By Destiny Bound: Chapter One Excerpt
-1-
Galwei Castle Keep, Galwei
YVE haphazardly ran a polishing cloth over the smooth wood, one eye on the growing shadows. A reminder that her own procrastination would be her undoing if she didn’t hurry.
With a final swipe at the dust on the first bench, she looked around the Order’s loft with despair. There were still three more benches to go, plus the decorative woodwork trim around the door. Not to mention the panels across the front of the balcony. Waist-high wood carved with narrow, intricate patterns that collected dust and required painstaking attention to clean.
In less than two hours, Prince Daen would listen to petitions from his throne in the Great Hall below. Nobles would fill the gallery of raised benches along the far wall and it would be standing room only for everyone else. The monthly gathering was always crowded with claimants and curiosity-seekers.
The entire Order would be seated on these benches to observe the proceedings from above. The head of their Order, Kelan Orra would be seated in the center in the front row.
The Kelan was always perfectly in order. Her steel-grey hair upswept pin-neat, her serviceable gowns pressed, neat and unruffled. Even the silver medallion that denoted her leadership of the Order of the Temple of the Moon Goddess always gleamed as if freshly polished.
No doubt she’d notice the slapdash job Yve had done.
As if summoned by Yve’s rambling thoughts, the Kelan’s voice floated into the room. Seconds later, the woman herself entered the Hall flanked by the prince and a tall stranger.
Yve ducked down behind the balustrade, her heart hammering. She considered trying to get to the doorway at the back of the loft. She might make it without someone noticing her, but it would be risky.
Curiosity was her continuing downfall, though. Even when she knew better, it always trumped her common sense. The brief glimpse she’d had of the unfamiliar man made her think of the champions of old. Strong and fierce, like the warriors in the paintings and tapestries in the Temple. She wanted to find out who he was, at the very least.
The Hall had been built for a speaker’s words to penetrate all corners and it carried the quiet conversation up to her hiding spot.
“Lord Maddyn, I’d like to say it’s good to see you again, but I have a feeling this isn’t a social call,” Daen greeted the stranger with reserved welcome.
Startled by the name, Yve risked peeking through the thin carving by her ear.
Prince Daen’s handsome, dark-eyed seriousness was always a topic whispered about with giggles and sighs by the younger maids in the Keep. And by a few of the younger Seryts in the Temple as well. But Yve had never seen why they all were so fussed.
The tall and broad-shouldered stranger drew her attention and held it in a way no one else ever had, though. She began to understand how someone could swoon over someone they didn’t even know. And yet, there was something familiar about him.
His long, pale hair pulled into the intricate braid of a warrior from the Thousand Tribes. He even wore the embroidered fighting leathers popular among the Milesan Isles.
Though she couldn’t quite make out the color, Yve had no doubt they’d be clear blue, like the legend from the songs. If he wasn’t the Maddyn from the sagas, he certainly looked the part.
Yve shivered a little, but fascination outweighed any apprehension she should probably feel in the presence of a Milesan. Especially one who’s Attribute was as unusual and chilling as the one Maddyn of Alwyn purportedly shared with his brothers.
“We have reason to believe the sorcerer Hafgan will be looking for a new source of magic to supplement his power.”
The prince snarled, and Yve shivered at his reaction. She vaguely recognized the name as an advisor in Marnak, but she’d never heard anyone accuse him of sorcery. And she’d never seen the prince look so furious.
“He needs access to another site of power,” Maddyn continued. “Caerwyn and Lia have been digging through every resource they have looking for ancient shrines he might attempt to despoil. They believe a Circle in or near your capital is in danger of being usurped by Hafgan or one of his minions. It’s only a matter of time before he has Tresk find a pretense to send his army to invade Galwei and wrest control of it.”
Yve pressed her hand to her lips to hold back the gasp trying to escape.
“There are no Circles here,” Daen said, voice level despite the anger still darkening his expression. “As far as I know, there are no Circles anywhere in Galwei.”
