MINSTREL’S SERENADE
Chronicles of Ebonvale, Book One
By AUBRIE DIONNE
LYRICAL PRESS
An imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/
Dedication
To every fan of fantasy and romance. Never stop dreaming.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank Renee at Lyrical Press for continuing to believe in my work. Also, my editor, Paige Christian, for squeezing out those important extra words from my imagination. My agent, Dawn Dowdle, comes next for supporting me through thick and thin. My beta readers, Brianne Dionne and my mom, Joanne, deserve a heartfelt thanks for listening to all of my ideas. Thanks goes to my husband for sitting with me at my author table at Barnes and Noble and pretending to be the author of girly books while I had to go to the bathroom. Also, my brother, Austin, for being the best salesperson I could ask for at the arts and crafts festival last year. Cherie Reich is my author bff forever, and she deserves more thanks than I can give. My flute teacher and mentor, Peggy Vagts has my thanks for supporting me in everything that I do, whether it be flute or not.
Chapter 1
Fire's Mark
“No lady should see what evil lies beyond the ridge.” Bron blocked the exit of the carriage with a great wall of muscle, sweat and dark skin. Plumes of smoke rose like great fingers brushing the sky behind his broad shoulders.
Danika focused on the strength in his dark eyes. “Nonsense. Every ruler must bear witness to the devastation afflicting her people so she can make the right decisions to protect her kingdom.”
Bron's stance didn’t change.
She narrowed her eyes; bodyguard or not, he had to follow her orders. She could force him to let her pass, but, maybe this one time she’d play his game. “So she can enact the most deserving form of revenge.”
“That's more like it.” Bron smiled, thick lips curving. “Spoken like a true warrior.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere. Let me through.”
He sighed with a gentle rise and fall of his broad chest, ran his hand over his shaved head, and stepped aside. “If you insist, Princess.”
She placed her fingers in his war-hardened hand and allowed him to guide her to the blackened earth. The air stank of soot and ash, searing her eyes and the smooth skin on her cheeks. She blinked through the wave of heat and summoned her courage. “Show me the site of the greatest devastation.”
“As you wish, Princess. The smoke spooks the horses, so we’ll have to trek up the cliff on foot.”
“Walking doesn’t frighten me.” She’d worn her thigh-high riding boots underneath her damask underskirt for such an occasion. She ripped the top layer of silks off, revealing the same leather leggings warriors wore under their tunics.
Bron averted his eyes. When his gaze returned to her, he seemed to appraise her with newfound interest.
She stashed the frills in the carriage, hiding the burning flush in her cheeks. Surely the heat had raised her temperature. She refused to blame Bron’s attention. “Lead me to Shaletown.”
“Or what’s left of it.”
Bron picked his way through charred trunks, presenting his hand whenever the footing grew treacherous. Although the ground steamed and the soles of her feet burned, she made her way on her own, refusing his offers. As the new ruler of Ebonvale, she had to show strength in a time when fear spread like the plague of the dead.
They crested the ridge and she covered her mouth with her sleeve. The blackened village lay before them as dead man’s land. People had walked the cobblestones that morning going about their everyday business, unaware of the impending devastation. Anger boiled inside her, followed by a black void of loss sucking her dry.
Danika cleared her parched throat. “Has anyone searched for survivors?”
She knew the answer before Bron opened his mouth.
“No, my lady. The clouds from the blaze obscure the sky and the wyverns may still hover, waiting for stragglers. Besides, the chance of any surviving such devastation…”
She scanned the remains from her raven perch, balancing her boot on the stump of a sizzled tree. The brick foundation of a tavern stood without its thatched roof or bluewood walls. Black stains streaked across the town square where the fire’s breath licked its way through. Skeletons littered the ash, their black-splotched finger bones grasping through the soot to seek salvation. This kingdom belonged to her now, and she couldn’t let the provinces fall to ruin because of a swarm of vermin from the south.
Her heart raced as ire shot up through her chest, splitting her apart. “How could they destroy innocent people?”
“They’re beasts, Your Highness. There’s no logical reasoning to their onslaught.”
“But we’ve stayed clear of Scalehaven. Unless something lured them to our lands?”
Bron shrugged as if the wyverns’ attack were inevitable. “The beasts’ population brims with hatchlings. Scouts have reported the yearlings as far north as Brimmore’s Bay.” His voice danced, careful and light, as if he wanted to protect her from the truth.
She ran her mother’s satin scarf across her blistering forehead. Sweat stained the pink fabric red. “My father would know what to do.”
Bron’s gaze dropped to the ash as if her words defeated him.
Danika cursed her weak tongue. She knew better than to speak of the late king in front of him.
He met her gaze once again. “I have full faith in your rule.”
Helplessness trickled through her, threatening to weaken her knees. Danika pulled away, straightening her back against the rising channels of smoke blotting the sky. She wanted to lean into him and borrow his strength, but such a gesture led toward a doomed future. To choose such a lowly man, albeit the Chief of Arms, when so many more lucrative prospects remained, would place her kingdom in further jeopardy. Especially in times as dark as these.
A blur of earthy brown scrambled between an overturned carriage and the remnants of the smithy. Danika’s concerns flew from her mind as she focused on the form huddled behind the coal pit.
“There.” She thrust her finger into the smoke. “A small child.”
Bron grabbed for her arm but the silky fabric of her sleeve slipped through his fingers. She threw herself forward, stumbling down the cliff’s side.
“Princess, no!”
Her arms flailed as she scrambled between slabs of malachite, the sharp edges exposed by the wyverns’ breath. Halfway down, a keen wail rode the wind, slicing her ears. Black ribbons flickered on the horizon.
“Danika, stop! They’re coming back!”
She jumped the final five feet and landed on her hands and knees beside the smithy. So many had died. If she could save just one…
The boy cowered with his arms covering his head.
“Boy! Come here.” She waved to him but his eyes were shut as tight as a noblewoman’s purse.
“Horred’s Grave.” She’d have to sprint to make it. She skirted a pile of flaming wood and jumped over the wall, the broken glass tearing her bell-shaped sleeves like wyvern’s teeth. She stumbled forward on her hand and knees, ripping the