Heir of Autumn Read online

  “What was your best day ever?” Trent asked.

  Brophy gave him a suspicious look. “What do you mean?”

  “The best day you can remember. What was it?”

  “Not today, that’s for sure.”

  Trent thought a moment, a sly smile came to his lips. “I’ll tell you a good day. A while back I went shopping at Master Garm’s.”

  Brophy didn’t like where this was going. Garm, Krellis’s new master armorer, was the best smith on the Summer Sea, but the man had something that Brophy appreciated more than the heft and balance of a fine blade. He had a daughter.

  Femera was a dark-eyed beauty with lustrous black hair that fell all the way to her waist. She moved like a summer breeze and smelled just as nice. She spoke very little, but her eyes sought Brophy’s whenever he was around.

  When Femera had arrived with her father six months earlier, she instantly became the boys’ favorite subject. At least a dozen times they’d invented excuses to go to Stoneside and walk by his workshop. Sometimes they would waste half a day on the off chance that they would see her working in the shop. Trent joked that Master Garm had made many great swords, but he had also made one great sheath. It took Brophy a week to understand that, and he’d blushed to his roots when he did.

  “I assume you haven’t forgotten his daughter, Femera?” Trent said.

  “The rock didn’t hit me that hard.”

  Trent stretched his arms and sighed. “Well, about a month ago…” He gave Brophy a playful shove. “That was my best day. Or rather, night.” He paused. “Nights count, don’t they?”

  Brophy felt ill. A sudden ache settled in his stomach.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, my father and I stopped by old Master Garm’s to check on the blades we ordered. Femera was there, just putting things in order. I stopped. We talked a little. She isn’t much for talking, as you probably know, but…”

  Trent shrugged and dropped his voice as though there were people around to hear. “She’s not so quiet with her skirts hiked up around her waist.”

  Brophy shook the image of Trent and Femera from his mind. “She is beautiful.” He fell silent.

  Trent didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “And willing. Oh so willing. You simply have to know how to move a woman.”

  Brophy nodded. He had no idea how to move a woman. He wondered if he ever would. Trent was good with women, always had something snappy to say. He had already bedded a dozen or more and told Brophy the stories. It wasn’t that way for Brophy. He was still a virgin, and it was no wonder. Whenever Femera was around, his jaw clamped shut, and he couldn’t say a thing.

  “So what was your best day?” Trent asked again as they neared the base of Ohndarien’s blue-white wall.

  Brophy couldn’t compete. To feel Femera’s naked thighs on his, to smell her long hair in his face would be a dream come true.

  But something had popped into his mind when Trent first asked the question. It didn’t seem like the right time, but he said it anyway.

  “It was a couple of years ago in the autumn.” He cleared his throat. “I’d just turned thirteen and was standing in the Hall of Windows, looking out over the harbor. Aunt Bae was with me and the sun was setting. You know how the light gets when it comes through the stained glass. It lit the entire room in red and gold, just like the leaves outside. I can’t remember why we were there, but everything seemed right. I felt…Fate. I felt fate all around me.”

  Brophy smiled at the memory. “I’ve never felt more Ohndarien. You know? I felt like this was my city. I was a true Child of the Seasons, and I belonged.”

  Brophy looked over at Trent, but he knew his friend couldn’t see it. How could Brophy make him understand?

  “I remember Bae’s smile from across the room. I could feel her love like the sun on my face. And I loved her in return. I loved everything. The entire world seemed to breathe and I knew I was meant to do something important.”

  Brophy fell silent, lost in the image. He always lost himself in it. It was the last moment of true peace he had known.

  “Important? Like what?” Trent said. There was a strange tone to his voice.

  Brophy stared at the ground, not sure what he should say. Trent started to speak, but he was interrupted by the roar of water ahead of them. A flood of seawater rushed from a round hole in the face of the Water Wall as the hydraulic mechanism opened the massive Physendrian Gate and spewed the excess water onto the salt-crusted stones below.

