Betrayer: (The Cursed Bloodstone Book 1)

On a windy morning, I stroll through the city of Astarobane. I keep to my tradition of listening, observing. Nothing stands out. There are still no paths leading me to the city Roland or Hector live in.

As I stop near the fruit stand, I spot Deborah out of the corner of my eye. She walks toward me wearing a dark purple surcoat.

Anger sparks in my veins. Anger for Kassandra.

It takes everything in me to not draw my dagger and teach Deborah to not touch my friends.

“Kyanite,” she says loudly, as though she thinks I’m deaf. “Alden wishes to see you.”

My heart roars against my ribcage. Why would Alden want to see me? Have I done something wrong?

My mind does a quick backtrack, but I discover nothing that stands out. Well, other than removing Lucian from this world. Surely, Gabriel didn’t tell anyone.

Instead of voicing any questions, I simply nod and follow Deborah through the sandstone streets. She doesn’t speak to me. Not that I thought she would.

She thinks she’s above her company with her jewels and silk clothes. She keeps her chin lifted as she walks. Nobody speaks to either of us as we walk by, but they stare. Oh, how they stare. One of their own is walking next to the Kyanite.

The moment she approaches the palace, my heart pounds faster. What if Malachi spoke against me? Or what if Gabriel is tired of me?

Surely, he wouldn’t have crafted such a lovely dagger for me if he was tired of me. It rests inside of my right sleeve, waiting to be used, if needed.

Worry floods through me as Deborah continues leading me closer to my Fate. I would do anything for Kassandra’s comforting presence. When I am with her, I feel safe, accepted, cared for. With Deborah, there’s only smallness and fragility.

Oh, how fragile my lungs are. My legs. My breath.

As we approach the front door of the stone palace, a guard swings it wide. We step inside to the bustle of activity. Servants scurry by. Guards patrol the halls. Groups of people stand in small circles talking.

The interior of the large palace is as grand as the outside. The walls, floors, and ceiling are all made of the same rose-colored marble. The rich veining reminds me of art—the way those lines splash their way across the hard surface.

Deborah leads me past all of them, down a long, wide hallway and to a thick iron door. “In here.”

She nods, and another guard pulls the door open.

Deborah swings her hand toward the opening. “You may go in.”

Quick breaths escape me as I follow her request, stepping into the unknown. My Fate. The room with Alden. The man who looks just like Roland. The man who could condemn me with a single glance.

He looks up from where he sits at a round table. “Hello.”

“Hello,” I say as I cross the room.

It’s every bit as grand as the rest of the palace. Someone hand crafted the furniture—carving into the wood with fine attention to detail. They hung silk tapestries and built an elaborate fireplace made of marble and walnut.

With a smile, Alden points to the chair opposite him. “Please sit.”

I do as he requested, sitting and folding my hands in my lap.

He looks the same as when I last saw him. He has the same raven-colored hair. The same vibrant blue eyes. The same short beard. The same lines across his brow, hinting that he’s at least fifty summers.

“Tell me about yourself, Sol.”

My breath hitches at that question. A reaction I’m sure he doesn’t miss.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

You can do this.

I inhale and slowly exhale. “I’m Sol of the Kyanite tribe. I am…” The words stick in my throat. I force them out anyway. “…a healer.”

“Is that all you are?”

What more does he want from me?

“Yes.”

“I have been doing a little research into your background,” he admits.

My heart falls to my feet.

Olah, help me.

“Would you like to know what I have discovered?”

No. “Yes.”

“You aren’t a healer. Your mother is dead. Your father owns a brothel.” Assurance and frankness bleeds from his words as he continues. “And you ran away from home when you were sixteen.”

My mouth falls open before I snap it closed.

The room grows hotter, more confining, as though it reaches in, suffocating me.

Breathe.

“Would you like to know the most troubling part of all of that?” When I fail to answer, he continues anyway. “There are about four summers unaccounted for. Four summers where you could have been anything. Done anything.” He leans forward, locking his eyes with mine. “Tell me about those summers.”

I lace my fingers together and draw on my inner calm. “I traveled across Tarrobane, and I worked at different taverns as I discovered a world beyond Kyanite land.”

“Why?”

