Rebel's Blade (The Aermian Feuds Book 1)

  Rebel’s Blade

  Frost Kay

  Contents

  Title

  The Kingdoms

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Crown’s Shield

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  by

  FROST KAY

  Rebel’s Blade

  Copyright © 2017 by Frost Kay.

  First Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced. Stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any for or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, with written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  For information on reproducing sections of this book or sales of this book go to www.frostkay.net

  Cover by Amy Queau

  Formatting by Jennifer Stevens

  Editing by Ashley Carvalho

  Proofreading by Madeline Dyer

  Created with Vellum

  To my mama, who always told me that I could do anything I set my mind to. I love you.

  The Kingdoms

  Prologue

  This was it.

  Escape was impossible and death inevitable.

  Leering men surrounded her; the stench of their rotting teeth and filthy clothing assaulted her senses. Black spots dotted her vision as she struggled to maintain consciousness. She couldn’t let herself slip away though, or think of what they’d do if she did.

  Sage had been trained for this sort of thing, had been told pain was in the mind and, while she could push some of it away, her body was only so strong. It was impossible to remain unaffected. She blinked, clearing the tears and blood from her eyes, only to catch the dark, empty ones of her captor studying her with amusement, seeming to enjoy her every wince or whimper. Biting the inside of her cheek she steeled herself; she would not give him the satisfaction.

  If by some miracle she made it through this alive, he was on her list.

  Her body screamed in pain as someone pushed her forward, her toes skimming the floor seeking purchase. Her hands, slick with sweat, slipped from the chains, shifting the entirety of her weight onto her manacled wrists. The metal bit into her abused flesh, though she had thankfully lost feeling in them some time ago. Tremors now wracked her nearly naked body.

  How much longer could she hold on?

  She peered at the ringleader, a sadistic man named Serge. He appeared to be moving his lips, yet all she heard was the high-pitched ringing in her ears. The edges of her vision blurred, and every sound seemed distorted—almost as if she was underwater. She would die here and her family would never know where to find her. Bitterness and regret then filled her. She should have killed the crown prince when she had the chance. This was his doing, she knew it. If she made it out alive, she would bring Aermia down around his ears.

  One

  KING MARQ

  The toes of his boots hovered over the air. Marq stood on the ledge of a massive open window and gazed down at the waves crashing into the jagged cliffs below. The wind whistled softly, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed through the window. It caressed his face, ruffling his charcoal-colored woolen cloak. Gulls cried over each other amid the roar of waves and the sharp voices of the fishmongers’ wives as they haggled prices. Despite this cacophony of noise, it was peaceful here. Pulling his gaze from the boiling sea below, he turned his attention to the port, its ships decorating the harbor, bobbing like toys. Fishermen, merchants and traders marched to and fro like ants.

  He sighed. His wife had loved walking in the market, always looking for new treasures or herbs to bring home. Her eyes would round and light up with excitement over some trinket. The woman had also harbored a deep love for the sea. A soft smile brightened his features thinking of the first time he saw her. He had turned into a bumbling idiot. He had taken a walk below the castle at low tide, as was his custom, and had reveled in the quiet time to think.

  When he’d caught sight of her, it stopped him in his tracks. She was completely oblivious to the world, with her arms thrown high and her palms facing the sky—almost like she was worshiping the sun. As she tilted her face to its rays, her midnight hair cascaded down her back, kissing the waves as they lapped just above her knees, her dress fluidly twirling about her legs. He had seen nothing more beautiful. As a boy, his nana used to tell him stories of sea nymphs and Sirenidae, and he wondered, could she be one of them? He was afraid she would disappear if he looked away even for a second.

  Then she’d dropped her chin, running her fingers along the frothy waves, a tiny smirk playing along her mouth.

  That’s peculiar, he had thought, what’s she smirking about?

  His eyes snapped from her full pink lips to soft purple eyes. All he could do was gape. Purple eyes? Incredible.

  “You know that’s considered rude; to stare in most places.” She had grinned at him expectantly, yet he still hadn’t moved a muscle. He couldn’t. Rolling her eyes at him, she had gestured for him to come closer. “Come introduce yourself.”

  He recalled how he had wanted to run to her, but that wouldn’t do. He was a prince, and princes were dignified, so instead he had collected himself and strode toward her attempting an air of confidence. But it was just his luck that on the first step he’d caught his boot on a rock, stumbling and flailing his arms as he attempted to catch his balance. However, he had instead somehow entangled his feet in seaweed, landing on his stomach with a face full of sand.

  Curses and sand had spewed out of his mouth. Marq growled and clenched his jaw, the sand crunching between his teeth.

  “Figures,” he grumbled to himself, “there goes any chance of wooing her.”

  Female laughter, interspersed with an occasional wheeze, had then tickled his ears, bringing his attention back to the woman. He’d been so embarrassed that he rolled over and threw an arm over his face. Perhaps if he couldn’t see her, then she couldn’t see him. If only life worked that way.