  Trent gave his friend a little shove. “Oh Broph! You’re such a kid. I tell you about seducing the most beautiful woman in the city, and you tell me about a fall day with your aunt?” He laughed again. “Would you rather sleep with Baelandra or a girl like Femera?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Brophy snarled. “It was…” He shook his head. “You’re such an ass, Trent.”

  Brophy strode ahead, hurrying out of the hot sun into the welcoming shade of the entrance tunnel. He was instantly blinded by the sudden darkness, but marched forward, not waiting for his eyes to adjust. He gave a curt nod to the two guards on the far side of the towering Physendrian Gate.

  “Nephew, are you injured?” one of the men asked, using Brophy’s formal title. The young man had the round face and easy smile that instantly showed he was from the House of Summer.

  “No, I’m fine,” Brophy insisted, and hurried on his way.

  Trent was just behind him and greeted the two guardsmen by name.

  “What happened?” the soldier asked Trent.

  Trent laughed and launched into some tall tale that Brophy didn’t even bother listening to.

  Leaving the darkness of the tunnel, Brophy entered the city of his birth. Standing in the center of the broad, sloping street, he had a clear view of the entire city. The deep blue harbor and vibrant green gardens instantly made him feel calmer, cooler.

  Taking a deep breath, he looked across Ohndarien from Morgeon’s Seat, the towering lookout pinnacle on top of the eastern ridge, to the churning windmills next to the Sunset Gate. The Hall of Windows glittered in the very center of it all, the jewel that had given Ohndarien one of its many names. The four torches burning atop it added an ever-present hint of sadness to all that beauty.

  Brophy sighed and thought back to that day in the Hall of Windows. There was more to the story, but Trent was such an idiot Brophy wasn’t about to tell him the rest. He hadn’t told anyone that story, not even Shara or Baelandra.

  That afternoon was the first time Brophy heard the voice of the Heartstone, the call to take the Test of the Stone, his birthright as a Child of the Seasons.

  The singing was quiet at first, a whisper upon a secret wind. But the more Brophy listened, the clearer he heard until there was no doubt whose voice he was hearing.

  The moment he heard that beautiful voice, that incomprehensible language, Brophy forgot about his aunt, forgot about everything.

  With his eyes still open, he saw a vision of himself running up a narrow set of stairs, urging others to follow him. A man in a dark cloak holding a sword with a pulsing red gemstone in the pommel guarded their backs.

  The northern horizon had turned dark and menacing. Black clouds hunched like an enormous beast ready to leap over the wall and devour Ohndarien. Brophy felt an overwhelming desire to stop that beast, halt it, slay it.

  The vision faded as quickly as it had arrived and never returned. Brophy had begun to doubt it ever happened, but years later, the mere thought of it made his heart beat faster.

  Since that day, the singing of the Heartstone had always been with him. Sometimes she was a whisper in the back of his mind. Sometimes she filled his head like a roaring wind. But he always looked north when he heard her. Whatever shadowy danger was coming for Ohndarien lay in that direction. Far to the north. Into the Vastness, where his father had disappeared so many years ago bearing the Sword of Autumn, an exquisite blade with a pulsing red gemstone in the pommel.

  He heard footsteps le
aving the tunnel and banished the vision from his mind. Trent grabbed his shoulders from behind and shook him.

  “Come on, Broph, don’t be such an old woman. I told you my whole story. Tell me yours. What are you supposed to do that’s so important?”

  Brophy took a deep breath and continued staring out across Ohndarien. “I’m supposed to protect this city,” he said. “I’m supposed to take the Test, become a Brother, serve on her council, and stand in her defense when she needs me the most. I’m supposed to find my father and the other Lost Brothers and bring them back to fight by my side.”

  Brophy clenched his teeth and waited for a snide comment, but Trent said nothing. His friend had turned away and covered his face with his hand.

  For a second, Brophy thought he was crying until he moved closer and saw Trent had turned bright red and was biting his lip.

