Wraithblade (The Wraithblade Saga Book 1), page 49
“But if she doesn’t—”
“I maintain the oath I made when we started this. If this failed hunt of hers doesn’t break her spirit, then yes. I will break it for her.”
Her heart shattered. The rage in her chest sputtered and died at his confession, like a soldier snuffed out in an instant by an unseen arrow from afar.
Teagan sighed, the sound exhausted and heavy. “Be patient, son. Henry took years to build his armies, and even then, no one learned the truth of what he was. In the scheme of things, seventeen more days won’t make a difference. Your chance to face this man is coming. When she fails to capture him, you will have your chance at glory.”
When.
Not if, but when.
The ringing in Quinn’s ear grew to a deafening scream as she stared at the floor beneath her boots. Her lungs couldn’t get enough air. Her head thudded with the searing throb of a migraine, and the ache only further muddied her attempts to process what she was hearing.
“I defer to you, Father,” Zander said, his tone dripping with revulsion.
Curse the Fates. She had heard him use that tone before, but only ever in the weeks leading up to disobedience. A handful of times in his career, he’d gone rogue and pursued the missions he believed to be worthy of his time, even if they differed from the ones he’d been given.
Her brother didn’t want to wait. He wanted to act, and he wouldn’t be patient for long.
“Have you chosen a suitor for her, yet?” Zander asked, probably to change the subject. “Somewhere far off, perhaps? South Haven would suit her, don’t you think?”
To her horror, her father laughed.
He laughed.
“I wish you two would get along,” he said. “Why you hate each other with such fervor is beyond me.”
Quinn stifled a disgusted scoff. She had only ever wanted to make her father proud. For years, she had tried to help Zander on his missions, like a good soldier, only for him to sabotage her efforts. Every time she tried to help him, he’d made her look like a fool.
In her earliest memory, Zander had pushed her off a balcony. At thirteen, he had easily overpowered her. If not for her newly formed friendship with the young vougel who had saved her, she would’ve died on the rocks.
Her brother had always hated her, and she had never understood why. For all she knew, it stemmed from some misguided contest for their father’s love.
Only one child could be Teagan’s favorite.
“Several noblemen in Wildefaire are interested,” her father admitted. “Perhaps after we humiliate them with our superior Isletide Solution, we can strongarm them into a takeover and gain control of their refineries with her at the center of the deal.”
“That could work. It’s far enough away that she wouldn’t interfere here at home.”
“Zander,” her father said, a warning in his tone.
“Apologies.”
After a moment of silence, her father groaned. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it’s best to keep her far from Lunestone. Otmund has made his request, of course, but I doubt I’ll honor it.”
“It seems odd, doesn’t it? For him to want her?”
“I’ve seen stranger pairs, but she deserves better.”
Quinn grimaced with disgust.
As if this couldn’t get any worse. The Fates were testing her, and she didn’t know how much more of this she could take.
Otmund, the man she saw as family, who had practically raised her during her summers in Mossvale, had asked for her hand.
He had claimed to have sent her on this mission, but he must’ve been complicit in all of this. Like them, he wanted to break her. He wanted to watch her fail.
Even Otmund had lied to her.
“Perhaps we can arrange a coup across the lake,” her father continued. “With the right man at her side, she could sit on the Oakenglen throne. It would be the ultimate prize to have a Starling control that city once and for all. Think of it, Zander.” The Master General sighed wistfully. “After that, we’ll own everything. Saldia will belong to us, and us alone.”
“We already had a Starling on the throne,” Zander pointed out. “Celine—”
“Celine doesn’t count,” their father interrupted. “She’s only a quarter Starling, and I never did find a way to control that woman. She’s too headstrong. Quinn, however, will do what she’s told.”
The last flicker of Quinn’s rage shattered, and she sank against the stone wall as her body surrendered to the overwhelming shock of all she had heard today. It felt as though her chest had been cracked open and left to drain onto the floor.
