The Lady of Saron

By Jayne Kinch

A new tale in The Land of the Blood of Allaron Legend series, set over four hundred years before events in The Daughter of Teragon. A time when vampires are nothing more than a myth and the Blood of Allaron Legend is yet to come into being.

When Princess Felicity Saron helps Prince Viktor Allaron and his brothers obtain the power contained within a magical dagger said to belong to the long-dead Mages of Thiar, little does she know it will release an ancient evil that will see two of the brothers following a dark path which will eventually lead to the murder of their brother and Prime, and will turn Viktor's love for Felicity into an obsession, with devastating consequences.
But while it may be too late for Viktor and his brothers, Felicity still has the chance to save the Allaron blood line.

Each book in The Land of the Blood of Allaron Legend series is stand-alone, but for the greatest enjoyment, the following reading order is recommended:

The Daughter of Teragon
The Fair Isle Princess
The Guardsman's Lover
The Duchess of Farrow
The Warrior Queen
The Lady of Saron

Note to readers: please be aware that this book contains depictions of domestic violence and sexual violence that some readers may find distressing. Contains content of a sexual nature. Mature readers only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jayne Kinch
• Release date: Dec 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005061890

Jayne Kinch

Jayne’s debut novel—The Daughter of Teragon—was published in 2016. Since then, she has completed a further seven novels and is currently working on The Cursed Dagger, the final instalment of The Mages of Thiar Trilogy.When she isn’t writing, Jayne likes to take countryside walks, travel the world, collect cacti, and read fiction. She also owns and runs a secondhand bookshop in a historical seaside town on the south-east coast of England. Her reading tastes are quite eclectic, with genres ranging from historical fiction, paranormal romance, sci-fi, fantasy, and crime thrillers to name a few.Jayne is forty-something and lives with her long-suffering husband, a deaf cat with a loud personality, dozens of cacti, and more books than she can count!Follow her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/jaynekinchbooks

Book preview

Allaron encampment, five miles southwest of Saron village.

It was early evening on Midsummer’s Eve, and I was stealing through the masses of tents and campfires spread out across the field like rather odd-looking mushrooms, the hood of my cloak hiding my face from the men busy preparing for the upcoming battle. Some paused in what they were doing and watched as I strode past, but none stopped me, assuming from my rich clothing that I was the wife of a nobleman who’d accompanied her husband to the war camp. Several miles north of here, in another field, another army would be likewise preparing for battle, neither they nor their Prime aware they were about to be betrayed.

In the light of the setting sun, I spotted a red and black tent up ahead. Inside, the man I wished to speak to would be going through last minute preparations with his generals. I suppose I should feel guilty that I was about to betray my own father, but any loyalty I’d felt towards him had vanished the moment he’d sanctioned Norman’s murder.

As I approached the tent, not for the first time, I wondered if I should just turn around and flee—despite nearly two days having passed since I’d snuck out of Thornwood Manor under the cover of darkness, there was still a small chance my absence was yet to be noticed—but I steeled my resolve. Peter had to pay for what he’d done to my family.

I didn’t know if the man inside the tent would be willing to listen to me, but I had to at least try to speak with him. The rules of war meant a messenger from the opposite side should be allowed to pass unmolested through an enemy camp, and I was relying on him to honour this. Especially given my history with his brother. I ignored the fact that there was nothing in the rules of war which prevented him from holding his enemy’s daughter hostage.

Two sentries were standing in front of the tent flap, and their eyes widened in astonishment when I came to a stop in front of them and lowered the hood of my cloak, revealing the gold circlet across my brow which identified me as Prime Peter Saron’s heir. I was taking a huge gamble revealing my identity, for all I knew, the men were secret allies of my father, but I knew it was the only way I was getting inside that tent.

‘I have a message of the upmost importance for His Grace, Nikolas of Dornia,’ I said, hopeful that, by acknowledging Nikolas Allaron as the rightful Prime of Dornia and not my father, the two guards would realise I was an ally and no threat to their leader.

The two men looked at one another, as though wondering whether they should allow the daughter of their enemy into their leader’s tent, then turned their gaze back to me.

‘Before entering, you must hand over your weapons,’ said the grizzled, fatter of the pair, jerking his chin in the direction of my belt knife.

I silently unsheathed the knife in question and handed it to him, handle first.

‘Any others?’ asked his younger-looking companion.

I shook my head. ‘That’s the only one.’

The younger of the pair considered me for a long moment. I waited for him to use the excuse that he needed to check for concealed weapons as a way to get away with groping a royal daughter, something I would never allow and would kick up enough fuss that Nikolas would come and investigate. To my relief, he merely nodded and stepped aside, allowing me through.

‘I’m surprised Peter would use his last remaining child as a messenger,’ the fatter one muttered as the outer tent flap closed behind me.

