Minstrel's Serenade

Book 1: Chronicles of Ebonvale

by Aubrie Dionne

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Fantasy Romance; Paranormal

Synopsis

He’s sworn to protect her, but can he save her from himself? Danika Rubystone has hated the minstrels ever since her mother ran away with one. As Princess, she’s duty bound to marry Valorian, a minstrel from the House of Song. But problems in the kingdom are mounting. With her father dead she’s the sole heir to an imperiled throne, and wyverns attack Ebonvale’s southern shores. But after Danika finds a lone survivor of a wyvern’s attack who holds the key to protecting the kingdom and she finally meets the enchantingly sly Valorian, everything changes. As Ebonvale’s Royal Guard sails with the minstrels to smite the uprising of wyverns, Danika dances a line between sticking by duty like her father, or following her wild heart like her mother. 78,346 Words

Release date: July 9, 2014

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 228

Sample

 

Fire's Mark

 

“No lady should see what evil lies beyond the ridge.” Bron blocked the exit of the carriage with a great wall of muscle, sweat and dark skin. Plumes of smoke rose like great fingers brushing the sky behind his broad shoulders.

Danika focused on the strength in his dark eyes. “Nonsense. Every ruler must bear witness to the devastation afflicting her people so she can make the right decisions to protect her kingdom.”

Bron's stance didn’t change.

She narrowed her eyes; bodyguard or not, he had to follow her orders. She could force him to let her pass, but, maybe this one time she’d play his game. “So she can enact the most deserving form of revenge.”

“That's more like it.” Bron smiled, thick lips curving. “Spoken like a true warrior.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Let me through.”

He sighed with a gentle rise and fall of his broad chest, ran his hand over his shaved head, and stepped aside. “If you insist, Princess.”

She placed her fingers in his war-hardened hand and allowed him to guide her to the blackened earth. The air stank of soot and ash, searing her eyes and the smooth skin on her cheeks. She blinked through the wave of heat and summoned her courage. “Show me the site of the greatest devastation.”

“As you wish, Princess. The smoke spooks the horses, so we’ll have to trek up the cliff on foot.”

“Walking doesn’t frighten me.” She’d worn her thigh-high riding boots underneath her damask underskirt for such an occasion. She ripped the top layer of silks off, revealing the same leather leggings warriors wore under their tunics.

Bron averted his eyes. When his gaze returned to her, he seemed to appraise her with newfound interest.

She stashed the frills in the carriage, hiding the burning flush in her cheeks. Surely the heat had raised her temperature. She refused to blame Bron’s attention. “Lead me to Shaletown.”

“Or what’s left of it.”

Bron picked his way through charred trunks, presenting his hand whenever the footing grew treacherous. Although the ground steamed and the soles of her feet burned, she made her way on her own, refusing his offers. As the new ruler of Ebonvale, she had to show strength in a time when fear spread like the plague of the dead.

They crested the ridge and she covered her mouth with her sleeve. The blackened village lay before them as dead man’s land. People had walked the cobblestones that morning going about their everyday business, unaware of the impending devastation. Anger boiled inside her, followed by a black void of loss sucking her dry.

Danika cleared her parched throat. “Has anyone searched for survivors?”

She knew the answer before Bron opened his mouth.

“No, my lady. The clouds from the blaze obscure the sky and the wyverns may still hover, waiting for stragglers. Besides, the chance of any surviving such devastation…”

She scanned the remains from her raven perch, balancing her boot on the stump of a sizzled tree. The brick foundation of a tavern stood without its thatched roof or bluewood walls. Black stains streaked across the town square where the fire’s breath licked its way through. Skeletons littered the ash, their black-splotched finger bones grasping through the soot to seek salvation. This kingdom belonged to her now, and she couldn’t let the provinces fall to ruin because of a swarm of vermin from the south.

Her heart raced as ire shot up through her chest, splitting her apart. “How could they destroy innocent people?”

“They’re beasts, Your Highness. There’s no logical reasoning to their onslaught.”

“But we’ve stayed clear of Scalehaven. Unless something lured them to our lands?”

