Untempered (Fate Untethered #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

ISOLDE

“The deadliest weapon is the shattered blade.” ~ Matri’sion proverb

G o , they’d said.

She could disrupt fate’s plans , they’d said.

Well, the girl wasn’t even able to change her own slippers without triple-checking whether she should. Anxious, flighty, and obedient were traits I could name. Her only use was her malleability, and I didn’t have time to craft her into the weapon we needed.

Her brown eyes were huge as she looked around the rooms we’d been shoved into as if she hadn’t looked around them constantly since we’d arrived early yesterday.

When I’d first seen those eyes gleaming in the firelight, big and liquid, I’d thought they were animalistic. I’d hoped for a time that the soothsayer had been right, that she did have some deep, well-hidden streak of strength, some killer’s instinct. A small, drab lump who looked younger than her eleven years, she slid into her chair before the plain table, eyes downcast.

She’d need strength and a killer’s instinct if she were to truly be our salvation. And I’d seen naught of it.

Somehow, she’d stumbled through the festivities that should’ve marked the start of their wedding celebrations last night. When I thought of how that celebration was now postponed, I couldn’t help but smile. Her gaze flickered up to me in alarm.

“Eat,” I told her, impatiently.

Her fingers fumbled the plain spoon, and something about that graceless anxiety brought home what I’d managed to do for her yesterday when she’d been falling apart, and I’d convinced her betrothed she was far too young, and he was far too honorable to wed her now. Soft hearts were easy targets and my aim was true. The young fool had wanted me to convince him. I’d barely had to do anything except listen to him ramble about honor and love.

He was the scholarly son of a country lord, and he didn’t even need to shave yet. What he knew about honor or love would make the shortest tale of time.

Whether or not this girl was who we needed, I’d saved her some pain and postponed her nuptials. All the lordling had to do now was break the news to the Butcher. Living through that task would also be useful for him, I supposed.

I watched dispassionately as the child pushed fruit around in her porridge. The province we were visiting was obviously not wealthy, but even so, the grains were thickened with milk and sweetened with honey. She could at least be grateful, even if she couldn’t be fierce.

I opened my mouth to tell her to eat, not toy with it, but her head snapped up like a rabbit hearing the hunter. A split second later there was a knock at the door.

The way her face had drained of all color had the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

Blood beat heavily in my veins, and that pre-fight rush of battle energy filled me with power and purpose. I strode to the door, flicking my cloak over my forearm as a makeshift shield as I went. In a rush I pulled it open and positioned myself in the gap between the child and the world, ready to defend.

There stood the Duke of La’Angi, the infamous Butcher of Wolfswail and stalwart defender of the locways that kept the poor in the gutters and the rich few on cushions. The Butcher barely glanced at me before his eyes latched onto his daughter. Every muscle in my body tightened as I dropped down into a curtsy. If they learned what I was, the possibility of me stealing this child away vanished.

I’d never been so close to a real monster.

Heat radiated off him, and my mouth was dry as the Steppes in summer. His hands were jarringly clean. They should’ve been blood red.

“Your grace,” I said, giving way so he didn’t walk over the top of me.

I was unarmed, unprepared—and he was undefeated.

His massive shoulders were hard beneath his plain woolen jacket as he walked past. Somehow, even his steps held rage.

I was a Matri’sion warrior. I did not cower before big, bad-tempered men just because they had collected titles and I did not recognize the locways of Arcanloc. If men came into our territory, they were prey, and the fatter the purse the richer the pelt. Steeling myself to inform him that the child hadn’t yet eaten, I drew in a breath.

“Isolde,” the girl said, the word quick, urgent, and making that breath stick in my chest. “Please go and—tell lord Luca I will meet with him later in the day. For that ride. I must speak with my father.”

The man stopped to angle the top half of his body toward me, pinning me in his gaze as he waited for me to follow her instructions. His cheeks were ruddy, his lips now invisible.

There was fury in him.

The lordling had done it. Luca had done it. He’d postponed the wedding.

