Ashes of Dearen: Book 2

By Jayden Woods

Eleanor learns that all actions have a reaction and she must pay for her mistakes. She finds herself with the aid of a strange woman who can summon fire at the snap of her fingertips. Picard makes a desperate grasp for power with the support of the elusive Merchant. Sean discovers that he cannot deny the blood-lust of Belazar burning in his veins. Queen Fayr struggles to maintain control in Dearen without safra, now finding hope and support in her newly chosen king. But she fears that everyone around her is not who he seems.

War erupts in the Three Nations, and only the gods may be able to quell the chaos that unleashes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jayden Woods
• Release date: Jan 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466194045

Jayden Woods

Jayden Woods is the author's pen name. Jayden is a graduate of the University of Southern California's Writing for Screen and Television program. She lived and worked in Los Angeles for five years before leaving Hollywood to pursue her passion of writing prose and novels. Her published works include the various Tales of Mercia and the related "Sons of Mercia" trilogy, beginning with "Eadric the Grasper."

Book preview

Ashes of Dearen: Book 2

Jayden Woods

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Jayden Woods

Edited by Malcolm Pierce

Cover design by Jenny Gibbons

Stock photos used:

Sky Stock 199 by hatestock

Barbarian Warrior 27 by Marcus Ranum

Knife 6 Stock by Brenda Clark, Inadesign Stock

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Book 1 Available Free Online

Recommended for Mature Readers

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – Broken Metronome

Chapter 2 - Sygmund

Chapter 3 - Torturer

Chapter 4 – Fear and Love

Chapter 5 – Unlikely Savior

Chapter 6 – Death Duel

Chapter 7 - Explosives

Chapter 8 – Machination of Dreams

Chapter 9 - Guests

Chapter 10 – Moving Mountains

Chapter 11 - Foresight

Chapter 12 - Mask

Chapter 13 - Tools

Chapter 14 – Wolf Unleashed

Chapter 15 - Trap

Chapter 16 – Safra Script

Chapter 17 – Constructing Destruction

Chapter 18 - Turmoil

Chapter 19 - Restraints

Chapter 20 – Flesh Bond

Chapter 21 – Blue Fire

Chapter 22 – The Right Decision

Chapter 23 - Eyes

Chapter 24 - Awakening

Epilogue

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1

Broken Metronome

King-wife Eleanor tried to believe that the rhythm of the Earth Mechanic beat steadily in the kingdom of Yamair. She regularly tuned the clocks, perused the transit schedules, checked the pressure valves in the river, oiled the gears of any machine in her supervision, and did absolutely everything in her power to ensure that all ran smoothly.

But something kept running out of synch.

No matter what she did, she always heard an off-beat ticking. Several times, she thought she found the clock the sound came from, but once she fixed it, she still heard the cacophonous rhythm.

Sometimes, she sensed the contretemps in ways beyond auditory range. She couldn’t even explain how or where the sensation came from, she just knew, as if a rock lay deep in her gut, that something jammed or disrupted the mechanisms running her country. She just couldn’t figure out what. By all reasonable estimations, Yamair should be in a state of pure synchronization, for their very own Metronome—King Byron—had returned many weeks ago after a long voyage. His presence should have stabilized most idiosyncrasies.

To help herself contemplate the problem, Eleanor drank her Discipline regularly. And it was just after her nightly dosage, when the saturation of the potion in her bloodstream reached its peak, that she discovered the most logical explanation.

Byron himself disrupted the country’s rhythm.

If not for the Discipline in her system, Eleanor might have been emotionally disturbed by this realization. Perhaps that was why she had avoided blaming him until now, when the Discipline pushed all emotions away. Ever since King Byron’s return, she’d done everything in her power to support and guide him. It had not always been easy, for his voyage overseas left him greatly deluded. His obsession with safra had grown while he searched for it, as if its elusiveness was a thing to be admired. Eleanor thanked the Earth Mechanic that Byron had not been able to find any safra during his travels, but this meant he continued to seek it from home. Eleanor made him focus on the productivity of the nation. She informed him of everything that had happened since his absence—everything of importance, that is—and kept him abreast of ongoing events. This was all very important for her to do, because he made little effort to do these things, himself. So what about Byron caused the rhythmic disruption? Was it an aspect of his behavior?