If only they knew.

I entered the main part of the tent, noticing as I did, it was richly decorated with animal skins and dark wood furniture, including a table scattered with maps and parchments. I deliberately turned my gaze from the latter, not wanting anyone to think my purpose behind the visit was intelligence gathering. In the centre of the lantern-lit space, two men in their early forties were standing in profile to me. With only two years between them, they could almost be twins with their attractive looks, broad shoulders, and shoulder-length white-blond hair tied back into a warrior’s tail, their beards trimmed close to their face in the current trend.

Prince Mykael Allaron, the Duke of Teragon and his older brother, Duke Nikolas of Allaron and, some would say, the rightful Prime of Dornia.

They were deep in conversation with a third person who was blocked from my line of vision by Mykael’s broad body but who I assumed was one of Nikolas’ generals, but at the sound of someone entering, the three stopped talking and the two brothers looked over in my direction. Mykael scowled when he saw me, his sapphire blue eyes glittering with dislike.

I had known the middle Allaron brother since I was a young girl, having encountered him those rare times my brothers and I had been permitted by Prime Peter to accompany him and Queen Suzanna on their visits to Allaron Castle. Always before, Mykael had offered me a warm smile and taken time to talk briefly to me, normally about whatever pastime had taken the interest of the Saron Princess that particular year, but it seemed any kindness the Duke of Teragon may have felt towards me had died the moment my father had killed his on the battlefield.

‘What the hell are you doing here, Saron?’ he demanded as he drew his sword and took a step towards me, acting as though I was half a hundred enemy soldiers instead of one unarmed woman.

Next to him, Nikolas was staring at me as though he’d seen a ghost. I could understand his shock; it wasn’t usual for the daughter of the enemy to suddenly appear in the tent of the opposing side.

‘I, um—’ I started, my voice failing me as I eyed the sword Mykael was aiming in my direction.

This was a bad idea; I should’ve sent a messenger instead. Why would Nikolas listen to me? But would the Duke of Allaron have been any more inclined to heed a warning sent by a messenger, or was it more likely he would simply believe it to be a trick of Peter’s? Surely, by coming here myself, it made what I had to tell him more believable?

You have also willingly put yourself into a position where you could be used as a hostage.

I ignored this thought; Nikolas was honourable. And even if the leader of the rebels did decide to use me as leverage, did it really matter as long as he believed what I had to tell him and acted on it? I was nothing important, just the daughter of a tyrant. If becoming a hostage was the price which I needed to pay in order for Nikolas to defeat Peter Saron and free the Dornian and Northlander people from his tyranny, it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

‘Felicity?’

Nikolas stepped aside, revealing the man who had spoken. I stared at him as he stood up from his bench, thinking my eyes were deceiving me.

Prince Viktor Allaron, Duke of Naverran; the youngest of the three brothers and the man I hoped to wed.

Over a decade older than me at thirty-five, and tall and broad-shouldered like his brothers, the Duke of Naverran was dressed in the same red and black tunic bearing the roaring lion of House Allaron stitched in gold thread and dark-coloured trousers as his brothers, his knee-high leather boots splattered with dried mud. In contrast to the Dukes of Allaron and Teragon, Viktor was clean-shaven and wore his white-blond hair cropped short in the style that was popular in Thiar—a land mass to the south-west of the Eastern Continent, across a mighty ocean, where Viktor had been exiled by my father after Peter had killed Frederik and claimed the Dornian throne for himself.

At first glance, Viktor looked just as I remembered the last time I’d seen him over three years before, when the two of us had snuck out halfway through the Springfest Ball at Castleford and was the same night Viktor had spoken of his intention to seek a betrothal between us. A time when he was the Dornian Ambassador to Farlow and I, a lady-in-waiting to the Farlow Queen, and, while not exactly bosom friends, our two lands were at peace with one another. But then I looked closer and saw the lines etched upon his handsome face and the sorrow in his sapphire blue eyes which hadn’t been there before. Marks of grief and worry put there by my father’s actions.

I couldn’t tell from his expression what Viktor’s feelings were at the sudden appearance of his former betrothed, but the fact he made no move towards me didn’t fill me with confidence they were ones of joy. It was apparent that when Peter Saron had killed Frederik Allaron on the battlefield, he had done more than strike down the Prime of Dornia. He had also destroyed any affection Frederik’s youngest son had once held towards Peter’s only daughter.

Suddenly noticing the unsheathed dagger in his right hand, which presumably he’d been showing his brothers when I first entered, I felt a flicker of fear before relaxing. Whatever anger he may feel towards me over my father’s actions, I knew Viktor would never harm me. If only I was as certain of Mykael, who still had his sword tip aiming towards my throat, the expression on his face murderous.

