PROLOGUE
DRAGONS LIVE.
Everyone believes they are gone, the last of them annihilated in the Threshing. Lost to the annals of time, to the fade of memory, to be recalled only by the bards. It is the arrogance of man that holds to this—the wish for it to be so.
Wishing does not make it true, though.
Years ago, the kingdoms of man came together and ventured into the Crags. Legions of soldiers joined forces for the greater good, to see an end to the pestilent dragons. With their scale-tipped arrows and swords of dragon bone and droves of wolves, nursed since they were pups on the blood of dragons, humankind hunted dragons through the mists, deep into the ancient caves and winding tunnels of the mountains. For years, for decades, for centuries, they hunted, ridding the sky of dragon fire and claiming their caches of treasure for themselves.
No corner of the Crags was overlooked. Not a hollow or gully or wood left unexplored. No resource untapped. Soldiers ferreted out and slew every pride until the last winged creature was erased from land and sky. Until their fire was snuffed out for good. Until none remained.
Except one.
Part I
The Whipping Girl
1Tamsyn
IT WAS A GOOD DAY FOR A WHIPPING.
I’d had my share. Too many to count. But today was special. Today the border lords arrived.
Word had reached the City and found its way to the palace. The party was spotted outside our walls, a meandering snake of warriors en route to us. They would be here soon, once they finished the ascent through the winding, labyrinthine streets.
The lord chamberlain was much too distracted to give me a proper flogging. Under normal circumstances, Kelby liked to linger over his work, panting in delight as he delivered each blow to the exposed flesh of my back. He would wait as I recoiled and tensed in pain. Wait until I relaxed. Wait until my body eased. And then he would strike again. He was an expert at meting out abuse. Just as I was an expert at taking it.
His dry fingers often trailed down my spine, a disturbing caress between the flays of the whip. Today there were no such caresses as I clutched my gown to my chest for modesty’s sake. I leaned over the desk where he had directed me to take my position. He’d interrupted our harp lesson. Mistress Gytha, the resident harpist, had fled the room when he arrived and announced that he had come to administer my punishment.
Residents of the palace fell into two categories: those who could stomach my whippings and those who could not. Kindhearted Gytha was in the latter group. Members of that set never stuck around to witness the uncomfortable occurrences. No one ever objected, though. No one intervened. It was simply not done.
Kelby hurried about his task, lacking his usual vigor and thoroughness today, clearly resentful that I was keeping him from other diversions. No doubt he wished to be among the courtiers, hanging from the ramparts, marveling at the procession of battle-hardened warriors riding into the palace.
My sisters watched as my lashing was imposed. That was the protocol. Always. Perfect ladies all in a row, princesses bred to be queens, their hands demurely clasped in front of them, suffering the sight. And suffer it they did, for as the royal whipping girl, I was raised alongside them, brought up as their kin, called sister . . . even if I was not.
They would have to be heartless little monsters to feel nothing. Spoiled and shallow they may be, but heartless? No. And that was the point. That was the way in which a royal whipping girl served. My punishment became theirs. Something they felt. Something they regretted.
Ever since we were little girls, we had done everything together. Played together. Ate together. Took lessons together. There was no distinction between us. We were sisters. No difference except one. A very important distinction. I was the only one to bear any punishment.
Feena and Sybilia shifted restlessly where they stood. They, too, longed to join the revelry and feast their eyes upon the infamous warriors from the Borderlands. More animal than man, they were rumored to be, and the reason our kingdom prospered and remained intact. For decades they had successfully kept the enemies to the north at bay. The dragon threat was gone—ended a hundred years ago following the Hormung, that brutal final battle of the Threshing, which had driven dragons to the edge of extinction. But there were plenty of other dangers out there to fill the vacancy. Bandits within our borders. Raiders from the Crags. Pirates from the coast. Invading armies from Veturland and across the channel.
The whip cracked against my skin, and I flinched at the sting.
Alise closed her eyes tightly, an expression of contrition tightening her features. At sixteen, she was the youngest, and most affected by my whippings. Oh, Feena and Sybilia felt remorse, but Alise was the only sister ever reduced to tears when I was disciplined for their misdeeds. She belonged in the category of “those who
could not stomach my whippings.” Had she not been required to watch, she would have fled with Mistress Gytha.