A little more contemplation led her straight to the answer. The problem with Byron was his preoccupation with that woman, Sylvina.

The mysterious woman had returned with him from his voyage. He claimed to have found her on an island to the far north. But other than this, he said very little about her. She wore elaborate robes set with glittering beads and dangling tussles. She wore scarves around her head that covered up all her hair. She spoke little—her native tongue was different from theirs—but she smiled politely and seemed well-mannered. Byron spent a great deal of time with the woman in an attempt to familiarize her with the language and customs of Yamair. His final goal, so far as Eleanor understood it, was to gain more knowledge from her about the lands from which she came. Now Eleanor realized that Byron’s focus on Sylvina caused him to neglect more important duties, which led to the disruption of the kingdom’s Metronome.

She found Byron in the parlor of the Royal Mansion. As usual, Sylvina accompanied him. They sat on a couch near the fire, their backs to the doorway, though Eleanor could see that they leaned close to each other, laughing.

Byron?

The king shot up suddenly, pulling away from Sylvina and turning with a shocked expression. Ellie?

He liked to call her sometimes by a clipped distortion of her given name. Eleanor used to hate it. Right now, full of Discipline, she felt no emotion on the matter. In fact, she appreciated the nickname for its brevity. Byron. Is Sylvina fluent in our language yet?

Uh ... yes ... well, not completely ... why? What’s the matter? He straightened his robes, which had folded in awkward bundles from his position on the couch. Why had he been sitting that way? Then he smoothed down his golden beard, even though it looked perfectly normal.

Sylvina would probably not like what Eleanor came to say, but in the end, her feelings did not matter so long as she complied with Eleanor’s demands. If she would hear them eventually, she might as well hear them directly. So Eleanor walked into the room and moved round the couch to look down on their faces.

Byron and Sylvina both shuffled away from each other, patting their clothes and wiping their mouths, even though there was nothing on them. Why did they act so strangely?

After much consideration, said Eleanor, I have concluded that Sylvina’s presence in the Royal Mansion is a distraction to you, Byron. She has disrupted your inner rhythm and caused you to neglect your other duties.

Nearby, the scratch of a quill against parchment resounded from the shadows. The new Royal Scholar, Herald, recorded everything that transpired as his duty demanded. King Byron and King-wife Eleanor could ask him to leave at any time, but this would be duly noted in the royal records, and would look especially suspicious if a third party remained with the royalty in private. Herald had only been in the job for a little over a month—he started when Byron returned—and he had proved to be ridiculously devoted to his task, noting even the most mundane events. Eleanor just tried to ignore him.

Are you sure about that? Byron scratched his beard, as he often did when frustrated. What duty have I neglected? Every day since my return I have completed all my tasks. In fact, it has been very easy, because you do almost all of them yourself.

Yes, well ... Eleanor’s fingers fidgeted at her sides. I can’t name anything specific at the moment. But I can sense that your rhythm is off. Perhaps I have disguised the problem too much by trying to help you. In any case, there may be few noticeable consequences yet, but if you do not correct yourself, then the repercussions of your own disharmony will reverberate through the kingdom. It is my duty to notice these things about you, and it is why I can sense the danger before anyone else. So I say again that Sylvina—

Oh listen to yourself, Ellie. Byron stood up and let his outer robes fall from his frame, for they were already unfastened and loose about his body. He had grown quite muscular during his travels, and she could not help but admire his form. He straightened his belt and brushed down the frills of his shirt. Once he collected himself a sense of confidence settled over him, and he stepped forward with arms outstretched. His blue eyes caught the light of the fire and seemed to spark with flecks of gold. You’ve gotten yourself all worked up about nothing! What is that thing the Synergists like to say? Don’t fix what isn’t broken?

I’m not worked up at all. In fact I’m ... Byron put his hand against her arm, and for some reason, she flinched. He didn’t seem to notice, and kept leaning closer to her. I’m perfectly logical because I—

"Faugh! The king pulled away from her, waving a hand in front of his nose. No need to tell me, I can smell it. You’re drinking that damned Discipline again, aren’t you? In fact, have you even stopped drinking it since my return?"

No. Why should I? There is a lot to do and a lot to think about.

Why should you? Eleanor, emotions might sometimes distort logic, but they can also enhance it. It seems to me that you’ve remained on that drug so constantly that it has begun to impede your judgment rather than enhance it.