‘Mykael, would you please stop pointing your sword at my betrothed,’ Viktor said, noticing my discomfort. ‘She looks terrified enough, without you threatening to skewer her.’

‘Former betrothed,’ Mykael corrected, thankfully doing as his brother asked and sheathing his sword. ‘Her father tore up the betrothal agreement, remember?’

Viktor ignored his brother, instead focussed his gaze on me. ‘You travelled here alone?’ he asked, as Mykael started towards the map table over the other side of the tent, the Duke of Teragon making no attempt to meet my eye when his passage took him directly past me.

‘I did not,’ I said, taking heart from Viktor’s concern for my welfare and his use of the word betrothed. Surely, if Viktor no longer wished to wed me, he wouldn’t have referred to me as such. ‘My escort’s waiting at the edge of the field, along with our horses. They are men loyal to me, not my father.’

Viktor nodded, pleased I hadn’t travelled halfway across the Northlands alone.

‘When did you get back from Thiar?’ I asked.

A short distance from Viktor, Nikolas was yet to speak and instead continued to regard me with narrowed eyes, not knowing what to make of my sudden appearance.

‘Just this afternoon,’ Viktor said, sliding the dagger that he was still holding into his belt sheath, as though suddenly realising it could be construed as threatening. He looked over at Mykael, who was busy sweeping up the items scattered atop the table and shoving them haphazardly into a drawer. ‘Is that really necessary, brother?’

‘You don’t know whether she’s here as Peter’s spy,’ Mykael said, as he shoved away the last of the rolls of parchment and slammed the drawer closed. I didn’t know how Nikolas was going to put them back into order. ‘Anything she sees or hears could find its way to Peter’s ear.’

‘My father doesn’t know that I’m here,’ I responded, trying not to feel hurt at the Duke of Teragon’s accusation. If Princess Stephanie were to suddenly appear at my father’s tent on the eve of what was arguably the most decisive battle of the entire war, he would be just as suspicious of her intentions. ‘As far as Peter Saron’s concerned, I’m still safely sequestered at Thornwood Manor, where I’ve spent these past five months.’

Peter had sent me to the royal residence for, in his words, my own safety, my father believing a castle under the threat of war wasn’t the place for his last remaining heir. An heir who, after all, was a weak and feeble woman and so unable to wield a sword and defend her land against the rebels, my father not realising that he was giving me the perfect opportunity to work against him in order to see the end of his cruel oppression of the Dornian and Northlander people.

‘Then why are you here?’ Nikolas demanded, speaking for the first time since my arrival.

‘At least allow my betrothed to sit down and quench her thirst before you start interrogating her,’ Viktor said, as he walked over to me.

I thought—hoped—he would kiss me, but instead Viktor simply took my hand and led me over to his bench, and once I had sat down, poured a tankard of ale from the pitcher on the sideboard. I hadn’t had anything to drink since my waterskin had ran out earlier that day, and I downed the contents in one, not caring that it was field rations and tasted nothing like the fine wines I was used to at home. It was wet; that was enough for me.

‘Hungry?’

I told him I was, and Viktor went to fetch a plate of bread and ham from the same sideboard. Over the other side of the tent, Mykael was whispering furiously to Nikolas. I couldn’t hear what he was saying but it was clear from his demeanour that the duke wasn’t happy with me being there.

‘My escort has no food or water,’ I said to Viktor as he returned with the food.

‘I’ll see that they get some sent to them,’ Viktor promised as he sat next to me, first shifting a second bench for me to use as a makeshift table. ‘I just want to see you fed first.’

We sat in silence, the only sound in the tent was the whispered conversation between the two older Allaron brothers. Outside the tent, I could hear the soldiers preparing for the upcoming battle, nothing in their behaviour suggesting they were aware that Peter Saron’s heir was in their midst.

‘How are you?’ I asked after a moment.

‘Still alive,’ Viktor said without any of his usual humour. ‘You?’

‘Happier now I’ve seen you.’

Viktor smiled, revealing white, even teeth. ‘And I you. The months I was in Rakoukanga, not a day went by when I didn’t think of you. I would’ve done anything to have been able to come over and take you back with me to Thiar.’

Nikolas waited until I had finished the plate of food, then came and sat down on the bench which I had been using as a table, first dumping the empty plate on the floor and moving the bench back, so our knees didn’t knock into one another.

‘So,’ he said, after a scowling Mykael had joined us, the duke remaining standing behind and to the right of Nikolas protectively, just in case I tried to batter his brother with my empty tankard. ‘Now you’re fed and watered, are you going to tell us why you’re here?’

I drew in a deep breath, then let it out again, all the while trying to work out how I was going to word my news in such a way that they believed me.

