Kastali Dun

Desaree collapsed into an armchair—the only armchair she owned—her head still reeling from the fight with Caterina. Surely she had stumbled into a strange dream where the most absurd possibilities had become reality. Any moment she might wake—any moment life would return to normalcy.

She sat, staring unblinkingly at her chamber’s bare wall, she waited for that instant, but it did not come.

What would happen to Claire? She had acted irresponsibly, albeit courageously, in defense of her. Caterina might have taken many more liberties to harm her, had Claire not stepped in. Bad enough that she’d left several deep scratches on her skin. But what would it cost Claire?

And the man who was once her stepfather, Lord Stefan Rosen, esteemed lower council member and advisor to the king? What of him? She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking very hard on the affair. The mysterious pieces fit together perfectly. She was familiar with the rumors of his treason, but before today, she had struggled to believe them. He had been missing a fortnight from polite society—never seen during dinner in the great hall, unnoticed passing through the corridors with his lovely daughter dangling from his arm. Now she had no choice but to accept the news.

Stefan Rosen had betrayed the king—

A loud pounding at her door forced her to jump. She glared at it. “Desaree, are you in there?” Sarah’s prompting followed. Her heart settled. She pursed her lips. “Desaree, I know you’re there. What is the matter? Tess says you should be helping with dinner.”

She cleared her throat. “I cannot come. I—I have taken ill.”

“Have you truly?”

“Indeed. I should not be near the food. Tess will manage without me.” She waited for several long breaths. Only after the silence stretched forward did she sigh, relaxing her shoulders. She pulled her legs up and encircled them in her arms. Scrunched together, she laid her chin upon her knees. Then she closed her eyes to think once more—

More knocking pulled her from her reverie. “I told you!” she shouted. “I have taken ill!” Frustration heated her cheeks.

She was never so uncivil. Gods! What had gotten into her?

“Desaree? Is that you in there?”

She sprang from her seat, gasping. She backed against the farthest corner of the room. Heat sizzled across her skin. “Lord…Lord Verath?” Her voice was little more than a squeak.

“May I come in?”

“Oh, gods!” she whispered. She glanced about her chamber. Nothing was in disarray. Yet this was her private place. Lord Verath should not be here.

“Please,” he added.

She crept to her door and opened it a crack. There he stood, breathing heavily as if he’d run the distance to her room.

“Gods above,” he swore. His fingers grasped the door’s edge and he pushed it open. “Did she do that to you?”

“Uhm…who?”

“Caterina! Gods, woman! Who in Asjaa’s name do you think?” Grabbing her hand, he guided her back to her recently vacated chair and pushed her gently into the seat.

She watched him with wide eyes. “What has gotten into you, Lord Verath?”

“You are hurt,” he snapped. “That is what.”

She sighed. “It is nothing more than scratches and wounded pride. There is no need to be so riled.”

He scowled, taking further liberties with her. His fingers ran down the scabbing nail marks, trailing along her neck until he was forced to stop at her neckline. Her skin heated beneath his touch. Shivers ran down her back. For a male as strong as he, the gentleness was unexpected. She was forced to turn her face away, if only to hide her thoughts. This was too much—today had been too much.

“May I?” he asked.

She blinked at him. “May you what?”

“Heal your wounds. I can if you let me.”

She shook her head. They would heal just fine on their own. Verath’s frown deepened, putting worry lines into his face—lines that did not belong. “Never mind your wishes, I will heal them anyway.”

She opened her mouth—

He began muttering, his warm palm against her neck. His eyes were focused. She was forced into silence. A strange tingling spread over her skin, over the scratches. She could not see what was happening, but she felt it.

“There.” He stood and stepped away. She jumped up and rushed to her mirror. “They’re gone!” She placed her fingers over the same places where the wounds once stood. She had seen magic performed, heard of its capabilities, but that magic had never touched her. Not like this.

She frowned and he saw.

“Why do you sulk? Was my job inadequate? Do you suffer elsewhere? Or are you angry with me for defying your wishes?”

He was different today. Flustered. Heated. Impassioned.

It wasn’t quite the calm demeanor she was used to from him. She scurried back into her chair where she felt safe, and curled back into a ball. Chin on her knees, she watched him.

“You have not answered my questions.”

“I’m fine,” she said at last. It was a lie. “You need not fuss over me.”

There was a small wooden chair at her table. He procured it and placed it directly before her, turning it backwards and sitting down. His arms rested atop its back. His face was so close she could see the bits of stubble growing on his jaw.

“I thought perhaps the bruise was a singular occasion. Perhaps I was wrong. Why does she hate you so much?”

“She has always hated me, Verath. Always.”

“Explain.”

She sighed. Her stomach squirmed. Somehow, she’d known this moment would come. Only one person knew the story and that was Tess. Life was better that way. Recalling it brought nothing but heartbreak. “I would rather not explain anything.”