My judgment is sound, said Eleanor. "Sylvina must leave!"

She spoke forcefully out of necessity. Byron was not taking her seriously enough. But now the softness in his voice fell away, and a cruel glint crept into his eyes.

I’ve been looking for a good time to tell you this, he said. Now’s as good a time as any. Sylvina, take it off.

The woman blinked with surprise. She seemed to understand him. But she did nothing.

"I said take it off!"

The woman sighed, then stood up and pulled the scarf from her hair. Eleanor watched in awe as vibrant blue hair poured over Sylvina’s shoulders. It was so very blue, like a sky after rain, or the depths of the lake through the windows of the central substation.

The scratch of Herald’s quill paused for a moment. He must have been in such shock, he didn’t know what to write.

That is ... most strange, said Eleanor at last.

Don’t you see, Eleanor? Byron walked over to Sylvina and slipped the cerulean strands through his fingertips. I have only seen hair like this in one other bloodline. His voice was soft and reverent as he continued to stroke her silky locks. The Violenese.

That is incorrect, said Eleanor. The Violenese have purple hair. I saw the prince—may the Earth Mechanic bless his bones—and the princess—now Queen—only a few fortnights ago. I remember the shade of their hair clearly, and it was several tones away from that one.

"Several tones? Byron gnashed his teeth and released the woman’s hair, fingers curling with anger. Who the hell cares? This is the closest we’ve come to finding someone like the Violenese! People right now think Queen Fayr must be the only one left of her bloodline. The only one with the potential to make safra, even if she doesn’t know how. What if they’re wrong?"

Then that is of no consequence to us. Eleanor jutted up her chin, attempting to tower over him even from afar. They stood at nearly equal height when relaxed. Then she strode towards him, slowly, her boots thudding on the floorboards like a drum. We do not need safra. Safra gives people happiness, which clouds their ambitions and weakens their resolve. Safra reduces productivity. The loss of the Dearen Haze is the best thing to happen to the Three Nations in my lifetime. And if we don’t need safra, then we don’t need the Violenese.

"You ... you ... you ... !" Byron’s face turned a terrible shade of red. His mouth flapped silently. He seemed unable to find the words to voice his rage. So he picked up the goblet from which he’d been drinking and flung it to the floor, sloshing juice over the carpet.

That was wasteful, said Eleanor. And very childish.

"Fucking Discipline! he cried at last, his hands clawing at the air itself. It has turned you into some sort of ... machine!"

That is the idea, said the king-wife.

You were bad enough when I left you this spring, hissed the king. "But even the Ellie I knew would have been excited to meet someone like Sylvina. Curious, at least. She speaks an ancient language—Norsidian, it’s called. She says it’s the language of the gods."

She’s a pagan, then, said Eleanor, and regarded the woman with a quick flick of her eyes. She’s even more harmful to you than I suspected.

He moved closer to her, his body rigid now, trying to tower over her as she had done. She didn’t let him succeed. I want you to stop drinking Discipline, said King Byron. "Now."

That is an unfounded request, she replied, and I will not heed it. My request, however, has merit. Sylvina must stay somewhere outside the Royal Mansion. And you must not see her more than once a week.

You’ll not tell me what to do, said Byron. Where’s the Discipline?

Eleanor blinked a few times. Why do you ask?

"Answer the question, Eleanor. Where is it?"

I ... I ... She forced down a thick swallow. I keep it in the bottom drawer of our wardrobe, next to the—

Byron stormed past her.

Byron!

He moved up the central staircase, one firm step at a time. She hurried after him, grateful as ever that the women of Yamair were not subject to wearing the dragging skirts of countries like Dearen or wherever Sylvina came from. She moved quite nimbly—faster than Byron. But he increased his pace, opening his arms to block her passage, and then swept into their bedroom.

Byron, you’re not thinking rationally. Don’t do anything—

He slammed the door in her face.

BYRON!

Shouting and striking the door had no effect. Eleanor heard thumps, clinks, and smashing from within the royal bedroom. But she could do nothing to stop it. Byron was too irrational.

Accepting her fate, Eleanor made her way down the staircase. She could always make more Discipline. If Byron must have a temper tantrum in order to feel better, so be it. Hopefully he would realize his stupidity later.

