Orphan's Blade

In the battle for a kingdom, every alliance counts…

Princess Valoria only cares about her music and her destiny: to unite the Kingdom of Ebonvale with the House of Song and succeed where her father has failed. As if that weren’t challenge enough, she must contend with her marriage to a battle hungry brute of a prince…until she falls for his adopted brother, the orphaned son of a blacksmith. But with a horde of undead gathering to attack Ebonvale, Valoria will have to choose between her personal happiness and the safety of the kingdom. Now the fate of Ebonvale rests in her heart.

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Nebula’s Music

Messenger In the Mist

Chronicles of Ebonvale

Minstrel’s Serenade

Orphan’s Blade

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

A Chronicles of Ebonvale Novel

Aubrie Dionne

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

www.kensingtonbooks.com

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Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2015 by Aubrie Dionne

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First Electronic Edition: November 2015

eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-678-0

eISBN-10: 1-61650-678-4

First Print Edition: November 2015

ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-679-7

ISBN-10: 1-61650-679-2

Printed in the United States of America

To Piper, the greatest harpist I’ve ever played with.

I’d like to thank Renee Rocco and Lyrical Press/Kensington for believing in my work. Next comes my agent, Dawn Dowdle, for supporting me through thick and thin. Thank you, Paige, for being such an excellent editor, and to Renee, again, for making my covers so glorious. I’d like to thank my writer friends for cheering me up when things get rough- that’s you Cherie Reich and Christine Rains. I want to thank my flute teacher and life mentor, Peggy Vagts, for supporting me in everything I do. Next comes my parents, Andy and Joanne Dionne, and my sister/best friend, Brianne. Finally, thank you to my husband, Chris.

Shadows

The carriage rumbled on foreign ground as Valoria touched her finger to the window. Could she ever truly call these lands her home? Ebonvale’s beauty rested in lush pastures and blooming orchards, but nothing could hide the grotesque mountains of the dead country of Sill. Even now, dark clouds clung to the peaks as if evil brewed. Half of Ebonvale’s army had died there defeating the undead.

Ebonvale. Her new home.

“Dreaming about Prince Braxten Thoridian?” Cadence teased from the opposite side of the carriage as she pierced her needle through her delicate embroidery.

Valoria tore her gaze away from the window and glared at her handmaiden. The rocking wheels on the shoddy road had soured her stomach, and talk of her prearranged union churned the milk she’d drunk for breakfast. “No.”

“Wait until the prince of Ebonvale sees your silver eyes.”

Valoria pursed her lips. Her handmaiden should not speak with such openness to the princess, and the sole heir to the House of Song. Yet, she considered Cadence the only friend she could trust. Why silence the one person bold enough to speak?

“And your hair.” Her handmaiden reached across the carriage and ran her fingers along the braid hanging in a loop around Valoria’s ear. “Like silky rays of sunset. I only hope he’s as dashing as you are beautiful.”

Valoria sat back, out of her handmaiden’s reach. “I do not give a wyvern’s breath if he’s dashing.”

“What do you care about?” Cadence stabbed an embroidered petal. The red rose in the center of the circle had unusually large thorns. Had she misread the pattern?

“My music.” That wasn’t entirely true. Her home ranked high in her heart along with pleasing her father. But, her music had always been first.

Valoria glanced at the top of the carriage where she’d strapped her harp with the strongest golden cord in the House of Song. She’d argued with the Chief of Song to bring the instrument aboard, but Echo had insisted she ride as a lady and allow the minstrels’ trumpets and drums to protect them. Even now, the repeating fanfares rattled her teeth. Best to lull the enemy to sleep with a few plucked strings than call them down from the hills of Sill to blare in their ears.

Could the undead hear?

“You won’t need your music where we’re headed.” Cadence placed her embroidery on the velvet seat cushion and folded her hands in her lap. “The Royal Guard, with Braxten in charge, can defeat the most horrid enemies. Or so the ballads say.”

The mist rolling off the foothills of Sill pressed against the window. Valoria’s fingers tingled and she longed to stroke her harp. “We shall see.”

She’d never traveled past the forest of Bluewood Pines surrounding the House of Song. Without the mossy trails of glitter motes strung together in the trees by her people’s song, the carriage lay exposed. Even worse, without her harp, she had no defense.

Cadence had lost her usual sly smile. “What troubles you, my lady?”

“Shadows.” Valoria traced the highest peak on the glass.

Cadence leaned forward and rested a hand on her knee. “There hasn’t been an undead attack since King Artemus Rubystone slayed the great Necromancer King three decades ago. Besides, we have the earsplitting trumpets to protect us.”

A half smile crossed Valoria’s lips. “Earsplitting, indeed.”

