Black Crown

Book 3: White Hart Series

by Sarah Dalton

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

Weakened, but not broken, Mae must face her destiny in this thrilling conclusion to the White Hart trilogy.

Heroic Mae Waylander travels across the desert in search of a way to defeat the tyrannical king and stop him finding immortality.

With dangerous beasts and a war in her way, can Mae achieve her goal and set the kingdom of Aegunlund free?

Release date: June 30, 2015

Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

Print pages: 478

Sample

Chapter One – The Aelfen Scrolls

 

The king and queen fix me with a glassy glare. They reflect the light pouring into Cas’s room. What will be the king’s next move? I know his motives now, I have seen his fears and I have read his words. He wants eternal life, and he will do anything to get it. But when will he start? And when will I have to begin the journey that Avery hinted at in my dreams? In Cas’s chambers, surrounded by the comfort of his things—his armour and weapons, his furs and books, his writing materials littered untidily atop a strong, mahogany desk—I am so close to the king, and yet never farther away.

“Mae?” Cas prompts. “I know you like to take your time but this is ridiculous.”

His voice cuts through my thoughts and I lift my chin to meet his silver eyes. They are twinkling, laughing. The sight of them washes away my worry, and I find myself smiling back.

“You have me beat,” I admit. “In two moves you have me in check.”

His eyes sparkle and his lips twitch at the corners, desperate to break into a grin. “I told you I’d beat you this time.”

I shake my head, wondering if he has been secretly practising.

“You’re an astonishingly quick learner,” Cas says as he tidies away the chess set. “You only learned the rules a few weeks ago.”

It’s my turn to smother a smile. Little does Cas know that Father kept a book about chess in Halts-Walden. I learned the rules years ago, I just never had a chess set to play on.

A sharp pain runs down my arm and I flinch, clutching the stump where my right hand should be.

“What is it?” Cas asks, jerking his head towards me.

“Another pain. It’s all right, they’re normal.” I pull my stump towards me, shielding it from view. I’m not used to people staring at me like a bird with a broken wing. I’m used to being strong, and this feels too exposed. I hate this new vulnerability.

The court healer marvelled at my quick recovery, and soon I was strong enough to get up and walk around; to spend meal times in my chambers; to skip around outside the castle, getting in the way of those rushing from place to place as they organise the royal wedding. But I must be careful, because the healer mumbles under his breath every time he changes my bandages, and those milky old eyes fix to mine in suspicion.

When I was feeling well enough, my first visit was to the stables, to my White Hart, my Anta. He stood tall and proud next to the horses with his grand antlers pointing up to the roof. Like a swan caught in a chicken coop. On the way to him I stopped and scratched Gwen’s nose. Anta shook his head and let out a snort.

“All right, all right,” I said with a chuckle. “I’m getting to you, no need to get jealous.”

Anta soon forgave me when I produced a stolen mint from the kitchen. He nibbled my hand as he took it, a little punishment for leaving him alone so long.

“It’s good to see you, boy,” I said. “I had such a horrible vision of you hurt. No, I won’t repeat it. Whatever it was, it won’t happen now. I won’t let it.”

The white stag shifted his head and sniffed at the bandages on my arm.

“I know, lad. You won’t believe what has happened since I left you. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would believe it. According to Avery, the Ancestors are testing me, or something. Apparently this is who I need to be—a one-handed girl with magical powers. What do you think? Are you really my guardian? Are you going to protect me through my tests?”

But Anta only let out a soft nicker and searched my hand for another mint. He is one of the great mysteries of my life. A faithful friend. A friend who came to me when I was born and who stayed with me every day since then.

The stable boy, Treowe, seemed particularly endeared to Anta and I left feeling reassured that my guardian, or my friend, or my pet, for Anta is all those things to me, will be well cared for. The vision from the castle, where I saw him hurt, gravely hurt, must have been the Nix taunting me after all, trying to make me lose my mind. Thank the Gods it is finally dead.

“I should go,” I say to Cas. “Don’t you have some sort of dress fitting?”

“By the Gods, Mae, I’m not wearing a dress. They are robes, for the ceremony.”

I smirk. “Same thing if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you,” he replies in good humour. “But, yes, I do have another hour of being poked and prodded by Hester and her formidable pins.”

I cock my head to one side. “Poor prince. What a hard life you lead.”

“You mock, but I swear I would rather be in the Waerg Woods getting chased by the Nix than sit through another of Hester’s fittings for the wedding.”

My smile fades. Cas will soon marry another woman. He has no idea that I’ve killed the Nix or that I am the craft-born, and I am running out of time to tell him.

“Well then, I’d best leave you to some alone time with Hester. I know how the two of you are secretly hiding your feelings for each other,” I say, forcing laughter into my voice.

Cas makes a sour face. “Yes, you better had, before you leave me with any more nasty mental images.”