At the bottom of the stairs, Sylvina stared at the king-wife with an icy gaze. Her eyes were different from the Violenese. Queen Fayr had multifaceted irises of various though subtle colors, like the surface of a diamond. Sylvina’s were gray, almost colorless.

Foolish, said the woman with a strange accent, and that was all.

Eleanor decided to ignore the comment, finding Sylvina’s opinion irrelevant. The king-wife walked out of the Royal Mansion, for she had other duties to attend to, and she’d done everything in her power here.

*

Eleanor returned late at night, when the moon hung swollen in the sky and all living things retreated from the blustering winds. She felt the cold more fiercely tonight than she had in a long while. With Discipline in her system, she could remain aware of the cold without feeling bothered by it. Now it crept into her bones, bit her nose, and wracked her body with shivers.

The Discipline was wearing off.

She entered her empty bedroom and found her worst suspicions confirmed. Not a single vial of Discipline remained. Shards of glass littered the floorboards where he had smashed the containers in anger. Others lay empty, for Byron must have poured out the liquid once his fury abated. Strengthening her resolve, Eleanor picked up the pieces and tucked them away. She would try to find a use for the shards later. She lit a candle to aid her as she searched for the last bits, then realized that the royal bedroom lay empty.

Eleanor’s heart twinged. She clutched her chest and took a deep breath. Her heart pounded fiercely. She must not let her emotions get to her. She had not known how she felt about Byron’s return, because she had allowed herself to feel nothing. And she must remain strong. What did she feel now? Sadness? Why should it sadden her that Byron wasn’t in their bedroom, after how foolishly he had behaved? His anger was his own fault, and she must let him deal with it. She should not feel guilty, or hurt, or whatever it was she felt.

Guilt.

She crawled into bed and curled under the covers. The bed smelled of Byron. When he first left on his voyage, she had missed the musky smell of him—at first. Then she had grown accustomed to a different smell, tart and sweet. She remembered the soft whisper of a woman in her ear, the long silky strands of hair tickling her stomach, the slick warmth of Rebeka’s tongue ...

She sat up suddenly and threw the blankets from her. She needed more Discipline. She needed it now.

She tread softly downstairs and into the workshop. She moved from habit and instinct, for she had made Discipline many times before, and she knew the preparation steps by heart. She must clean all the funnels, bowls, and tubes so that not a speck of contamination touched the mixture. She must place each piece of the mixing machine in perfect alignment, screwing every lid to a certain tightness, tilting each tube to the proper angle, setting every pressure gauge to its proper number, then checking everything twice, because often moving one piece could offset another. Mixing the drug was even more complicated, and she needed to be especially alert for every step of the process. Precision and self-restraint was the key to making Discipline. One could only make the drug by enacting its essence. She needed to be calm and collected.

Calm and collected.

Calm and collected.

Why are you doing this, Eleanor? We can still fix everything. We can do it together, you and I, in perfect harmony! You don’t have to do this! Rebeka had thrashed helplessly against the guards as they dragged her away. Please, King-wife. Have mercy on me. Don’t do this to me. Please, Eleanor. ELEANOR!

Her hands slipped. The glass alembic fell and smashed into a thousand pieces. Eleanor stared down at it in awe. There were so many bits of glass, tiny and glittering, it was like looking down at a pile of safra. Except there was nothing pleasant about this sad, scattered pile.

Eleanor had no replacement for that alembic—not at hand. The precise size and quality of the alembic was hard to come by. She would have to send a request to the city of Cogwerk for another. And even if she sent the request by balloon, it might take days for them to make and send one back.

She took long, slow breaths. She must not panic. She must not panic.

There were other shops that sold Discipline in Yamair City. She would have to buy more tomorrow. She only needed to make it through the night without drinking more. Then all would be well.

All would be well.

She didn’t even bother to clean up her mess. She could not bear to dwell on her own mistakes and weaknesses right now. Her best option was to return to bed and fall asleep. She would sleep, and in the morning, she would purchase Discipline from a local vendor.

Byron was in her bed when she returned to it, fast asleep and snoring. She smelled alcohol on his breath. But worst of all, she saw a faint glitter of safra on his mouth.

