Lady Wyneth disobeyed her father’s orders to stay inside the castle during the Lashed list burnings. Her urge to make herself useful had fled, but the feeling of reckless abandon was still there. She stood inside a patch of trees, watching in the gray morning light as soldiers rekindled the still-smoking flames of the night before. Her face was cold, but she felt numb to the elements.
The other royals stood watching from the balcony, wrapped in shawls and cloaks against the chill.
The castle grounds were emptied of villagers now. Many had been trampled and injured during the night’s chaos. People had flooded out of royal lands, too many at once, and their hands could not all be checked upon their mad exit. Only one died, a maiden, engaged to be married. And her killer was not yet found.
A gust of wind blew, lifting leaves from the cobbled path and spinning them away, only to be replaced by others. She watched as Harrison, atop the scaffold above the fire, threw the giant scrolls onto the flames, one by one, as his soldiers handed them to him. His jaw was set. His eyes squinted when the wind turned the smoke toward him. The last scroll hit the top and tumbled down, charring before their eyes.
Harrison stood tall and peered around at the vacant royal lands. His eyes skimmed the rows of soldiers standing nearby, and rose to the castle’s balcony. He’s a fine man. So handsome. Wyneth jolted at the thought and blinked it away. It’s just that he is so like Breckon was, she told herself.
“It is done!” Harrison shouted. His voice reverberated through her, the finality of his words sinking deep. They had succumbed to the madwoman’s first demand. They no longer knew who the Lashed were throughout Lochlanach. But did it really matter? How many had kept their abilities hidden, like Paxton Seabolt? Wyneth didn’t believe the people on those lists were ones they needed to worry about. The true foes were hidden. Lurking.
All was quiet but for the crackle of flames and rustle of leaves. When nothing happened, the royals slowly made their way back into the castle, and the soldiers dispersed. Harrison stopped and stared in her direction. She lifted a hand to signal she was fine, but she quite liked the idea of his companionship. He caught her eye a moment longer, then made a move as if to go to her, until one of his soldiers said something, and he nodded, turning to follow. He spared one glance back at her and a small smile of acknowledgment.
Wyneth’s hope for his company sank. He had work to do. She didn’t want to be alone, and with Harrison there was no pressure to feign happiness. He understood her pain in a way few others could.
Something hot touched her arm, and Wyneth jumped.
“My lady, you’re freezing,” Lord Alvi said.
She wrapped her arms around herself and realized how right he was. His eyes narrowed at her in worry, the close attention giving her a heady rush. His own arms were barer than hers, but he radiated heat. A sudden urge to lean into that heat overtook her and she cleared her throat, shaking out her arms. She needed to get a grip on herself.
“I’m fine. I was just about to return to my chambers.” She turned and sensed him following in silence.
As they reached the hall leading to her chambers, Lord Alvi called out. “Lady Wyneth, may I have a moment?”
As always, his voice and attention created a maelstrom in her, causing her body to feel oversensitive. She turned and slowly lifted her eyes from his boots up his muscular legs to the kilt that fell to his knees and then to his strong, wide torso. His face was so masculine and dashing that her breath halted. Soon, soon, this man would be marrying and bedding her cousin and she hoped to the deep seas that she would not always react this way to him.
“What is it?” she breathed out.
Surprisingly, he kept his distance. She felt both disappointment and relief.
“It’s your cousin.”
Wyneth’s senses cleared, and she stood taller. “Aerity? What of her?”
“I fear I’ve . . . failed her. I fear I might always fail her.” He kept his eyes on his hands, turning them over in a nervous gesture, searching them. Wyneth cocked her head as she watched him, floored by his openness. “I’m trying, you see. I’m trying to learn what is expected of me, though I don’t quite agree with the restrictions. Right now . . . I’m trying not to touch you.”