Her head swam with her father’s words. With his betrayal.
Zander grumbled. “Queen Quinn. Can you imagine even saying that? It’s ridiculous to put those words together.”
“We would change her name. It’s common before a coronation.”
She grimaced at the very idea. Not even her name belonged to her anymore.
“I should take that throne, Father,” Zander insisted. “Not her.”
“Watch that greed of yours,” the Master General warned. “A man can’t keep two thrones. One, yes, but two? Your selfishness will undo you, and you’ll lose both.”
“But Quinn is too impulsive,” her brother argued. “Let me take her place in Oakenglen. Given what I’ve learned from you, I would be a good king.”
“You would be a great king, son, but you will be a far better Master General of the Lightseers.”
“Thank you, Father.” A barely restrained smile brightened her brother’s voice.
“This castle? This dynasty I’ve built for you?” Their father paused, and she could imagine him gesturing to the room around him. “This is your destiny, Zander. Even if you don’t sit on the Oakenglen throne, you will control the Capital from a distance. Manage it through your sister’s new husband. We’ll choose a man who fears us. As Queen of Oakenglen, Quinn will find the purpose she has always craved, and that will be enough to ensure she behaves. It’s the smartest move.”
“Yes, sir,” her brother reluctantly conceded.
“Good. I’ll figure out the details of the Oakenglen coup. For now, prepare to leave. I’ll have more for us to discuss when you return. You’re dismissed.”
A chair scraped across the floor, and almost imperceptible footsteps trailed toward the exit. A hinge creaked, and a door slammed moments later. The muffled murmur of a conversation filtered through the closed door, and just like that, they were gone.
Somewhere in the depths of Quinn’s hazy mind, a warning for her to move urged her to get up. To stand.
To avoid being discovered as she left the secret passage, she had to hurry. She tried to get to her feet, but her body wouldn’t budge.
Every fiber of her being ached to blame this betrayal on Zander. Perhaps he had warped their father’s mind, somehow. Perhaps this was nothing more than his final act of sabotage, where he’d spun half-truths or outright lies to convince their father to agree to this plan.
There had to be an explanation that didn’t shatter her world.
As she sat there in her breathless shock, a painful sting cut through her hand. She winced and opened her palm to find blood still pooling on the dagger’s blade.
In a rush, the blistering pain cleared her head.
The fiery rage crashed back into her chest. As her nose creased with a grimace of utter loathing, she scowled into the empty shadows of her secret tunnel.
Her hand tightened around the blade in her palm, intentionally this time. Jolts of agony shot clear up to her shoulder, but she only tightened her fist. More blood dripped onto the floor.
The pain gave her life. It woke her up.
Under her augmented strength, the steel in her palm trembled. Her arm shook as she held the dagger even tighter. Thick ribbons of pain shot through her wrist, but she didn’t care.
She didn’t stop.
The blade shattered in her palm. The broken hilt fell, and her free hand snatched it from the air. Fragmented shards of the blade rained like glass onto the floor, barely audible.
Even in the most dire of moments, a good Lightseer made no sound, and she had always striven to be one of the best. Her rage, however, only burned hotter.
Today, her father and brother had spoken with excruciating candor. With her supposedly out of the castle, perhaps they had assumed they could speak more freely.
In the end, it didn’t matter. She had unearthed the truth. What she did next would speak volumes of who she truly was. Her eyes squeezed shut, and a single furious tear rolled down her cheek.
It was time to face the facts.
Fact. Her father had never believed she could handle this mission to hunt the so-called assassin. He had sent her after the Wraithblade unprepared, with the intent to break her. Now more than ever, she doubted her target had truly killed King Henry. The stranger in the woods had probably been nothing more than a useful tool in Teagan’s plan to break her resolve.