‘The Duke of Ashfield’s going to betray you,’ I said, deciding in the end to just get straight to the point. ‘When you go into battle tomorrow, instead of joining you against my father’s army, he’s planning to attack you from the rear.’

‘If that’s true, we’ll be vastly outnumbered!’ Nikolas exclaimed, aghast.

‘Why should we believe her?’ Mykael said, eyes on his older brother while waving his hand in my general direction, making Viktor, sitting next to me, scowl at the duke’s rudeness. ‘She’s Peter’s daughter; duplicity is in her blood! The House of Ashfield has been Allaron’s ally for decades. Not to mention, they’re our cousins.’

‘Lord Commander Belton was Father’s cousin but that didn’t stop him throwing open the doors of The Keep, allowing Peter and his men to enter Dornia unchallenged,’ Nikolas reminded his brother. ‘As for Erik Ashfield, I admit that I’ve been questioning his loyalty ever since he missed our skirmish with Alderford’s son on the Lowlands/Saron Province border.’

Mykael arched his white-blond eyebrows. ‘You never said.’

‘I’ve been trying to convince myself that I’m seeing treachery which isn’t there and that Ashfield was being truthful when he claimed not to receive my message until after the battle was over, especially since he’s fought with us in every other battle and was the first to answer when I called the Dornian nobles to war,’ Nikolas said. ‘But if what Princess Felicity says is true, perhaps I should’ve trusted my gut when it told me Ashfield was lying about the message and was purposely late.’

‘It’s true,’ I told him, not bothering to correct him by pointing out that my title was Prime-in-Waiting, not Princess. No point reminding Allaron that I was the daughter of his enemy.

‘How did you come by this information?’ Viktor asked, frowning at his brothers as though warning them not to upset me.

‘I have a contact inside my father’s inner circle, who shall remain nameless. This contact provides me with regular updates from Saron Castle; information they send at great risk to themselves and others, should they be discovered.’

Mykael grunted, knowing as well as I what would happen to the informant if they were discovered. Peter Saron wasn’t known for his leniency. One only had to look at those unfortunate souls forced to become lifelong indentured servants just for failing to pay their debts to see that.

‘How can we trust this contact of yours?’ Nikolas asked. ‘For all you know, they’re sending you false information at your father’s request; both to trick us into acting in a way that’s detrimental to our cause and to see where your loyalties truly lie.’

I included the Duke of Teragon in my gaze as I said, ‘Because my contact’s the same person who organised your daughters’ escape at my request.’

After he’d defeated Prime Frederik and claimed the Dornian throne for himself, Peter had taken Princess Stephanie and her younger cousin, Princess Charlotte, into custody and sent them to an undisclosed location in the Northlands to ensure their fathers’ obedience. It had taken my contact’s spiderweb of spies over a year to learn that the Princesses were being held at a secure residence on the Saron/Blackthorn Province border, but once their location was confirmed, it had taken less than a fortnight for Stephanie and Charlotte to be sprung from their prison and returned safely to Teragon House and their families. Seven people had been put to death over the Princesses’ escape, including the lord whose residence was used as the Princesses’ prison and two senior noblemen who were discovered to be aware of the escape plan, the latter having been tortured and beheaded without ever betraying the person heading the plot or their Prime-in-Waiting’s involvement.

Less than a week after the cousins’ safe return, Nikolas had declared war on Peter Saron and his allies, vowing to take back his father’s throne and free the Dornian and Northlander people from Peter’s tyranny. That he’d been able to strike so quickly after the Princesses’ safe return made it obvious that the Duke of Allaron and his brother had been secretly building an army for months and were just waiting for the right time to strike.

Six months and countless bloody battles later, the war seemed to be going nowhere, with both sides winning as many battles as they were losing, one side gaining ground in one skirmish only to lose it the next. But if what my contact had told me about Ashfield switching sides was true—and I had no reason to doubt him—then that was about to change. And not in Allaron’s favour.

‘You willingly worked against your own father?’ Nikolas said, not bothering to hide his surprise. Clearly, he assumed it was a Northlander nobleman loyal to the rebels behind the escape of his daughter and niece, not Prime Peter’s heir.

‘Peter Saron stopped being my father the moment he sanctioned the murder of my eldest brother.’

Three Midwinters ago, Prime-in-Waiting Norman had been on a deer hunt with members of the court when he was shot through the heart by a stray arrow. Initially considered a tragic accident, the man who fired the erring arrow later claimed that he had been hired by Prime Frederik to murder the two Saron Princes so that Peter’s daughter would be named Prime-in-Waiting, the Princess Felicity having recently become betrothed to Frederik’s youngest son, thus putting the Northlands in the control of the Allarons on the occasion of Peter’s death. Only the fact he had stayed behind after being struck down with dodgy bowels the morning of the hunt had seen Prince Edward escaping the assassin’s arrow. Not that that had stopped death finding him anyway, the younger of my two brothers having died of a fever less than a year later.

