29. Severed Ties
Severed Ties
B oth our heads whipped toward the sound coming from further down the path. Trygg swept past me, drawing his sword before I could even blink. Its wicked edge glinted menacingly in the darkness.
“Get behind me,” he ordered, something wholly authoritative in his tone. I was still too rattled from what had happened between us to argue.
The Shadow trembled. Her voice sounded weak, like she’d been deep in slumber. Asvoria?
Be ready, I said. If it was the huathe, we’d have to fight. I wouldn’t let him steal my life like he’d stolen my mother’s.
Uneven footsteps sounded on the path, the crunching rocks and shells like razors in my sensitive ears. Trygg tensed as a shadow emerged between two trees. He raised his sword to deliver a killing blow, but I suddenly realized who it was and placed a staying hand on his arm.
My father stumbled out of the shadows, cursing as he tripped over his own feet. He spotted us only a moment later with glassy eyes.
The Shadow finally snapped to attention, panic and confusion spiking. What’s happening? she breathed, circling wildly. Where are we?
“Well, well,” Emund said, a cruel smile twisting his mouth. “Seems I’m not the only one who’s seeking some nightly pleasure in the garden.”
I smelled the alcohol reeking off him from here. In his hand, a brown bottle dangled precariously from his fingers.
Trygg dropped his blade but made no move to step aside.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked around him.
My father grabbed at the lapels of his brown jacket, straightening it out and then running a hand through his slate-colored hair to smooth it back. “Can a man not seek to satisfy his needs without a woman sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong?” he snapped.
My gut soured. I knew exactly how he liked to ‘ satisfy his needs. ’ Many a young kitchen maid and serving girl had suffered his attentions when he lived in the Citadel. I’d never forgive myself for letting him come back.
“You’ve been here for one day,” I sneered, tightening my fists. “Your arrogance knows no bounds, Lord Stendahl.”
He cast a knowing look at the dragon prince standing beside me, wicked malice shining in his eyes. “It seems yours doesn’t either, dear daughter.”
The sound of footsteps on the gravel path barreling toward us drew my attention. Corbyn appeared through the trees, clad in black pants and a white linen shirt, gripping his sword. Trygg must have alerted him the moment we heard a stranger approaching. Too late to worry about that now.
“Ah,” Emund exclaimed, “the other dog. Are you fucking this one too?”
My own fury, as well as Trygg’s, seared through my chest. Corbyn came to my side, cold rage flowing off him in waves.
“I could have you horsewhipped for that,” I warned him, sounding stronger than I felt. It’d been a blessing when my father left the Citadel three years ago. He’d always seemed invulnerable, above the rule of law or reproach for disregarding it.
But no longer. Not under my reign.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he scoffed.
On shaky legs, I stepped around Trygg, facing him fully. The Shadow made slow circles and sent me her reassurance. It was time to remind him who I was.
“Mother never did anything about you and your wretchedness,” I ground out through clenched teeth. “But no more. I want you gone. Out. You are to leave the Citadel at once.”
He actually had the gall to laugh, hands braced on his hips as he doubled over.
Trygg tightened his stance and Corbyn shuffled forward. I raised my arm, holding them back. This was my fight—my burden to bear.
Emund straightened back up, his laughter petering out with a loathsome grin. “You’ve got some balls, girl. I’ll give you that,” he drawled, swiping his hand dismissively. “But you’ve no evidence to support a banishment.”
“You think what I’ve seen you do my entire life is not evidence enough!”
“You didn’t see anything,” he shot back, tone dropping low.
I drew in a ragged breath, laughing incredulously. “There have been countless incidents―numerous victims.”
“Victims who will never testify before any court,” he sneered, not even trying to deny it. “Why believe them when they didn’t come forward at the time? It’s my word against theirs, and I am a Lord of Clan Ylfring, the former queen’s Consort.”
“You lost any claim to that title long ago,” I growled.
The darkthread fluttered, but this rage was all my own. Though Trygg was still taut as a bowstring at my side, I sensed calm and control resting beneath that fierce exterior.
“And with Mother gone,” I continued, “the power rests with me !”
Trygg’s fingers encircled my wrist, squeezing gently and lending me some of his calm focus.
The Shadow bristled at the sensation, but the effect was almost immediate.
My pulse slowed, and my ragged breathing evened out.
That anchor in my gut settled and the darkthread ceased its trembling. Just from the slightest touch.
“You can’t do anything, Asvoria, not without a trial. The Jarlum will never stand for it!”
“I am the queen,” I replied coolly, “they will respect whatever decision I make.” Not exactly true, but I wasn’t about to let the bastard know that.
Suddenly, a memory I’d kept locked deep in my heart for years rose to the surface. It was the final straw—the last push I needed. Banishment was too good for Lord Stendahl. He deserved death for what he’d done. It was the least I could do… for him.
“And what reason will you give, Asvoria!” he shouted, hands balling into fists. “You don’t know anything!”
Something broke in me at that moment, cleaving through the years of buried memories and shattering against the ice around my heart. So long, I had pushed it away, believing it to be a mistake. That I hadn’t really seen what I thought I did. There was no way my father could have done that.