The moment the fifth and final lash—the number that Kelby had decided upon as the punishment for Sybilia’s and Feena’s quarrelling this morning, over a hair ribbon of all things—struck my back, he tossed the whip to a nearby maid.
“See that puts an end to your unseemly bickering. We have important guests. Conduct yourselves as the Penterran princesses you are and do your parents proud.” He took a moment to nod sternly at Feena and Sybilia before he exited the room. The girls didn’t linger either, following fast on his heels to join the revels of the court.
Only Alise remained, helping ease my garments back into place, mindful of my tender back. “I am so sorry. No broken skin, though,” she assured me, shooing away the maid who had stepped forward to help, but then, I knew that.
Over the years, I’d endured very few whippings that actually broke the skin. Those incidents stood out for that very reason.
“Not your fault,” I said, wincing slightly as the full weight of my kirtle settled against my sore back.
“This time,” she muttered as she laced up my gown.
I sent her a fond look. “It’s hardly ever your fault.”
Flogging by proxy achieved the desired results with Alise. She hated for me to be hurt so much that she hardly ever misbehaved. She was as close to perfection as humanly possible.
“Those two,” she grumbled, sending a glare to where her older sisters had stood. “I’ll be glad to see them married and gone.”
I winced at that, because I would not be glad.
When Feena and Sybilia married and left—a situation that would no doubt happen soon, because the king was already in betrothal talks with the country of Acton across the Dark Channel as well as with the far-off Isle of Meru—Alise would quickly follow suit, and I was in no hurry to lose my favorite sister.
I did not know what her parents had planned for her, if they even had a plan yet . . . but they would. Eventually. They would not permit the loveliest and sweetest of the princesses to remain unwed. Not with the growing threat from the north. That would be a wasted opportunity. I’d gathered enough from snatches of conversations at court and between the king and the lord regent to know that Penterra was desperate to shore up its allies.
I swallowed thickly. When the princesses were married and gone, I would be alone. We may not be sisters by birth, but they were the only family I had ever known. What would become of me when I was no longer needed? What would I be then? The discomfort in my back paled in comparison to the heavy pang in my chest.
I might be trapped between worlds—royal and not royal, belonging and not belonging—but at least I knew my place, my purpose.
Once they are gone, this all ends. I will have to find a new place, a new purpose.
I pushed aside that insidious little whisper, which fed into my fears more and more of late. I sighed. No sense worrying about what I could not control. It wasn’t as though the king and queen would cast me aside, after all. They cared for me and would undoubtedly see me well situated.
“They don’t mean to get into trouble,” I said.
It went deep, this instinct to defend them, even to each other. I knew nothing else. I’d been doing it ever since I was five years old and it was decided I was old enough to start paying the price for my sisters’ misdeeds.
Alise rolled her eyes. “They don’t mean to, but they do. They need to be mindful of how their actions affect you.” A little late for that. I resisted pointing out that if they hadn’t learned that lesson by now, they never would.
She seized my hand and tugged me from the chamber. “Come, Tam. Let us see what all the fuss is about.” Her gaze searched my face, pausing. “If you feel up to it, that is . . .”
“Of course I do. Let us go.” The border lords’ visit had been greatly anticipated. I was as curious as everyone else and eager for a glimpse of them.
We made haste to the Great Hall, where the king and queen would welcome the arrivals as they did all esteemed dignitaries. Feena and Sybilia were already there, seated in their chairs to the right of the queen, their shining faces rapt as they leaned forward anxiously.
We pushed through the crowd. Everyone in the palace was here to witness the spectacle. The lords and ladies of the court pressed in thickly around me, the odors of sweat and perfume on unwashed bodies rising up to fill my nose. A feeble breeze passed through the arrow slits in the walls, but not nearly enough to circulate air among the mob of onlookers.
My gaze shot to the double doors of the Great Hall, the pulse at my throat leaping. I could hear them coming—the heavy footfalls of the approaching warriors. My skin turned to gooseflesh, vibrating and humming as they drew closer. It was a strange sensation. At once thrilling and foreboding.
My mouth dried in anticipation. They would be here soon, standing before the dais, where the royal family was seated in an impressive tableau—where I, too, normally sat, in the chair next to Alise.
My gaze fixed on the two vacant chairs beside Feena. One for Alise and the other for me. I could not move forward. My slippered feet were planted, stuck to the floor for some reason. The instinct to cling to the perimeter of the room pinned me in place.