  Brophy cursed himself and stalked away as Trent burst out laughing.

  “Brophy! Oh, come on!” Trent yelled, running to catch up with him. “You can’t go search for the Lost Brothers. I’d miss you too much!”

  3

  WILL I EVER KNOW, Baelandra thought, if I saved Ohndarien or betrayed her?

  She watched Krellis pull his boots on one at a time, the laces of his breeches dangling undone. He always pulled his boots on first, swiftly and surely, before he tied the laces at his waist. She’d found it odd the first night they spent together, a lifetime ago, and she’d asked him why he donned his boots so quickly.

  He’d smiled his crooked smile, and said, “Habit.”

  Baelandra slid backward along the silk sheets and rested her back against the headboard. She pulled her knees up to her chin and felt the familiar ache in her chest.

  The muscles rippled across Krellis’s back as he reached for his tunic, hastily cast aside an hour ago on the blue-white marble of her bedroom floor. The sheer size of the man had frightened her at first, but now she loved losing herself in his arms, swallowed by his embrace. Their lovemaking overwhelmed her. Every time.

  Almost a decade her senior, Krellis moved like a youth of twenty-five. He still insisted on teaching the sword and spear to every peach-faced young boy with dreams of the Citadel. Everyone knew he was strong, but the towering man still caught the youngsters unawares with his quickness.

  Time stands still for him, she thought, but not for me. I will be a dried-up old crone before the years slow him.

  Krellis did not look much different than when she had met him fourteen years ago. There was more gray in his beard, a few extra wrinkles around his eyes, but these things did not determine the age of a man. His inner fire never diminished, not by a single flicker. Every generation had its legends, men and women whose fire lit up the world around them. Brophy’s father, Brydeon, had been such a man. Krellis was the same, and she’d wagered all of Ohndarien on her ability to outshine him.

  Baelandra was barely past twenty when Krellis marched his army to the Physendrian Gate. She was the youngest member of a divided council. The four brothers had been gone for a year, and her sisters wanted peace so badly they were paralyzed in the face of war. It was left to Baelandra to command an army one-tenth the size of Krellis’s invading force. So she made a decision. Rather than being devoured by the wolf at her door, she invited him inside and offered him dinner.

  Young, ambitious, supposedly wise beyond her years, Baelandra left the protection of the walls and went to face her adversary. The talking lasted three days, two and a half actually. The third night had not held many words. She and Krellis met in his tent as enemies and ended as lovers.

  She welcomed the man into her kingdom, into her body, and finally, reluctantly, into her heart. She played the part of the ocean, content to wear him away until he was smooth and shaped to her will.

  Baelandra closed her eyes. Oh Ohndarien, have I betrayed you? I will never outlast him. He is stronger than I could have guessed.

  She felt him nearing as she would feel the heat from a fire. Her thoughts scattered like seafoam. She softened her expression, smoothed her brow.

  His whiskered lips pressed against her cheek, found her mouth. Once again, she opened herself and kissed him. She breathed in his scent, a mix of musk, dust, and oiled steel.

  “You are pensive this morning.”

  “Just thinking about you,” she whispered, opening her eyes.

  “With such a stern expression?” He smiled. “I don’t usually leave women scowling in their beds. I shall have to do better next time.”

  Baelandra gave him a smile, the Seasons preserve her, a genuine one. But it did not last. She swallowed and swept her tender thoughts away.

  She was happy to see his throat tighten, to see that almost-imperceptible widening of his eyes, the smallest flaring of his nostrils. She was not without power here. His love for her was all she had in this battle.

  During their third night of parlay, Baelandra had asked him why he wanted to conquer Ohndarien.

  “Because she is the most beautiful city in the world.”

  “Yes. But cutting the heart from a maiden will not make her love you. You will destroy everything you desire if you bring a sword into this city.”