Bron shrugged as if the wyverns’ attack were inevitable. “The beasts’ population brims with hatchlings. Scouts have reported the yearlings as far north as Brimmore’s Bay.” His voice danced, careful and light, as if he wanted to protect her from the truth.

She ran her mother’s satin scarf across her blistering forehead. Sweat stained the pink fabric red. “My father would know what to do.”

Bron’s gaze dropped to the ash as if her words defeated him.

Danika cursed her weak tongue. She knew better than to speak of the late king in front of him.

He met her gaze once again. “I have full faith in your rule.”

Helplessness trickled through her, threatening to weaken her knees. Danika pulled away, straightening her back against the rising channels of smoke blotting the sky. She wanted to lean into him and borrow his strength, but such a gesture led toward a doomed future. To choose such a lowly man, albeit the Chief of Arms, when so many more lucrative prospects remained, would place her kingdom in further jeopardy. Especially in times as dark as these.

A blur of earthy brown scrambled between an overturned carriage and the remnants of the smithy. Danika’s concerns flew from her mind as she focused on the form huddled behind the coal pit.

“There.” She thrust her finger into the smoke. “A small child.”

Bron grabbed for her arm but the silky fabric of her sleeve slipped through his fingers. She threw herself forward, stumbling down the cliff’s side.

“Princess, no!”

Her arms flailed as she scrambled between slabs of malachite, the sharp edges exposed by the wyverns’ breath. Halfway down, a keen wail rode the wind, slicing her ears. Black ribbons flickered on the horizon.

“Danika, stop! They’re coming back!”

She jumped the final five feet and landed on her hands and knees beside the smithy. So many had died. If she could save just one…

The boy cowered with his arms covering his head.

“Boy! Come here.” She waved to him but his eyes were shut as tight as a noblewoman’s purse.

“Horred’s Grave.” She’d have to sprint to make it. She skirted a pile of flaming wood and jumped over the wall, the broken glass tearing her bell-shaped sleeves like wyvern’s teeth. She stumbled forward on her hand and knees, ripping the fabric to free herself.

A bronze plate three sizes too big hung on the boy’s sagging shoulders. Had the armor shielded him? Surely not. The fire would heat the metal to near melting, sizzling a layer of skin.

As she ran toward him, he turned in the direction of her footsteps and peeked through narrow eyelids. He must have recognized her, because his eyes widened as big as two chicken eggs in a face covered in thick, black ash. Surprisingly, he had no burns.

“Follow me.” She hoisted him up, and they scuttled through a hole blazed into the foundation.

The boy tugged on her arm to hide underneath the anvil. “It’s too late. They’re here.”

Danika fought him as she glanced at the sky. The ribbons grew thicker, spiraling through the air like glittering pennants on Festival Day. The pattern of swirls mesmerized her as the horde unfurled.

She blinked, tearing her gaze away. “We can still make it.”

The boy had stopped battling her, hypnotized by the sky. “It’s too late.”

“No.” She yanked him around and screamed her throat raw. “Run!”

As they neared the cliff, Bron stood above them like a chiseled statue of a war god, unsheathing his golden claymore. A pang of worry pierced her stomach like a dagger. He’d stayed behind to distract the wyverns’ attention to cover their escape.

Why had she been so foolish?

The first wyvern landed with a gush of wings on the outskirts of the village behind them, while a second flew straight toward Bron. Danika climbed, knowing full well she might have sent the two-time war veteran to his death. She lifted the boy and pushed him up the hill.

“Burrow’s Bucket! I can climb by myself.” He swiped her away and paused, throwing off the breastplate before scrambling up the crag. Danika grabbed at weeds, pulling them out as she struggled for a handhold. Although she should have focused all her energy on climbing, she gazed up at Bron.

The wyvern dove and lunged, smacking jaws longer than Bron’s claymore. Bron ducked and swung, sinuous muscles bunching and stretching. He missed its shimmering hide by inches. The warrior excelled in hand-to-hand combat, but if the wyvern ignited its belly of fire, he’d have no defense.

“Over here.” The boy had found a path up the incline. He reached down over a ridge and grabbed her hand, trying to pull her up. His scrawny arms shook as Danika slid through his sooty fingers. Her heels skidded backward until they hit a rock. “Don’t wait for me. Go!”