“Are there any ruins? Or rumors that hint there might have been one in some farmer’s field?” Lord Maddyn demanded, frustration edging his voice.
“None. At least, none that I know of. Kelan Orra?”
The matriarch shook her head. “I know of no standing Circle in the kingdom.”
Yve tore her eyes away from Maddyn. The matriarch’s tone sounded completely unlike anything Yve had ever heard from her. Tight and clipped in a way she almost never was. Not even when she was admonishing Yve for her latest transgression. Yve was sure she’d never heard Matriarch Orra lie in her year with the Order. Until now.
Except, it couldn’t be a lie because everyone knew Galwei didn’t have the kind of ruins that peppered the nearby kingdoms.
“Yve? Are you up here?”
Freezing at the sound of her name, Yve twisted away from the opening in the panel and held her breath. Below her, the abrupt end of conversation made her wince at the damning silence. Her horror grew when Enna appeared in the doorway, looking relieved when she caught sight of Yve.
“High-Seryt Brynna is looking for you,” she said, stepping into the loft. Glancing at the dusty state of the furniture, she was oblivious to Yve’s frantic, silent attempt to shush her. “She’s going to be mad if she finds you up here, with unfinished work ag–Oh.”
Enna stopped abruptly, eyes going round when she was far enough into the gallery to see the throne room below.
Yve winced and took a quick peek through the carving again. The Kelan appeared unsurprised and exasperated. Daen looked angry. The stranger stiffened, his gaze taking in the loft with hard-edged suspicion. Yve tried to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat but it wouldn’t budge.
“Yve.”
Matriarch Orra said her name with dark disappointment. Not a question and not a tone anyone had ever been able to ignore.
Standing up reluctantly, Yve kept her eyes downcast and twisted her fingers together in front of her.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Shouldn’t you be with the other novices at afternoon meditation?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I overslept this morning. Then I was late for breakfast, and Cook asked me to help since I put her behind by making her make something special for me. Then I was late to morning readings, and Elder Seryt Gyrt assigned me extra reading–“
“Enough,” the Kelan cut her off with a heavy sigh.
Yve snapped her mouth shut, trying to hide her relief. Everything she’d said had been true, but she’d carefully skirted around the real reason her chores weren’t done. The more she talked, the more she worried Matriarch Orra would realize she was hiding something.
“Go where you’re supposed to be. We’ll discuss this later. In the meantime, you will not share anything you heard here with anyone.”
The matriarch stressed the last word and cast a significant look at Enna.
“Yes ma’am,” Yve agreed immediately.
Enna, still pale and wide-eyed, hurried out of the loft, Yve right on her heels. Behind her, the stranger’s deep voice, heavy with suspicion, demanded to know who she was. If she could be trusted.
Irritation burned in Yve’s chest at having her integrity questioned. She wanted to turn around and defend herself, but she squashed the impulse. Considering how much trouble she was already in, she didn’t think it would help.
*****
Maddyn wanted to growl in frustration but swallowed the sound and settled for glaring at everyone around him. The heightened senses of his other form should have warned him they weren’t alone. But the pleasant scent of lavender and citrus hadn’t registered as a threat. It had been a soothing, almost unnoticed undertone until he realized it belonged to a spy.
Unfamiliar surroundings enveloping him in unknown smells was no excuse for overlooking someone watching them in secret. Neither was his single-minded focus on the quest that brought him to Daen’s capital. It should have made him more aware of potential threats. The city that lay outside the stronghold’s walls was a trading crossroad of the continent. Merchants, farmers, traders and artisans as well as thieves, swindlers and political sycophants crowded into the shadow of Galwei’s capital. Madd couldn’t trust that anywhere, even Daen’s throne room, was safe from Hafgan’s spies.
The pretty, dark-haired girl looked embarrassed and flustered, and nothing in her posture or her scent hinted at deception or subterfuge. But Maddyn and his brothers had learned the hard way that a malicious heart could hide behind an innocent, attractive façade.
“Who is she?”
