Betrayal by Blood: A Prequel (Stones of Terrene Book 0) Read online

  A piercing scream rent the air, and all thoughts of pie dissipated as Finn’s every sense flared into alertness. A deep bellow sounded a moment later and he dropped the basket of cherries he’d been carrying, running toward the frightful sounds.

  Heart pounding, Finn reached their house and instantly noticed the unknown horses tied up in the front yard. Something crashed inside the house, and a man yelled.

  Finn pounded up the walkway to the door, throwing it open with a loud bang. It took his eyes a moment to adjust from the outside light, but when he could finally see, he almost wished that he couldn’t. His heart stopped at the sight of the blonde woman on the floor.

  Crimson blood soaked Maria’s beautiful golden hair, spreading in a puddle around her broken head. Her body was turned away, as if she’d been fleeing when struck down. Her blue dress looked purple from the bloody gashes in her back.

  A noise to his left drew Finn’s horrified eyes away.

  Connor stood, a sword protruding from his chest, his dark eyes pained. He gurgled and dropped, the sound of his body thudding on the floor ringing in Finn’s ears. A man dressed entirely in black stood over Connor’s prone form, blood dripping off his sword. He cocked his head at Finn.

  “Are you the Finneous?” He gestured with his sword at Connor’s and Maria’s bodies. “You’re too late to help them. Let alone yourself.”

  Movement beside Finn spurred him into action. He took a half step back, belatedly noticing four men also dressed in black, swords drawn.

  Rage burned through him and filled him with a deadly white hot fire. It seeped into his lungs and lit them ablaze; it raced through his veins, burning, burning, burning. Without a conscious thought, he lifted his hand and gestured to the flame of the candle on the table. Fire twisted and roiled, spiraling through the air to his hand. He savored the heat for a moment before shooting his hand forward, fire leaping away from him and toward the men. It engulfed one man, and Finn directed another blast of flame to the man next to him, then more flames spewed toward to the last two.

  Their screams of fear and agony cut short as the blaze ate through their flesh and bones and devoured them. Skin bubbled and melted, flesh cooked and burned, bones blackened and dried, cracking and popping in the heat. In less than a minute, it was over; leaving only four small heaps of ash and melted metal from their swords.

  Finn didn’t acknowledge the weariness the magic cost him. He turned his gaze to the man still standing over Connor’s bloody body. His sword dropped to the floor when he made eye contact with Finn. He stumbled back as Finn stalked forward.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” the man exclaimed as he tried to skirt around the furniture behind him. “Clearly you are the Finneous. And you’re more powerful than we expected. That’s good, good, yes.” His wide-eyed gaze flew back to the ash piles that were his comrades, and he gave Finn a sickly smile. “They were murderers anyway. Justice is served. Good, good.”

  “Who sent you?” Finn interrupted, his voice trembling from restrained anger, magic, and grief.

  “The Master! I don’t know his real name, or I’d tell you that, honest!” Sweat dripped down the man’s face as he pressed himself up against the wall. “Please don’t kill me. Maybe I can—”

  “Why would I show you mercy?” Finn asked, the cold calm in his gut clashing with the fire swirling through his nerves. “You murdered my daughter-in-law. You murdered my son.” He shook his head when the man opened his mouth to protest. “If you can’t tell me any names, you are worthless to me.”

  “Please, don’t burn me alive like them!” Desperation rolled off the man in sour waves of sweat. His jaw trembled as Finn stepped closer. His eyes narrowed and he shot forward, a dagger in hand. “I’ll kill you first!”

  Finn loosed a bolt of fire at the man’s hand, and he dropped the weapon, clutching his blackened digits. Finn yanked the knife at the small of his back out of its sheath and rammed it into the man’s chest, deliberately missing his heart by a scant inch. Blood ran down and soaked the black shirt as Finn turned the blade. The man’s screams rang in Finn’s ears.

  “Feel the pain I feel, whale scum,” Finn whispered before withdrawing the blade and stabbing it straight into the man’s heart, giving it a final twist. He dropped at Finn’s feet, blood gushing from dual chest wounds.

