Minstrel's Serenade

Chronicles of Ebonvale, Book One

By AUBRIE DIONNE

LYRICAL PRESS

An imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/

To every fan of fantasy and romance. Never stop dreaming.

I’d like to thank Renee at Lyrical Press for continuing to believe in my work. Also, my editor, Paige Christian, for squeezing out those important extra words from my imagination. My agent, Dawn Dowdle, comes next for supporting me through thick and thin. My beta readers, Brianne Dionne and my mom, Joanne, deserve a heartfelt thanks for listening to all of my ideas. Thanks goes to my husband for sitting with me at my author table at Barnes and Noble and pretending to be the author of girly books while I had to go to the bathroom. Also, my brother, Austin, for being the best salesperson I could ask for at the arts and crafts festival last year. Cherie Reich is my author bff forever, and she deserves more thanks than I can give. My flute teacher and mentor, Peggy Vagts has my thanks for supporting me in everything that I do, whether it be flute or not.

Fire's Mark

“No lady should see what evil lies beyond the ridge.” Bron blocked the exit of the carriage with a great wall of muscle, sweat and dark skin. Plumes of smoke rose like great fingers brushing the sky behind his broad shoulders.

Danika focused on the strength in his dark eyes. “Nonsense. Every ruler must bear witness to the devastation afflicting her people so she can make the right decisions to protect her kingdom.”

Bron's stance didn’t change.

She narrowed her eyes; bodyguard or not, he had to follow her orders. She could force him to let her pass, but, maybe this one time she’d play his game. “So she can enact the most deserving form of revenge.”

“That's more like it.” Bron smiled, thick lips curving. “Spoken like a true warrior.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Let me through.”

He sighed with a gentle rise and fall of his broad chest, ran his hand over his shaved head, and stepped aside. “If you insist, Princess.”

She placed her fingers in his war-hardened hand and allowed him to guide her to the blackened earth. The air stank of soot and ash, searing her eyes and the smooth skin on her cheeks. She blinked through the wave of heat and summoned her courage. “Show me the site of the greatest devastation.”

“As you wish, Princess. The smoke spooks the horses, so we’ll have to trek up the cliff on foot.”

“Walking doesn’t frighten me.” She’d worn her thigh-high riding boots underneath her damask underskirt for such an occasion. She ripped the top layer of silks off, revealing the same leather leggings warriors wore under their tunics.

Bron averted his eyes. When his gaze returned to her, he seemed to appraise her with newfound interest.

She stashed the frills in the carriage, hiding the burning flush in her cheeks. Surely the heat had raised her temperature. She refused to blame Bron’s attention. “Lead me to Shaletown.”

“Or what’s left of it.”

Bron picked his way through charred trunks, presenting his hand whenever the footing grew treacherous. Although the ground steamed and the soles of her feet burned, she made her way on her own, refusing his offers. As the new ruler of Ebonvale, she had to show strength in a time when fear spread like the plague of the dead.

They crested the ridge and she covered her mouth with her sleeve. The blackened village lay before them as dead man’s land. People had walked the cobblestones that morning going about their everyday business, unaware of the impending devastation. Anger boiled inside her, followed by a black void of loss sucking her dry.

Danika cleared her parched throat. “Has anyone searched for survivors?”

She knew the answer before Bron opened his mouth.

“No, my lady. The clouds from the blaze obscure the sky and the wyverns may still hover, waiting for stragglers. Besides, the chance of any surviving such devastation…”

She scanned the remains from her raven perch, balancing her boot on the stump of a sizzled tree. The brick foundation of a tavern stood without its thatched roof or bluewood walls. Black stains streaked across the town square where the fire’s breath licked its way through. Skeletons littered the ash, their black-splotched finger bones grasping through the soot to seek salvation. This kingdom belonged to her now, and she couldn’t let the provinces fall to ruin because of a swarm of vermin from the south.

Her heart raced as ire shot up through her chest, splitting her apart. “How could they destroy innocent people?”

“They’re beasts, Your Highness. There’s no logical reasoning to their onslaught.”

“But we’ve stayed clear of Scalehaven. Unless something lured them to our lands?”

Bron shrugged as if the wyverns’ attack were inevitable. “The beasts’ population brims with hatchlings. Scouts have reported the yearlings as far north as Brimmore’s Bay.” His voice danced, careful and light, as if he wanted to protect her from the truth.

She ran her mother’s satin scarf across her blistering forehead. Sweat stained the pink fabric red. “My father would know what to do.”

Bron’s gaze dropped to the ash as if her words defeated him.

Danika cursed her weak tongue. She knew better than to speak of the late king in front of him.

He met her gaze once again. “I have full faith in your rule.”

Helplessness trickled through her, threatening to weaken her knees. Danika pulled away, straightening her back against the rising channels of smoke blotting the sky. She wanted to lean into him and borrow his strength, but such a gesture led toward a doomed future. To choose such a lowly man, albeit the Chief of Arms, when so many more lucrative prospects remained, would place her kingdom in further jeopardy. Especially in times as dark as these.

A blur of earthy brown scrambled between an overturned carriage and the remnants of the smithy. Danika’s concerns flew from her mind as she focused on the form huddled behind the coal pit.

“There.” She thrust her finger into the smoke. “A small child.”