“I insist.”

Of course he did. She hesitated. “I am not as I used to be,” she said at last. “There was once a time when I was noble.” Verath’s gaze narrowed—so briefly she was lucky to catch it. Otherwise he said nothing. “I do not expect it, but maybe you have heard the surname Kendall?”

“Kendall…” He hesitated. “The Kendalls were a long line of wealthy merchants, were they not? I do not recall their fate…”

She was surprised that he remembered anything about them. “You do not know of their fate because I am their fate.”

“You?”

“We were once a long line. My father died when I was very young—four years of age—leaving my mother a dowager widow.”

There was very little to be recalled from that time. Just a single memory of her sobbing in the street, holding her mother’s hand while her father’s body was ferried away to the cryptons for burial preparations. She told Verath of what happened next, of how her mother fell in love again a few years later. One day her mother came to her, excited to announce that she would have a father again, and a big sister too.

“Caterina?”

She nodded. “Before they married I met Caterina. She was two years my senior, just shy of nine. Oh, she was all smiles, all feigned politeness. Everyone loved little Cat. I quickly learned it was an act. But too late! My mother was married.” She recalled those times that Caterina would pull her hair when no one was looking, or destroy her toys.

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “Two years later, my mother fell ill and died.”

“But she was still young, was she not?”

“Indeed, she was thirty-six. A young age to fall ill and die within the span of half a day. The healers hardly had time to see her before her chest was heaving, her mouth frothing, and her eyes rolling.”

“That is heavily suspicious, Desaree. Was no mage called to offer a cure? Did the healer doubt the situation?”

“How was I to know?” she cried, agitated. “I asked those same questions that day, and for many years after I left.”

“You left? Is that how you came to be here? To the keep?” His jaw flexed. He did not frown as he’d done earlier, but the signs of his upset were still present.

“No. I did not leave immediately. I was the heir to the Kendall fortune, or so I thought.”

She’d been nine at the time. She knew very little of politics, and less still of the cruelness of others, though Caterina had given her a taste. Stefan Rosen’s cruelness came after her mother died. She felt tears pooling in her eyes, hating these moments she was forced to relive. Yet she could no longer stop the words pouring from her mouth.

“Once my mother died, Sir Stefan Rosen, who is now Lord Stefan Rosen, shunned me. He turned a blind eye to Caterina’s nastiness. Within months of her death, I was shoved away in the attic, forced to sleep in moldy bedding, forced to wear rags, afforded scraps of old food. If I complained, if I came down into the the house, Caterina dragged me away by my hair. One day…” she took a deep breath, struggling to control her tears. “One day, I worked up the courage to demand my birthright. I was going to leave, but not without it. They could keep the forsaken house if they wanted. But I? I wanted the rest.” A hollow sound came from her chest. “I will never forget how he laughed.”

“It was taken from you…”

“Yes. My wretched stepfather had my mother sign away her fortune and titles to him shortly before she died. I cannot think of what excuse he used to win it.”

“So you got nothing.”

“Nothing. It was ripped from me—everything was ripped from me.” Tears rolled down her cheeks now, but she kept going, explaining what happened next. “I was not bound to the Rosens so I left, though I had nowhere to go.”

That day flashed into her mind’s eye—hot and painful. She relived the same desolation over again.

“I happened upon Tess in the market. Gods! She looked like an angel, beaming with smiles, walking along with her basket swinging, humming a happy tune. She saw me and hastened over, wrapping me in a cloak, offering me food from her basket.” It was one of the best days in her wretched memory. Tess became something of a mother to her after that.

“Gods. Remind me to thank Tess next time I see her,” said Verath. His gaze was soft. He reached out a hand to her face, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

“I thought I would be happy within the keep,” she admitted. “I hoped for it. I did not mind servitude. It was better than homelessness.” She shook her head. “Caterina could not afford me so much as that. She followed me here.” She clenched her teeth, remembering the anger she felt the day Caterina arrived at the keep.

“Caterina’s mage training brought her here. I remember it now.” Verath’s nose crinkled in disgust as he put the pieces together. “Caterina’s father came along too.” His eyes were far away. Perhaps he too relived the day in his mind. “I was always surprised by the speed at which Stefan earned his seat in the lower council. I never questioned it then.” His brow furrowed. “Seventeen is old for a person to discover magical abilities. Saffra discovered hers at the age of eight. I wonder…” There was a growing suspicion in his voice. Had he thought of something? Something she failed to see?

She tried to make sense of him. “What do you wonder?”

“Nothing.” He jumped to his feet and began pacing. “Those two have caused you enough grief. You need not fret any longer over their doings.”

“Please, Verath. Do sit down. Tell me—what of Lord Stefan Rosen? I have shared my secrets with you. You know of my right to the information. What has happened?”