I nudged my sister. “Go on. Take your spot with them, Alise.”
She squeezed my hand and studied me curiously, replying lightly, “Let us both take our seats.” She always did her best to make me feel like I was one of them.
I slid my hand free from hers and placed it over my suddenly churning stomach.
I didn’t want to sit in that chair up there in front of the outsiders. Not as uneasy as I felt. The very notion of it made me feel itchy all over . . . as if my skin were too tight.
“You know, I don’t feel that well,” I hedged. “I will retire to my chamber.”
She searched my face, nodding slowly. “Very well. You should ring for some mint tea.”
“I will do that.” Turning, I moved away, losing myself deeper in the crowd, but I did not leave the hall. I could not make myself do that. I was still curious. It just felt . . . safer to watch from a distance. Unseen.
Convinced that Alise believed me gone, I tucked myself against a far wall, behind a lady in a voluminous gown. I peered over the woman’s shoulder, hoping my red hair benefited me for once and helped me blend in with the bright scarlet of her headdress. If I was spotted, I could be compelled to take my usual place on the dais.
Suddenly a figure pressed close beside me. “What are you doing out here gawking with the rest of the court?” I jumped at the sound of the deep voice in my ear.
My hand flew to my chest, pressing against my suddenly galloping heart. “Stig.” I released a breathy little laugh. “You gave me a fright.”
A smile played about my friend’s mouth. He nodded to where my family sat. “You belong up there.”
I flushed beneath his shrewd gaze. Stig would not be as easy to deflect as Alise. For one, he was no naive girl of sixteen. He was confident and perceptive. At twenty-three, he was the lord regent’s son and served as captain of the guard. There were plenty of petty whispers that he had been given the role simply because of his father’s position, but I knew better. His father’s cunning and ambition might have secured him the appointment as the lord regent, winning out over several other candidates and making him the second most powerful man in the realm, but Stig was more than competent in his own right. He was an exceptional swordsman and astute in the machinations of the court. His loyalty ran deep. He would not hesitate to offer his life for king and country. He also possessed something his father didn’t: a heart.
“I would rather watch from here.”
His half smile disappeared, and his expression clouded. “Tamsyn,” he said in that softly chiding voice I knew well.
He had used it so often over the years, always making certain that I knew I was every bit as important as my sisters and due all the same honors. I could not count the times he had come to my rescue: strong, noble Stig chasing away the bullies who thought to put me in my proper place. Most people respected my role in the palace, but there were always a few. A few then and a few now. Bullies who thought it important to remind me that I was not a true blue-blooded princess.
I shrugged and gave him what I hoped was a reassuring look. “I’m fine,” I insisted. “I merely prefer the view from here.” I gestured lamely
around me at the gaping spectators.
He looked at none of them. His gaze remained intently on me. “You are a princess of Penterra. You belong up there.” His head inclined toward the dais. After a long moment, when I did not make a move to take my place, he leaned in closer, his eyes glinting as he taunted me in a deliberately small voice: “Are you scared?”
I flushed.
Those warm brown eyes traveled over my face as he continued to tease. “Scared of the big bad men coming through the doors? Don’t tell me you believe all the wild stories about them.”
I rolled my eyes and scoffed.
Scared? Of strangers? I had no reason to fear them. And yet . . . there was something I felt. I swallowed. Something that kept me from putting myself in their line of sight.
The teasing glint faded from Stig’s eyes as he considered me. As though he saw something in me then, saw whatever mysterious and uneasy thing gnawed at me. His expression turned somber as a tomb. “Tamsyn?” His throat worked as he paused. “You know I’ll always protect you.”
I didn’t have a chance to respond—to agree or disagree—even though of course I knew that about him.
The doors were flung wide, striking the walls, the sound reverberating through the vast space and echoing in my ears. The lord chamberlain led the way, his perpetually flushed face even brighter than usual as he bowed and scraped low before the king and queen. Kelby was enjoying this. The way his eyes gleamed reminded me of when he was whipping me—or devouring a roasted leg of mutton. Both favorite pastimes. “Your Majesties, they’ve arrived!”