She nearly shook him awake and reprimanded him. Anger coursed through her in hot waves. She should berate him for such behavior; safra was bad enough for anyone to consume, but for the king ... ! He deserved all of her wrath, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing it. He wanted her to get upset. He wanted her to lose her reason. She must stay strong.

She lay behind him and tried to fall asleep. But when her thoughts started to wander towards dreams, she panicked and pulled them back. How could she avoid dreaming? She listened to her clocks and counted their ticks.

She reached three hundred and seventy two before she finally drifted off.

When she woke up, long after the sunrise, Byron was gone again.

Fear struck her belly and seized her veins like ice. What did she fear? She didn't even know at first. She struggled to breathe. She couldn't hear anything, not even her clocks, over the roaring sound in her ears. She wanted to throw up, even though she had nothing in her stomach. What did she fear?

Byron knew.

Byron knew what?

Byron knew about Rebeka.

He couldn’t. Eleanor had done everything in her power to ensure that. She had gotten rid of Deragon, the only one who knew their secret. Then again, his demotion had been difficult to cover up in front of Byron, who had liked Deragon as the Prime Synergist of Yamair. When Byron learned that Deragon now served Queen Fayr in Dearen, he had been pleased instead of upset. He said he looked forward to contacting Deragon soon, perhaps to trade with him tales of their adventures. What if he had already spoken to Deragon? What if Deragon told him that he saw Eleanor and Rebeka in bed together, and that’s really why Eleanor cast him out?

Eleanor’s stomach flipped again. Deragon and Byron surely hadn’t spoken yet. She’d watched Byron too closely to let that happen. So the only other way Byron would know about Rebeka is if he had spoken to her directly. And that was impossible, too. Eleanor had gotten rid of Rebeka herself. She was gone forever, as good as dead. If not dead already ...

Eleanor felt herself lurch as if she would choke on her own breath. She must not think about these things right now. Why did she think of them at all? Her body felt flooded with emotions, so many that she didn’t even know how to begin sorting through them. She trembled from head to foot while sweat dripped from her brow. She needed to get up and do something. Anything to keep her from feeling.

She needed to get more Discipline.

Meanwhile, she needed to act as she normally did, so as not to startle her husband. She got up and dressed herself. She tuned her clocks and went downstairs.

In the kitchen, Byron stood next to the window. At first Eleanor thought he was alone. Then he moved slightly, and Eleanor discerned Sylvina’s shape in front of him. They stood so very close to each other, Sylvina’s back brushed against the king’s stomach. His lips hovered near her ear.

Sylvina turned and fixed Eleanor with her stark gray eyes.

Ellie! The king moved far from Sylvina as he turned to face his wife. His cheeks were flushed as he smiled. How do you feel this morning?

She felt furious. Why must Byron flirt with that woman so openly? She had been able to ignore it with the Discipline in her system. Now she remembered all the times she saw them close to each other, laughing, whispering. She clenched her fists so hard that her nails scratched her palms. Fine, she said through gritted teeth. I’m ... fine.

Uncertainty wilted his smile. Did you take Discipline?

No. And you’re right. Sylvina is beautiful. Enchanting. Seductive.

Oh? He gave a nervous laugh. So she can stay?

Eleanor took a firm step forward, then snarled. She’s a whore.

She couldn’t explain what happened. The words just flew from her mouth without thinking. She wasn’t supposed to do this. She was supposed to stay calm and collected. But now, so close to the two of them, Eleanor’s wrath burned like a furnace within her. If she didn’t let some of the heat out, it would consume her.

How had she missed it before? Ever since Byron’s return, he had stayed near this woman—nearer to her than his own wife! Certainly, he had taken Eleanor’s body a few times, as a husband should, but always with frustration. He yelled at her for being cold and unresponsive. He even blamed her apathy for the fact they had never conceived a child.

Then he started disappearing from her bed. At first he was only gone briefly, but soon the minutes lengthened to hours. He often came back drunk and smelling of … of …

Sylvina.

"Whore, hissed Eleanor again. Then, to her husband, Traitor!" She reached out and shoved him.

Byron grabbed her wrists even as he staggered. "What?"

You’ve been sleeping with her! Eleanor thrashed at him, though he struggled to hold her at bay. "All this time!"

She managed to claw his cheek. In return, he slapped her across the face.

She fell back, her hands covering the red ache, as she listened to his ragged breathing. Sylvina stood by all the while, silent.