In response to this confession, my father had declared war on Dornia to avenge his eldest son’s murder.

‘I never believed it was Prime Frederik who ordered Norman’s death,’ I said. ‘My father needed to be rid of his eldest son with whom he had a fraught relationship—not least because of their differing views about ruling the Northlands and my father’s ill treatment of the commonfolk—so his favoured younger son would become Prime after him instead. But Peter knew if he was implicated in the murder of the Prime-in-Waiting, then members of the Privy Council would seek to strip him of his crown and name someone of their choosing as Prime—perhaps even forcing me to wed the noble in question to legitimise his claim—an act that would trigger a civil war and potentially give an opening for Frederik to invade. Better that Peter appear the distraught father than the murderer of his own son and heir.

‘Not only that, blaming Prime-in-Waiting Norman’s death on Frederik Allaron gave Peter the excuse he needed to invade Dornia; a land he believes is still part of the Northlands—’

‘Dornia gained independence from the Northlands over five hundred years ago,’ Mykael hissed, eyes blazing.

‘—but if he did so without just cause, then Dornia’s allies would come to her aid. If, however, Prime Nikolas was suspected of orchestrating the assassination of the Saron Princes—the younger only having escaped the assassination attempt due to being stuck in the privy—in order to see his youngest son become ruler of the Northlands by virtue of being wedded to me, Peter had every right to retaliate.

‘Simply put, in having Norman killed and blaming Prime Frederik for the arrow which struck him down, my father rid himself of an errant son and allowed him to invade Dornia without fear of reprisals from her allies. My contact and I are not alone in believing this. My mother, too, suspected my father’s hand in her eldest son’s death, which is why I don’t believe her death was an accident.’

Several months after Norman’s death, Queen Suzanna had been found dead at the bottom of a flight of steps, her neck broken. The official story was that she had been so overcome with grief for her dead son, she’d drunk herself into oblivion before falling down the stairs leading to the mausoleum where the Prime-in-Waiting’s body was entombed, but I just knew my father was involved, even if I couldn’t prove it.

‘I know my mother. Even overwhelmed with grief, Queen Suzanna would never have got so drunk that she ended up falling down the stairs. My father had someone murder his wife and Queen to stop her speaking out about Norman’s death. And before you say I’m just a grieving daughter unable to accept her mother’s death, my contact believes the same. As he does about the person who was actually responsible for Norman’s death, which is why he’s been secretly working against Peter at great risk to himself.’

‘This still doesn’t explain why you’re sat here now,’ Nikolas said. ‘Why come all this way to warn us of Ashfield’s treachery when you could’ve just as easily used the same messenger who brought the news to you? Surely if your contact trusts them to keep counsel, you can do the same. Why expose yourself as a traitor unnecessarily?’

I didn’t flinch at Nikolas’ use of the word traitor, seeing as it was true.

‘Not only was I concerned that you wouldn’t believe what Ashfield was planning if the news came via messenger, in addition to the news about Ashfield’s treachery, my contact warned me that my father’s planning to summon me to Saron Castle. There are only two reasons why Peter would do this; either he suspects I’m with those working against him, or he’s planning to wed me to one of his noblemen to secure their allegiance to him.’

Next to me, Viktor let out an angry sound at the mention of me wedding someone other than him.

‘If you’re wrong and your father doesn’t suspect you, by coming here, he’ll certainly know about it now,’ Nikolas pointed out.

‘I’m well aware of that, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take to see the news gets to you. For too long the Northlander—and, more recently, the Dornian—people have suffered under Peter Saron’s cruel rule, not least his reintroduction of indentured servitude and slavery; practices our forefathers outlawed over five hundred years ago. I, like many others in the Northlands, had hoped my brother Norman would bring about an end to these barbaric ways, but alas it wasn’t to be. Even when my father dies and I become Prime after him, it’ll be in name only. You and I both know the true ruler will be whoever becomes my husband who, if my father and many on the Privy Council have their way, will be the Duke of Alderford. A man arguably even crueller than my father. I cannot allow that to happen to the Northlander and Dornian people. The only way the people of our two lands can be saved is by you defeating my father and becoming Prime instead. Something which isn’t going to happen if you don’t heed my warning about Ashfield.’

Nikolas stood up from the bench and inclined his head. ‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said, nothing in his expression to say whether he believed me. ‘You have given my brothers and I much to discuss—’

‘What is there to discuss, brother?’ Viktor exclaimed, leaping to his feet, nearly tipping me off the bench in the process. ‘If we are to defeat Peter, we must perform the incantation. Tonight.’

