The Deathsinger: Book 1

Ch. 3: The Reaper

Without another word, Tievel fled the library, leaving me to face Astreia's... wrath? Disappointment? I really didn't know what emotions my dearest friend experienced as she stared at me. She didn't love Tievel. I knew that much.

"Go to your room," she said at last. "I won't need you this evening, as I'll be required to be with the royal family."

"Astreia–"

Her chin jutted up. "You won't be welcome there."

Then she left. Those flat, unemotional words wounded me far more than any insult she could have hurled at me, but that was the danger of friendship. Years of late nights giggling and crying and sharing secrets equipped her to be my greatest ally and my deadliest foe.

I refused to head to my chambers. Not that there was any genuine amusement outside my room.

Over the next few weeks, the nobles would return from their summer estates, many of them finding the long, harsh winter months more endurable within the castle walls. Then, every night would have some entertainment—often dancing or singing—and almost always ending with over half the inhabitants soused on Goblin wine and canoodling in the corners.

A scullery maid dipped her head when she scurried by me. Her face reflected the usual deference I received from the other household servants. Nothing about her mannerisms suggested she knew what had transpired earlier. No concern or suspicion. No overzealous rushing or trembling.

In fact, the castle was quiet, even for an autumn evening. Almost tomb-like. Reaching my favorite alcove, I settled onto the window seat and pulled my knees to my chest as I stared through the window overlooking the winding Lorvien river. Long ago, the first king of Edresh braved the frothing waters of the great river to build the castle on this eyot. Great bridges strengthened by magic connected the island to the capital city of Mirish.

People came and went daily, some seeking an audience with the king, others bringing or taking goods. The bridges only closed during times of war, leaving the city to take the brunt of any invasion. Not once had it fallen to invaders, not even during the last stand of Araphel.

From this window, I could see the forest that bordered the river and separated Edresh from Estrellum. The Vesper. With every passing year, it grew thicker and more tangled until finally not even a sliver of sunshine pierced the canopy, turning the world beneath into a twisted place of darkness.

Most who lived here pretended it did not exist. Like the world ended at the Lorvien River. The King encouraged this, building his palace and its gardens to block the view. But there were those who swore that on stormy nights, the icy winds carried whispers from the forest across the river. Whispers filled with threats and a promise that a day of reckoning was coming for the King.

Was today that day? I hoped not. At least for Tievel's sake. His grandfather was the only person in his family I ever heard him speak about with fondness. Without him, there was no buffer between the prince and his parents. He would have no one. Not even a wife who loved him.

Eyes prickling, I blinked to clear them. Astreia made no secret of her disdain for their betrothal, calling herself a royal broodmare chosen for her power and bloodline. Three years had passed since the announcement, yet, from time to time, my heartache felt as fresh as the day I learned of the marriage. That alone was enough to turn my tears from ones of sadness to ones of rage. I was no longer a foolish fourteen-year-old girl, so why could I not let him go?

"Crying for the king, sweetheart?"

A lithe figure swathed in black dropped from above, landing with a knee and fist planted on the cushion in front of me. Only black rimmed amber eyes were visible through an opening of his head wrap, but I swear I could tell he was smirking behind the cloth.