  Heart clenched in sorrow and pain, Finn fell to his knees beside Connor’s body. Blood soaked into his pants as he gently lifted his lifeless son over his lap. Thick, congealing blood stuck to Finn’s hands as he cradled his boy. He ran his fingers down Connor’s eyes, closing them, leaving crimson streaks on his face.

  Finn bent down, touching his forehead to the forehead of his only child. He let the dams of grief break, tears flowing down his cheeks and disappearing into his beard. His boy. His only boy. He looked up through blurry vision to Maria’s twisted body. His entire family. Gone. Just like that.

  His hands clenched in the fabric of Connor’s shirt when he looked over to the ash piles. “I killed you too quickly,” he growled.

  Raine. He hadn’t seen or heard Raine yet. The thought broke through Finn’s haze of grief and anger, and his heart trembled. He didn’t want to look for her. A mental image of her lifeless little body flashed into his mind, searing his soul with another wave of grief. He wasn’t ready to face what he feared.

  But his family deserved to be taken care of, and in the heat, the sooner the better. He gently brushed his finger against Maria’s cheek in a silent farewell to his brave daughter-in-law. He ran his hand over Connor’s blond hair and mussed it like he used to when Connor was young.

  What had led those men here? How had they known who he really was, and had they been after his powers or his knowledge? Finn spread his palm against the wood floor and shook his head. They were unprepared for his skill level, so they were likely after his knowledge.

  But why look for him here? How had they known he’d be at Connor and Maria’s?

  Senses already on alert, he jolted when a small sound echoed from the back of the house. A tiny moan, like the cry of a baby. Finn flew to his feet and ran down the hall, barely able to breathe, hoping and fearing all at once. He flung open the door to his granddaughter’s room.

  A simple pine crib in the corner revealed Raine, face squished against the mattress as she rubbed it back and forth and again released her little moan. Finn’s knees gave out under him, and he collapsed against the door frame, weak with relief. By some miracle, she was alive.

  Finn shifted against the hard floor, his bloody hands sticking to it when he moved. He needed to get cleaned up before she woke. He also had to take care of Connor’s and Maria’s bodies. He watched Raine release an airy little sigh, shifting again in her sleep, dark hair damp with sweat. He should hurry.

  It took nearly two hours and a bit more magic, but Finn hastily dug a large, joint grave for Connor and Maria by her garden.

  He left the body of the murderer in the corner of the room.

  Raine had started cooing in her crib soon after, so Finn hurriedly scrubbed the blood off himself and changed into a clean set of clothes. He had to take some time to clean his boots of the blood that soaked into the crevices; it was enough for now, but he’d need to get a new pair.

  It was certain that he and Raine would still be in danger here if they were to stay. He gathered together what small mementos he could find, to someday share with Raine about her parents. Then he packed their clothing and food.

  Finn dropped their two bags by the open door and turned to see something fluttering by the table. Exhausted, but curious, he walked over to see what looked to be half a letter or something. He leaned over and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He froze. It was only half an envelope, now that he could see it clearly, with the familiar red wax Doldras family crest still sticking to the paper.

  Is this real? Or a forgery? Concerned, Finn tucked the paper into his vest, vowing to think about it later, and doubled his efforts to get them out of the house as fast
as possible. If the crown had anything to do with this, there had to be more men nearby.

  He saddled and packed his horse in the stable and went back into the house for Raine. She sat there in her crib, staring at him with her big, beautiful dark eyes. Finn scooped up her tiny body and hugged her closely. As his silent tears dampened her hair, he pressed a kiss on her head and curled her face against his chest. Shielding her from the sight of the blood coating the floor, he left the house.

  Finn mounted his horse and settled Raine on his lap. He looked long and hard at the house before him. It was the house that Connor worked hard to buy after he proposed to Maria. The house that they’d been living in for nearly six years.

  And if the house was gone, and the bodies destroyed, whoever “the Master” was wouldn’t know what happened. Who lived or died or how.