How dare you, growled Byron. How dare you assume such a thing!

It’s true, isn’t it? Her voice was shrill with rage. "You’ve betrayed me. This whole time I stood by, doing everything I could to support you. I gave up my own power so that you could have yours back. Meanwhile you betrayed my confidence. You couldn’t stop thinking about safra. You betrayed the Earth Mechanic a long time ago—before you ever came home, before you even left! And now you’ve betrayed me. I was never enough for you, was I?"

Eleanor ... His mouth was agape with shock. She couldn’t even blame him. Deep beneath her torrent of emotions, a small shred of logic lingered, reminding her that he had not seen her this emotional in years, if ever. But even that small shred of logic withered under the blaze of her wrath and sorrow. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, blurring her vision of him altogether.

We can still fix everything. We can do it together, you and I, in perfect harmony! You don’t have to do this!

Eleanor lurched and fell forward, clutching her stomach.

Ellie? Are you all right?

When she looked up at him again, Eleanor’s eyes were free of tears. Instead her lashes crept round her irises in sharp spikes as she narrowed her gaze; she bared her teeth as her lips pulled back in a snarl. I gave up everything so that you and I could rule together again. I gave up the one thing I cared about most.

What on earth are you talking about? Anger crept back to his voice. "What have you ever cared about, Eleanor, other than that fucking Discipline? You certainly didn’t give that up."

Rebeka. She spoke so quietly first that she had to try again, her voice ripping from her throat as if in tatters. "Rebeka ..."

Rebeka? He shook his head helplessly, even as Eleanor shuddered with despair. He took several more moments to consider the name. That Scholar you sent away?

Eleanor cried out with pain. She felt as if he twisted a knife through her ribs, just by reminding her.

Leave us! cried Byron suddenly. Eleanor saw out of the corner of her eyes that he waved a hand at Sylvina. "I said get out!"

In a swirl of blue, the strange woman vanished. As Eleanor watched this, she noticed the presence of Royal Scholar Herald for the first time. How long had he been here, watching? He didn’t even have his parchment at hand—he must have just wandered in for breakfast—but he stood there unmoving, a shocked look on his face.

You, stay, said Byron, noticing Herald at the same time. Why on earth would he ask the Scholar to stay and watch this? It was a horrible thing to do. But too many horrible things already dwelt in Eleanor’s mind; she could not bring herself to care.

Byron’s hands closed suddenly over Eleanor’s shoulders. He shook her violently. What the hell were you saying? he snarled. "Rebeka is the thing you cared about most?"

I … I ... The tears were flowing again. Eleanor clawed at her hair, pulling strands from their bondage so they fell over her face. This was not enough to hide her despair. I loved her, she groaned. I loved her and got rid of her, so that you would never find out. I got rid of her, I ruined her, all so that you could bring a whore to our home and fuck her under my own roof!

Byron pushed her away, exhaling roughly. Eleanor dared not look at him. She did not know what he felt right now. She could not begin to think of his feelings when her own threatened to consume her from inside out. She just held her face and felt her fingers grow slippery with tears.

I can’t believe it, he said at last, then gave something like a gruff laugh. I can’t believe it! The great Eleanor, undone by a day without Discipline.

Eleanor sank to the floor, sobbing.

How long did you depend on that drug to keep your true feelings away? said the king snidely. I don’t even mean towards me—at least the me beneath the crown. I mean towards your own ideals? Towards the Earth Mechanic? Towards duty and logic? You could not bear the thought of betraying them, so you made a crutch for your weakness. You pushed away your rebellion with Discipline. And that crutch became your own undoing.

Just let me take it again, Byron, wept Eleanor. I will never betray you as long as I’m on Discipline. I’ll even let Sylvina stay here. I will! At least if you promise not to get her pregnant … that’s the most important thing.

An awful sound came out of the king’s throat—something between a scoff and a grunt of pain. He staggered even further from Eleanor, as if to run away from her, until he fell back against a table.

You’re disgusting, he rasped at last. I once respected you, Ellie. I even wanted to impress you. I wanted to live up to your ideals of balance and reason. Now I see why all the doubts I ever had were truly founded. You’re not a human being anymore. You’re not even like a machine, really. You’re a broken metronome, driven only for the sake of still ticking.