Frustration made his question harsh and rougher than he intended, but the Kelan didn’t flinch. Instead, she raised a sharp eyebrow at him and her lips turned down into a judgmental frown.
“Yve? She’s our newest novitiate. Unfortunately, even after a year, she’s still having a little trouble adapting to the Order. I have no doubt about her loyalty or trustworthiness.”
The Kelan stared up at Maddyn, resolute and certain. Then her stern expression softened, a flicker of exasperation twisting the edge of her smile. “It’s her ability to fit in and follow tradition that is my only concern.”
Madd pinched his lips and nodded, though he didn’t trust anyone at this moment. Too much was at stake. His family was tangled up in the undeclared conflict Marnak’s Warlord and his pet sorcerer, Hafgan, were spreading throughout the continent of Thierra. He’d come to Galwei to prevent them from gaining more power. Caerwyn was safe enough with Lia in Hara Dale, but any missteps Maddyn made could have dire consequences for all of them.
A slip of the tongue, whether innocent gossip of a novitiate or deliberate espionage disguised in a naive façade could get someone killed. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Maddyn refused to take that risk.
Resolved to keep an eye on the eavesdropping novitiate until he knew exactly what was going on in Daen’s kingdom, Maddyn let the subject drop. Instead, he focused on the true reason for his visit. Which apparently didn’t even exist.
The air in Maddyn’s lungs felt leaden. He never expected this mission to be easy, but the prospect of not knowing what he was supposed to protect had never occurred to him.
“If there’s no Circle, are there any places of power or superstition? Fairy stories or old tales of magical shrines?”
Daen’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Well, there is the legend of the first king of Galwei.”
“Legend? What legend?” Maddyn’s demanding glare sharpening with interest.
“It’s a tale told to children for the most part. Several bands came from the east, all of them wanting to settle here, where the rivers come together. They fought for years until one chieftain called on the spirits of the ancients. He was led into a maze, where he nearly died a hundred times. When he found his way to the center, secrets were revealed to him. When he returned, he carried a new sword, unlike anything they’d ever seen. Then he united the clans using both diplomacy and his sword until he forged the kingdom of Galwei.”
Daen stroked his thumb along the edge of his chin. “I believe the first king’s eldest daughter founded your Order, Kelan Orra. Is there anything in your history or teachings?”
Her eyes went flinty for a second but smoothed out.
“The Labyrinth is simply a metaphor in the Order today. A symbol to be meditated on as part of our spiritual journey.”
Maddyn watched her closely as she spoke and noted the way her fingers brushed against her medallion before curling tightly into a fist and dropping back to her side. She wasn’t lying, exactly, but she wasn’t entirely truthful, either.
“That’s it? No other mention of the Labyrinth? Or any other mystical sites?”
“Well, some versions of the Tale of the Last King hint at some kind of magical center, but it’s not specific.” Daen glanced toward the dais at the far end of the Great Hall, and Maddyn followed his gaze.
The raised platform held a simple throne carved from the trunk of a single, massive tree. An empty scabbard hung on the wall above it.
“What happened to it? If it helped the first king unite the kingdom, it seems like the type of thing you’d want to hold on to.”
“One would think,” Daen murmured. “But not everyone agreed. It did more than just enhance prowess in battle. It also chose each king’s successor. The runes carved into the blade would glow when held by the true heir. Which wasn’t always the eldest son.”
“I’m guessing someone didn’t like that means of establishing succession.”
“A dozen generations after the founding, an elderly, dying king had two sons. The eldest coveted the crown, but everyone knew the younger son would be chosen. There are many versions of the story, but the part that remains the same is that both the younger prince and the sword vanished under mysterious circumstances. When the eldest son took the throne, he demanded the Kelan crown him king.”
Daen paused and looked at the matriarch. Maddyn wasn’t sure if the prince expected her to object or to interrupt but she just shrugged and smiled serenely.
“She refused, of course,” Daen continued. “She told him that without a connection to the heart of the land, no one could claim kingship of the realm. And the sword was the only link.
