Page 20 of Forged By Malice (Beasts of the Briar #3)

19

Caspian

S o. Much. Wind.

Does there truly need to be so much wind? I know we’re up on a mountain, and yes, it’s one of the highest peaks in all the Vale, and there’s nothing but the sky and stars and the Above, but I’ll never be able to get my hair untangled from the points of my ears.

Maybe I wouldn’t be as bothered if this damned monastery wasn’t so distastefully eerie. The art carved into the walls makes the Queen look dead-eyed and ghastly, and the presence of open-air windows everywhere—to be closer to the Above—means any torch is instantly snuffed out. Only the moon and stars light the chamber.

She would find this whole place garish, I think.

I sit on a narrow stone windowsill, one leg draping over the edge. The view below is at once awe-inspiring and vertigo-inducing. The rush of the river down the mountainside sparkles in the moonlight. Far in the distance, Florendel shimmers with twinkling lights of fires and glowspells.

Rosalina is there. She has no idea the danger they’ve put themselves in…

For better or worse, there’s no time to be alone with my thoughts. The mass of black fabric and shining armor before me gives another roar, slamming a hand against the stone wall. Kairyn’s breathing rages like a slumbering beast.

“Behaving like a child won’t help either of us,” my sister scolds him. She crosses her arms, her slender, jewel-encrusted armor the only color up here in the dark. “We knew Ezryn would return to Spring sooner or later.”

“All I’ve done for my realm,” Kairyn rasps, “and he dismisses me from the throne like I’m some common thief. Now, he is deliberating on my punishment? I’ve saved Spring, and he will not see it!”

I pretend to examine my nails, as if entirely disinterested in their conversation. Truthfully, I am. It was no surprise Ezryn wouldn’t allow Kairyn to keep a stewardship that the High Prince didn’t instigate himself. It’s also no surprise Kairyn’s storming about, puffing out his chest like a fool. He’s been both worshipping the ground Ezryn’s walked on and cursing his every breath since long before I met them.

But the Nightingale’s hovering presence behind him … That’s interesting. Her hand on his arm. The way she’s staring into the dark void of his helm until he turns and stares back. How she’s not wearing her usual mask either, the one that shrouds everything but her sapphire eyes. Now, her hair blows freely in the harsh wind, her mouth in a scowl.

She’s a pretty little thing. A deadly, pretty thing.

Kairyn truly has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

“He does not see me as an equal,” Kairyn says lowly, though the Nightingale’s hand has steadied him somewhat.

“He sees you as a threat,” she responds. “An act we must mitigate quickly. Your brother needs to trust you. You were a fool to challenge him while he still wields the Blessing of Spring.”

Kairyn pulls away from her. “I can face him!”

“And if you won?” she snarls. “Would you be able to thrust the blade into his heart? Rip the helm from his head? Or are you still happy to walk in his shadow?”

Kairyn says nothing.

I slip from my perch on the windowsill and drift over to these two young fletchlings. “Sira wanted a report. What am I to tell her? Temper tantrums and bickering?”

A growl surges up Kairyn’s throat, and he makes a move to come at me, but the Nightingale grabs his arm. “Now, now, Kairyn. My sweet brother has never been a man of patience. What I have crafted here in Spring is something of beauty. Not like that sloppy goblin raid you organized on Autumn. Apparently, Autumn is thriving now, brother. Mother wasn’t very happy about that, was she?”

My back and legs throb as I think of the punishments I received for not delivering Autumn, but I keep a smirk plastered on my face.

Kairyn staggers to the door and rips it open. “You need something to report? Tell Sira soon the five divine weapons will be in my control.”

The Nightingale and I exchange a glance. She puts her mask back on, and we follow the Spring Prince out into the hallway.

Kairyn’s voice bounces off the walls as we trail behind him. “I know what they call you, Caspian. Traitor. Betrayer. So, this may be a confusing subject for you, but what we have cultivated here is called loyalty.”

A muscle feathers in my jaw. I can’t believe I’m being insulted by this walking hunk of scrap metal. But I let him continue—why interrupt someone when they’re likely to reveal their own weaknesses?

“Cast your eyes upon the Vale’s reckoning.” Kairyn stops before a huge, open-air archway. I step beside him and look down into a stone courtyard.

Hundreds of soldiers spar, their steel spears clanging together in near-perfect unison. They all wear identical armor, that same moonlight-gold emblazoned with celestial sigils: suns and stars and crescent moons.