  A cool drop of water had plopped onto his face. What the devil was that? Moving his arm, he’d squinted up at the purple-eyed beauty who was at that very moment leaning over him. His heart stuttered, which surprised him. Is it supposed to do that?

  She had shoved her hand out at him, laughter dancing in those unusual eyes of hers. “I’m Ivy,” she had stated. “You should have seen my fall in the forest last week. I tripped on nothing, nothing at all. You figure out how that happened. I can tell you one thing, it was not pretty!” she’d continued.

  He’d blinked. She talked fast. Marq didn’t t
hink she had taken a breath.

  She’d grabbed his hand and pulled him up, “Here, let me help you up!” Her impish grin had enchanted him, making him feel right at home. She’d changed his life that day, for in her he had found something he didn’t even know he needed.

  The vivid memory faded, and the present came creeping back in. Marq’s gaze once again sought the waves below. Without Ivy, he was weary of his empty life. The passing of time had not diminished his ache for her. And as each day passed, his memories of her faded bit by bit. He couldn’t remember the sound of her voice anymore and it killed him. Self-loathing bubbled up at his uselessness; he didn’t recognize himself anymore. Thirty years of love and memories haunted him every day.

  Again, the waves seemed to beckon him. He knew it would be easy to take just one step. If he was a weaker man, perhaps he might have. He scoffed, thinking the ocean would likely just spit him back up.

  He pondered what the future would hold: how was he to die? Would he go to sleep one day never to wake up? Or would he instead bleed out on a battlefield somewhere, sword in hand? How would he be remembered?

  The quiet scuff of a boot roused him from his morbid reverie, and he internally groaned. Lord save him from one of his son’s ‘interventions’.

  Without turning around, he asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, son? Decided to check up on your old man, have you?” Ivy had called her father ‘old man’, and the memory brought a smile to his face.

  He already knew what his son, Tehl, would say, so he shook his head, instead answering his own question. “No, I think not.” He reached out and rapped his knuckles on the window frame. “I highly doubt this is a social visit as it’s been a while since you last visited me.” His eldest son was pragmatic and logical, putting duty before all else. If he were visiting, then it had to do with Aermian business.

  Marq turned to study his oldest boy. A strong, azure gaze met his own. He supposed Tehl was not so much a boy anymore.

  “What is it you need, son?”

  Tehl was casually leaning his broad shoulders against the cold stone wall, one black brow arched, the spitting image of his mother. At least Marq could have a little piece of Ivy in his son, he mused. He had grown into a handsome man. Maybe one day he would get some adorable grandbabies out of him. Ivy had always wanted to be a grandmother. He rubbed his chest; perhaps if he rubbed hard enough some of the terrible grief could depart and he’d no longer feel like someone was squeezing the life from his body. Marq shoved down the pain and focused on his son.

  “You must have heard about the revolts. Are you having trouble pinning down the leaders? If it isn’t handled soon, it will turn into civil war,” he commented.

  “You know of the recent revolts?” Tehl asked.

  Marq released a heavy sigh. “It’s of no consequence. Tehl, get on with it. I haven’t seen you in three weeks, and I am not getting any younger. I know you have no desire to see me, as you’ve made clear, so you must need something. Am I wrong?” His son’s expressionless face stared back at him, mute. He grimaced, pressing the heels of his hands to his weary eyes. Sometimes his son made rocks seem downright chatty.

  “I am surprised you’re not out patrolling the city or chasing skirts. That seems to be your only pastime these days, other than avoiding me,” he muttered.

  Tehl scoffed, pushing off the wall. His son strolled over to his side and peered out the window. “No, that’s Samuel’s job, not mine. He chases enough women for the both of us.” Tehl’s lips pulled down. “I don’t chase. If I want one, I say something and either the female accepts or declines. I don’t have the time for chasing.” Tehl’s hands fluttered in the air. His son’s dark blue eyes focused back on him after a moment. “I have too many responsibilities to engage in something so frivolous. Your responsibilities,” Tehl added, his tone bitter.

  Marq shook his head. “Your mother would be disgusted to see your brother’s treatment of women. I only wish one of you would finally pick one, then I might at the very least have grandchildren to keep me occupied.” He and Ivy had always liked the idea of being grandparents. Maybe they would fill the blasted hole in his chest, he thought.

  Sadly though, Marq didn’t expect that to happen soon. Sam loved all women so much it seemed he felt no desire to settle down with any one woman, while Tehl was too busy trying to save the world to notice anyone at all.

  “Your mother always wanted you to find someone that made you happy,” he hinted.

  “You don’t know how Mum would feel because she isn’t here,” Tehl remarked, as if he were speaking of the weather.

  Marq gasped, the barb stealing the breath from his lungs. In fact, it would have been less painful if Tehl had punched him in the face.