Chapter Two

Nikolas let out an exasperated noise at Viktor’s outburst while, behind him, Mykael rolled his eyes. ‘Not this again,’ the Duke of Teragon muttered under his breath. To Viktor, ‘I thought I told you already; that woman was a fraud.’

‘Incantation, what incantation?’ I asked, struggling to keep up with the sudden change in conversation. Perhaps I was more tired from my journey than I realised.

‘Nothing,’ Mykael said quickly, just as Viktor said, ‘The incantation given to me while I was in Thiar.’

‘We are not discussing this with her,’ Mykael said, jabbing his finger at me. He clearly wasn’t my friend, even if I had been instrumental in his daughter’s escape from my father’s clutches. ‘I don’t want word getting back to Peter that we’re considering witchery as a means to defeat him!’

‘If it wasn’t for my betrothed, we wouldn’t be aware of Ashfield’s betrayal,’ Viktor responded, his face flushed with anger. ‘With the extra men our cousin will bring to Peter’s side, we’re going to need a miracle to defeat him. The incantation is that miracle.’

‘If what Saron says is the truth,’ Mykael said stubbornly, folding his arms across his broad chest. ‘I’m still not convinced that she hasn’t been sent here at her father’s command to put doubt in our minds in the hope of turning on loyal Dornians.’

‘I’m telling you the truth,’ I retorted, not bothering to hide my annoyance. Viktor had often commented that the younger of his two brothers could be stubborn, and I was seeing it with my own eyes. I was also getting frustrated that no one was bothering to explain what this incantation was they kept referring to. ‘Ashfield’s going to betray you. If it turns out I’m lying, you’re welcome to kill me yourself, Teragon!’

‘Easy to say when we’re imprisoned and you’re safely back with your father,’ Mykael retorted.

‘The only place I’ll be if my father catches me is kneeling behind the executioner’s block next to yours.’

‘Humph.’

Sitting back down on the bench next to me, Viktor reached over and took my hand in his, rubbing a calloused thumb across my knuckles soothingly, then looked at his eldest brother. ‘What say you, Nikolas?’

‘If you wish to speak of this blasted incantation with the Princess Felicity, then you may,’ the eldest Allaron brother said after a moment, scratching a fingernail across his whiskered jaw. He lifted his hand to quieten Mykael when the duke went to respond. ‘But only because I don’t believe for one moment that the woman’s claims about it are true. While you’re doing that, your brother and I will be responding to the information Princess Felicity has brought to our attention. Mykael, send word to the senior nobles that they are to report to me two hours hence, so we can discuss this development and decide the best way to approach. Also, have any soldiers and runners connected to Ashfield rounded up and detained until I decide what to do with them. I can only hope that Ashfield’s the only viper in our midst and I’m not about to inadvertently discuss our plans with the enemy. Be discrete, I don’t want anyone outside this tent knowing what we’ve learnt until I’ve had chance to speak to the nobles face-to-face. While you’re doing that, I’m going to go through the mess you’ve made of my maps and see if I can find the one of the Lowlands/Saron Province border, so I can work out the best way to head off Ashfield before he can join Saron’s main army.’

‘Do you want me to arrange for someone to take our unwelcome visitor into custody?’ Mykael asked, referring to me.

‘No need. I think between us, Viktor and I can detain the Princess if she decides to become a nuisance.’

‘What you can do is see that Prime-in-Waiting Felicity’s escort gets fed and watered,’ Viktor said, putting emphasis on my title.

Mykael inclined his head. ‘It’ll be my pleasure, brother,’ he said through gritted teeth, making me suspect that the poor men were going to get nothing but bread and water.

I watched Mykael as he disappeared through the tent flap to carry out his list of errands, then turned to Viktor. Over by the map table, Nikolas swore under his breath as he opened a drawer and saw the masses of maps and parchment crammed inside courtesy of his brother.

‘Don’t you want to help your brothers?’ I asked Viktor.

Once Mykael returned, they would be using the time it took for the nobles to arrive to go over maps and work out battle strategies based on the new information I had given them.

‘There’s nothing I can do until the senior nobles arrive,’ Viktor responded. ‘Well, other than persuade my brothers to perform the incantation.’

Over by the table, Nikolas, busy unrolling a parchment, grunted in response.

‘Are you going to explain what this incantation is you keep making inferences to, or am I going to have to cut open your head and scoop out the information with a spoon?’ I grumbled, making Nikolas snort with laughter.

The man next to me grinned. ‘Since you asked so nicely.’

‘Viktor Allaron!’

‘Alright, alright, I’ll tell you,’ Viktor said, throwing up his hands as though warding off an attack. His face sobered. ‘As you’re already aware, I’ve spent the last two years on Thiar living in exile courtesy of your father.’

‘I do.’