A dozen border soldiers, eight men and four women, entered the hall, warriors all, thick-necked and brawny, attired in armored leather tunics, swords tucked away in scabbards at their backs, their heavy boots thudding in time with my hammering heart. They shamelessly bore the grime of the long journey as they strode in front of the silk-and-brocade-draped members of the court.
The women were tall and wiry. I looked them over with awe. I had never seen women such as these, dressed in armor and breeches, trained to defend and fight alongside the men. My gaze narrowed on one of the warriors, my nose twitching. Was that blood on her armguard?
“Maybe you should wait here, after all,” Stig said gruffly.
I glanced sharply at him. His lip curled in a faint grimace as he assessed our visitors.
“Really?” It was my turn to tease. “Now who is scared?”
He didn’t rise to the taunt, his attention fixed steadily on these outsiders filing into the hall. “Best steer clear of them.”
“They’re . . .” I searched for the word and then arrived at it. “Heroes.” The reminder was just as much for me as it was for him. “We owe much to them.”
He sneered. “What? We should thank them for what is in their nature to do?
They’re killers.” He shook his head. “Don’t be gulled by all the stories, Tamsyn. They take pleasure in bloodshed. Brutes, the lot of them.”
“A little harsh,” I murmured. “You’re captain of the guard. A soldier. Not so very different from—”
“No. I am nothing like them,” he cut in, his voice flat, lacking its usual warmth. “I serve the throne of Penterra. Your family.” He smiled then, looking at me again. “You.”
I smiled back. How could I not? My family was good to me . . . but there were court nobles who treated me with disdain or indifference. Not Stig, though. He was always good to me. Always my friend.
He left my side then, striding ahead, taking his place beside the dais, flanking the royal family, a row of his most senior guardsmen beside him, resplendently outfitted in their red tunics with shiny buttons, their expressions stoic as they faced forward.
The border lord and his entourage took a knee before the king and queen. They each crossed an arm over their chest, hand knotted into a fist over their heart. The contrast of their appearance with all the elegant lords and ladies of the court was marked. Embarrassment would have been an appropriate reaction, but no such sentiment was evident on their dirt-encrusted faces.
My nostrils flared. Their scent reached me. Wind and earth and horseflesh. And something else. Something more. Something I had never smelled before. A ripple of heat passed over me, prickling my skin. On a deep level, I recognized it even if I could not name it.
Bewildered, I watched them in awe. These warriors were big and fierce and unkempt. Nothing like the polished guards of the palace, and Stig was the most polished of them all, his rich brown hair swept back from his forehead very precisely, his beard short and perfectly trimmed as he fixed alert and wary eyes on the party of warriors. One hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed rapier. I recognized what he did. Saw what he saw. They were violent. Dangerous. Scarred and battered for a reason. I felt only more certain that I was right to observe from the perimeter of the hall.
They wore their hair longer than was fashionable. Some with braids. Some with the sides of their skulls shaved. Inked designs crawled over their skin. The Borderlands clearly had their own fashion. I would not know. No one ventured there. It was an uncivilized place.
“It is him,” the lady in front of me breathed in awe, shifting so that she partially blocked my view. “The Beast.” I slid over a step and rose on tiptoes to better eye the man standing at the helm of the group. “Lord Beast,” she added to no one in particular, as though clarification was needed.
Lord Beast.
He was bigger and taller than the others, and I was no slight woman. Only a few men could stand eye to eye with me, but him? He would tower over me. Not that there would ever be cause for him to stand near me.
His fellow warriors stood a pace behind in clear deference. I swallowed. Despite the stories painting him in mythical proportions, he was merely a man, and a young one at that, likely only a handful of years older than my twenty-one years.
His profile was sharp, his nose a slashing blade, his mouth an unsmiling line, his square jaw hard. Strange inked designs crept down his tan throat and disappeared beneath his leathered armor, and a thought slid unbidden across my mind: How far did those markings spread over his body?
My chest tightened, a pull starting at the center. I rubbed at the spot, willing the perplexing sensation away even as I felt a scowl forming on my features because my breasts weren’t dormant either. They felt heavier . . . achy and prickly.
“Is that him?” Someone whispered what we were all thinking. Not just thinking. Feeling. The sight of him produced a visceral reaction. “The Border King?”
The Border King. Another one of his many monikers. Border Lord. The Beast. Border King. Lord Beast. He was all of those things.
Legions of warriors followed this man. He was the stuff of legends and nightmares. The strongest. The most vicious. The man who held this realm together.
