Curse of Shadows and Thorns: A Dark Fantasy Romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 1)

Dawn brought gloomy clouds, a sea wind, and a haze that added to my sour mood. My foot ached, but Halvar’s concoction had already sealed the wound. The paste tingled. It tugged on the threads of my split flesh like a needle and thread.

I didn’t ask, but if the paste was illegal, doubtless it had a bit of fury. Maybe herbs from the king’s peaks where common folk were forbidden.

Before dawn, a pyre was lit on the back lawn. My father demanded Runa and I remain inside. According to his missive, we need not worry ourselves over the death of a guard. My fists clenched as I leaned my forehead against the bubbled glass of my window, watching the flames lick toward the sky.

The guard defended this house with his life. He deserved to be set to the sea with his pyre. Not on a haphazard bonfire in the corner of the grounds.

A bit of guilt twisted my gut. I wished not a single life had been lost, but at our latest count, the guard who’d been bitten was the only one who’d fallen besides dozens of Agitators. My family had holed up in the cellars. The serfs in the hatch in the stables, in the trees, beneath beds. Our guards proved themselves, and a royal courier had already sent word from Castle Ravenspire that those who’d fought to defend the king’s sister would be honored at a fete at the castle in the coming weeks.

I wanted to hide beneath my furs and quilts and stay there at least another week.

No one seemed out of sorts that our household had fallen under attack. Already my father’s trade council was making light of it. I overheard two bulbous men laughing that they’d expected such an attack much earlier than this.

The serfs went about their duties. Bevan hardly mentioned what happened, but fear lived in his eyes. Fear he wouldn’t talk about.

I tried.

Runa was more perturbed her sleep had been interrupted. I didn’t understand any of it. I’d thought of nothing else. The black spittle. The way the Agitators moved. I thought of the Blood Wraith. But by the evening after the attack, all the Lysander household worried over—once again—was my betrothal.

Two suitors had been allowed to call. Neither inquired about the attack.

Herr Svart came to call and asked how I appreciated the craftsmanship of the wooden box. In the end, his visit turned more into praising his—how did he put it—his astuteness in comprehending the intricate needs of women. Then, the fool proceeded to ask me questions I had no idea how to answer regarding the rearing of littles.

My response that all littles should be sent to waif houses didn’t appease him.

“You know Ellis heard you,” Mavie whispered after Svart had stormed out of the manor in a frenzy of disbelief and a desire to tame the wildness inside his future bride.

After that, I’d hurried to the kitchens where Arabella worked with Cook and gave the boy two fruit tarts with a dozen promises Kvinna Elise fibbed to stupid men quite often. I’d only been satisfied when the boy gave me his toothy grin and offered some of his lingonberries from off the top of the sweet.

The second caller was a young shipping merchant who’d inherited his fortune from his father. Wilder Kage was fine enough, but had a reputation of bedding anyone who glanced his way, then leaving them battered the next morning.

Even my father seemed thrilled when his visit ended.

The moment the door slammed shut at his back, I slumped into the padded chair, skirts wrinkled over my knees, and legs spread in a way that would fluster my mother.

I’d been alone for a few blissful moments when the sitting room door opened and Runa stepped inside, flanked by her maids.

“Eli, you have a visitor.”

The groan slipped out before I could stop it. “No more, I beg of you.”

“Apologies, Kvinna. I can return another time.”

I dropped my skirts back around my ankles and wheeled around in my chair. “Jarl,” I said, heat in my cheeks. “Forgive me, it has been . . . a busy day.”

Jarl stalked into the room, holding no trinket of affection, nothing to impress me with. He wore his black military gambeson over crimson fatigues. His eyes held a bright spark of amusement when he sat across from me.

“So I’ve heard. Forgive me, but I had to see you were well. I heard of the breach at the gates.”

I nodded. “Yes. It was frightening, but we live on.”

“Were you injured?”

I shook my head, having no energy to explain my foot, nor how it healed so quickly. “I’m fine.”

Jarl grinned softly as he sat beside me. “I’m sure you’re tired, and I know two more suitors have stopped by. Truth be told, I almost wondered if I should come or not, knowing you’ve likely entertained several callers by now.”

“But you came.”

A bit of color tinted Jarl’s cheeks. “If I told you it was because I wanted to see you were well with my own eyes, and talk as we used to, would you believe me?”

I studied Jarl for a stretched pause. I didn’t know how to answer his question, so instead, I stood. “Walk with me outside? It’s always pleasant right before a storm.”

Jarl held out his arm. I gripped his elbow, and together we entered the back rose garden. My mother had paved walking paths with white river stone and allowed the wild roses to grow in natural tangles. She always said they appeared to be more formidable that way. Salt and flowers perfumed the air, and the chill of the sea felt calming against my skin.

