Sundered
Sundered
Bethany Adams
AW Books
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Bethany Adams
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Created with Vellum
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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Cover designed by Eve Milady, http://www.venetian-cat.com
Edited by Jody Wallace, http://jodywallace.com/
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Sundered / Bethany Adams. -- 1st ed.
ISBN 978-0-9975320-2-9
Created with Vellum
To all who struggle with self-confidence:
Everyone has value.
You have value.
Never forget it.
Acknowledgments
As always, I would like to thank my family for their endless patience and support. My husband, who is my first reader (and plot-hole-spotter extraordinaire). My children, who say everyone should love Mommy’s book. Mom, who has always supported my dreams. And my brother, Ben Adams, who is always willing to answer random graphic design questions.
Great big thanks are always in order for my critique partners and amazing friends. Jessica, Natasha, Catherine, Shiloh, Shantele, Jody—I love you guys! And there are so many writing friends I know I’m missing. I couldn’t do without the support of MCRW and the Debut Collective. Our writing community is amazing!
I’m forever grateful to my editor, Jody Wallace. Well, okay, I maybe wanted to yell at Jody for some of her insightful editing questions. I got revenge by making her laugh with my return comments. Did you ever convince your family you were really working instead of watching cat videos, Jody? Hehe
Last but not least, a big thank you to my amazing cover designer, Eve Milady. How you create such magic, I’ll never know. And congratulations on publishing your own debut novel! I can’t wait to read it!
Chapter 1
Lyr rubbed at his aching chest and then jerked his hand back before Arlyn could see. If his daughter had the slightest hint that he wasn’t completely recovered, she’d insist on heading back to Braelyn, and he’d seen more than enough of the inside of his estate. He’d promised her a trip to the village once things settled down, and it was past time to fulfill it.
The last of the nobles under his command had gone home over two weeks ago now, their blood-oaths delivered. Lyr shuddered a little at the memory. His energy, both magical and physical, had been so low after his grave injury that standing on the hill taking oath after oath had been pure misery. But he hadn’t wanted anyone to know how weak he was. Leaders didn’t have the luxury of faltering.
Still, something must have shown, since Arlyn shot him a concerned glance. “Everything okay?”
“Perhaps not everything,” Lyr answered, unwilling to fully lie. Not to her, though he had no qualms about evading the healer. “But I am well enough.”
With a frown, she grabbed his arm, stopping him beside her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that it will take time for life to return to normal.”
Arlyn quirked a brow at that. “You looked upset.”
“Forgive me.” Lyr forced himself to relax—as much as he could while scanning the forest path for danger. So far, he’d seen nothing but ancient trees and the occasional bird, but he had to remain vigilant. “My thoughts had wandered to less pleasant things. The village will make for an excellent distraction.”
Arlyn stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “If you say so.”
Lyr gestured toward the path, and they started forward once more. He wanted to give her something for everything she’d been through since finding his world. Something for all the time he’d missed with her—twenty-two years by Moranaian time but twenty-six on Earth. That he hadn’t known Arlyn existed until almost two months ago was irrelevant. He never should have left Aimee, his soulbonded, behind on Earth when he’d learned of his father’s murder. If he’d just insisted she brave the Veil…well, he’d never know, would he? And Arlyn had paid for it.
What was a trip to the village compared to that?
He knew from Arlyn’s gasp when she picked out the first building from the surrounding trees. His people didn’t clear the land for their homes, choosing instead to build in and around the forest. The stones mined farther up the valley were perfect for blending in, the variegated shades of gray, green, and brown hard to discern from the tree trunks and the vines spilling over the walls.
A slow, delighted smile stretched across his daughter’s face. “Is the stone carved, too?”
“Most of it,” Lyr answered. “Much like the walls of the estate.”
“How many buildings are down here? It’s hard to tell from up on the ridge.”
Lyr pursed his lips, thinking. He’d just approved the last of the building plans for the season, shifting the number upward. Ah, yes. “In the immediate area? Four hundred and thirty-seven, not counting businesses.”
Arlyn’s eyes widened, and her gaze shifted to the forest around them. “Where?”
For the first time in a long time, he found himself smiling. He shoved worry aside and gave into the urge to tease. “They could be invisible.”
She let out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, right.”
“How can you be so sure? You just started learning magic, after all.”
“Because the way my life has been going lately, I’m sure I would’ve run straight into one by now,” Arlyn answered. But she grinned as she said it, so he knew she was only teasing in return.
He grimaced at the reminder of how chaotic her life had been since arriving on Moranaia—and not just the adjustment from Earth to a new land. Stumbling into a conspiracy against him and almost being murdered hadn’t exactly been the easiest welcome. He tried not to let the thought destroy his good humor.