“I craved adventure.” It’s true. I did crave adventure. I craved a life beyond being incapable of casting magic.

“I see.” Slowly, Alden drums his fingers against the table. “Why do you lie about healing?”

I lift my hand to the kyanite stone tucked into my surcoat. “It’s easier to lie about not being able to heal with magic, than to admit that I cannot.” I adjust positions and take a deep breath before continuing. “I am a healer, just not in the traditional sense of Kyanite healing.”

“Fair enough.” Alden shifts the subject. “What do you know of Gabriel?”

“I don’t understand?”

“What do you know of the man you have married?”

Does Alden seek to trap me by asking about Gabriel?

“I know he’s a commander.” A deep breath escapes me as I think of the last few weeks with Gabriel. He’s not always cold and distant. He’s warm when he wants to be. “He’s kind. He’s empathic.”

Does Alden expect more? Should I gush over my husband?

“Is that all you know?” Alden asks.

“Should I know more?”

Alden stacks his hands together as he speaks. “If you knew him, you would understand my question.”

That’s not fair.

It’s impossible to truly know Gabriel. He’s so elusive. So frustrating.

The Seer’s words to Gabriel echo in my ears. “Trust is as flimsy as a seedling flailing in the breeze. Never reveal what is yours to hold close.”

What does he hold close?

“What else is there to understand?” I ask, desiring to know more.

Alden slides his hands apart, only to stack them together. “He’s fiercely loyal and fiercely devoted. He will slay anyone, condemn anyone, if he believes they will hurt his people.”

“Have I done something wrong?” I cannot help but ask.

Why else would Alden call me here? Is he warning me or threatening me?

“I only want you to know what kind of man you have married.” Alden locks his eyes on the wall behind me. “For his people, he will sever the heartbeat of agitation … and he has.” The chair creaks beneath him as Alden shifts his focus back to me. “It would not be wise to test him.”

“I don’t plan to.”

Alden studies me to the point I squirm and swallow through the ash in my throat. “You look different than I imagined you might.”

He imagined me?

My brow rises. “How did you imagine me?”

He shrugs. “Different.”

A thought occurs to me, so I ask a question of my own—one I hope isn’t too forward. “Are you the chieftain of the Bloodstone people?”

It would make sense, especially since I haven’t been able to discover more about Roland, or Hector for that matter.

Alden lifts his hand to his shoulders and pats. “Do you see a gold livery around my shoulders?”

The livery of office? The one all Tarrobane chieftains wear?

When Roland murdered Mother, he wore the thick, gold chain around his shoulders. In the center hung their pendant. Their serpent.

“No,” I say after a moment.

“Then, I am not the chieftain.”

“You lead Astarobane, though.”

Alden nods.

“Do you care about what people are doing to outsiders?” Maybe I have said too much, but I cannot help but think of Kassandra while I’m sitting here.

Alden runs his hands across his brow. “Of course.”

More boldness grips me as I voice another question. “Then why not remove those red circles?”

“You want me to undo something that has worked in our tribe for well over a century.”

“It doesn’t work.” Bitterness lurches from me as I continue. “It hurts good people.”

Shadows darken his eyes as he sweeps them over me. “Why do you care? You’re not one of them.”

“Because some of them are my friends.”

“I see.” Alden stands, rotates toward the door, and calls out. “Caldum, escort Sol back to the city.”

I don’t object as a young guard with no lines or wrinkles, leads me away from Alden, the room, the palace.

The guard cannot be a day over eighteen summers. I’m not sure why the realization surprises me. Maybe because most of their soldiers are older.

Caldum doesn’t speak to me. A fact I’m thankful for. The silence gives me time to think of my conversation with Alden.

Alden was trying to warn me of something. I feel it in the deepest corners of my heart.

Gabriel is brimstone and fire. He’ll burn anyone that gets in the way of his people. At least, that’s what Alden seemed to be saying.

And well, Alden clearly doesn’t trust me.

I run a hand along my cheek and frown. Should I be more invisible?

Olah, help me.

I don’t know how to be invisible and good at discovering more about the Bloodstone.

I’m a simple woman. A want-to-be healer. A brief warrior.

I am not a spy.

If only I were.