“He was furious. Confined the Order to the Temple and ruled the kingdom with an iron fist for fifty years. Eventually, the younger brother’s grandson gathered enough support to overthrow the usurper and restore the rightful line to the throne. But no one ever found the sword.”
An interesting story, but one that gave Maddyn no insights to whatever magical shrine he was meant to find and protect.
The Kelan had remained silent and aloof during Daen’s narrative, but Maddyn was sure she knew something more.
While he debated the merits of pushing further and biding his time, footsteps approached. Maddyn turned toward the oversized doorway, unwilling to be taken unaware, again. A moment later, a thin man wearing fussily elaborate robes stepped into the Hall, pausing on the threshold and sketching a perfect half bow.
“Your Majesty, Blessed Kelan, milord,” he greeted each in turn with precise formality.
“Lennar,” Daen greeted in return, then introduced him to Maddyn. “My seneschal and secretary. Any needs you have in the castle, he’s your man. Lennar, your great-aunt was a Seryt and part of the Order even longer than Orra. Did she share any folk tales of the Labyrinth with you?”
“I was not a fanciful child, Your Highness.” If possible, the man’s posture became even stiffer, and his face carefully blanked to avoid the sneer of disdain that threatened his expression briefly. “My great-aunt, High-Seryt Myala preferred to share more scholarly endeavors with me.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” Daen agreed, apparently used to the seneschal’s fussy personality. “I assume you came looking for me for a reason?”
“Lord Maddyn’s room has been prepared,” Lennar announced and bowed slightly to his prince again then turned to address Maddyn directly. “Dinner will be served in one hour. If you’d care to refresh yourself beforehand, I can show you to it.”
Maddyn smirked at the fastidious seneschal’s attempt to politely imply no one wanted to eat next to someone who’d spent the last two days on a horse.
There wasn’t much more information for Maddyn to unearth at the moment. He’d have to be subtle and patient to figure out what Kelan Orra wasn’t telling him.
Instead of pressing now, he gave a brief nod to Daen and an abbreviated bow to the Kelan, before turning back to the seneschal.
“Lead the way,” Maddyn said, and waved for the man to precede him out of the door.
The winding trip led through the central Keep then into one of its wings and up several staircases. Along the way, there was more than one double-take or outright flinch from someone they passed. Obviously, the damn Ballad of Alwyn’s Hounds had made its way to Galwei.
Maddyn rolled his eyes, ignoring the whispers and sidelong glances.
The song and its many variations had been a thorn in his side for years. Made worse because people accepted it as truth before they ever took the time to understand Maddyn or his brothers.
It got the basic events of their lives correct. That they’d been born among Thousand Tribes to the north and had been children when Marnak’s Warlord had tried to invade their land.
The Milesans had come the Tribes’ aid, but not before Maddyn’s entire tribe was slaughtered. He and his brothers were only spared by the combined magic of Lady Alwyn and the Cauldron. Maddyn, as the oldest, had made the decision to accept her help when she offered it. She’d warned that there would be consequences, but he’d known he’d accept any repercussion if it meant saving his brothers.
Being immersed in the Cauldron had fundamentally changed the three boys. They’d emerged from it imbued, like all Milesans, with the power of a long dead god. Unlike others, however, they shared the Attribute across all three of them. They’d been ostracized by the Tribes, after. But the Alwyns had accepted them into their home and their family.
If the bards had stopped there, it would have been uncomfortable but not unbearable. But no minstrel could ever leave well enough alone. There were dozens of versions of the ballad. Each more sensational than the last. Emphasizing and exaggerating their abilities.
Like the shapeshifting skill they’d inherited from their shaman father. The songs focused on the Hound, making them sound more animal than man. Savage and uncivilized, fueled by instinct and appetite.
Worst, though, was the focus on the Attribute they’d acquired from the healing of the Cauldron. Harbingers of Death. Depending on the version of the song, they could kill simply by walking by. Or with a glance. Or by touch.
They could predict death or leave it in their wake.
Almost all lies. But the way some edged away from him in the halls or refused to meet his eyes made it clear they believed every word.