“I can’t fault your logic,” he said. In truth, though, many of them are built around the trees near the village center. Larger, more obvious settlements are near the fields to the north.”
They walked in companionable silence for a while, the gentle swish of t
he swaying leaves soothing them. The houses were spread thin here, and most of the occupants were away at work, leaving nothing but the forest’s peace. Lyr had decided to come here for Arlyn’s sake, but it was easing some of the heaviness in his own heart. He could push aside thoughts of all he’d failed to do. Protecting his own people, keeping his mother safe from injury, not noticing—
His fists clenched as he cleared his mind once more. Maybe he wasn’t quite pushing it aside. Especially since the mastermind behind the last attack was still unknown.
“You’re frowning again.”
Clechtan, Lyr cursed to himself. “Sorry.”
Arlyn gave him a sidelong look. “Are you sure you don’t want to hold off on this?”
“I finally caught up on my paperwork.” He forced a smile to his face. Anything to keep her from guessing how much he hurt, body and spirit. He’d recover soon enough. “In a couple of weeks, the earliest of the harvests will begin, bringing yet more work. We should enjoy the lull.”
The trail opened into the natural clearing that held the village of Telerdai, and if Arlyn still had concerns about his mood, she let them drop as she took in the view. Stone paths meandered through flowers and shrubs to meet at a clear pool in the center. Around the perimeter, shops sat at the base of the largest trees, and stairs curved up the trunks behind them to a few homes built up in the canopy, most inhabited by the shop owners.
One of the generals of the army, Lyr commanded a large number of soldiers either at the estate or living in the surrounding lands, and the village reflected that. Circling the center garden on the way to the bowyer, they passed two types of armorers, a blade smith, and a leatherworker. He pointed out the tavern as they approached the bowyer’s shop, more general offerings beyond. If he still had the energy, he’d take Arlyn there for the midday meal.
Since Arlyn was still uncomfortable with Moranaian greetings, Lyr entered the shop first. Only to pause just beyond the entry at the hum of magic filling the room. The bowyer, Leren, perched on a stool behind her workbench, her gaze never wavering from the wood beneath her hands. Arlyn halted beside him, a frown furrowing her brow as she took in the scene.
“Isilat,” Leren muttered to them around the file she gripped between her teeth.
He gave a short nod and moved to the small display of bows to the left of the entrance. Imbuing spells into an object was a delicate art, one he would not disrupt without great cause. And for once, he had no need to rush.
Arlyn hesitated, her gaze on Leren, before shrugging and joining him at the display. “What’s going on?” she sent along their mental link. “Why did she say ‘in progress’ instead of greeting us?”
“She is in the middle of a spell-working,” Lyr explained. “The word has been used for so long that it is considered a polite way for artisans to warn patrons that it might take them a moment.”
“Ah.” Arlyn ran a finger along the smooth edge of a small recurve bow. “Fine craftsmanship. Does she work by commission?”
“Most artisans do here.”
“Forgive me, Myern,” Leren said, addressing him by title. He turned to see her standing, the magic finished. “Welcome and good morn to you.”
Lyr gave Arlyn a subtle glance as he started toward the bowyer. Though he knew his daughter was nervous, she followed after a moment. He held back a smile as he made the introductions and chatted with Leren about her family and business. Arlyn was going to have to get used to such things, for he wasn’t backing down on naming her his heir. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for Arlyn to lose her reluctance. After a few moments, he took a subtle step back as she and Leren discussed how bow-making techniques varied between Earth and Moranaia.
A door at the back of the shop opened, and Leren’s young daughter stumbled through with a couple of boxes balanced precariously in her arms. As she struggled to close the door behind her, Lyr darted forward to help. He reached for one of the boxes, but it toppled free, knocking the lid loose as it hit the floor with a jarring clang. Lyr froze, and his stomach clenched at the sound.
His gaze fastened on the bits of metal spilling out. For one long moment, the world spun hazily around him. Arrowheads and files, all made of peresten. Not iron. Not even steel. He rubbed his wrist almost reflexively. Not chains. He wasn’t bound in Allafon’s home, his life bleeding away. The barely-healed wound on his chest burned in memory.
“Myern?” the girl whispered.
By will alone, Lyr forced his eyes from the scraps of metal. He took several long, deep breaths, the sound loud in his ears. Could the others hear it? He dropped his arms to his sides and straightened, only then taking in the girl’s ashen face. “I’m sorry, Areth. I almost had the box.”
