The Lord of Adasha: Argetallam Saga, #5

By Elisabeth Wheatley

A year of living as Crown Princess of the Argetallams has taught Janir to watch her words closely and her actions closer. When Saoven and Karile arrive as ambassadors from Brevia, they bring an offer of peace in exchange for putting down a rising threat. Janir urges the royal court to answer their pleas for help and falls under fresh suspicion from her fellow Invulnerables. 

Loyalties are again torn as her father, the Lord Argetallam, and the other Argetallam nobles are eager to leave Brevia to its fate. But something is lurking on the fringes of Staspin, preparing to strike. And the threat may already be on their door step.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elisabeth Wheatley
• Release date: Dec 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386171386

Elisabeth Wheatley

Elisabeth Wheatley is a fantasy author because warrior princess wasn’t an option. She loves tea and is always praying for her readers. 

Book preview

The Lord of Adasha

By Elisabeth Wheatley

Copyright 2018 by Elisabeth Wheatley

First Edition

All rights reserved

Published Avowed Publishing and Media, LLC

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

The Ruin of Staspin

About the Author

Other works by the author

For that one table with the fake fruit basket in that one church lobby where I wrote that one time.

Chapter One

Janir swallowed and forced herself to focus.

It was the Lord Argetallam’s place to hear disputes, but today he had delegated the task. After a year in Adasha, the city of the Argetallams, her responsibilities as Crown Princess had gradually increased.

It was all part of her bargain to be a proper heir. In exchange, he wouldn’t harm those she loved back in Brevia. There was Armandius Caersynn, her foster-father; Gwenna Reiladamon, the noblewoman he loved; Luana and Velaskas Camlann; Karile Kerwyn, her best friend; and Saoven.

Cyrilius and Kanicaid hadn’t moved from their posts at her side for more than an hour. The marble hall ended in two massive doors. On either one was the royal seal of the Argetallam house—a hawk with a serpent in its beak. Incense filled the room with a sweet, smoky scent that Janir had come to associate with long hours pretending not to scream inside her head.

Three men waited before her. One was young, not yet past his mid-twenties, and she might have labeled him gallant if she hadn’t spent four days hearing the accusations against him. The second was the youth’s older brother, stern and annoyed. The third was the senior of the other two by twenty years at least. The elder’s face was wrinkled and scarcely without a scowl since first entering the chamber.

A little to the side sat a girl who couldn’t have been more than a year older than Janir if she was older at all. Her small hands were folded across her growing womb and her head bowed.

Janir bit her lip. If there was one good thing about her status, it was the power. Janir raised her voice, cutting off the eldest of the men. He went silent instantly.

After four days, I can summarize the situation in a few sentences. Janir skimmed one finger along the armrest of her marble throne. Mortahn Kerder, she motioned to the youngest of the three men, you bought this girl two years ago as a concubine. Janir had to refer to her as this girl. In four days, not one of them had referred to the slave by name.

Just four days ago, the youth had kept flashing her a look that was probably meant to be charming. Now his face was perfectly straight and more than a little impatient. Yes. Mortahn Kerder nodded.

Janir gestured to the elderly of the three men. You then tired of her and sold her to Mortahn Luciardos.

Luciardos nodded. But she was already—

Janir raised her hand. When you discovered she was already with child, you, Mortahn Luciardos, returned to Mortahn Kerder and demanded he take her back.

Yes, but—

Silence! Janir snapped. Mortahn Kerder, you then refused, saying that the child was not yours.

Yes! That’s why I sold her—

Shut up! It was not the most regal or royal thing to say, but no one who had seen that girl cower and grovel for hours on end could believe a word he said. When silence once again reigned, she turned to the third man.

Mortahn Selos, your brother claims the child isn’t his, but you disagree?

Mortahn Selos hesitated a moment. While the girl was in his possession, my brother never mentioned her playing the whore. He only discussed that he wished to replace her.

Replace—as one would an old horse or pair of boots.

There were moments Janir thought she could spit in the face of every Argetallam in the city. Except perhaps Cyrilius and Kanicaid. And Lucan. Not Lucan.

Mortahn Kerder, you still believe this girl was with others besides yourself?

Mortahn Kerder hesitated a moment. She’s always had a wandering eye, my lady. The gardener, the butcher’s boy.

I see. Janir took a deep breath before speaking again. I can tell you now that the child is Argetallam. Janir could feel an Argetallam’s presence when she looked at the girl and Argetallams dealt in slaves, but not in one another. Unless you wish to accuse one of your brethren of claiming your concubine, I suggest you tell me the truth.

Mortahn Kerder shifted but didn’t recant.

Mortahn Selos. Janir turned back to the brother. Thus far, he was the least repulsive of the three. I understand you wish to take responsibility for your brother’s child, am I right?

Mortahn Selos nodded. If he will not guard our bloodline.

It’s not mine! Mortahn Kerder exclaimed.

I don’t care what happens with the wench. I’ll keep her, if you want. I just want my coin back! Mortahn Luciardos exclaimed.

Janir thrummed her fingers on the armrest of the throne. She guessed Kerder hadn’t known the girl was carrying when he sold her. Now it seemed that he didn’t want her back after she’d been another man’s mistress.

According to Argetallam law, if an Argetallam knowingly abandoned their offspring, they were stripped of line. In the recordings of bloodline, the natural Argetallam parent wouldn’t be listed. Instead, their child would be considered a descendent of the one who raised them.