His voice had lowered, and Wyneth hugged her arms around herself again, though she was no longer the least bit cold. When he looked from his hands to her eyes, she dropped her gaze. “Good on you for your efforts.” It came out embarrassingly scratchy. Shame filled her. She shouldn’t feel disappointed by his self-control. This is what was best. She should fully want him to keep his hands to himself.
“Aye, well, for what it’s worth, if you truly wish me to leave you alone, my lady . . . I will.”
Now she let herself look into his sincere eyes. She believed he was trying. It made her sad and proud. Her eyes burned, and she nodded.
“Yes, Lord Alvi. That is my wish.” Her words were thick, as if she had to shove each one from her throat.
“So be it.” Lord Alvi swallowed. “And I might reap your cousin’s wrath for telling you this, but she’s planning something this evening. I think she is going after the Lashed One, Paxton.” Lord Alvi nodded when she gasped. “I don’t agree with her decision, but I will not try to stop her. Perhaps you can try, but I will not.”
Why that little sneak. Would she really leave without a word?
“Thank you,” Wyneth told him. She reached for his hand and squeezed quickly, releasing before his warmth could envelop her. “Thank you for everything.”
He bent at the waist in a shallow bow and turned to leave her. She watched him unabashedly. For all his faults and outlandish behavior, he had unknowingly helped her through the most difficult time of her life. Though she wished she’d never fallen for the man who would become her cousin’s husband, she would always be grateful for the distraction he had provided during those initial weeks and months after Breckon’s death, wrong though it might have been.
She smiled sadly while he disappeared from sight. Things were changing. Everyone around her seemed to be moving on, moving forward, and yet she felt . . . stuck. Wyneth looked down at the drab mourning garb she’d been wearing for nearly half a year. Breckon wasn’t coming back. The thought hit her with enough force to make her grab the doorframe. Once she’d taken several steadying breaths, she reached for her heavy cloak, pulling it around her shoulders.
And then her feet were moving.
She didn’t let herself think about where she was going until she was through the castle doors and halfway down the path. Inside, she trembled. She did not want to do this. She’d vowed to herself never to return to that place of her nightmares, yet her feet continued to take her forward. She clutched her cloak tighter against a gust of wind.
She took a fork in the path to the left. It was a less trodden path that had become overgrown over the fall when there were so many other areas of importance to tend. She crunched through piles of leaves and pine needles, past trees with brittle branches. Wyneth’s feet halted at the sight of the long wooden dock. Her eyes trailed down the planks of wood until landing at the end.
The last time she’d seen it, it had glistened with dark blood, which she braced herself to see again. But it was only wood. Nature had washed all traces of Breckon’s death away. She knew instinctively that seeing it from afar was not enough. If she was to move forward, she needed to be at that spot one last time, to confront the fear and loss that held her captive. You must do this, she told herself.
Wyneth moved like an old woman, slowly, as if her bones protested. Her body fought against each step, remembering the horrors. She pressed through the last of the trees, over the brush, closing her eyes against the chilling breeze from the creek as she pushed into the open space.
She was cold and alone, so alone, walking down that dock—a complete turnaround from the last time she’d walked it, when she’d been on Breckon’s arm, her heart full, her body warm and at ease. As bouts of panic threatened to rise, she repeated the mantra to herself over and over: You’re fine, you’re safe, you’re strong.
When she made it to the edge, she fell to her knees and hesitantly pressed her hands against the wood, moving her fingers over the grooves. Not a single trace of him. Her tears hit the dock, leaving small, dark droplets like rain. Wyneth raised her head, staring out at the spot where he’d pushed her in, and the line of the creek where she’d swum to the dock at the other side. All the while, she pushed down her panic, her instinct to run from that place.
“I miss you, Breck. I’ll always miss you.” She stared down at the wood where he’d laid her back and kissed her. Wyneth wiped her eyes. “Please forgive me for what happened with Lord Alvi. Forgive me for my need to move on. My heart . . .” She sucked in a breath and wiped her eyes again. “I want to hold on to you forever, but it hurts to mourn you still.”