The boy dangled his arm, waving her to him. “Come on.”

She could make it. She took a step back and ran, leaping toward the ridge and catching a bramble. The boy grasped her arm. Thank the gods for all the secret training Bron had given her. Danika hefted herself over the edge. She grabbed the boy’s hand and they scrambled toward the carriage.

She glanced at the place where Bron had stood. Nothing remained except a darkening sky with wyverns writhing through the air. “B-Bron.” Panic rose inside her, along with a feeling of sheer loneliness. What if he’d died for her impulsiveness?

“I’m here, Princess,” he thundered from behind the carriage. He’d rigged the horses and collected the reins in his hand.

The boy jumped in without a word. Danika shot Bron a look that would have killed an ordinary man.

“I thought you’d died.”

“Princess, you know better than to traipse off while wyverns rule the sky.”

Danika gestured to the boy kicking his heels against the carriage seat. “I couldn’t leave him.”

“So be it.” He threw a tarp over a lump of steaming scales, shining oily green black in the twilight. “You have a new trophy for your mead hall.”

“Honestly, I prefer the wall bare.” Disgusted by death, she jumped in the carriage.

Frenzied screeches filled the sky behind them like mad raven calls.

“Hi-ya!” Bron whipped the reins and the horses galloped forward. Danika pressed her cheek to the glass. The wyverns became threads in the darkening sky. Her castle had a bastion of archers, but there were many more beasts than in her nightmares. Her stomach sank to her knees. In time, the writhing masses would overcome Ebonvale’s ramparts as well.

 

 

 

Lyric Poem

 

Danika awoke to the squealing wheels of the carriage as they rounded patchy lumps in the road. What under-tended alleyway had Bron chosen? Groggy from slumber, she checked on the boy. He’d fallen asleep curled on the cushions. After wiping away a smear of ash on his cheek, she reached over him and drew back the velvet curtains. The last rays of dim light filtered in and she almost lost her stomach. Blue-tinged trees loomed overhead. Gray moss draped from the drooping branches in wisps, like shrouds of the dead.

Anger and frustration rumbled inside her. She could never leave Bron alone without expecting him to defy orders. Danika slid the front window open and stuck out her head. “Bron, why in Helena’s Goblet are we traipsing through Bluewood Pines?”

“I see you’ve woken.” Bron twisted his thick lips in a small half-smile, the scar on his right cheek shining like a badge.

“Woken is correct, but to what?”

“Relative safety. The wyverns cut off our escape. Those sky worms are smarter than you think. They let us get away, Princess.”

The woods swirled around her. “I don’t understand.”

He shook his head. “You’re lucky I still have my eagle eye. Another swarm waited for us across the bridge. I saw black flickers in the sky as we crested the main road. Although I’m flattered, you overestimate my abilities to protect you. I can take down one, but an entire swarm would incinerate us in heartbeats.”

“This isn’t our territory.”

“They’ll never know we’re here.”

“The carriage squeals like a newborn pig.”

His over-confidence normally drew her in, but in times like these she wished he had more humility. He’d risked his reputation for her whimsy, smuggling her out of the castle to spy. But to lead them into the Minstrels’ Forest of Song?

He shrugged. “Better to ward off the wild boars.”

She sniffed the heavy tang in the air. “We reek of wyvern blood.”

Bron grinned. “Let the smell be a warning to all.”

A low humming throbbed around them. She groaned. The names she would have called Bron if she’d been another man and not a princess were infinite, each one worse than the last. “Speak of the devil. Here they are now.”

Bron pulled back on the reins, halting both horses. He grabbed the hilt of his claymore. “You think they’d have better things to do with their time. Pansy-ass finger plucking crooners…”

The sound drowned out his voice as the drone swelled into a multi-chordal ostinato. The song wove gentle fingers around Danika’s mind, reaching to her innermost emotions, soothing her into a state of fabricated bliss. “No.”

She turned to Bron for strength, but he fought against the tones as well, the muscles in his hand weakening, turning limp. No wonder these men quelled the wyverns’ attacks. “Bron, never mind the sword. Whip the reins.”