She stared at him for a moment, and he could practically see the debate in her eyes. But at fourteen years old, she knew enough of formality and politeness not to ask about his reaction. He just had to hope the others hadn’t noticed—especially Arlyn. He would not have her worried about him when he only needed a little more time to heal. He was the Myern—the lord of the estate. He would manage.
“I shouldn’t have tried to carry it all,” Areth finally said. The color had returned to her face, but she shot him a cautious look as she bent to place the contents back into the box.
Swallowing bile, Lyr knelt to help her. Not iron. Not iron. “Working with your mother today, then? She sends excellent reports on your progress.”
“Thank you, Myern.” Areth’s face flushed with the pride that lit her eyes. “She might even let me make a bow on my own soon.”
“Once you finish your analysis of the differences between Sidhe dialects,” Leren called.
Some of Lyr’s tension faded at Areth’s exasperated expression as she stacked the last file on top of the box. A timeless reaction of child to parent, a look his own daughter had already worn more than once in the past month. Gods willing, he’d see many more. Even if he didn’t deserve it.
“An important task,” Lyr said. They have no idea how much. As the Sidhe became more stringent in their demands for aid, knowledge of their language was more crucial than ever.
Areth smiled as she picked up one of the boxes and carried it to a second worktable. “Then I’ll make sure I do a good job.”
Even as Lyr returned the smile, he detected a mental nudge. Kera’s energy signature. Stifling a groan, he turned back to the display of bows as Arlyn and Leren continued their earlier discussion. Better to hide his expression while he answered his new assistant. “Is something amiss at the estate?”
“A messenger just arrived through the portal. He said he has urgent news, and from the look of him, I believe it.”
Lyr ran his hand through his hair. Hadn’t he known the peace was too good to last? “We’ll head back now, then. If you haven’t already, offer the messenger refreshment and rest.”
“Of course, Myern.”
So much for not needing to rush.
After all that had transpired over the last couple of months, Lyr was beginning to seriously dislike his study. It had become a place of uncomfortable, if not painful, conversations and unwelcome revelations. He glanced wearily around the long, oval room, the bookshelves along the walls lit by the midday sun streaming in through the windows and skylights. He should have been cheered by the beautiful sight, but his heart pounded with dread. An urgent messenger sent in person through the Veil could only be trouble.
Lyr stood in front of his broad, wooden desk, Arlyn just behind and to the right and Kai, his friend and Arlyn’s mate, to the left. After an odd beginning, their relationship seemed to have settled. Not realizing she wouldn’t understand, Kai had begun the bonding with Arlyn without her knowledge. None of them had been certain if she would accept Kai or have their bond broken. Surprisingly, she’d forgiven him. Lyr thought he’d managed to do the same. But, clechtan, he’d only been acquainted with his daughter for a couple of hours before his best friend had started the bond with her.
A month or two of anger was little
enough.
The door on the opposite end of the room opened, and Kera escorted the messenger in. It took all of Lyr’s centuries of training to maintain a neutral expression at the first sight of the other elf. The messenger’s face was haggard, wrinkles set deep around his mouth and eyes, and he wore plain clothing. Nothing like the garb of an ambassador. The relative peace of the last month was indeed coming to an end. Lyr reinforced his mental shields to keep the others from sensing his concern.
Kera gave a small bow and tapped her chest twice in salute. At Lyr’s nod, she turned to the messenger. “Honored visitor, I present to you Callian Myern i Lyrnis Dianore nai Braelyn, lord of this estate and liaison to all Earth-related realms of fae. Myern, I present to you Oberin Tesore, messenger of Queen Etora of the Colony of Neor.”
Lyr considered the visitor bowing before him. Many of the Sidhe aligned with major factions, such as the Tuatha de Danann or the Seelie or Unseelie courts, but here and there a city would separate into its own governance. A colony fell somewhere in between, somewhat autonomous but still under the rule of another. Queen Etora owed allegiance to the Seelie court, though she largely ruled without interference. He’d never met her, considering she had last sent an ambassador when Lyr’s father was alive.
“The House of Dianore bids you welcome, Honored of Neor.”
“Thank you, Myern,” the messenger said, his voice wavering with exhaustion. “The hospitality of your House has been most generous.”
“It has been our honor.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Arlyn’s slight movement and held back a smile. Her human side emerged most often in her lack of patience. “Our House has not had the pleasure of a visit from one of your people in quite some time.”
The messenger lifted his hollow gaze to Lyr’s face. “I fear it will be no pleasure now. It is a grave problem that brings me here to a plane so far removed from my own. My words are too important for the bonds of politeness to be met. Please forgive my brevity.”