Death and blood stained the grass not hours before, but at my mother’s insistence the gardens had quickly been returned to their natural beauty. Only a few dark marks on the stones hinted anything amiss went on here at all.

“This is a lovely garden,” Jarl started, his eyes darting to the various bushes.

“Jarl, I know you didn’t come here to speak of roses.” I stopped walking. “I wonder if you would speak plainly with me.”

“I have no intentions of speaking any other way. Ask me anything and I’ll tell you.”

“Why are you seeking my hand?” I didn’t hesitate, and I wanted to know. From him, most of all, because out of all the suitors I’d been tasked with visiting, Jarl seemed the least likely to make me miserable, and I him.

I didn’t understand why Legion’s face entered my mind at the same moment, but there would be time later to peel back potential reasons, no doubt frustration the man had yet to appear was partly to blame.

The way Jarl shifted on his feet, I assumed he was taking my question rather serious, and considering the answer.

“We have known each other for turns,” Jarl said. “I admire you, and always have. You are not afraid of thinking for yourself.”

“I don’t know if most would find that attractive in a wife.”

Jarl grinned and rubbed his thumb over a velvet rose petal. “Perhaps not, but there are changes happening in Timoran, and I think a wife who looks beyond what is expected, who adapts to change, is exactly the sort I want. That she is not ugly also helps.”

Jarl winked and for the first time since dawn, I smiled. “Ah, a man such as yourself would never suit a homely woman, even if she were the most brilliant.”

“Not when my face is also quite handsome.”

“Naturally. What a sin it would be to taint such a face as yours.”

“It would. Terribly unfortunate.” Tension lessened in my chest, and when Jarl faced me, my hands in his, I was nearly at ease. “All teasing aside, I think we would make a fine pair, Elise. As Timoran strengthens, evolves, I plan to be part of it, and I think you have similar ambitions.”

My smile faded. That word again—ambition. Runa was the same. I slid my hands free from his grip and turned toward a wild shrub, nearly as tall as me. My fingertips gently tapped the tops of the thorns, as if daring the point to draw blood. “What changes do you foresee in Timoran?”

Jarl came to my side, his hands clasped behind his back. “A new dawning. A Timoran unafraid of the fury in this earth. One that uses the powers the gods intended to be used, not destroyed or kept hidden.”

I pointed my confusion at him. “You mean Night Folk?”

“Among other things. There is power in this land that is being concealed out of fear of losing it. Left to our dark enemies to use instead.”

I thought of the darkness of last night. Were dark fae returning fury to this land with such violence?

“Timorans were not blessed with fury, though,” I said. “Ettans were. Fae were. How could someone without their magic even dream of controlling it should fury be unleashed?”

“The Agitators are gaining strength, Elise,” he said. “They worship fury, and the only way to crush them, is to use what they worship to satiate them. Some of the journeys I’ve completed to neighboring kingdoms have garnered a better understanding of fury. It isn’t all the same. There are many powers out there. Think of it.” Jarl took my hands again, eyes bright. “If we could join fury with the strength of Timoran people, our kingdom could perhaps find peace. It does nothing to try to destroy what was gods-given to this land.”

I blinked as through a fog. “You disagree with the king and his quarries?”

Jarl’s jaw tightened. “I find some practices are based in fear. Prince Calder believes, and I agree, if we’re to ever claim our position as the strongest of the kingdoms, we cannot act in fear by trapping Night Folk and locking them away. We must use the power to our benefit.”

“Like . . . unity?” A unified Timoran where Night Folk, where Ettans, could walk freely—I almost dared not hope.

“This land resists us, and I believe it is because we do not accept the natural blessings—fury. Do you not grow tired of the constant bloodshed from Agitators? Just last night they tried to reach you.” Jarl shook his head as his passion tinted the curve of his ears crimson. “Change would not happen immediately, but under Prince Calder’s vision if we’re to live amongst each other, then Timorans must find a way to connect with fury, too. Not run from it.”

I agreed. I wanted peace, wanted attacks to cease, wanted Siv and Mavie to be free women, to live as they wished. At the very least, be paid for their work in our household. The only trouble with Jarl’s vision was Calder had no power and wouldn’t for turns to come. Zyben was not terribly old, and kings ruled until they aged to the point of weary bones and poor health.

A voice cleared across the garden. Mavie stood beneath a rose archway. “Excuse the interruption, Kvinna, but you asked to be informed if . . . the lights in the cottage returned.”

My stomach flipped. A bit pathetic how fiercely the response came, and even though I’d enjoyed the conversation with Jarl, I faced him without a thought and said, “I apologize, but I must go. Thank you for this, Jarl.”

He bowed his head, a flash of disappointment in his eyes, but he would never speak it. “I hope to call again soon.”

I rested a hand on his forearm. “I hope you do.”

With the hurried farewell, I rushed to Mavie. There were questions I needed to ask Herr Legion Grey.