Well of Tears (Empath Book 3) (9 page)

Quinn knew she wouldn’t try to run—she had no
idea where she’d go. She was hesitant to meet Lord—no, King—Shiver
again, though she didn’t have a choice. Taking her place at the
back of their group had given her the time and space to pick
through what she knew, and what she had experienced. Shiver would
ask for her help, that much, she anticipated. What she didn’t know,
was
what
Shiver would ask her to do.

It was a better alternative to being
presented back to Baron Sammah. Quinn repeatedly told herself this,
to quell her rising panic. The closer they got to the grey walls of
Sevenspells, the sweatier her palms got. She couldn’t slow the
rapid beat of her heart, and she would have given anything right
then for one of Maertn’s valerian teas. She thought about asking
the healer for some, but the sour old man hadn’t even made eye
contact with her so far this morning, and she didn’t think he’d
want to waste any of his precious provisions on someone like
Quinn.

Tarik still hadn
’t
woken. Quinn hoped the rough ride would rock him awake, as his body
was shunted back and forth in the makeshift litter. Instead, she
found herself now wishing their journey upwards was over, as the
man’s neck moved enough to look like it would snap. He’d be lucky
if he survived this last treacherous leg. As if to emphasise her
point, a wooden wheel of the litter rode over a cluster of rock,
and the contraption swayed precariously back and forth. Quinn
pursed her lips. Everyone else around her was calm, at least where
their safety was concerned, so there was no need for her to start
whipping everyone else into a frenzied panic.

* * *

They were nearly at the summit when a call in
the distance got everyone’s attention. Quinn squinted up, and could
see a lone rider heading down to them at speed on the winding path.
It had to be an experienced rider, because Quinn was convinced
anyone without confidence would buck their ride and break their
neck on the winding trails.

The rider headed, inevitably, to the head of
the group. There was a hasty conversation, followed by confusion as
heads started twisting around, looking for something. The heads
carried on turning until Quinn realised, with horror, that they
were looking for her. The searching eyes of the last set of
soldiers, followed by the healer, settled on her.

“Yes?” Quinn squeaked.

“Up front, lass. The prince wants you.”

Prince? Quinn didn’t think they meant River.
Eden wasn’t being referred to as a prince yet. That could only mean
the strange messenger was the ever-loving and personable Rowan.

Timidly, Quinn started picking her horse
forwards. She still wasn’t a confident rider, and though she was
comfortable enough with her mount that she didn’t think she’d be
thrown from the saddle, on this kind of terrain she didn’t want to
risk making a mistake and accidentally making the horse lose her
footing. The men parted for her as much as they could, letting them
move through the centre of the train. They were regarding her with
a distant curiosity, and reassuringly, Quinn could sense neither
fear nor loathing amongst these men. The closer she got to the
front, though, the more negative the atmosphere became.

When there were only eight horses between her
and the front, she could clearly see that it was Rowan waiting for
her. The newly-married and titled prince was slouched in his
saddle, looking displeased that he’d had to wait this long for
Quinn to appear.

“You knew the king wanted you to attend him.
Why are you at the back with the wounded? Are you ill? My brother
tells me nay.”

“No your highness, I’m not ill. It was my
understanding that commoners, women, and children traditionally
travelled at the back of such groups. I am bordering on all three
of those.”

Rowan sniffed. “You might be a commoner, but
you’re someone my father needs.
Eden
should have recognised
this, and kept him where he could see you. Given the rumours I’ve
heard about you two, I’m astonished he let you out of his
sight.”

There were a few cruel sniggers from the men
behind and around her, which Quinn ignore. “I would behove you to
ignore rumour, your highness. Men often like to create convenient
truths for themselves to discuss around the fire, when their own
life is too full to bear.”

“Quite. Come on, all the way forward with
you. King Shiver requires your presence, and he doesn’t want you to
wait. You and Eden are to break your formation and come with
me.”

“Brother, may I suggest one of us takes
Quinn,” Eden asked carefully.

“Why? She has a mount.”

“She’s not been to Sevenspells before, and
she isn’t an experienced rider. Even if she comes to the front of
the caravan, she’ll still keep its pace for fear of breaking her
own neck.”