“Too late now.” His voice grew soft and velvety, something she’d never heard before and enjoyed far too much.

Danika tore through the carriage door and jumped onto the mossy road as the horses collapsed on their bellies. She knelt beside them, massaging their legs, urging them to stand. Black eyes lolled in their heads. The song swelled in her ears, and she put her hands up to her ears to block the sound.

A hooded shadow emerged from the mossy wisps, flanked by four others on either side. As the man stepped into the light, silver eyes caught her attention. A hand-painted lute lay strapped across his lean chest. Filigree patterns swirled around the strings much like the fire wyverns in the sky.

Bron jumped from the carriage and flexed his right arm to grab his sword. The music turned dissonant, tones pushing against themselves to delve deep inside her heart and make her ache for something unreachable. Bron fought against it, scrambling for the hilt. The dissonance rose and then resolved like a flower opening its petals, and he stumbled, falling to his knees.

The leader flicked back his hood with long, thin fingers. Swirly, deer-brown hair cascaded around his ears. He stepped up to Bron and his voice flowed like warm honey. “What brings you here?”

Bron grumbled and Danika spoke up before her bodyguard muttered something that would get them both in trouble. “We seek an alternate route. Wyverns swarm above the road to my castle.”

“Your castle?” The minstrel raised a hand and the men singing behind him softened to a low hum. Danika gave Bron a stern look and he bowed his head, allowing her to take the lead.

She rose, dusting off her hands. “Yes. I am Princess Danika Rubystone, daughter of the late King Artemus Rubystone, chosen ruler of the people of Ebonvale.”

The minstrel blinked and took in a sharp breath before bowing low. “Princess Danika, my apologies. Why haven’t you answered any of my letters?”

Bron gave her a questioning furrow of eyebrows, and Danika almost swallowed her tongue. “You’re Valorian, Prince of the House of Song?”

He lifted his head, wavy hair falling back to reveal sleek cheekbones. The sharp edges on his nose and chin could have cut through silk. “I am.”

Burrow’s Bucket! Her skin heated. Maybe if she’d known how handsome he was, she would have written a reply.

“Come, let us take you to the House of Song. Night approaches, and the fire wyverns will no doubt rule the sky until dawn.” Every word he spoke resonated like a lyrical poem.

Bron rose to his feet. He stood a head taller than the minstrels, looking like an ogre amongst fairies. “That’s not necessary. I’m capable of transporting the princess home safely.”

“Bron, wait.” Danika had snubbed the minstrels for too long, bent on deferring their offers to unite kingdoms. She’d learned stubbornness and independence from her father, but dire times called for unexpected measures. These song spinners might prove a useful ally. High time to take them up on at least one offer. Her heart tore to disappoint Bron, but she had a kingdom to think about and a hungry little boy in the backseat.

“I don’t question your abilities, Bron, but Valorian and I have some catching up to do.” She bowed to Valorian. “If you’d be so kind as to awaken my horses?”

He smiled as if deeply pleased. “Certainly.”

Valorian waved his hand and the pulse of music quickened into a jig. The men behind him strummed their lutes in undulating rhythms. The horses rose and Danika slipped into her carriage. Bron cursed under his breath. Would he disobey? Her heart hung in between beats until the carriage rocked as he climbed aboard.

Moments later, the horses whinnied and the carriage tugged forward into the burgeoning night. What had she gotten herself into?

“Are we there?” The boy rubbed his eyes, righting himself on the velvety seat.

“We’ve taken a detour.” He’d probably squiggle away if she wrapped her arms around him. She couldn’t imagine who he’d lost in the attack and she knew not to ask.

He gazed out the carriage window and his eyes widened. “Where are we going?”

“To the House of Song.” She smiled, trying to get his mind off the horrors of the day. “You’re one lucky little boy. Not everyone from Ebonvale gets to see the House of Song.” Although she didn’t mention it, luck had favored him more than once. He’d survived the fire wyverns’ wrath. Was it because of the breastplate? Danika pursed her lips. Pushing him so soon after the tragedy was cruel. She’d let him be a boy again before bombarding him with questions.