Soon enough, thankfully, Lennar led him into a quieter section of the Keep, and Maddyn found himself ushered into a lavishly furnished suite. His pack had already been brought up from the stables and a hot bath steamed behind a richly decorated partition.
Once the seneschal obsequiously backed out of the room, Madd ignored the bathing chamber for a moment. Instead, he paced over to the window while he digested the unexpected turn of his mission. The view below was a riot of carefully arrange colors barely contained by a low fence. The infamous Temple garden that separated the Keep from the elegant curved stone of the Temple itself.
The rest of the buildings spilled out beyond, all of it encompassed within a high, impregnable wall.
The only imperfection of the whole compound was the jagged, crumbling spike of the wall’s north corner watchtower. The decaying remainder of the original fortifications was a jarring distraction from the beauty of the Temple.
*****
Yve was torn between hurrying back to the Temple to avoid further reprimand and dragging her feet to put off admitting her latest transgression to the High-Seryt as long as possible. Enna, however, took the choice out of her hands by rushing ahead, forcing Yve to pick up her own pace. Still, she stopped at the Temple entrance to catch her breath. Inhaling deeply, she stared down the long hallway that opened into the Centrum. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass and fell on the central altar. The effect was ethereal, and Yve always paused to take in the beauty of it.
But she didn’t have the time to indulge her appreciation today. Instead, she took one more steadying breath, then followed Enna down the staircase to her right. They passed the store rooms and pantry on their way to the meditation chamber at the end of the hall. In between, Yve carefully didn’t glance at the long stretch of blank wall. It didn’t look any different from the rest of the hallway. It shouldn’t be of interest to her at all. And so she wouldn’t acknowledge how intriguing and irresistible she found it. Wouldn’t give away the real reason she’d been late to her chores.
Instead, she hurried past, catching up with Enna just in time to cross the threshold together. Yve moved to the center of the room first, shoulders stiff, head bowed, and eyes locked on the intricately patterned floor of the Temple meditation room. Next to her, Enna trembled when she joined Yve in the penitent position. Before High-Seryt Brynna could inquire about her tardiness, Yve jumped in to spill everything that transpired in the Great Hall. She hoped both to mitigate her own punishment with honesty and to shield Enna from any repercussions.
The High-Seryt stared at them with disappointment, looking as severe as always. Only a few years older than Yve, she was young to be the Kelan’s second and presumed successor. Yve secretly thought Brynna’s strict adherence to the Order’s protocols and expectations was in direct proportion to the number of times she’d heard the whispers of too young and not ready when Matriarch Orra had pronounced her High-Seryt.
Yve wanted to tell her that pulling her golden hair into the tight, braided style of the few elder Seryts only emphasized her youthful, smooth skin and wide blue eyes. But she knew the High-Seryt would not want to hear it.
Instead, she pinched her lips and stared at the ancient tapestry on the wall behind Brynna. She only needed to half-listen to the familiar speech on proper and expected decorum of an Order novitiate. It wasn’t the first time Yve had received this lecture. Hopefully, she hadn’t screwed up so badly that it would be the last.
One of the oldest artifacts of the Order, the tapestry hung in a prominent place of pride in the meditation chamber. An intricate image of the Temple had been painstakingly woven onto a blue background, and someone had lovingly embroidered exotic looking words along the bottom. Yve couldn’t read the antiquated language used in the Order’s prayers and ritual but understood it all the same. It was the first tenet of the Order.
The Order of the Temple of the Moon Goddess protects and guards the sanctuary of the sacred knowledge of the Goddess. All faithful are welcome to the Centrum, but the Temple beyond is sacred and secret from all but Temple residents.
One of the first assignments of a novitiate was to memorize the translation of the embroidered words and then meditate on the tapestry while contemplating the stricture. No one ever explained to Yve’s satisfaction exactly what the sacred knowledge was.