“And you were
attracted
to a woman
like that?”

Eden ignored this spiteful comment. “She can
ride with me, then?”

“On your pitiful mount? No. My charger can
take us both. I’m the quicker rider.”

Quinn reluctantly traversed the rest of the
distance between her and Rowan, and was grateful to see a soldier
rush up to grab her horse’s reins, helping her to dismount. She
walked across to Rowan. His stallion was jet black, taller than
Quinn, and thoroughly intimidating. Rowan didn’t move until he
realised, with a roll of his eyes, that he needed to help Quinn
mount. He held down a gloved hand. Quinn grabbed it, and he hauled
her up into the saddle ungracefully. Quinn was glad she had been
wearing trousers, not skirts, and was reminded just why she hated
Rowan so much. Her arm ached—it felt like he had nearly twisted it
out of joint.

Rowan twisted his mount and whistled. Before
Quinn could catch a breath, they were off. The rest of the trail
whirled by. Wind whistled into her eyes, which started watering
immediately, and Quinn clung onto the saddle. One of Rowan’s arms
snaked around her waist, holding her in place. Quinn was grateful
for this until she realised that meant only one of his hands were
on the reins. Was he really so experienced that he could guide the
horse at this pace, up this path, with only one hand? Quinn’s belly
rang with butterflies. She sincerely hoped so.

Her slow approach and build-up to Sevenspells
had been stolen. Mounted on a jet black stallion with the prince
and heir, Quinn felt like she was hurled through the gates, into a
cobbled courtyard. With sparse dignity and no preparation, Quinn
was thrust into the court of Sevenspells.

A cluster of
boys came running up as soon as they arrived in the yard. They
helped Quinn off the horse first. Rowan didn’t object to this. Eden
didn’t even wait for the stable hands to reach him. His mount
hadn’t even come to a stop when he expertly twisted out of the
saddle and landed, his feet firmly planted on the cobbles. He
grasped the reins lightly, tossing them to the first boy that came
his way. Removing his riding gloves, he tucked them into his belt
and went to Quinn.

“Are you okay? My
brother
doesn
’t often take others’ feelings into
consideration, and is quite a reckless rider.”

Rowan waited for someone to take his horse’s
reins before dismounting. He threw his riding gloves at the nearest
boy, who didn’t raise his hands in time and instead took the gloves
full in the face. “She’s here, isn’t she? She didn’t soil my
saddle, so I have to assume the scared rider façade was an act on
her part, for
your
benefit. That’s the way women work, Eden.
They act helpless because they expect us to come and save
them.”

“You didn’t
save
me from anything,
your highness. I would have happily ridden here with Eden.”

“
Lord
Eden. You will do what you’re
told. You reminded me yourself: you’re a commoner, no matter whose
bed you’ve been warming. Come on. My father is waiting.”

Rowan walked onwards and didn’t turn around,
expecting instead for Quinn to follow him. He talked and acted
towards her like Sammah had, an unhappy reminder of the way her
life could be. Not even Pax had been so disparaging.

“Ignore him. He’s basking in his own
self-importance.” Eden whispered in her ear. Quinn smiled, but it
was false. Eden’s poor opinion of his brother was well-known, and
it did nothing to buoy Quinn’s mood. As far as she was concerned,
by being presented to Shiver in Sevenspells she was being forced to
do business with a bear whilst trapped in its cave. Eden wouldn’t
be able to help her either, now that Shiver needed to use his
youngest son as political leverage.

“He’s been looking forward to meeting you,”
Rowan said, his pace not slowing and his head not turning. He was
effectively talking to the empty corridor ahead of them, but Quinn
could only assume that he was talking to her. “He’s encountered you
so many times, but hasn’t had the honour of really meeting you.
Sammah was always so complimentary about what you could accomplish.
The king is looking forward to what you can tell us about your
father, and the intentions of Sha’sek.”

“Do you think my father actually brought me
into his confidence?”

“With some of the tasks he gave you in your
role as the Satori, the king has no doubt that you know more than
you claim—no matter how much or how little you claim to know.”