I raise a brow. “I’m not sure if you’ve forgotten, Kairyn dear, but I haven’t spent my whole life in the Below. In fact, I traveled from Florendel to the monastery escorted by your very brother only several decades ago. I’ve seen the Queen’s Army train before.”

And they are as mesmerizing now as the first time I saw them. The monastery is not only home to strange acolytes who still revere the long-lost Queen and worship the sky as if it still housed the Above, but to an ancient guild of highly trained warriors from across the realms. The Queen’s Army was formed centuries ago, serviced by elite and disciplined soldiers who would come to the Queen’s call only. Their dedication is unmatched.

Hilariously so, if you ask me.

They’ve given their lives to training and wait for the day the Queen will call upon them, regardless of the fact she’s been gone from the Vale’s eye for over five hundred years. Like dogs waiting on a doorstep for a dead owner who will never return.

Kairyn snorts, a puff of air coming from beneath his helm. It shouldn’t bother me, but I find myself straightening and pushing myself up on my toes to get closer to his height. By gods, he’s like a giant.

“Why are you snorting at me?” I snap. “Do you intend to fool me—to fool Sira—into thinking you have an army? They serve no realm, only the Queen—”

Kairyn raises his fist into the air. The clang of spears stops; every soldier turns in a single, uniform movement to look up at him.

My pounding heart is the only sound.

“Hail, great warriors!” Kairyn roars.

“Hail!” the army cries back, hundreds of voices now one.

The Nightingale drifts beside me. Though I can’t see her mouth, I can see it in her eyes: the reverence, the hungry awe.

Kairyn’s voice is a raspy echo. “Who do you serve?”

“High Cleric Kairyn,” they answer.

“It’s not possible …” I stumble away from the edge. “This army has spent centuries awaiting the return of Queen Aurelia.”

“Like the rest of the Vale, they can wait no more. We may have lost a legion or two in the upheaval, those who could not see the true cause. Let them flee across the realms, seeking a Queen who will never answer.” Kairyn turns with a flick of his black cape and stomps down the hallway. “When my brother banished me to the monastery, I knew I could rot, or I could grow. Like the ivy that strangles the dying tree, it was my duty to Spring to turn the minds of those clouded by corruption.”

The Nightingale grabs my arm and whispers in my ear, “You doubt him, brother, but wait and see. He is a great leader. He has gained the soldiers’ and acolytes’ trust not because of his blood, but despite it. They serve him because they know he leads the way to glory.”

I yank my arm free. “I didn’t realize throwing old men off a building was the path to glory.”

She clicks her tongue. “Do not pretend to weep for the High Clerics. They ignored the plight of the villages and treated the people here like property. You’d have done no different than Kairyn.”

Perhaps that’s what’s bothering me. She’s right.

He did stop the goblin raids against the mountain villages. I think our own goblins Below are nasty business, but the ones that wander the Vale preying on the fae, the ones that don’t follow Sira’s commands … Why, they’re nothing more than barbarians.

I pull her back, so we fall behind the young Spring Prince. “What did you promise him, Birdy? He’s already got a position of power in the monastery. If he minds his temper, likely that tin idiot Ezryn will name him steward. So, why’s he giving you an army?”

“This army is not for me,” she says. “I have my Dreadknights, and they will follow me to the ends of the realms. No, the Queen’s Army is for something much greater.”

“What’s Kairyn’s game? Why is he throwing everything away for … for Sira?”

The Nightingale blinks. “Throwing it away? Listen to yourself. Maybe if you spent more time with Mother and less spying on those beloved princes of yours—”

“Birdy,” I warn.

She shakes her head. “Kairyn understands something you don’t. This world wasn’t built for people like us. We must fight for every scrap. No matter what he does, Ezryn will never respect him. Spring will never see him as anything but the banished brother.”

“Ah.” I stroke my chin. “If he can’t make his brother love him, he’ll make him hate him instead.”

The Nightingale’s eyes drift away from me. “Anything is better than nothing.”

A clang sounds before us. Kairyn heaves open a huge metal door leading to a staircase.

My chest burns as I climb up, not thinking we could get any higher. I quickly wipe a drip of black gunk from my nose. This report better wrap up soon.

We enter through a door at the top of the staircase. “Who are these charming folk?” I raise a brow.

Standing in the room are two armor-clad figures, one finished with a bronze sheen, the other in a turquoise blue. Tucked in their breastplates is the same white flower that both Birdy and Kairyn don.