Bron grabbed for her arm but the silky fabric of her sleeve slipped through his fingers. She threw herself forward, stumbling down the cliff’s side.

“Princess, no!”

Her arms flailed as she scrambled between slabs of malachite, the sharp edges exposed by the wyverns’ breath. Halfway down, a keen wail rode the wind, slicing her ears. Black ribbons flickered on the horizon.

“Danika, stop! They’re coming back!”

She jumped the final five feet and landed on her hands and knees beside the smithy. So many had died. If she could save just one…

The boy cowered with his arms covering his head.

“Boy! Come here.” She waved to him but his eyes were shut as tight as a noblewoman’s purse.

“Horred’s Grave.” She’d have to sprint to make it. She skirted a pile of flaming wood and jumped over the wall, the broken glass tearing her bell-shaped sleeves like wyvern’s teeth. She stumbled forward on her hand and knees, ripping the fabric to free herself.

A bronze plate three sizes too big hung on the boy’s sagging shoulders. Had the armor shielded him? Surely not.
The fire would heat the metal to near melting, sizzling a layer of skin.

As she ran toward him, he turned in the direction of her footsteps and peeked through narrow eyelids. He must have recognized her, because his eyes widened as big as two chicken eggs in a face covered in thick, black ash. Surprisingly, he had no burns.

“Follow me.” She hoisted him up, and they scuttled through a hole blazed into the foundation.

The boy tugged on her arm to hide underneath the anvil. “It’s too late. They’re here.”

Danika fought him as she glanced at the sky. The ribbons grew thicker, spiraling through the air like glittering pennants on Festival Day. The pattern of swirls mesmerized her as the horde unfurled.

She blinked, tearing her gaze away. “We can still make it.”

The boy had stopped battling her, hypnotized by the sky. “It’s too late.”

“No.” She yanked him around and screamed her throat raw. “Run!”

As they neared the cliff, Bron stood above them like a chiseled statue of a war god, unsheathing his golden claymore. A pang of worry pierced her stomach like a dagger. He’d stayed behind to distract the wyverns’ attention to cover their escape.

Why had she been so foolish?

The first wyvern landed with a gush of wings on the outskirts of the village behind them, while a second flew straight toward Bron. Danika climbed, knowing full well she might have sent the two-time war veteran to his death. She lifted the boy and pushed him up the hill.

“Burrow’s Bucket! I can climb by myself.” He swiped her away and paused, throwing off the breastplate before scrambling up the crag. Danika grabbed at weeds, pulling them out as she struggled for a handhold. Although she should have focused all her energy on climbing, she gazed up at Bron.

The wyvern dove and lunged, smacking jaws longer than Bron’s claymore. Bron ducked and swung, sinuous muscles bunching and stretching. He missed its shimmering hide by inches. The warrior excelled in hand-to-hand combat, but if the wyvern ignited its belly of fire, he’d have no defense.

“Over here.” The boy had found a path up the incline. He reached down over a ridge and grabbed her hand, trying to pull her up. His scrawny arms shook as Danika slid through his sooty fingers. Her heels skidded backward until they hit a rock. “Don’t wait for me. Go!”

The boy dangled his arm, waving her to him. “Come on.”

She could make it. She took a step back and ran, leaping toward the ridge and catching a bramble. The boy grasped her arm. Thank the gods for all the secret training Bron had given her. Danika hefted herself over the edge. She grabbed the boy’s hand and they scrambled toward the carriage.

She glanced at the place where Bron had stood. Nothing remained except a darkening sky with wyverns writhing through the air. “B-Bron.” Panic rose inside her, along with a feeling of sheer loneliness. What if he’d died for her impulsiveness?

“I’m here, Princess,” he thundered from behind the carriage. He’d rigged the horses and collected the reins in his hand.

The boy jumped in without a word. Danika shot Bron a look that would have killed an ordinary man.

“I thought you’d died.”

“Princess, you know better than to traipse off while wyverns rule the sky.”

Danika gestured to the boy kicking his heels against the carriage seat. “I couldn’t leave him.”

“So be it.” He threw a tarp over a lump of steaming scales, shining oily green black in the twilight. “You have a new trophy for your mead hall.”

“Honestly, I prefer the wall bare.” Disgusted by death, she jumped in the carriage.

Frenzied screeches filled the sky behind them like mad raven calls.

“Hi-ya!” Bron whipped the reins and the horses galloped forward. Danika pressed her cheek to the glass. The wyverns became threads in the darkening sky. Her castle had a bastion of archers, but there were many more beasts than in her nightmares. Her stomach sank to her knees. In time, the writhing masses would overcome Ebonvale’s ramparts as well.

Lyric Poem

Danika awoke to the squealing wheels of the carriage as they rounded patchy lumps in the road. What under-tended alleyway had Bron chosen? Groggy from slumber, she checked on the boy. He’d fallen asleep curled on the cushions. After wiping away a smear of ash on his cheek, she reached over him and drew back the velvet curtains. The last rays of dim light filtered in and she almost lost her stomach. Blue-tinged trees loomed overhead. Gray moss draped from the drooping branches in wisps, like shrouds of the dead.

Anger and frustration rumbled inside her. She could never leave Bron alone without expecting him to defy orders. Danika slid the front window open and stuck out her head. “Bron, why in Helena’s Goblet are we traipsing through Bluewood Pines?”