After he had ended the betrothal between his daughter and the youngest Allaron brother, Peter Saron had banished Viktor to Thiar with the threat to put both him and his entire family to death should he ever set foot on Eastern Continent soil again. Although he hadn’t said it, my father had known how much in love I was with Viktor and believed the only way for me to forget about him was to ensure we never set eyes on one another again. All it had actually succeeded in doing was to make me yearn for him even more.

‘Well, four months ago, I was in the city of Cazney, organising my return to Dornia. Since I was forbidden from contacting either my family or anyone else in the Eastern Continent, I had only recently learnt that my brothers had raised an army and were fighting Peter once more. I knew if Peter discovered that I was coming home, he’d have me detained at the docks, but I couldn’t leave my brothers to fight him alone. Better that I was killed for returning home or on the battlefield next to my brothers than learn about their death months later.

‘While waiting for the ship which would take me home, I was approached by a Thiar wisewoman who claimed she could give me the means to defeat Peter and return the Dornian throne to the House of Allaron. I don’t know why she wished to help me—or how she even knew my name, seeing as I was travelling under an alias—and can only assume Peter had hurt either her or someone she loved.’

Knowing my father, it was entirely possible.

‘My ship wasn’t due to leave until later that day, and since the weather had turned nasty, I didn’t fancy spending hours hanging around the docks in the wind and rain, so I decided to return with the wisewoman, thinking that, even if nothing came of her claims, her cottage would provide shelter from the rain while I waited for my ship.’

‘What if it had been a trap?’

For all Viktor knew, there could’ve been allies of Peter waiting for him inside her cottage.

‘Then I would’ve been killed, and we wouldn’t be sat here, having this conversation,’ Viktor said with a shrug. ‘When we got back to her cottage, she showed me this dagger’—he tapped the handle of the weapon in his belt sheath—‘claiming it had been forged by the Mages of Thiar and imbued with their magic.’

Like most in the Northlands, I had heard of the magicians said to have resided on Thiar many centuries before and who had been wiped out by the then Thiar King, who believed they were a scourge that needed to be eradicated.

‘But I thought their magic was said to have died with them.’

‘Exactly what I said to the wisewoman. To which, she responded that the dagger was the last of their magic and had the power to turn my brothers and I invincible—’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Invincible?’

‘You have the same look on your face as what they did when I first told them,’ Viktor said, jerking his chin in the direction of the map table where Mykael, having returned to the tent while Viktor was talking, was whispering furiously to Nikolas busy scanning parchments and maps spread out across the table. I heard the name Ashfield, and from that realised they were discussing my news.

‘—one of us will have to lead some of our men south, head him off here,’ Nikolas said, jabbing one of the maps with his finger.

‘But that’ll weaken our forces and effectively tear our army in half, which is probably what he wants,’ Mykael said, still unconvinced that what I’d told them was the truth and my whole being there wasn’t simply an elaborate plan set up by my father.

I turned back to Viktor, who was watching me with a frustrated look on his face. Frustration at my reaction to his story or Mykael’s continued disbelief at my news, I couldn’t tell.

‘You have to admit, it is pretty far-fetched,’ I said.

At the same time, I wasn’t completely closed to the idea, having spent much of my childhood reading books on the Mages of Thiar. If the claims of their magical capabilities written within those texts were true, then it was entirely possible they’d been able to create a dagger which could temporarily give them the power of invincibility. But how had such a dagger survived unknown for so many years, only to fall into Viktor’s hands at his exact moment of need? It seemed too much of a coincidence to me. What was more likely was that this so-called wisewoman had heard of Viktor’s plight and decided to use his desperation to make money from him.

‘But even if the wisewoman spoke the truth about the origins of the dagger, and it does have the ability to make you invincible, my father’s forces will be in their thousands. More, if you include Ashfield’s. No matter how strong you are, their combined numbers will be stronger, meaning there’s nothing stopping them from simply overpowering the three of you and throwing you in a cell until the dagger’s power wears off, then putting you to death.’ Which presumably was how the Thiar King had managed to wipe out the mages, even with such a powerful object in their possession.

‘Exactly what I told him,’ Nikolas said, interrupting his conversation with Mykael to address me. ‘Three men, no matter how powerful, cannot defeat an entire army.’

Smiling, Viktor reached behind us and grabbed his satchel. ‘I said the same to the wisewoman, which is why she gave me this,’ he said, as he opened the satchel and pulled out a metal flask, which he carefully placed on the bench in front of us. ‘I was about to show it to you when Felicity turned up. The wisewoman told me, if I wished for them to remain unscathed during the battle, I only had to get our army to drink this.’

‘You want to give an unknown liquid to my men?’ Nikolas exclaimed. Next to him, Mykael looked similarly horrified at Viktor’s announcement. ‘Did it not occur to you, this so-called wisewoman is in league with Peter and whatever’s in that flask is designed to incapacitate the entire army? I forbid you!’