The Threshing had scarcely ended, victory still warm on the lips, when the squabbles and infighting began. They continued to this day, as unremitting as waves in the ocean.
With the dragons finally gone, humans had turned on each other. Humankind couldn’t hunt dragons anymore, but they could hunt each other. And witches. And they did.
Alliances broke. Attacks on Penterra flared. Ravaging invaders crossed mountain ranges and expanses of boglands, through deserts and over seas, to pillage my homeland for all its worth.
And that wasn’t to say that threats did not still exist within our borders, too.
Little fires had always been there, strewn about the place, flickering conflagrations waiting to turn into full-fledged bonfires. Now, these days, those bonfires roared to life.
Bandits abounded. The roads were perilous. No palace retinue traveled anywhere without a full escort. Armed guards accompanied my sisters and me wherever we went—be it a quick foray into the village or a longer trip to the summer villa on the coast.
As bad as the bandits were, the raiders were worse.
Reports frequently came in about raiders holed up in the Crags, in the long-abandoned tunnels and cave systems that once served as home to the dragons. They struck the villages in the north hard, growing increasingly bold in recent years, venturing farther and farther south to raze vulnerable communities. The Threshing may have been over—no sighting of a dragon in nigh on a hundred years—but the country was hardly at peace.
Without the border lords, specifically these border lords, the ones currently standing
in the Great Hall, our northern border would have fallen by now. Penterra would have fallen. Who knew where any of us would be?
“It is he,” another voice confirmed.
I didn’t look to see who was speaking. I looked nowhere except to him. The man who went by many names and yet whose true name I had never once heard uttered. Perhaps possessing an ordinary name like the rest of us would make him less remarkable.
I rubbed harder at the ever-worsening tension in my chest, beginning to wonder if I was suffering from some manner of apoplexy. And yet I remained, drinking in the sight of the new arrivals . . . of him.
His face was set as if stone. Eyes like the night frost, wintry cold and void of emotion as he swept his gaze over the royal family. He lingered over my sisters. Alise shrank back, not keen on his notice. Feena and Sybilia were less indifferent, squaring their shoulders so the thrust of their breasts was more apparent beneath their kirtles. They liked the attention of men. Apparently the Border King was no exception.
“Lord Dryhten, welcome, welcome.” King Hamlin stood and moved forward. He appeared slight and diminutive standing so near the warrior. With his dove-soft hands and average frame, he was no warrior. He had never once fought in battle. He ruled from inside the security of these walls. Fortunately, he had men like the Beast to keep Penterra safe for him. With no male heir, the preservation of his realm would be secured in the advantageous marriages of his daughters to the princes of neighboring kingdoms.
He clapped Lord Dryhten on his thickly muscled shoulder. “Your visit is long overdue. We’ve feasting and entertainment planned for all of you.”
The Beast inclined his head slightly, and one of his warriors stepped forward, carrying something covered in a swathe of linen. The warrior lord took it from him and flicked the fabric back to reveal a beautiful necklace laden with gemstones.
Everyone gasped. Even from where I stood I could see the glow . . . feel its draw. The jewelry was like nothing else. Not even the queen possessed anything so fine.
The Beast offered it to the king with a deep incline of his head. “Your Majesty, a gift uncovered by my father in the Crags during his final expedition.”
I started at the sound of his deep voice, feeling it physically . . . as tangible as a rough-palmed slap on my skin.
The king clapped in delight and then accepted the necklace, measuring its weight. “Oh! Heavier than it looks.” He carried it to his wife, and she admired it, caressing what I could now see were rubies and tourmaline with a loving hand. My sisters leaned in, admiring it, as well.
“So kind of you, Lord Dryhten. We are most grateful to you and all your compatriots. It is we who should be bestowing gifts.” The queen’s smile was so lovely, it felt like a gift itself. “We must make certain you are well rewarded for all you do for the good of the
realm.”
The king murmured in agreement with his wife, nodding. “Yes, we have been thinking carefully on how we can properly show you our gratitude.”
“I can think of one way, Your Majesty.” Despite his use of the honorific, his deep voice exuded a decided lack of deference.
Murmurs swelled through the hall at his boldness. Did he already think to make a demand mere moments after his arrival?
“Well, speak then, my good man.” The king nodded in encouragement. ...
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