He shrugged and remained silent. Like any boy, he was hard to impress.

“I’m Danika.” She extended her hand.

“I know.” The boy stared at her ivory skin and flaxen hair, traits her mother had brought to their kingdom from the south. He didn’t move. “I’ve seen you in the parades.”

“And you are?”

He murmured the name, “Nip.”

“Nip?” She’d try not to judge. “What an interesting name for a boy.” It sounded as if he’d pinch her arms when she looked away.

Nip sniffed. “Ma named me after the cold--she had me in a blizzard.”

His mother. Probably dead.

Her eyes stung with unleashed tears. Maybe if she’d attacked the wyverns after her father passed away, the boy’s village would still be standing, and he’d be cooking with his Ma right now. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

He nodded but made no further comments. Endless hurt shone in his brown eyes, as if he hid within himself. Even a princess’ offerings couldn’t help. She couldn’t reach out and make the horrors go away. Nothing would bring back what he’d lost.

She’d make those worms pay, even if gleaning revenge meant allying with the House of Song.

Danika squeezed her palms until her muscles ached. She would find a way to rid their infestation, even if it meant taking a boat to Scalehaven Isle herself and sinking the entire island chain. The wyverns were vermin, just like the rats in the wheat sheds and the crop-eating locusts. Except, if Bron’s wisdom rang true, these pests had a mind of their own. The wyverns’ possible sentience frightened her more than their fire breath or pin-sharp teeth.

Her thoughts wandered to dark places until the boy spoke again.

“Thank you for saving me, Danika.”

“’Twas the least I could do. Remember, you saved me, too.”

The carriage followed a winding road, crawling up a steep embankment. Moss brushed against the walls as if they rode through an old man’s beard. Nip stuck his arm out and tugged on a wisp until the end came free, sending glitter motes across the velvet carriage seat.

“What’s it made of?” He ran his fingers through the strands as they disintegrated with his touch.

“Magic and music.” Danika caught a shimmer of glitter on the tip of her fingernail. “In the Forest of Song, they are one and the same.”

Snippets of melodies rode the wind, accompanied by tinkling chords and a low humming buzz. Now and then one particular note would catch itself in her heart and she’d sigh, remembering days long past when her father took her hunting, or when her mother sang a lullaby.

The orchestra of sounds grew louder as they rode into the minstrels’ domain until a mighty symphony pounded bass notes in the bottom of Danika’s stomach. She glanced at Nip. Would he block his ears? But the boy listened carefully, as if each refrain held the answers to secrets he’d long sought.

The carriage rose from the mist of the forest and turned a bend.

“Whoa.” Bron’s voice echoed as a dissonance against the backdrop of harmonious sounds. The horses slowed, giving Danika and Nip time to take in the scene spread before them. Gabled cottages, nestled in long-stemmed grassy hills, shone pearly white in the rising moon.

When the carriage door squeaked open Danika expected Bron’s paw-like palm and met Valorian instead. He offered a long-fingered hand to help her from the carriage. She slid her fingers into his, feeling his cool, soft skin.

“Follow me.”

She eyed Bron as he untied the horses. He bowed his head in deference, failing to meet her eyes. A pang of guilt swept through her. How could she leave him to be a second hand? Valorian pulled her forward, and she had no choice but to leave Bron behind. Nip followed behind her and Bron took up the rear with both horses in tow.

Valorian led her past ivy-laced village gates. The cottages glowed warm honey light onto the pebble stone as the denizens prepared their evening meal. Every structure resonated with a different chord, each one more beautiful than the last. The plunk of a harpsichord accompanied their steps, followed by the trill of a flute and the swell of a fiddle. A solemn chant became a meandering melody and then turned into a lilting lullaby. Did the residents ever tire from making music? Surely they must sleep and allow silence to descend.

“Music protects this village,” Valorian explained as if he’d heard her question. “We must churn out sound at all hours, each sentinel taking turns.”

They followed the main thoroughfare to a domed cathedral at the town center. Crystal flutes hung from the ramparts, tinkling in the evening breeze. Once in a while, the wind hit the mouthpiece in the right angle, sounding a breathy note.

Danika had imagined the House of So. . .