My feet were frozen to the ground as my heart raced. What does it mean? What is he doing? Can I justify my attendance if ? —

“Go,” the girl said, the word as sharp as a cracking whip.

Shocked at the sudden change in her as much as the ring of command in that single word, I fell back. I was halfway through the door before I’d even stopped to think.

She’d known it was him.

She’d known it was him and she’d been scared.

There was violence in the man. Everyone knew what he was capable of, of course, but now it wasn’t buried deep; it was just under the surface. It was in his eyes and mouth, fists and feet.

I turned, but the door was already closing in my face. A meaty arm dropped into my vision, another surprisingly clean hand splayed over the sturdy wood.

Ignoring the hard knot in my belly, I looked to the side, my body poised to defend. Two heavily armored men stood there in the black of the Duke’s personal guard.

One, sure. But two? And then I’d have the Butcher to manage—without any tactical advantage.

“Move on,” Mikus said, his eyes fixed on the curve of my breasts. He was known around the castle as the Butcher’s Cleaver. It had taken me less time to identify him as a vicious beast, than it had to unpack my bags when I’d first arrived in the guise of handmaid to the lady.

The Duke’s voice sounded from behind the door, full of frustration and disappointment.

I paused at that. A disappointed Butcher was probably not a deadly one. As I hesitated, Mikus’ hand tightened on my shoulder. He was so close and tall that I had to look almost directly up. Pulling myself back, I resisted the urge to grab that hand and shatter every bone.

“Mind your manners, sir,” I said stiffly, making a show of straightening my dress as I pulled away.

Mikus’ answering smile was wide and hard. But it was Wade, on the other side, who said, “I’ll mind more’n that if you linger.” The leer was an entirely unnecessary addition to the threat in his words—and wild horses, how I would’ve loved to have my knives.

I felt suddenly naked without the weight of my war-belt and quiver in these unfamiliar skirts, so far away from my tribe. With all the dignity I could muster, I turned on my heel and went to find the little lordling.

Mayhap I’d be able to use whatever happened between the Butcher and the child as leverage.

The way her head had snapped up went through my mind. Her eyes locking onto the door. Her pupils tightening to pinpricks. She’d had no way of knowing who it was. The child must be terrified of life.

Enough time had passed before I tracked down the lordling that I was grateful to my cloak for staving off the cold. I found him in the deepest section of the keep’s library, his nose in a book. He sat in a chair by the fireside like he owned the place—neat hair, velvet clothing, richly embossed belt, arrogant tilt to his chin. All the typical trappings of nobility.

I managed not to curl my lip when I said, “The lady will see you later this day.”

He blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on me. “Oh. She still wishes to see me?”

That made me pause. Did she? More likely, it had been an excuse. “Why wouldn’t she?” I asked, my mind whirring.

She’d looked me in the eye. She’d spoken to me with purpose and force. My belly twisted. It was the first time the possum of a child had spoken to me, and it had been a command to make me move.

“I postponed the wedding,” he said, his book drooping in his hand, his brows drawing together. “The exact date is yet to be decided, but I’ll accept nothing until she’s a woman grown.” He was putting aside the book and I set my teeth against the impossible formalities I hated but remembered so well.

She’d ordered me.

“Hasn’t she been told?” he asked, standing. “I thought to tell her myself, but the Duke?—”

Is telling her now. “Farewell, my lord,” I said, cutting in over his apologies, before turning my back on him.

I didn’t know what was going on, but I’d be damned if I was going to allow myself to remain ignorant.

I’d try her door first. If those two guards were there, mayhap I’d change my route. I’d scouted the area when we’d first arrived. I knew the way through the garden and access points over the curtain wall, so I could enter her room unseen by the window if I needed to.

“Isolde,” Luca called. There it was again, the ring of command in a noble’s voice. In comparison to that tiny, scared child, this lad sounded like a magework puppet, all show and flash. But that tone still served as a warning and a reminder. Do as I say. I have the power . That’s what he meant.

What was it with nobility this day?

