The Shadow's Claim

CHAPTER 2

TWO MONTHS LATER

The dust motes danced in the single sliver of moonlight that pierced the heavy velvet curtains. The air in my father's solar was thick, cold, and smelled of old parchment, dried ink, and the faint, lingering scent of his pipe tobacco.

It had been sealed. Locked. Forbidden. My brother Theron, in his grief and rage, had declared no one should enter. I had picked the lock in under a minute.

The harsh chill of the stone floor seeped through the silk of my mourning gown, but I barely felt it. I was surrounded by him—his books, his maps, his half-empty goblet of wine still sitting on his desk, a dried, purple ring at the bottom.

I ran a finger over the smooth, worn wood of his chair. Two months. Two months since the Bastion Bell had screamed its warning. Two months since I had run from the Arboretum, my blood singing with a strange, terrifying power and the scent of ozone and blood in my memory.

I had been so distracted. So... alive. While just a hundred yards away, the wall was breached and my father was...

My stomach clenched. I had been one of the first to the throne room, guided by the sounds of s*******r. I had arrived in time to see the assassins—men cloaked in gray, their faces smeared with ash—fighting their way back out. I’d killed one of them. My knife, the one from my thigh, had buried itself in his back. But it was too late. My father was already gone.

I felt a bitter, acidic guilt. I was a trained warrior, just as he was. I should have been there. I should have been at his side. Instead, I was in the glass garden, mesmerized by a stranger’s eyes, while my father was being butchered by the Cinder-Clans.

The sound of the heavy solar door creaking open made me spin, my hand instinctively dropping to my thigh.

"I thought I might find you here."

My uncle, Corvus, stood in the doorway, his tall, lean frame silhouetted against the candlelight from the hall. He was my father’s younger brother, his face a roadmap of worry, his dark hair threaded with a silver that hadn't been there three months ago.

"This room is sealed, Uncle," I said quietly, my voice flat.

"And yet, here we are," he replied, his voice gentle. He stepped inside, letting the door click shut. He didn't light a candle. He knew, as I did, that the darkness was a comfort. "He's been looking for you, Lyra."

I didn't have to ask who. Theron. My brother, the new Lord of Vorne. "Then let him look. I am in no mood for his... company."

"He's in the War Room. And he's... not in a good humor. He's asking for you. Loudly. It's better if you come with me."

I sighed, a long, weary breath that tasted of dust and regret. "Very well."

I followed him through the cold, echoing corridors. Corvus walked with a quick, silent stride, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He was the only one Theron still listened to, and even his influence was waning.

The War Room doors were thown open. As we approached, I heard a crash of breaking glass, followed by a roar of pure, drunken fury.

"Useless! All of you! Get out!"

We stopped in the archway. The room was a disaster. Maps were torn from the walls. Figurines representing our battalions were scattered across the floor. A silver decanter lay in a pool of dark red wine, and my brother, Theron, was holding a cowering servant by the front of his tunic, his other hand raised to strike.

"Theron!" My voice was sharp, a whip-c***k in the chaotic room.

Theron froze. He dropped the servant, who scrambled away, bowing and scraping his way out the door. Theron turned to me, his face flushed with wine and rage. He was a broad, powerful man, my father’s son in build, but he lacked the stoic calm. He was all fire and impulse.

"There you are," he spat, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. His intricate Lord's circlet was askew on his thick, dark hair. "Decided to grace us with your presence, sister? Or were you too busy kneeling at father’s tomb, praying for his forgiveness?"

"I was in his solar," I said coldly, walking past him to right a fallen chair. "And you are drunk. Again. While our borders are being tested and our people are frightened."

"Don't you dare lecture me," he roared, jabbing a thick finger in my direction. "I am the Lord of Vorne now. I am in charge. You, of all people, need to remember that."

"A fact I am reminded of every time I see a servant flinch when you walk by," I retorted, unable to help myself.

"You've been meddling," he snarled, taking a step closer. He was trying to intimidate me with his size. He always had. "Don't think I don't know. Whispering with the council. Meeting with the quartermaster. You think I don't hear the talk? 'Lady Lyra has a mind for strategy.' 'Lady Lyra would know what to do.'"

"If I have a mind for strategy, it's because Father trained me," I said, meeting his bloodshot gaze. "He trained me to protect this house, not to sit and weep while you smash the furniture."

"You're just like her, aren't you?" he hissed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper.

I stilled.