But staring at him now—at the insolence and entitlement in his eyes—I allowed the memory to break free. And I let the truth of it surge through me, rattling my bones. It was all I could do not to scream.
“I saw you.” A sudden, strangled sob choked the words. I felt Trygg’s attention slide to me as Corbyn moved in closer. “And if I have to allow Freya Anja to look into my past memories to prove it,” I continued, desperately clinging to the anchor of Trygg’s calm, “then so be it.”
Memories were a sacred place, but I would release them for this. I would let Anja into that most treasured part of my mind if it meant justice.
The realization settled on Emund’s face in an instant, his mouth falling open in wordless shock. He was shaking his head, and something close to pleading entered his eyes. But there would be no forgiveness here.
Not from me. Not for this.
“I spent years trying to convince myself it wasn’t real,” I said, stronger now. “But I see you for the monster you are, Emund. I want to know why… Tell me why you killed him.”
The night pressed in closer around us, freezing air biting through my cloak and my slip of a nightgown beneath. He stood there, gaping like a fish on the shore.
“Tell me why you killed him,” I repeated, more forcefully this time.
“Tell me why you stood over my baby brother’s crib and pressed a pillow to his face ‘til he stopped breathing! Tell me how you could take the life of your own child!” My scream echoed off the stone edifice of the Citadel and chased off into the dark, sleeping streets of Kjarra.
Trygg stepped forward, sword aimed at the monster’s throat. Corbyn came to my side and pressed a tentative hand at the small of my back.
Emund at least looked unnerved as my Talon stared him down. His eyes shot rapidly between the three of us. “One reminder was bad enough,” he breathed, backing up a step.
The words floated over me, useless scraps of nothingness that didn’t come close to an answer. It was an indefensible crime, and I knew in my heart that nothing he said would ever bring me closure. But still…
Through my rage, I found the only acceptable solution. “Take him to the gatehouse… Lock him up.”
Without question, Trygg stepped forward. “Let’s go,” he snarled. “Or should I wake Thane Reijason to deal with you?”
At the mention of Lenn’s name, Emund’s face paled in terror. His hazel eyes shot to me quickly and his mouth twitched. “You’ll regret this, Asvoria… I swear on your mother’s pyre.”
“Is that a threat?” Trygg said, resting his sword point at the hollow of Emund’s throat. Corbyn’s arm stiffened at my side, and I found myself leaning into him.
The darkthread quaked as Trygg’s cold, quiet fury swept through me.
And the Shadow coiled in tighter on herself, bracing against the wave of his emotions.
It stole the breath from my lungs, sending me to my knees.
Corbyn caught me before I slammed into the jagged gravel, but it still sliced into my legs.
Though the pain was nothing compared to the shards of ice splintering in my chest.
Tears streamed down my face, frozen rivers that snaked along my nose and cheeks. But Corbyn’s warm hands tightened on my sides, keeping me from crumbling in on myself.
Emund’s mouth turned up in a cruel grimace. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he rasped. Trygg grabbed his arm, shoving him roughly down the path. Before they slipped into the shadows, the prince gazed pointedly at his kinsman.
Only when they were gone did I realize my entire body was shaking. The Shadow was speaking, whispering my name repeatedly in her most soothing tone. Corbyn pulled me into his chest, his natural warmth doing little to stop my trembling. Coal-black eyes burned into me as I looked up at him.
“What the hell were you two doing out here this time of night?” he asked. He raised a hand to my face, the callused skin scraping roughly. His thumb swiped across my cheek as he gently brushed away my frozen tears.
“I…” My mouth gaped as I searched his face. What could I say? Did it even matter?
Asvoria, the Shadow intoned quietly, breathe. It’s over.
The world spun as I loosed a stuttering breath and I closed my eyes to stem the swelling tide of nausea. Don’t think… Don’t think…
If I didn’t shut everything else out, I knew I would lose my mind.
There was only so much I could take, and I was already stretched to my limit.
Drawing in several long, deep breaths, I tried focusing only on what I could feel.
There was only Corbyn’s hands at my face and hip, and the Shadow’s calming presence in my mind.
One more deflating breath and the spinning sensation settled down. Tiny tendrils of warmth crept their way into my bones, snaking out from the touch of the dragon holding me together.
“Vor.”
Corbyn’s voice drew my eyes open. I blinked a few times, shedding the last of the tears. His black eyes roved over my face and his thumb slid over the scar on my chin. That was all it took for my shock to dissipate.
“Take me back to my chambers, please,” I said in a throaty whisper, voice raw from the torrent of emotions that ripped through me.
A long, crackling moment passed before he finally nodded, eyes flitting across my scar again. As he stood, he hefted me along with him. My legs still shook but I was at least strong enough to stand.
“You showed great restraint, my lady,” Corbyn said tightly. “If the choice was mine, I’d have felled him where he stood. I’m…” He swallowed deeply. “Your mother would be proud.”
“Please,” I begged, my chin falling to my chest. “I just… I want to rest.”
No dreams, came the bitter thought. Only rest.
But with the strange sensation of my connection to Trygg, I wasn’t sure rest was possible anymore.