‘Too late. I put it in the entire camp’s beer supply before I came to you. The men would’ve drank it by now.’

‘You spiked the ale?’ Nikolas thundered, pink dots forming on his cheeks, above his beard. ‘What if it were poison? You would’ve lost me my entire army! This is reckless, even for you, brother!’

I looked down at my empty tankard on the floor next to my foot. ‘You gave it to me, too,’ I said quietly, aware that the contents of the pitcher would’ve come from the main beer supply.

‘It won’t harm you,’ Viktor promised, taking my hand in his.

He turned to his brothers, who were staring at Viktor with twin expressions of anger. From their expressions, I guessed they had consumed the spiked ale, too. ‘Neither will it harm our army. But if we’re to carry out the incantation, we must do so sooner rather than later. The wisewoman warned me, if we don’t complete the incantation within twelve hours of the first person drinking the potion, it won’t work. I don’t have a second flask.’ And he could hardly sail to Thiar to get another, as the battle would be long over by the time he returned.

Nikolas raked his fingers through his hair. ‘I cannot believe that you’d be so stupid,’ he said, as Mykael marched over and grabbed the flask, examining it as if checking to see if it had a label listing its contents before removing the cork and giving it an experimental sniff. ‘What if it’s a slow-acting poison and we don’t feel the effects until much later?’

Viktor shrugged. ‘Then we’re already dead and whatever comes next doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘But I assure you, no harm will come to us. The only thing it’ll do is give us the means to defeat Peter, but only if you complete the incantation within the time stipulated.’

‘We’ve got more important things to do than play around with daggers and spells like a group of adolescent girls,’ Mykael said, recorking the flask and shoving it into Viktor’s hands as though that were the end of the matter.

‘Come on, my brothers,’ Viktor cajoled, stuffing the flask inside his satchel. ‘What do you have to lose? We just say a few words while collecting a few drops of our blood, then drink it.’

‘You expect me to drink your blood?’ Mykael spluttered, his face a mask of horror. ‘First you potentially poison us, then you suggest we drink each other’s blood. I love you, brother, but I’m seriously beginning to wonder if the Thiar sun has done something to your head!’

‘I must admit, I, too, find the prospect rather revolting,’ Nikolas said, as he tossed a parchment on the table, crossed the room, and sat down on the bench opposite me. ‘But if it’s the only thing that’s going to make our little brother shut up about this blasted dagger, then why not? The worst that’s going to happen is that I’m going to live with the knowledge I drank your blood.’

Mykael remained unmoved. ‘You’re seriously not agreeing to what he’s proposing?’ he said, looking at his older brother as though he had sprouted an extra head. ‘We should be preparing for battle, not taking part in this nonsense.’

‘Come, brother. Where’s your sense of adventure?’ Viktor said, leaning over to pat the empty space next to Nikolas, inviting Mykael to take a seat. ‘It’ll be just like when we were children and cut our fingers and pressed them together to make us blood brothers.’

‘Bit different from drinking it,’ Mykael muttered.

But the middle Allaron brother nonetheless took off his leather glove and threw himself down on the bench opposite Viktor. He glared at me; unhappy I was present for this.

‘You tell anyone,’ he warned.

‘My lips are sealed.’

Even if I did decide to share, I doubt anyone would believe me.

Looking away, Mykael took a huge breath as though he was about to face the executioner, then held out his hand, palm up. ‘Do what you must, brother,’ he said to Viktor, who chuckled in response.

‘Don’t be so dramatic, Mykael. It’s only a little blood, not your whole bloody arm! Though the incantation does require you to make the cut yourself rather than taking the easy way out and getting me to do it. First, we need something to collect the blood—ah, perfect.’ Viktor snatched up my empty tankard and balanced it on his knees.

He then pulled a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and held it out to me. ‘Would you mind holding this, so the three of us can read it at the same time?’

Taking the paper from him, I unfolded it. Looking, I saw it was written in High Thiar, an ancient language which hadn’t been commonly spoken for hundreds of years. Whoever this wisewoman was, she was clearly a scholar.

‘I take into me eternal life, by sacrificing and receiving the blood of myself and my brothers, so I may defeat mine enemy—’

‘You can read High Thiar?’ Viktor said, looking surprised and not a little impressed at this revelation.

‘My tutor is fluent in High Thiar and he taught me how to read and speak the language, in addition to Thiarian and Vachenian,’ I said, too embarrassed to admit that the reason I had asked my tutor to teach me a dead language was because the first time I had met Viktor, he’d told me that he was interested in ancient languages and I had wanted to impress him.

Embarrassed at his continued scrutiny, I glanced away and instead concentrated on the parchment in front of me.

‘Blood is life and blood is death,’ I read aloud, as Viktor started