  Krellis had smiled at her words. “I have found that maidens are not as fragile as they imagine. I may break this city’s heart when I bring down her walls, but broken hearts mend. Your maiden of a city will look even lovelier as mother to my sons.”

  “But why break her heart, when she may give it to you freely?” she had said. “Why bring her a battle when you could bring her a kiss?”

  She offered him a chance to spite his brother, to rule in Ohndarien, and to love her. Krellis took them all. He sent his army back to King Phandir and walked arm in arm with Baelandra through the Physendrian Gate. He traded his army for a kiss. She had intended it to cost him his life.

  Her plan seemed so secure in the beginning. To join the ruling council, one must take first the Test of the Stone. This dangerous rite of passage was created to test the ruling houses of Ohndarien. Only a few who were not of the blood had attempted it. All had died.

  But Krellis succeeded. For the first time in history, a foreigner bore a stone of the council. She told herself she could defeat her enemy without sacrificing a single soldier. But, after meeting that enemy, after loving him, didn’t she know he had the strength to take the stone?

  At the end of the test, a sliver of diamond fell off the Heartstone into his hand. He thrust the searing gemstone through his own breastbone, into the very center of his heart. Flesh and stone became one as the Heartstone accepted him, and he accepted her. That thought had comforted and infuriated Baelandra over the years. The man had ambition, an overpowering and ugly ambition, but at the same time the mystical stone from Efften had chosen him to be her champion.

  When the Morgeons first brought the Heartstone to Ohndarien, they called it their sister. Perhaps, like many women, the stone put her trust in the wrong man.

  Baelandra touched the red diamond buried in the thick hair of his chest. She felt where it had burned itself into his flesh. She carried one between her breasts as well. It made them what they were, Brother and Sister of Autumn, what the Physendrians would call a King and Queen.

  He reached out a callused hand and touched her stone. A jolt went through both of them, and he smiled.

  “I love that,” he rumbled.

  “You’re such a child.”

  “I prefer to think of myself as a randy youngster.”

  “That too.”

  He stood up straight. Muscles rolled across his back as he threw his tunic over his head and pulled it down. “You’d best get dressed,” he said, belting on his short sword. “We will be late for dinner with our guests from across the Great Ocean.”

  She nodded. “Help me braid my hair first?”

  He growled.

  She gave him an arch look. “It would not need braiding if you did not insist on setting it free in the heat of your passion.”

  “That’s the way it shou
ld be,” he said.

  “And this is the way it should be now,” she said simply, turning her back to him and crossing her legs. Krellis sat on the edge of the bed and began braiding. She closed her eyes and let out a long, even breath. Every brush of his fingers made her want him all over again.

  “So what are you keeping from me?” Baelandra asked.

  She thought she felt him pause for a second, but she couldn’t be sure. He continued braiding as smoothly as ever. He was actually quite good at it.

  “Keeping from you?” he replied.

  “At your age, you can’t afford to waste a whole afternoon kissing my belly unless you are about to do something I won’t like.”

  “What could be more important than kissing your belly?” His lips lingered on the back of the neck. “I came here because I love you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  He spoke the words her heart wanted to hear, but he always did. A woman could let that song lull her to sleep. But a Sister of Autumn had to hear beyond the music. Baelandra had ears in the city, she only hoped they were wrong. If dear Scythe spoke the truth, if Krellis still lusted after a throne, this would be the last time she let that man touch her.

  THE SISTER OF AUTUMN followed Krellis out of her bedchambers and down the stairs. Her favorite part of her home was the stairway. It arced gracefully around the outside of the house all the way from her rooms on the third floor down to the garden. Open colonnades looked over the harbor, and the smell of the ocean filled the house.

  Halfway down the steps, Baelandra noticed a young woman standing awkwardly in the second-story hallway, her hands clutching a blood-spotted bandage. From her plain looks, she was obviously not a Child of the Seasons. It took Baelandra a moment to recognize the girl as the apprentice of her personal physician. Baelandra would have thought nothing of it, but the girl seemed about to run.