I smile and duck out of the door, almost running straight into the wizened old crone, Hester, who will be poking Cas with her pins. The vinegary expression on her face forces me to smother a giggle. Then I’m around the corner and away from Cas, away from Hester. It leaves me with a strange hollowness, a feeling I have been getting a lot when alone. I must be the only lonely palace guest when the place is so alive with those gathering for the wedding. Reinforcements from Cyne help guard the castle as dignitaries arrive from all over Aegunlund. There are even some from the north: tall, serious men with long hair and pale beards. They wear furs and complain about the heat.

When the nobles arrived from the Haedalands I watched them with keen interest. After all, my father’s family came from the Haedalands, and one day I might travel there to absorb the culture I have only glimpsed. It could be sooner rather than later if Beardsley is right about the Sihrans. I notice that their language is complex, yet I make out a few words taught to me from Father. He lost a lot of the language after his parents died, but there were odd words and phrases that he passed on to me. All of them have a guttural sound. Almost angry.

I’m intrigued by their dress: the bright colours and the silk cloths. They drape elegantly around the body, clinging yet moveable. The women pile jewels atop their head in elaborate headdresses, showing off the diamonds they mine in the south. Their skin is as dark as coffee, their lips full and sensuous. They seem beautiful and exotic, scented with orange oil, and rich in a history I want to learn. Somehow I’m part of that history, and I wonder if I will ever know more of it.

I decide to walk to the garden maze so I can see the spot where I killed the Nix. I’m an urchin child again, dodging through the crowds, slipping away like a shadow in the night. No one sees the servants and I am dressed in their clothes. I hide my injured arm away from them, concealing the stump, the missing hand, the part of me that will never be whole again. Seeing that spot brings the memory to me: the fire, the sound of the beast dying, and the sharp pain of its teeth against my skin. I step away and walk back to the castle, pretending to myself that I am not walking any faster than usual.

At night, Cas slips into my room with supper.

“How was it with Hester?” I ask.

But Cas is not in a joking mood, he is contemplative, like I have been all day. “Is it mad that I miss the woods?” he asks. “Not the creatures or the Ibenas or any of that, I miss the camp fires and sleeping under the canopy of branches.”

“It isn’t mad,” I say. “I miss it too.”

“I’m afraid,” Cas says.

“Of the Waerg woods?” I ask.

“No, not that.” He avoids my eyes and instead takes a bite of cheese loaf.

“What is it?”

“My wedding night. I am afraid. I believe, well, I believe that my intended does not care for me. And, and… well, I think I may have been hasty in my assessment of her. She is very nice. She’s very beautiful, but—”

“What is it?” My heart pumps faster.

“When we’re together, it doesn’t feel right. I am not at ease with her as I am with you. I cannot find things in common for us to talk about.”

I think very carefully before I answer. “Are you saying that you do not love her?”

“Yes,” he says. “No, no I’m not. I suppose I do not know her yet. The love will come. It has to.”

“What if you didn’t have to marry her?” I ask.

“Well, I don’t know,” he says. “I suppose I would want to get to know her, to see what is in her heart.”

“Well there you are. It would be just as difficult if you weren’t intended. You would still need to talk to her and get to know her. Perhaps that is all it will take.”

“I do hope so,” he says with a smile. “After all, she is very beautiful.”

I roll my eyes. “Beauty isn’t everything, you know.”

“Of course not. There are many admirable qualities a woman can have. You… you have many admirable qualities.”

I cringe. I do not want to be told of how I would be a good match for a baker boy or a blacksmith’s son. “It’s getting late and I’m tired. Perhaps you should leave now.”

“Yes, you’re quite right. I’m sorry, Mae. Will you come to my room tomorrow for chess?”

“Of course,” I reply. “As long as you aren’t too busy with wedding arrangements.”

“I’m never too busy for you. You know that,” he says. His eyes flash fierce for a moment. I’m taken aback in that instant—surprised at the show of temper.

“Cas?” I say, as his hand reaches for the door knob.

“Yes?”

I flounder. I said his name without thinking. “I hope things work out with you and Ellen.”

“So do I,” he says. “It has to. Our realm depends on it.”

It’s as he leaves that I realise he believes he has to cope with the weight of the craft-born’s responsibility as well as his own. I flop back onto my mattress and stare down at my stump. Cas likes beautiful women. If I tell him now, he will be forced to marry a cripple. I punch the mattress with my left hand. When will I listen to Avery and Allerton and Sasha? If I’d listened to Sasha in the first place, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Now there is only one thing for it. I must be strong enough to tell Cas the truth. I have to put the fear of rejection out of my mind. There is too much at stake now. If I am going to stop the king from finding the Ember Stone, I will need Cas’s help. I can’t do this alone.

 

*

 

When the morning comes I wake to a surprise hammering on my door. The urgent raps continue as I pull myself out of bed and wipe sleep from my eyes.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. What in all of Aegunlund…?” I mumble.

When I open the door Cas stands before me. His face is pale and his eyes are rimmed with red. He glances at my nightgown and I realise that I am not dressed appropriately for company. I shift myself quickly so that my body hides behind the door.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“It’s Beardsley,” Cas replies. “He is very sick. We believe he doesn’t have long.”