Byron! She didn’t know what else to say. She thought he would be happy that she would let him keep Sylvina. Instead, somehow, it had made him angrier. What can I do to make it up to you? What can I do to—

You’re finished, Eleanor.

The words were so fierce, so unwavering, that Eleanor stopped trembling. She looked up to her husband in shock.

"You’ve confessed to adultery, and worse, with your own gender. You are no longer fit to be King-wife. You’re not even fit to be a citizen of Yamair."

Byron ... Her lungs collapsed, restricting further speech.

I’ll give you two choices, snarled the king. You can confess to everything you’ve done in front of the nation with a formal apology. Our marriage will be nullified and you will be demoted to a cogwoman. Otherwise, I exile you from Yamair permanently.

What? She tried to imagine either one. First, standing in front of the nation and telling them everything. Even if she remained a cogwoman, a working Yamairan citizen, she would have to shame and humiliation of her transgressions every day. Even if people did not ridicule her openly, she would feel their disdain with every glance, every business transaction. And all that assumed that she would be capable of standing before them and confessing her sins in the first place. She did not think she could bear to. The confession of betraying her husband by sleeping with another woman was not even the worst part. Her most terrible deed was what she did to Rebeka after taking Discipline again.

Exile.

The word made her shudder. It was the same fate she had given to Rebeka. She would never be able to show her face in Yamair again. If she did, or if she resisted leaving, her punishment would be death. Where would she go? What would she do? Yamair was her life. She could not imagine a life without her clocks, machines, and schedules.

No ... she gasped at last, unable to give a better answer. No, don’t do this to me!

You don’t have to do this! Please, King-wife. Have mercy on me. Don’t do this to me. Please, Eleanor. ELEANOR!

CHOOSE! yelled Byron.

She broke down again, crying. I can’t … I can’t confess. Not in front of everyone.

They will find out anyway, said Byron, motioning cruelly towards Herald. But if you please, you don’t have to face the people yourself. You’ll never have to face them again.

When she failed to argue, he turned on his boot and walked out. She didn’t know what he felt in that moment. She couldn’t bear to know.

A few minutes later, the guards came in and dragged her from the Royal Mansion.

*

Eight months of exile.

Eight months of misery, loneliness, and searching.

This was what it took to kill Eleanor.

She lay on the side of a dirty road, her lips cracked, her breath ragged. She had eaten nothing but pine needles and acorns for days. The only water she’d found to drink had been bitter with waste and contamination. She vomited it up hours later, along with bile and a small bit of precious food. Now she breathed the spring heat and felt as if it consumed her from within.

A pair of black boots approached her through the dust. A tattered cloak rippled in the hot breeze. The sunlight struck pieces of the traveler’s outfit, reflecting metal.

Her fingers trembled around a small wooden cup. She felt as if the cup weighed several stones, even though it was empty. She had hoped that a few travelers might take mercy on her and drop a few coins in the cup, but so far, no one had. She couldn’t blame them. The same Yamairan society she’d fostered as king-wife did not consider giving alms a good deed. Better to teach someone how to make bread than give them a loaf. Anything else was a waste of time.

The traveler stopped a few steps from Eleanor, looking down at her. Eleanor wondered what the stranger made of her withered, prostrate form. She looked so different from the king-wife who had been exiled eight months ago that she did not even worry about people recognizing her anymore. If they did, the Yamairan soldiers could rightfully kill her.

For a brief time, Eleanor had fled Yamair as Byron commanded her to. She roamed the mountains between Yamair and Dearen, hoping foolishly that one day she might find Rebeka wandering the same paths. But the mountains were a dangerous place; if she lingered too close to Yamair, she risked discovery or running into other outlaws and bandits. If she got too close to Dearen, she risked the wrath of Dearen guards and their vicious tigers. Ever since the Haze vanished and Princess Fayr married King Darius, the Dearen guards had transformed from a laughingstock to a formidable foe. Slowly, Eleanor had starved in the mountains, running from one enemy to the next, until she returned to Yamair in a state of desperation. She fled through hills and meadows, past Sheepton and Casberg, to the southwestern plains of the continent. And here she now lay.

The stranger lingered over Eleanor, studying her in silence. Eleanor released something like a groan from her raspy throat. Speaking required too much effort. Death lay so close to her, she could almost