Fact. To her father, the end justified the means. He would do anything to her if it meant she hung up her Firesword Aurora beside Gwendolyn’s Honor and Victoria’s Divinity. He wanted to retire her, once and for all. The mission she had thought would earn her admiration and respect had been nothing more than a ploy to waste her time and kill her fire.
Something warm dripped onto her thigh. Her eyes snapped open as blood dribbled out of the red pool in her palm. She stretched her fingers wide, and more pain splintered through her body. Tingling prickled along her fingertips as fiery jolts of pain shot up her arm, and the agony brought her back into the moment. Her vision sharpened as she stared at the dark clots forming along the edge of the deep slice in her skin.
Fact. Quinn Starling didn’t surrender. The swing of a sword in the heat of a battle felt like life to her. The thrill of a brush with death made her feel at one with the world.
No one would take that from her, not even the legendary Master General of the Lightseers.
Her father. Otmund. Traitors, both of them.
She grimaced with unbridled disgust. Aside from Blaze, Quinn had only ever trusted four people. Today, two of those four had betrayed her.
Perhaps even Gwendolyn and her mother didn’t deserve her trust.
She didn’t know what to believe anymore, but she did know one thing for certain: there was more at stake than even she knew. Her eyes narrowed as the bonfire in her chest surged with a fresh wave of rage.
Resolute and more determined than ever, she finally pushed herself to her feet and left the shattered remnants of her blade on the floor. Solving the mystery of the so-called assassin in the woods—the Wraithblade—was no longer about impressing her father.
No honor waited on the other side. No glory. No triumph. Her father wouldn’t put his hand on her shoulder and say he was proud of her. Nothing she did would be enough for that man. As she accepted that ice-cold reality, the last of her terror died.
As of this moment, the only approval she craved was her own. Once she left Lunestone, she would use every ounce of her tenacity and willpower to unravel the lies her family had woven.
Even if it killed her.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Otmund
As he sat alone in a meeting room in the eastern tower of Lunestone, Otmund waited for Zander. He drummed his fingers on the wooden table before him in the silence, with only the breeze off the lake to keep him company. Waves crashed against the rocks below the open window, and a gull cried on the lonely air.
White and blue paint, flecked by years of use, coated the table before him in what had once been the Lightseer crest. With nothing on the walls, not even draperies over the window, the décor in this part of the castle paled in comparison to what he was used to as a Lightseer Viceroy.
The marble tables and plush thrones of the northern tower would’ve been more comfortable, but he didn’t want Teagan to learn of this meeting. Otmund’s entire plan hinged on keeping the man from interfering.
Something bright flashed in his periphery, and Otmund glared out the window. Beyond the castle, the sun’s rays glinted off the frothing waves, but he hadn’t come here to enjoy Lunestone’s natural beauty.
He’d taken the Rift from Mossvale to ensure the Wraithblade didn’t have a chance to intercept him. As the days turned into weeks, he’d had to be careful not to give the peasant an opportunity to strike.
Quinn still hadn’t returned, and her delay frankly didn’t make sense. Usually, she was faster than this. Though he had grown accustomed to seeing several moves ahead in this game he played against the Fates, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could lie low and rely on his little puppets. For the new Wraithblade to evade the Lightseers for this long meant they were either underestimating him, or he had impressive skills beyond even what Otmund had witnessed in the field.
Both options deeply concerned the Lord of Mossvale and future King of Saldia.
As he leaned back into his chair, his shoulders tense from night after restless night of wondering where this man could be, he sifted through what he would say to Zander. This new plan of his was desperate, and he knew it—but if it failed, his days were numbered.
The handle rustled, and the door smacked against the wall with a dramatic crash as Zander stormed into the room. The Lieutenant General glared at Otmund from under his thick red brows as he slammed the door shut behind him.
“This had better be worth my time, Soulblud.”
“It always is.” Otmund leaned back in his chair and donned his mask of cool indifference—the only one that worked on the men of the Starling bloodline.