"Just like your mother," he continued, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "All that wild, foreign blood. She filled your head with her old-world poison, her magic and her monsters. She built that ridiculous glass-house folly and pretended she was a queen. She was just a pale, mad woman who never understood our ways. And you... you're her echo."

His words were a knife, and they cut deep. "She was not mad."

"She was. And so are you. Father indulged you, let you run wild with his maps and his soldiers. His little snake."

"Father left the lordship to you, Theron," I said, my voice shaking with a sudden, cold fury. "But he left the sense to me. And right now, you are acting like a fool, not a Lord."

The sound of the slap was a thunderclap in the room.

My head snapped to the side, my cheek exploding with a white-hot, stinging pain. I tasted copper.

I turned my head back slowly, meeting his gaze. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and satisfaction.

"Respect," he threatened, his voice a low growl. "You will learn it."

Corvus, who had been standing silent in the doorway, finally moved. "Theron, that is enough."

"It's not enough!" Theron bellowed, turning on him. "She needs to be taught! I'm in charge, and my word is law. And I've finally found a use for her."

A new, cold dread, sharper than the sting on my cheek, trickled down my spine. "What are you talking about?"

Theron smiled, a slow, ugly expression. "Lord Valerius. He's been sniffing around you since before Father's body was cold. He's old, but he's powerful. He controls the eastern passes. An alliance with him would secure my position. I'm marrying you to him. The contracts are being drawn up tonight."

The nausea from two months ago, from that last dinner, rose in my throat. Valerius. A man who looked at me like a piece of meat. "You can't," I whispered.

"I can. And I will," Theron said, triumphant. "He'll know how to break that wild spirit. He'll give you children and you'll learn to behave."

"You can't control my life, Theron!" I cried, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"I don't need to control your life. Just your womb. And your alliance," he said, turning his back on me. He walked to the great map, the one he had torn, and smoothed it with a shaking hand. "Besides, I've solved our other problem. The problem Father was too weak to solve."

"What... what problem?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"The war," he said, tapping the map. "The Cinder-Clans. Father wasted our wealth, our men, our entire lives fighting them. He was an old fool, stuck in the past."

I frowned, a knot of confusion and horror forming. "What do you mean?"

"I've sent an envoy. I've offered them a truce. A pact."

The blood drained from my face. "A pact? With the Cinder-Clans? With the scorchers who murdered him? The ones who breached the wall? They killed our father!"

"HE'S DEAD!" Theron roared, sweeping his arm across the table, sending the last of the figurines scattering. "And I am the goddamn Lord! I am tired of this war! I am tired of the burned-out trade routes and the starving people. I will have peace!"

"Theron, Lyra, please!" Corvus stepped between us, his hands raised. "This is not the way."

"Uncle, he wants to make peace with the monsters who set our fields on fire! The men I saw in the throne room!"

"Lyra," Corvus said, his eyes full of a deep, profound weariness. "The people are starving. The southern passes are closed. The Cinder-Clans are... they are stronger than we thought. Theron... a truce is a bold move. Perhaps a necessary one."

"You too?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You would side with them? We don't negotiate with our father's killers! There has to be another way!"

"There is no other way!" Theron thundered. "And you have no say in it, sister! You will do as you're—"

A frantic clatter of armor from the hallway cut him off. A guard, pale and breathing hard, burst into the room, his breastplate still askew.

"My Lord Theron!" he panted, falling to one knee. "A visitor! At the gate!"

Theron actually laughed, a short, barking sound. "See? My envoy has returned! Peace is at hand! Let them in!"

The guard looked up, his face ashen with a terror I had never seen on one of our soldiers. "No, my lord. It... it's not the Cinder-Clans."

Theron's smirk vanished. "Then who, you i***t?"

The guard swallowed, his voice tight and shaking. "He... he came alone. He walked out of the shadow of the woods. The gate guards... their arrows... they... they stopped in the air."

A cold, familiar hum, the one I'd felt in the Arboretum, began to thrum deep in my bones.

"Who is it?" Corvus demanded, his hand on his sword.

"He... he calls himself the Shadow of the North, my lord. He says his name is... Kaelen."

My heart stopped. The name from the garden. The name he had whispered. Kaelen.

Theron looked blank. "I don't know any Lord Kaelen."

The guard looked up, his terrified eyes finding mine. "He's

not a Lord, sir. And he... he didn't ask for you."

The guard took a shuddering breath.

"He's asking for Lady Lyra."