The blood drains from my face. “Wha-what? But you said that he had been happy since the castle… oh my… oh no.” In the last vision I experienced with Beardsley he told me all about the Ember Stone. He told me about the tribe under the Anadi sands and the scrolls in his office. I remember how I had a bad feeling that something would happen to him. Now it has.

“Get dressed and come to his quarters. He wants to see you.”

I nod and close the door. The pulse of my heart thuds in my ears. Could I have done anything? Could I have prevented this? I fumble with my clothing, still slow at dressing with one hand.

The corridors are busy with guests making their way to breakfast, so I am forced to push my way through a gathering. Dignitaries glare down at me. Some even stare openly at my bandaged stump. I ignore them and hurry on.

The engines are quiet, and the bowl of sacred soil throbs, rich with my blood. I hurry towards Beardsley’s office. A little voice inside my head repeats one word: scrolls. I feel sick to think of the scrolls when Beardsley is dying, but this could be my only chance to obtain them. I shake my head. I must concentrate on my friend.

The door to his office is open. I make my way past the stacks of papers and untidy desk to the adjoining living quarters. The king is a bully for forcing his most useful servant to live in the lower floors of the castle. The air is damp and putrid down here. No wonder Beardsley is ill.

When I arrive there is only the healer, the queen, and Cas. The king is not even at his bedside, after everything Beardsley has done for him. Heat rises from my stomach. For a horrible moment, I think I might produce a fireball, but I imagine water and calm myself.

The old man is bundled up in bedsheets with a pale, sunken face protruding from them. His arms lay by his side roped in veins and sagging with loose skin. When he breathes I hear the rasp in his throat.

I rush to his side. “Beardsley.”

“Hello, dear. It’s good to see you.” He pats my hand.

“I’m sorry—”

“Now, now,” he chastises. “You’re not in control of my old ticker, are you?”

“Would you like some water?”

“That would be lovely,” he says.

I lift the cup from the nightstand and hold it to his lips.

“I’m sorry about your hand, Mae,” he says. “I should have visited you in the infirmary.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. I’m an old man and old men die every day. You’re a young girl. Young girls should not lose a hand.” Beardsley’s gaze drifts to the others in the room. “Would you mind giving me a moment with Mae?”

The queen nods and ushers the others away. On the way out, Cas turns to me, surprise on his face. My cheeks warm, one day I will explain everything to him. One day soon.

“I was going to ask for Ellen. But then something told me that I should tell you instead.”

My throat goes dry. “What do you mean?”

“It’s very curious, but I have the strongest feeling that you are the craft-born, not the girl marrying the prince in a few days.” His expression remains neutral as he examines my face. My cheeks are boiling hot and I can only imagine my inability to keep a straight face. “Yes, I thought I was correct. It’s so strange that I felt this way, as though someone had whispered it in my ear as I slept.”

Avery, I think.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I say out loud.

“Oh, dear child. I will not have time to tell anyone. I barely have time to tell you.”

“Is it about the scrolls?” I ask.

Beardsley’s eyes soften. “Of course. You know already. I won’t ask why. I won’t question it any longer. I can see that this world is far bigger than me, and seeing as I will shortly be leaving it, I will abandon my attempts to solve the mysteries within. The scrolls are tightly rolled and stored in my cane. Quickly. Get it.”

I fetch the cane from its place propped up next to the bedside table. Beardsley nods eagerly as I unscrew the top. It’s tricky with my left hand. I’m forced to hold the cane between my knees.

“That’s it. Hurry, before they come back. Shove the scrolls in your pocket. They’re only small. Now, keep them safe, Mae. Don’t let anyone else see them. I’ve translated as much as I can. You need to find an expert in the Aelfen language.”

“The Borgans,” I say. “The protectors of the craft.”

“You know better than me. Being the craft-born and all,” Beardsley says. He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’ve waited for this moment for a long time. At last, my duty is done. It’s up to you now, Mae. You have to stop the King. Do you know what he is planning to do?”

I nod. “The Ember Stone. He wants immortality.”

Beardsley’s taut face begins to relax. “I can let go. I can join my family in the afterlife. If only I had done this sooner. If only I had stood up to him when I had the chance. Ifs and buts. Don’t ever get lost in the ‘what-ifs’ of this world, Mae. Don’t let yourself be filled with regret.”

He wheezes again and I pass him more water. When he’s done, the others come back into the room and we stay with him until his final moments. Cas sits next to me, taking hold of my hand. He remains stone faced to the end, holding back tears for a man he knew his entire life. I know too well how hard it is to say goodbye. I turn my head from Cas and see Ellen hanging back in the doorway. Her cheeks flush when we make eye contact and she turns away. It hasn’t escaped my attention that Ellen has not been to visit me since I lost my hand. I wonder if she feels responsible.

Beardsley slips into a sleep before he takes his last breath. I hope it is a painless sleep. I hope he finds peace. Part of me is relieved to see his suffering end. A larger part of me is sad to see a man who became a friend to me now gone. But he has left something for me, something that could be more important than even he knew.