  Finn should have known better. Retirement would never be attainable. His years in Doldra had given him a false sense of hope, and this was the price to be paid for letting his guard down. He would have to return to life on the run again.

  He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a match. Gritting his teeth, he struck it against the back of his custom gloves and flung it towards the house. The moment it left his fingers, he focused and felt the familiar hot surge run through his body as he grew the tiny flame into a fireball. It splattered and splashed like water against the wall, flames surging to devour the wood. Raine’s eyes were riveted on the house, and she cooed as vibrant fingers of fire danced through the roof. Finn clicked his tongue and turned his horse away from the waves of rolling heat.

  They were going home.

  What in the Void would he tell Slate?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Brandon

  Brandon stood in front of the mirror, combing his blond hair to the side and trying to not think of all the things that could go wrong between this very moment and when he’d be back in his room sometime that night. Anything could happen—it all hinged on Richard and what his attitude and reactions would be like. It could be a beautiful ceremony that ended in two kingdoms united once again. Or it could end in disaster with relations between Doldra and the surrounding nations irreparably strained.

  Andre tapped Brandon’s clenched fists and held out his white dress gloves.

  “Thanks.” Brandon opened his hands and stretched wide his fingers to regain circulation before accepting the gloves and slipping them on.

  Andre nodded. “Remember, sir. Today is a marathon, try to relax a bit, or you’ll burn out of energy before the day is even half done.”

  Brandon turned aside with a silent nod and held his arms back for Andre to help him into his black dress coat. The jacket slipped up his crimson sleeves and settled on his broad shoulders. He shrugged it into place.

  Jet-black, straight-leg pants with knee-high obsidian boots, black formal coattail jacket over his crimson dress shirt, the double row of buttons running up the chest of his jacket polished and gleaming, pocket watch shined and slipped into his pocket. A black belt went over his ensemble, two carefully tooled leather pouches hanging on each hip. He patted the bag on his left hip to confirm its contents. Andre handed him his black top hat, and Brandon spun it in his hands once before settling it over his hair.

  “Now that you’re ready sir. Shall we see if Lady Sapphire is prepared yet?” Andre’s smile did little to calm Brandon’s anxiety, but he nodded regardless.

  Ready as I’ll ever be for today.

  They stepped out from the dressing area of the walk-in closet into the bedchambers, where Sapphire sat with her back to them as Clara fixed her hair. Clara beamed when she saw Brandon and Andre. She said something inaudible to Sapphire, and Sapphire stood as soon as Clara’s hands moved from her red tresses.

  Sapphire’s floor-length gown was a deep crimson with delicate purple accents embroidered in the hem and loose flowing long sleeves; the back of the dress cascaded in fan-like waves. A crimson-and-gold corset cinched together at her waist, and when she moved towards him, he could tell she had put aside her favored boots for formal slippers. Her crimson curls were piled high with a sleek gold-and-purple fascinator nestled in to provide contrast and provide the ever-important fashion element.

  Brandon blew out his breath. “You look stunning.”

  Sapphire fluttered her long eyelashes at him flirtatiously. “Why, thank you, Your Highness. One good thing about today is that we get to enjoy seeing each other in our finery.”

  “Hm, very true.” Brandon snagged an arm around her waist, pulling her flush with him. He leaned down to press a kiss into her lips, reminding himself to not mess up her makeup, lest she kill him. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Sapphire leaned back in his arms, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

  “For looking for the good in today. For not letting me wallow in worry.” He pulled her hand closer and rubbed his gloved thumb over her bare knuckles. “For being by my side.” He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss on the back of it.

  Her slender hand gently caressed his cheek, and she pulled him down to her lips. Sparks ignited at her touch, and she smiled at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “Of course.” She turned her face away and sighed dramatically. “Alas, for we need to head out, or I’d take care of that worry of yours now.”

  Brandon blinked down at her and smirked. Holding his arm out for her, he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Save that thought for later tonight, then.”