  His son’s face fell, remorse evident. “Forgive me, that was uncalled for.” Tehl’s gaze dropped to his cloak, and he added, “But she is gone and you need to let her go.”

  “I will never let your mother go, a companion like her is rare, and I can only hope you might one day find what I had in your mum. If you’re ever fortunate enough to find a woman like her, you’ll understand,” Marq said, gruffly.

  His son stared, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. “What you had only happens in fairy tales.” Tehl’s face pinched. “And look at what her death has done to you. You’re unable to even care for yourself, much less Aermia. You are wasting away. I can’t even recall the last time you left the castle walls. Our people are starving and why? Because it seems you’re incapable of halting this steady descent of yours. The Scythians steal into our kingdom to despoil the land, burn our crops. Aermians are disappearing along the border.”

  Marq’s eyes widened. “Scythians?” he repeated, trying to make sense of his son’s words. Over the last nine hundred years, a few outcasts of the Scythians kingdom had sought refuge, but they kept to themselves. He shuddered, thinking of the warriors—more monster than man—that they created. He scrutinized his son. “What do you mean by Scythian?”

  “Exactly what I said. It wasn’t the rebels causing the trouble along the border, it was Scythia.”

  “You have confirmation?”

  “Yes, there were survivors this time.” Tehl’s face hardened. “If you can call them that. They will be scarred for life, children.” Pain filled his son’s eyes. “Our kingdom needs you but you sit in this godforsaken tower and do nothing.”

  Having vented his frustration, Tehl’s shoulders slumped. The pain and anger his son was struggling with became evident with his every word. Marq felt it as if it were his own. Did Tehl not understand how much he was trying, fighting every day? His only companions of late were sadness, guilt, and anger.

  “Don’t take that tone with me, son. You cannot fathom how it has been, having lost the woman who owned my soul. She was my helper, friend, and companion. My other half. When she died, it may as well have been me,” he replied. Every word was a slash to his tortured soul.

  “I understand that you miss Mum, but…” Tehl trailed off, his head cocked as he seemed to take note of his father’s belt, his eyes narrowing.

  Marq looked down, attempting to discover what had caught his son’s attention. Before he could discern anything, Tehl reached out and snatched the dagger from under his cloak. Marq gritted his teeth and tilted his head toward the open rafters of the great stone ceiling above. Lord give him patience. “Why did you do that?”

  Tehl ignored his question, instead replying with one of his own. “What is this?”

  Marq observed his son run a careful finger along the edge of the blade, wondering what in the world he was about. “What does it look like, son? I am certain you’re in full possession of your wits?” he inquired, exasperation coloring his words.

  Tehl’s face was impassive even as his hand clenched the hilt of the blade. That one display of emotion was enough to make Marq scrutinize his son. His son rarely showed emotion of any kind. Why was he so furious?

  “You know you’re not allowed any weapons in your poss
ession,” Tehl hissed.

  Ah, he thought. So that’s what this is about.

  Tehl was worried he might hurt himself again. There had been one instance following Ivy’s death he had cut himself. He had been numb, unable to feel a single thing; not anger, not guilt, nor joy. He couldn’t even cry. What sort of human being was he, to be incapable of mourning his loved ones? And even as he made that miniscule cut in his own flesh there’d been no pain. He’d still felt nothing.

  “I have always carried a blade,” Marq reasoned, attempting to placate his son. “This is not unusual. In fact, it is essential for protection.”

  “I am trying to protect you from yourself.”

  That stung. “It was only the one instance, son, we’d barely buried her, but I am in no such danger now,” he reasoned. “I have no wish to die.”

  “Death is a weak man’s tactic to escape problems. You, as the king, ought to be stronger than that. No person should hold that much power over you.”

  Those words pained him but, as they weren’t unfounded, he could not fault his son for them. “Then you ought to understand that it is only for protection. You shouldn’t worry.”

  Tehl glanced away from him in disgust. “I can’t save you from yourself, and I’m done trying. Mope around your little fortress, lose yourself in your precious memories, or drink yourself into oblivion. Hell, you can sit in this tower and rot or jump out the damned window if that’s preferable. I am not your guardian.” Black smudges rested beneath his son’s eyes. He looked exhausted. Tehl sighed, “And you were correct in guessing this was not a social visit, as enlightening as it has been. It seems Sam and his sneaks have found new leads on the rebellion leaders. My men and I will investigate. We will find them soon.”

  “Always the dutiful son, aren’t you?” Marq asked, not expecting an answer. His son kept himself so engrossed in his duties to Aermia that his life was slipping past him and he didn’t even see it. Tehl needed someone to shock him out of his rut, this relentless routine he kept up. “You need a wife.” The accompanying look of absolute horror on his son’s face made him chuckle. Biting back a grin he continued, “You need someone to help you. It’s time to find a woman.”