaid, Elyn, would tuck her in if she resisted sleeping in her too-soft bed.

  A nervous laugh escaped her lips. This—all of it—was absurd. The world had gone insane, and somehow she was in the middle of that madness. Aeron, a deranged Mist Woman after Rachael’s life, had been killed by someone even more dangerous than her. Arlo and Ailis, Cale’s best friend and Cale’s sister, were dead. Cephy’s body had disappeared. Cale, the man who had brought her into this mess, behaved like Rachael didn’t exist. Most of the Sparrows were dead, slaughtered in their own hideout by the same men who were now sworn to serve her, and needed to rebuild their numbers. As if that weren’t enough, she’d killed the previous king of Rifarne, King Aeric Ellery, who ordered his army to accept her as the new queen should he deem her worthy in a duel. She hadn’t known he’d been ready to die. Maybe the months before would have been different if she had. Maybe all those deaths wouldn’t have been necessary.

  But it was behind her now; obsessing over the turn her life had taken would only drive her mad. Rachael was good at doing what needed to be done. She had just never imagined being queen would be necessary.

  Kiana had become her personal guard on Cale’s orders. That was the last time he’d spoken to Rachael before making himself scarce. He was too busy training the new Sparrows and finding out who had survived the attack to pay her any attention. But that was an excuse. Cale mourned his sister. Now he had no one, and Rachael recognised how terrible that felt.

  She had never thought she’d miss him.

  Still too shaken from her vision to go back to sleep, Rachael got up and walked to her window. A light breeze came in through the opening and caressed her skin. With Ailis gone, she doubted she’d ever learn to control her magic, but then she’d doubted that before, too, when Ailis tried to teach her. If she had an affinity for any element of magic, it would have been air. Fire was too destructive. She’d seen its brutal force firs
thand when Cephy tried to kill her, and water terrified her. She’d never learned to swim since there were no lakes in Blackrock. It hadn’t mattered to her survival then, but maybe things were different.

  The White City, her new home, was built along the coast of the Far Sea. She couldn’t imagine how to use the earth under her feet to her advantage. But the breeze was gentle and reassuring. During the winter months, it had made her shiver in her rags, but it carried the voices of an angry crowd to her, too. It had dried the tears on her cheeks, and it kissed her skin in comfort now.

  Rachael shuddered. The black mists in her vision had behaved like that. Seeing those demons again was disturbing. Her first action as queen would be to purge the prison high up in the city. It had haunted her nightmares since before she fled Blackrock, and it towered over her now that she lived in its shadows. Rachael would get rid of the demons and free the innocents imprisoned there.

  Cale wanted to do it now, before her coronation, but she wouldn’t have the authority until she was crowned. She had asked the new commander of her army to cease all interrogations until she saw the inmates herself and decided who should go free and who should stay. The previous commander had been a cruel man. She doubted most of the prisoners were there for a reason other than his sick enjoyment. But Commander Dryden seemed like a good man, and had agreed without argument.

  Rachael froze. Something shifted in the corner of her room. It was too dark to see clearly, but something was moving. The darkness swirled, drifted, and took on the shape of a person, its silhouette in constant movement as the mist reformed itself.

  A demon. Rachael held her breath as the creature from her nightmares moved toward her. Cale and Kiana had taught her the basics of sword fighting, and she could defend herself with her hands and legs alone, but she’d never fought an opponent without a physical shape. Her kicks and punches would go straight through the monster. It would hurt when her fists punched through its mists. Her dream echoed in her mind; the way the darkness had cut her and fed off her. The way its tendrils had burnt when they stroked her skin.