She could almost feel Breckon’s warm embrace, his confident smile, telling her he could not be angry. That she needn’t grieve forever. That it was all right to live.
A light snap echoed over the water from the woods, and Wyneth stopped breathing. She peered up, heart pounding, and saw the shaded form of a man leaning against a tree, watching her. Breckon! An involuntary sound of disbelief rose from her throat. And then the figure moved, stepping out.
Harrison. Oh, seas. She pressed a hand to her chest. He was so very like Breckon in his physique and stature. Her pulse was still racing as he made his way down the length of the dock, squatting to face her with concern in his eyes.
“Wyn?”
“I’m all right,” she whispered. “From afar you appeared to be . . . Never mind.” She shook her head, then looked at him. His eyes gleamed. “Did you follow me?”
Now he appeared sheepish, moving his gaze to the water. “I hope you don’t mind. You seemed upset when you came out of the castle. I waved, but you didn’t notice.”
“This is my first time coming back to this dock.” She forced herself to stand, and Harrison stood too.
“I came every day after . . .” He looked all around, as if searching for signs of Breckon. Finally, his eyes landed on hers. “And every day I thanked the seas that you were spared.”
Heat spread through Wyneth at the intensity behind those words. She searched his gaze until he dropped it, amending. “That’s what he would have wanted. For you to be spared, even at his expense. His love for you was like no other.”
Wyneth nodded, cooling. “Aye. That it was.”
A long breeze whipped small waves in the creek, gusting straight up Wyneth’s gray skirts. She held them down and shivered.
“Let me escort you back to the castle, if you’re ready,” Harrison said.
Wyneth nodded. Harrison held out his elbow, and she took it. He kept her hand warm in his strong embrace. Together, they walked the forsaken dock, and Wyneth felt a small piece of herself being left behind, allowing her to begin the healing process. Her gaze remained forward until the dock was out of sight.
Aerity was exhausted as she stood in her father’s office. The lists had been burned, and, thank the seas, all had gone well, though her father was troubled about having destroyed the compilations of their magical families. She knew he was worried about having no records of the kingdom’s Lashed Ones and their bloodlines. But in Aerity’s mind, having lists made no difference. A compilation of names simply gave the people a false sense of control over the people on that list.
“We’ll do a new census after this madness is over,” he had whispered on the balcony, and Aerity’s heart had contracted with sadness. As much as she hated Rozaria Rocato and her fanatic ways, she had felt like burning the lists was a way to move forward. The kingdom needed change.
Rebellious excitement writhed inside her at the thought of what she would do that night. She could barely take in the grave faces of her parents, aunts, and uncles. All she could think about was that she would soon escape these walls, seas willing, and have one final adventure—one final moment for herself—before she sacrificed it all to her arranged marriage with Lord Alvi.
Would her parents be furious? Aye, without a doubt. But she was confident that she would return and finally have the strength to move forward with her obligations to the kingdom. No harm would be done. They would eventually see.
“Have you any clue who the traitor might be?” Lord Wavecrest asked her father.
King Charles shook his head. “Nobody in my council has behaved out of character.”
“But it has to be one of them,” Lord Wavecrest said.
“Funny . . .” The king sat back in his chair. “They pled their innocence and said it had to be one of you, the family.”
Her aunts and uncles gasped, posturing with outrage.
“That’s preposterous!” Lady Baycreek said. “What reason would we have to betray our people?”
The king held up a hand. “I know. I know it’s none of you, and I told them as much. I’ve got several military officials questioning them. They’ve been trained to retrieve information.”
“Do you mean torture?” Lady Wavecrest pressed a hand to her chest. “Several of the council are elderly.”
The king raised an eye to his sister. “Just intimidation tactics.”