That would not have been such a feared and terrible thing, but the second part of the law stated that not only would that one child be listed in another bloodline, but any children that the Argetallam might have after that would also belong to another ancestry—sometimes the same, sometimes different.

It was the penultimate punishment, usually saved for traitors and oath-breakers.

Mortahn Kerder fit the crimes to be stripped of line and there was a part of Janir that was eager to dole out punishment. But she had more important things to consider—namely the girl and the unborn Argetallam.

Janir rose and winced. She hadn’t realized how her muscles had cramped. I will give you my judgment in two hours. Please refresh yourselves in the wine room. Janir motioned toward a latticed door situated behind a pillar.

The girl rose to her feet to follow the three men, head still bowed.

Not you, Janir said.

The girl cringed as though she’d been struck.

Janir turned to Kanicaid. Would you escort the girl to my chambers, Mortahn Kanicaid?

Kanicaid was normally a trickster, but here, acting in the official capacity, he was a picture of gravity. Yes, my lady. He bowed to his princess.

Followed by Cyrilius, Janir gathered the skirt of her gown and exited. While her father wore a black tunic emblazoned with the royal seal at judgment, Janir had been given a gown the color of ink with matching lace overlay and long, bell-shaped sleeves. It was a beautiful, if brutal in the desert climate.

As soon as she made it out of the judgment room, Janir heaved a sigh. Pressing one hand against the wall, she closed her eyes and concentrated on trying to breathe away the weight pressing down on the back of her head.

Are you alright? Cyrilius hovered two steps back.

I’ll be fine, Janir groaned, not moving.

Cyrilius waited for a moment. You’re doing well.

Janir let off a chirp of laughter. Thank you. Will my father agree?

Cyrilius didn’t reply. She could feel his presence at her back, a steady, glowing source of Invulnerable power. She knew who was Argetallam and who was not—part of the power of the ruling Argetallam and their heir. Yet ever since coming to Adasha a year ago, the power had increased. Now she no longer had to look at a person to know if they were Invulnerable or not. Now she simply felt when one was close. It had frightened her at first and still did at times.

Janir felt a familiar presence nearing. Though she didn’t know the lad’s name, she recognized him from the times she had attended her father at court. She straightened.

It was a mere moment before the boy—in his early teens, breathlessly rounded the corner and rushed to bow.

My lady, the youth panted, the Lord Argetallam summons you.

Janir frowned. Is something wrong?

I only know that His Lordship sent for you.

Janir had hoped to resolve her judgment in time to take Kalbo, her prize stallion, for a ten-minute gallop down the beach before she was stuffed into the dining hall for supper.

Tell him I’m on my way. She hid her disappointment behind a year’s practice.

The boy nodded and raced away back in the direction he had come.

Janir gathered up her skirts and strode after him. Cyrilius followed. Her gown billowed, flowing like liquid onyx. Practicality aside, she loved the cut and style of the dress. She just wished it could have been a cheerier color—perhaps blue or green.

The principle reception room’s sole purpose was to impress foreign emissaries and ambassadors. Massive pillars supported the ceiling stretching hundreds of sword-lengths into the sky. Light spilled over the marble from the glass windows high above. According to legend, it had taken a hundred dwarf workmen to build the skylight and another two hundred to put it in place. Dozens of steps led up to the massive throne of the presiding Argetallam.

People hustled into the room, murmuring amongst themselves. Some wore formal garments as she did, while others were clad in their common clothes. Those in their common garb hung back, letting the better dressed take the front.

The Lord Argetallam spotted Janir as she entered through one of the side passages and gestured for her to come closer.

Swallowing, Janir ascended the steps to stand before her father, stopped several paces before the throne and bowed.

Cyrilius copied the gesture, though he stooped much lower. As the Lord Argetallam’s heir, Janir was not required to bow, but it pleased her father. If it pleased Lord Argetallam, she would grovel and scrape before him as needed to keep him from hurting anyone in Brevia.

The Lord Argetallam beckoned. Stand beside me.

Janir took up a place at his left. Cyrilius posted himself a little behind her and Drusilla—in the full battle wear of an Argetallam mortana—stood on her other side.

If Drusilla had been an animal, she would have been a desert cat. Her athletic build, sensual features, and ferocity as a fighter made her a picture of lethal beauty.

Janir wanted to ask Drusilla or her father what was happening, but didn’t get the chance.

At the entrance to the reception chamber, heralds thumped their spear shafts against the ground. Silence descended. The hush prevailed as people waited, some holding their breath.

The herald’s voice filled the room like a battle horn. The emissary of the Sylvan Forests, Saoven Camlann.

Janir thought she had gone mad. Had she heard right?

A mixture of emotions exploded inside her chest. It was as if her heart didn’t know whether to leap or sink and the result was a churning sensation in her breast.

She was thrilled at the idea of seeing him again. More than thrilled. But if he was here, that meant he was in danger.

This was why the Lord Argetallam had summoned her? Did he want to see her reaction? Or was she overthinking and had he called for her because he had called for everyone else?

Janir tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She was aware of Cyrilius arching his eyebrow ever so slightly, but ignored him.

The doors opened and revealed two figures. They were travel-worn and stained, but still advanced into the heart of the Argetallam palace with confidence.

Saoven was on the left. He and the other man must have just arrived. Nonetheless,