Cadence spoke true wisdom, like always. Sill should not concern her. Braxten Thoridian was enough to worry about. Meeting him for the first time made her toes curl in her slippers.

Her father had told her of his wish to unite the kingdoms ever since the first time she’d plucked her harp. “You were born to make this journey, to unite the people of Ebonvale with the House of Song, to succeed where I have failed.”

Where he’d failed.
He’d loved Danika Rubystone, now Queen Thoridian, and might still, which was why he didn’t accompany Valoria to the castle. Her father had lost Danika’s hand to her own bodyguard and never fully recovered, even after he’d married mother and Valoria was born. Mother had lived in a shadow of love compared to the stunning ruler of Ebonvale.

Now Danika Thoridian would be her mother-in-law.
How she could ever forgive the woman who’d stolen her father’s heart and thrown it away, Valoria didn’t know.

Her father’s half-hearted love had killed her mother. Would her own predestined union end the same tragic way? Would she wither and die with a lackluster love?

No. She was made from stronger stuff. Her mother completed her duty by having Valoria, and Valoria would complete her duty by uniting the kingdoms.

She glanced at Cadence’s embroidery. That rose had too much sun. How could a woman pluck that stem without gouging her fingers?

The trumpets stuttered, and the fanfare broke into disharmony.

“Are we there already?” Cadence slipped on her boots.

“Not unless our horses can fly.” Ebonvale was a day’s ride from where her father had seen them off at the edge of the bluewood forest. Yet, the sun hadn’t reached its zenith in the sky. Besides, the minstrels wouldn’t end the royal processional fanfare in such a haphazard muddle.

Valoria cranked her window open and stuck out her head, not caring a wyvern’s scale about what Echo would say. An arrow flew past her nose, hitting the lead rider in the back with a sick, wet thump. His trumpet fell from his fingers, and he slouched forward in the saddle as a red ribbon of blood flowed from his silvery overcoat. Another arrow clanged off the glass of the window beside her and fell to the ground.

Cadence yanked her away from the window. “Lyric’s lyre! Get back!”

Shock numbed her silent as they crouched on the carriage floor in between the velvet cushions. Was it the dead army, come back to claim vengeance against King Artemis while he lay in his grave and his heart-stealing daughter ruled? The thought of dead fingers grasping her arms and legs sent shivers all over her. She’d rather die than end up as part of that soulless horde.

If only she had her harp. A low hum reverberated in the pit of her stomach as the minstrels began their Song of Power. They’d used it against the wyvern She-Beast and her brood, casting the entire horde into a comatose state. Her eyes grew heavy, and Cadence shook her. “Cover your ears. Do not harken to it.”

Even though the minstrels aimed their song at the enemy, the side effects were powerful enough to knock her out. Valoria fought against the urge to lie down, focusing on the carriage window. Corpses didn’t fight with arrows. They lunged in a squirming mass, clacking their rotten teeth.

Cadence poked her head up. “Raiders! Those desperate bastards.”

At least if they died, they wouldn’t turn into the enemy. Valoria’s relief came with a dose of shame. Raiders were just as dangerous. “Are you certain they aren’t the undead?”

“They look ragged enough, but they are not rotting.”

Valoria rose to the window and Cadence held her down. “No. You are too important.”

Was this woman a handmaiden or a bodyguard? “I want to help.”

The carriage stopped, and Cadence fell back against the seat. They froze. After hours of bumping around, the stillness numbed Valoria’s legs.

Cadence’s eyes grew wide as swords clashed beside the carriage window. “Why in Horred’s name have we stopped?”

Valoria stood up, gained her bearings, and glanced out the window. Two minstrels lay face down in the long grasses of the meadow. “Either Echo and the others are too busy fighting, or the horses are all dead.”

Lackluster love might kill her over time, but she did not plan to die this day. “We have to get out of here. I must get my harp.”

Cadence clasped her arm like a vice. “You are not going anywhere.”

She ripped her arm out of her grasp. “Yes, I am. And I’m not leaving you. Come on!”

Valoria unhinged the latch and opened the carriage door to the sounds of grunting men and clashing steel. Echo fought two ragged raiders with his short sword. Ratty brown hair covered their heads and faces in a wild tangle. Haphazard scraps from old leather, stained fur, and muddied cotton made up their clothing. The wind changed direction, and the raiders’ filth wafted to Valoria. She covered her mouth from the stink of old sweat and mold.

Echo lunged, pulling off the cloth covering one of the wild man’s ears. The man fell to his knees, grasping at the side of his head as his ear bled a red streak down his cheek to his neck. The Song of Power hummed around the battlefield like a giant tuning fork hit with a sledgehammer. Raiders poured from the long grasses like field rats, circling the carriage and what was left of the retinue. Each one had cloth stuffed up their ears. In time, their numbers would overrun the minstrels.