“And how is the king going to verify the
truth of my words? I have just come from Sha’sek—from Farn and the
council of my people. Does King Shiver assume I’m just going to
stand there and spill the deepest secrets I have at hand if only he
asks?”

Rowan did turn then, regarding Quinn as if
she were a simpleton. “My father might not have some…” Rowan looked
her up and down, disgust twisting his face. “Unnatural talent for
such matters, but he’s an experienced courtesan, and the ruler of
this country. He has conquered
your people
in war before,
and knows more about military tactics than you could ever dream of
knowing. You may choose to lie to him, but he will know. If you do
lie, you will be punished. It’s as simple as that. Come on—save
your breath for my father’
s
questions.
”

No reassuring words came to her from Eden
after that barrage. Their footsteps echoed in the sparse hallway.
Despite Eden being at her back, a cold shudder ran up Quinn’s
spine. She did not feel safe in this place. She would tell Shiver
any truth he wanted, if it meant she could negotiate her way out of
this place.

The contrast between Sevenspells and Farn was
sharp. Farn’s population was large—Quinn hadn’t realised quite how
many people packed themselves in on the islands, until seeing it
for herself. Somehow though, everyone had managed to conduct
themselves in a calm manner. Completely juxtaposed to the
barbarians that men like Shiver made them out to be, the
Sha’shekians were an organised society of caring people. Quinn’s
mind darted to Maertn, and she hoped he was looking after himself.
His eagerness to study and learn more about his craft had put his
health in danger, and Quinn wanted to believe that Rall and Pax had
Maertn’s best interests at heart.

Everfell hadn’t cared about its commoners;
Sevenspells likely didn’t, either. In this claustrophobic hallway,
pages, servants, and men at arms rushing around once more
surrounded Quinn. Everyone operated under a thinly-veiled layer of
anxiety, as if they suspected that their best might just not be
good enough. Everyone pushed themselves further than they could, or
should. Most of the people Quinn saw looked exhausted. Rowan swept
before them, acting like the prince that he now was. He didn’t ask
people to move out of his way. Rowan simply expected it to happen.
The prince pushed one young boy who
wasn
’
t quick enough
. Quinn
averted her eyes as he looked up at them from the ground, his hand
covering a gash in his forehead after being thrown against the
wall. This wasn’t Quinn’s home. The only person she knew to ask for
help was Eden, and he hadn’t looked around either. Quinn got the
impression that, in these halls, Eden felt just as powerless as the
commoners around him.

At the end of the corridor, Rowan turned,
standing in front of two double doors. They weren’t guarded, but
the way Rowan looked down on them made Quinn think they could only
lead to one person.

“You’re going to be presented to the king,
now. Eden, I want you to stand with me when he speaks to the girl.
He will deal with you separately.”

“I have important things to tell him.”

“And he has important questions to ask. He’ll
do so in his own time. He’s the king now, Eden. He’s thinking for
all of us. A Sha’sekian is controlling the Everfell throne; it’s
time to stop thinking about yourself and recognise what we’re
trying to do here. Come on.”

Quinn had expected the throne room to be
something like Vance’s: something expansive and bold, much to match
the newly crowned King Shiver’s ego. She was astonished therefore
to see a room that wasn’t much larger than her suites in Farn. Red
carpet covered the whole room, including a small dais where Shiver
sat awaiting them. Quinn had expected him to be wearing an
ostentatious crown, and whilst the pelt wrapped around his
shoulders was certainly grandiose, sweeping down to the ground, he
looked neither finer nor more refined than before. The only
difference was his hair. In the style of the old kings, he had
bleached it with lime. His pale curls were tightly combed giving
him the regal air of a warrior, framing his cheeks and highlighting
his wrinkles. It was a conflicting look, but Quinn could see what
he was trying to do. Shiver was trying to present himself to his
fellow lords as the king they never had; the strong ruler that
Vance had never been. Shiver was the man who had saved them before,
and Shiver was the one who was going to save them again. He was not
like other men and he was not like their recent rulers. Of this,
Quinn had no doubt.