“This is the start of my Penta Conclave, a new order of High Clerics,” Kairyn says.

“I don’t recall the old High Clerics wearing helms of Spring steel.”

Kairyn stomps over to one and almost tenderly caresses the shining metal. “I have forged these helms with my own hands. They are not only High Clerics, but my own princeguard.”

The Nightingale looks at me with gleaming eyes, almost as if she’s just showed off that her new puppy knows how to roll over.

Five pedestals loom behind the conclave. On all except one is a grand weapon: a lance, a trident, a hammer, and a brilliant golden bow.

I examine the two warriors, both still except for their heavy breathing. “So, you’ve chosen these poor souls to wield divine weapons.”

Kairyn nods toward the bronze-clad one. “Shenzo wields Autumn’s Lance of Valor.” Then he gestures to the one in turquoise blue. “Pike bears Summer’s Trident of Honor.”

I stroll over to the massive hammer, intricately crafted, both a thing of beauty and power. “You, of course, have chosen Spring’s Hammer of Hope?”

“No one shall wield Spring’s divine relic but I,” he growls in response.

Now, my voice deepens. “Then you do realize you have sentenced yourself and your men to death?”

Before Kairyn can respond, I’m upon him, yanking his wrist and pulling off his huge leather gloves. Dark black veins mar his skin, running from the tips of his fingers up the wrist, beyond to what is hidden by his armor. A sneer escapes me. “As I thought. The corruption has already set in.”

Kairyn pulls his hand away.

“Idiots,” I bellow. I turn to my adopted sister, stalking toward her like an animal. “And you! How could you be so stupid as to allow him to do this?”

The Nightingale steps back. “I thought—”

I grab Kairyn’s arm again, pointing to the lines of rot running through his hand. “These weapons are enchanted by the Queen. They cannot be wielded by any who do not possess her token.”

When the Nightingale gives me a confused stare, I smack my chest. “The High Princes’ necklaces, you fool! The more you use these weapons without one, the deeper the rot will sink.”

Kairyn hunches over, his gaze somehow burrowing through the closed helm. “I am no fool. We shall get the necklaces. The High Prince of Summer is already here. It’s only a matter of time before the rest arrive and they’re under our control.”

The Nightingale smacks her palm against the empty pedestal. “And you, Caspian, were the one instructed to retrieve the fifth weapon! Where is the Sword of the Protector?”

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Do you think Keldarion just leaves it lying under his bed, discarded and unprotected? It’s not so easy. I heard even Perth’s new pets couldn’t recover it.”

“Well, figure it out. You know we need all five.” Her gaze shifts to the golden bow. Her movements are so lithe, she appears to float toward it. “And we need to find someone strong enough to use the very weapon the Queen once wielded herself. Her token was lost when she left five hundred years ago.” Her hand drifts up, fingers nearly touching the brilliant string.

“Stop!” Kairyn lunges forward, wrapping his arms around the Nightingale and pulling her back.

“I can do it, Kai,” she snaps. “Let me try!”

Crossing my arms, I raise a brow at the two of them, his arms still laced tight around her. “Do tell what this is all about.”

She sighs. “We know about the corruption. But there’s something different about the Bow of Radiance. Whereas the rot sinks in slowly with the other weapons…”

“The bow has instantly killed anyone who touches it,” Kairyn finishes.

“A shame,” I say.

Kairyn releases the Nightingale and thunders over to me. “Perhaps the almighty Prince of Thorns should like to give it a try.”

“Oh, no thank you. I work hard for this perfect complexion.”

“Enough.” My adopted sister steps between us. “You have more than enough to report to Mother. Kairyn, you must return to the keep. There is work to do with your brother.”

Kairyn glowers down at me, the long owl brow furrowed in a permanent scowl. Then he storms from the room, the two members of his conclave dutifully following.

The Nightingale lingers for a moment. “I have everything under control, Cas.”

“Of course you do, Birdy.” I flick my eyes to the door where Kairyn last stood. “You’re very good, aren’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The little charade you’ve got going with the young prince. I saw how he moved to protect you against the bow. You have him eating out of your hand.”

She snorts and crosses her arms. “He’s not so bad.” Then her gaze softens. “There’s something … endearing about him.”

“Oh, what’s that? The murderous tendencies? The rageful outbursts? The stomping ?”

Birdy pushes past me and makes for the door. When she arrives, she shoots back one withering glare. “He understands how it feels to be the unloved child.”