My pace quickened, causing my hair to bounce into my face. I tossed the blonde curls out of the way and didn’t bother looking back.

There were no men wearing black tabards in front of her door when I returned. Probably best for all of us. With the hum of violence low in the back of my brain, it wouldn’t have ended well if Wade had gotten lippy with me again. I inhaled deeply as I opened the door, half-hoping the Butcher would still be there.

He wasn’t. There was no one there at all.

I held myself still, listening.

Silence.

My eyes tracked across the room, looking for anything out of place. My heart beat steadily and ice settled into my veins as I shoved the door closed, hard, to protect my back. There would be signs of what passed, information written on the ground.

I didn’t see her at first. She’d almost completely vanished into the floor, or so it seemed. Pale as a ghost, she lay, helpless. I didn’t go to her immediately, clearing the rest of the rooms to ensure there was no further threat before I folded myself down beside her.

Demanding my hands be steady, I pressed my fingers to her throat. She was warm, and I could feel the drum of her lifeblood, a slow, tortured rhythm. My lungs expanded, and I felt the press of my bodice against my upper body as I swelled with rage.

What an illustrious leader. What a brave warrior. What a peerless General.

He won a war against a child. He ought to be proud.

Working quickly, I ran my hands over her head and neck. She was banged up, but I could identify no serious bleeding. Her arms were whole. She hadn’t tried to defend herself.

Of course she hadn’t.

Fury pounded behind my eyes as I straightened her form and went to get a pitcher of water. She hadn’t defended herself, but she’d known it was coming.

And she’d sent me away.

I heard a hitch in her breath as I knelt beside her again, flipping up my dress to tear one of my underskirts in a quick, vicious motion. Her eyelids fluttered. “Stay still,” I told her impatiently. The naive child had tried to protect me and look where it had gotten her. “You’ve taken a few hits, haven’t you?” It wasn’t a real question. The answer was painfully obvious.

Her eyes, when she opened them, were the same pale liquid brown that I’d seen just an hour ago, but unfocused. Now, her breathing was shallow and reedy.

“I’m going to check for breaks,” I told her, frustrated with my own poor judgment. I felt past the flimsy barriers of her clothing, searching for knots or irregularities in the rounded bones of her ribs. I left my investigation, feeling sick, after finding two.

“I need to get you up,” I told her grimly. If those bones moved too much, they could puncture something important.

He’d made a bloody mess of her.

“Can’t,” she said, and the word was desperate and broken.

I remembered the way she’d ordered me out. The word bounced around my skull over and over. Go. Go. Go . The way her head had snapped up like a terrified rabbit.

“Won’t,” I corrected, ruthlessly.

She could take what I would give.

Her big eyes closed in pain. Her mouth was drawn, and I had no doubt she was in genuine agony. I stayed there, reliving every moment I’d shared with her, weighing it all up again, judging it in a new light. What if she wasn’t simply a coward? What if she was exactly what she needed to be to survive?

What would happen if she learned that she didn’t need to be a wallflower, but a spearhead?

I leaned forward and rested my forehead gently against hers. “I’m going to get these injuries strapped,” I told her.

There was pride in my chest, a hot, hard ball. I’d done wrong…but she’d done smart.

She’d done what she could. Now I’d match that.

“I’m going to help you, Audrey.” Her eyes opened, unfocused and confused, but present enough to settle, briefly, on my face.

I smiled at Audrey, hard, with teeth. She met my gaze and a tear spilled down her cheek, her own expression one of hopelessness. I didn’t wipe the tear away. She’d earned it, and more.

“I know you don’t believe that’s possible, but it is. More importantly, I’m going to help you help yourself.” She continued to lay there, breathing those shallow breaths, and my heart roared with fury. Taking her forearm, I prepared to lever her up, quick and smooth. Gentleness wouldn't help her now. Steel would. Strength would.

I had plenty of both to share.

“First lesson, Audrey,” I told her, feeling the strength of my own rage. “We are only conquered when we believe ourselves to be.”