“They won’t go overboard,” Queen Leighlane assured her. “These are councilmen we’ve always trusted. But if there’s a chance any of them are consorting with the Rocato woman or being used by her, we must take measures to weed them out.”
Lady Wavecrest’s hand slowly dropped as she nodded.
“We should have the royal Lashed questioned,” Lord Wavecrest said.
Aerity’s spine went rigid. “Mrs. Rathbrook? She would never!”
“She is Lashed,” her uncle said. “I know she’s always seemed loyal, but in these times you never know.”
“She is not part of the council,” the king stated. “She is not privy to information, so she has been ruled out.”
“Any news from other kingdoms?” Lord Baycreek asked as Aerity stewed in anger.
King Charles shook his head. “I’m hoping for messengers to arrive today. In the meantime we need to discuss what to do to appease this madwoman and keep her from killing again.”
Just as Aerity opened her mouth, a knock sounded on the door.
“Enter,” the king called.
A guard opened the door and ushered in a page boy of Aerity’s age. He was sweating and panting. The king stood.
“Do you bring news from afar?”
“Nay, Your Majesty,” he said, holding his side. “I have news from two villages, Craw Coorie and Dovedell.”
“Yes?”
Aerity’s abdomen tightened. The lad looked distressed. What could be happening?
“Townsmen have burned the homes of their known Lashed. It’s said that people in towns all over the lands are spreading word to try to drive out Lashed Ones.”
“No!” Aerity flew to her father’s side. “We have to stop this!”
“What did we expect?” Lord Wavecrest asked. “They surely feel that the Lashed are waging war after a woman was killed by one of them in the people’s midst.”
“They’re trying to drive out the Lashed before the Lashed have a chance to rise against them,” Lady Ashley agreed.
“Well, we can’t sit by idly and let our Lashed be killed!” Aerity shouted. This was personal to her. All she could imagine was Paxton and his family, trying to live a quiet life, being rooted out with violence.
The king motioned to the door guard. “Send word to Lieutenant Gillfin. Disperse troops to Craw Coorie and Dovedell to stop any rioting. Find the primary culprits who set the fires and slap fines on them. Arrest any who don’t cooperate.” The guard nodded and jogged away. Another guard was there to take his place, and the king motioned for the door to be closed.
“Fines?” demanded Aerity. “That’s all? For destroying homes and possibly killing people?”
The king’s hands clenched at his sides as he turned to his daughter. She surged on before he could speak.
“We have to offer refuge to the uprooted Lashed.”
“Surely you are not suggesting bringing hordes of Lashed onto royal lands,” Lord Wavecrest said to her. “We cannot discern who is good and who is against us.”
“The good ones will be mark free,” Lady Ashley pointed out.
“Any with markings need to be killed,” Lord Wavecrest said.
Aerity shook her head, anger simmering. “They’re most likely only using magic to defend themselves.”
“The laws must stand!” Lord Wavecrest shouted.
The princess faced him, her blood buzzing with passion. “And in the meantime the real, actual evil ones, who are hidden, will kill our townspeople one by one. Because it is apparent we are too stubborn to compromise our outdated laws. Too fearful of retaliation to protect our people who are under attack!”
“Look at me, Aerity,” the king told her. She brought her hazel eyes up to his stern ones. “You need to realize that what you are suggesting will bring as much death, destruction, and heartache as any other path of action at this time. Our people are scared of the unknown. They don’t know what to believe. These are uncharted waters, and we must weigh each decision with care. You are being led by your emotions, not your mind. I think it is best if you let us discuss this without you until you can learn to work with us calmly.”
Aerity gaped at her father’s open dismissal, as if she were the only one in the room driven by emotion. Here she was, the one who’d sacrificed her future and her happiness for the sake of the kingdom—their future queen. Dismissed. She blinked twice, her gut twisting into a gnarled mess, before swallowing hard and grasping her skirts to leave. It would be the last she’d see of them for a while.
Good riddance, she thought.