Yve always got distracted by the weird, spiraling pattern of sun-fading that rippled under the Temple. Instead of pondering the esoteric command, she’d contemplate where the tapestry might have hung previously. Since the underground chamber held no windows to offer distracting views, it must have been moved there at some point to prevent further damage. Her best guess was it once decorated the Centrum and the sun shining through stained glass caused the unusual pattern of fading.
“…not tolerate this sort of irresponsible, immature pranks,” Brynna’s volume raised slightly, snapping Yve out of her woolgathering. “Eavesdropping is completely unacceptable behavior—”
“It was an accident,” Yve blurted out.
Brynna’s glare sharpened and fixed hard on her. Swallowing uncomfortably, Yve knew she’d earned her punishment, but maybe she could at least save Enna from the same fate.
“This isn’t her fault. I’m the one who procrastinated. I’m the one who panicked and hid when I should have just admitted my mistake. She stumbled into my mess.”
“I’m very aware of who deserves the lion’s share of the blame, novitiate. However, Enna stumbled in because she attempted to cover for you. When she should have informed me as soon as she realized you were shirking your duties. Again.”
The High-Seryt’s attention shifted, and Enna tensed next to Yve.
“Your punishment is to finish cleaning the loft before Mother Orra takes her seat there tonight. You have less than an hour before the evening meal begins. You’d best hurry if you hope to have dinner with the rest of us before the petitions are heard.”
Enna relaxed at the mild penance and heeded the obvious dismissal. At the doorway, though, she paused to glance back with a pensive frown. Yve flashed a reassuring smile she didn’t feel.
Brynna sighed. A common reaction of all the senior Seryts when dealing with Yve. “I don’t understand you, Yve. You’re smart, hardworking and devoted to the Goddess. But you have this romantic idea that the Order should be some band of crusading priestesses.”
The High-Seryt pressed her hand to her temple.
“Even if that’s what we really were in some distant past, and not just the fevered imaginings of some bard, it’s not what we are now. We serve the people as an example, as a source of comfort, and as advisers. We do not actively involve ourselves in politics or the lives of others.”
“That’s not what I was doing. It was an accident,” Yve insisted. She hadn’t deliberately listened. Of course, now that she had, she couldn’t help wondering if there was more to the myths and songs that had drawn her to the Order to begin with. That there was more to their history than Brynna believed. Or that the Kelan had admitted to Lord Maddyn.
“Maybe not,” Brynna said, though she didn’t sound convinced. “But you were in the loft when you should have finished hours ago. And with you, that always means you were exploring somewhere you shouldn’t be. That you eschewed the Order’s priority for your own. Weren’t you?”
Yve dropped her eyes, hands twisting in front of her. Her heartbeat hitched. Then she realized Brynna might know she wasn’t where she was supposed to be, but she didn’t know where Yve had been, either.
Dropping her eyes, again, to avoid revealing her relief, Yve murmured, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Your punishment is to prepare the beds of luneil flowers for the coming full moon. Starting now.”
Yve’s head shot up, and she exclaimed out, “But I’ll miss…dinner.”
She caught her words at the last second. Yve could always sneak a snack from the kitchen. But she looked forward to watching the weekly reading of petitions and seeing the subtle political machinations they thinly veiled. She found the whole process fascinating. But admitting that would only confirm the High-Seryt’s opinion of Yve’s obsessive and inappropriate interest in areas that shouldn’t concern a true Seryt.
Brynna’s sardonic smirk suggested she saw right through Yve’s protest. Then she reached for a basket on the table behind her, passing it off to Yve with a flourish.
“There’s bread, cheese, some fruit and a flagon of water. It should be plenty to give you the energy to prepare the beds.”
Yve’s shoulders sagged, and she trudged back through the Temple to the gardens. As unpleasant as her task was, it was still better than the punishment she would have received if anyone had found out where she really was.
As far as she’d been able to tell, the Kelan was the only one who knew about the hidden door and the secret library behind it. If anyone knew Yve had stumbled on the matriarch coming out of it, she would have been sworn to secrecy.
If anyone discovered she’d been sneaking away from chores to read the treasure of histories and records it concealed, she might very well be asked to leave the Order.