He sat and reached for her hand, a gesture that surprised her. Taking her fingers, he laced them in his. It calmed her instantly, but she reclaimed her hand, for she would not have him avoid the truth. Once more she demanded that he tell her.

“There are some things in this world, Desaree, that are better left undiscussed.”

“It is true then? He betrayed the king?”

“Aye. He and another. I will not utter that man’s name either. You may consider your previous stepfather as good as dead.”

Her eyes grew wide. “What did he do?”

Verath gazed at her for the span of several breaths, studying her face with his keen eyes. “Perhaps it is unfair to hide the truth. If anyone deserves to hear it, you have earned that right.” He shifted in his seat. “You have heard about the new threat to the north, yes? The wild dragons?”

She nodded, though she still struggled to believe it.

“The dragons are under the control of a sorcerer named Kane. Kane is very powerful. So powerful in fact, that he turned Stefan Rosen into a puppet to do his bidding. He has been pulling Stefan Rosen’s strings for some time—who knows how long. Perhaps the man was already under his control before he moved into the keep. Or—”

“Or perhaps the sorcerer offered Caterina magical powers as a means to get them into the keep,” she gasped, covering her mouth in shock. A theory took form in her mind. “What if—what if he somehow granted her magical abilities as a payment for her father’s loyalty?” Blood rushed past her ears as her heart raced. “You did say it was strange that she discovered her abilities at the late age of seventeen.”

Verath was very, very quiet. She waited for him to say something. In her mind she began sifting through her memories. What would this sorcerer look like? Had she seen a strange man visit the home while she was with the Rosens? It was difficult to recall.

“You catch on fast.” His fingers drummed on the chair back as he gripped it. “I cannot say if the theory is correct. But…it certainly holds merit.”

“If it is true,” she said, “then Caterina is as guilty as her father.”

“Aye. She would be considered a traitor. The king despises her, to be sure. But he had not planned to take action against her when her father was convicted.”

“Why not?”

Verath sighed. “It would be a sad world if children were punished for the crimes of their parents.”

She considered it. “Yes. You’re right. Children are not responsible for the doings of their parents.”

“However,”—Verath held up a finger to emphasize his point—”if we can prove your theory correct, if Caterina indeed came by her abilities through Kane’s doing, then it would be enough to convict her. At this moment, she remains a mage-in-training.”

“You cannot take her into custody now? Ask questions later?”

Verath grunted. “Can you imagine what the people would think? Remember, Caterina is favored. Many wished for her to marry King Talon.”

“But you could tell them—you could explain that she was working with Kane.” Her frustration was growing. It was not in her nature to be vindictive, but she wasn’t doing this for revenge over her mistreatment. She was doing this to protect the kingdom. “Besides, you took Claire into custody, pronouncing her guilty before knowing her story.”

“That is different. Claire was an outsider. The king was not in his right mind.”

She clenched her teeth. Arguing with Verath was not something she wanted. She deflated and shook her head. “I apologize. I know the king and his Shields—you—will get to the bottom of this, hopefully quickly. I hate to think of the chaos a woman like Caterina might cause.”

“Indeed. Now that I understand her full capability, I can take action.” Once more, he took her hand in both of his. This time, she let him. Her heart thumped as she gazed into his eyes.

Her emotions deepened as the silence settled between them. She tried to understand what it was she was feeling. Was it gladness to know that a man she hated would finally receive his just desserts? Anger over the possibility of Caterina’s crimes? Relief that the secrets of her past were now shared with someone she admired? It took several fresh tears sliding down her cheeks before she realized what it was.

It was all of those things.

In the length of a single breath, Verath scooped her into his arms, sitting down with her upon her cot, holding her against him, rocking her back and forth. His attention brought more tears. It felt good to cry—good to release everything burning within her.

At last, the silent assault abated. Verath brushed his fingers through her hair. “There now,” said he, pulling away to look at her face. “Feel better?”

“Yes,” she sighed, snuggling deeper into his arms. Gods, it felt good. He tucked her head once more under his chin. For once she ignored everything in her mind about who he was, his titles, his position. Claire would have been proud to witness it—to witness her letting go.

She stiffened. Fresh panic filled her. “Verath, what is going to happen to Claire?”

“You needn’t worry about her. She’ll be fine.” His voice was ever so calm—too calm.

“You mean to say she will not suffer punishment?”

“Not at all.”

She sighed, her worry abating.

“Moreover, you need not fear Caterina any longer, Desaree. No matter what happens, she will never hurt you again. This I promise.”

Her shoulders relaxed. Tension fled from her limbs. The idea—unbelievable as it was, for Caterina’s brutality was something she planned on living with forever—was a welcome one. She was tempted to question it. But she reminded herself that Verath was a Drengr Fairtheoir. Such creatures were true to their oaths, as Verath would certainly be to his. So she squeezed her eyes shut, vaguely aware of the smile that pulled at her lips. Suddenly the world appeared much brighter than it had in a very, very long time.