“Get to it, then.” Zander’s boots barely made a sound as he passed by the chair Otmund had pulled aside for him. Instead, he stood by the window and peered out over the lake—checking for anyone foolish enough to listen in, no doubt.
The time had come for Otmund to weave a fresh web of lies.
“Quinn has taken too long,” he began. “I trust you have a backup plan in place for when she fails?”
“Of course.”
“How will you ensure you retrieve the Bloodbane dagger from her? If she refuses to—”
Zander scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest as he glared out the window.
At the Lightseer’s brazen lack of restraint, a twisted grin pulled at the corners of Otmund’s mouth. He rubbed his jaw to cover the smile and to ensure the Lieutenant General drank in his lies while he played dumb. “You sent her after this man without the only weapon that could protect her from a simmering soul?”
“Quiet, you buffoon.” Zander’s gaze shifted to the door. “These rooms aren’t as secured as those in the northern tower.”
A half-truth, if not a blatant lie. Otmund had scoured the area around this room to ensure it was safe to speak freely, and he knew Zander would’ve done the same before agreeing to meet here.
“My apologies.” He set a hand on his heart as he feigned embarrassment at the gaff he’d intentionally made. “Just in case, perhaps we should ask Victoria to make another?”
“I assume you’ll pay for it, then?” Zander scowled, the creases in his forehead deepening as his nose creased with disdain. “The sheer cost to make one of these baffles even me, Otmund. Besides, we haven’t been able to catch a blightwolf for nearly two seasons. They’re smart and don’t fall for the same trap twice.”
“A fair—”
“As if I would ever give something so precious to her, of all people,” Zander muttered, not even listening. “Besides, don’t act coy. I doubt Celine kept hers in exile. Word is she gave it to you. You claim you want Quinn as your wife, but you didn’t give her your blade, now did you? You’re just as responsible as we are for sending her out there unprepared.”
Otmund balked, feigning outrage at the insult despite the fact that Celine’s blade rested in a scabbard hidden on his leg. “What an atrocious lie.”
“Is it?” Zander pushed off the wall by the window and stalked closer, his unwavering gaze narrowing as he neared. “Those blades swapped hands many times in the chaos, but I saw Celine pull you aside before she left. After Henry escaped, the two of you had no reason to pause and have a conversation. Time was of the essence, and he was getting away. What did she tell you, Otmund? What did you promise her in exchange for the dagger?”
“I mentored her.” Otmund pushed to his feet, and his chair scraped against the floor as it nearly fell over. Though Zander towered over him, he craned his neck to keep the man’s eye. Anger blistered through him as the future leader of Lunestone inched toward the truth, and a shred of his genuine rage slipped through his mask of indifference. “She was saying goodbye, just as any student would to—”
“You were supposed to kill our target out in that field.” Zander jabbed his finger hard into Otmund’s chest, and a ripple of pain snaked from the point of impact. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper as he got dangerously close. “You were supposed to bottle the ghoul, just as you promised you would when we began this coup. If you hadn’t acted so quickly at the Rift, rest assured I would have gone with you to guarantee you followed through on your promises.”
Zander allowed the silence to linger, and Otmund resisted the urge to shove the Starling backward to get some space.
“Hmm,” the Lieutenant General said, reading something in Otmund’s furious gaze. “And yet, how convenient it was for you that your men stumbled across him. As the rest of us searched the tunnels, you somehow found the guard whom Henry had killed to open the Rift. You charged through with only a handful of soldiers, ever the hero. How curious that, by the time the rest of us learned where you’d slunk off to, you had already returned—alone. How strange, Otmund.”
He held the Lieutenant General’s treasonous glare and narrowed his eyes in warning. “What are you implying, Zander?”
“I imply nothing.” His voice dropped an octave as he leaned in closer. “I’m warning you, Otmund. I’m warning you that I’m aware of what you did, and I believe the list of demands you gave us are a decoy. You truly want gold, spellgust, and my sister?”