  She laughed as he looked back to where Andre and Clara were talking, discreetly looking away from them. “Ready to go?” he asked.

  They straightened and nodded, Clara smoothing her maroon dress while Andre brushed imperceptible wrinkles from his jacket. As Brandon and Sapphire’s aides, they would be attending the wedding as well—although they would be further back in the seating arrangement—and so they needed to be dressed just as well as their lord and lady.

  Sapphire scooped Adeline off the cushion on the floor where she’d been playing and took the cloth that Clara held out to dab the drool from Adeline’s chin. Then she bopped their daughter on the nose with the cloth. “Time to go to your first wedding!”

  Despite the laughter and lightheartedness, Brandon could feel his muscles tensing up as they walked towards the ballroom.

  Violet’s arrival two weeks ago hadn’t improved Richard’s reclusive behavior at all. Richard had made a valiant effort to soldier through the engagement ball, and he’d found his long-lost manners for a few occasions, but he still failed more times than not.

  His bride-to-be embraced the planned celebrations cheerfully, despite Richard’s taciturn behavior. She was quiet, friendly when spoken to, graceful and polite. But it was clear that she shared mannerisms with Rose, which only exasperated Richard’s obvious pain. The more she tried to please him, the harder it became for him to withstand her familiar traits and sayings.

  The few times Brandon had the opportunity to talk to his brother, Richard had brushed him off. And their father wasn’t helping matters any, as he frequently reminded Richard that all he had to do was produce an heir—he didn’t have to do anything else with her if he didn’t want to.

  Sometimes Brandon wondered if their father was trying to cause an international incident, with all this pushing. King Rupert’s flagrant disregard of the feelings of those around him was making this day much harder than it had to be. How the man had been married to Brandon’s mother for so many years and yet never learned any tact was beyond him.

  On that note, Queen Victoria was just as stressed as Brandon. She worked day and night to keep everyone content enough so as to not cause any lasting problems. She provided extra assistants, brought in favored foods from afar, hired the best seamstresses for last-minute alterations, and was available for anything at any time. The woman never rested.

  The indistinct chatter of guests pulled Brandon from his thoughts, and he sucked in a lungful of air before letting it out as he straightened. Two guards opened the ballroom doors, and Brandon lift
ed his head, leading Sapphire into the elegant room.

  Gauzy white fabric wove around the luminary chandeliers and then pulled to the wall to drape down next to Doldra’s crest tapestries. Flowers decorated the pillars, goldenrod, lavender, myrtle, violets, and zinnias, a handful of other flowers arrayed in with them to make the arrangements artful and not tacky with their diversity.

  Encouragement, devotion, virtue, the mantle of marriage, loyalty, faithfulness, and thinking of absent friends. Brandon’s gaze slid from one arrangement to the next, matching the flowers to their meanings. Well chosen, Mother.

  Pulling each breath felt difficult, the tension in his chest too tight. But he walked Sapphire down the aisle of chairs and left her and Adeline with a simple kiss behind his parents. Slate stood among the honor guard, resplendent in their unblemished uniforms. A row of Monomi, including Zane, lined the back of the ballroom, all of them in their differing armor of black dragon-scaled shimmerhide. Brandon nodded to each man, then retreated to the back of the room where Dahlia, Violet’s twelve-year-old sister, waited.

  Dahlia hugged herself while she waited, rocking just enough to make her skirt swish around her legs. She saw him coming, and she turned her large eyes up to him as he neared. “Prince Brandon.” Her whisper was nearly lost in the people gathered. He bent to hear her better. “I’m scared I’m going to trip and ruin the wedding. What do I do? Prince Richard will be upset, and I don’t want to anger him.” Her eyes grew bigger as she talked, and her hands fluttered in front of her like a pair of skittish birds.

  He regarded the young girl for a moment, taking in her floor-length lavender gown. Setting aside his own nerves to focus on Dahlia, he reached out and settled a hand on her soft shoulder and gently squeezed it. He bent his knees just enough to be eye level with her as he spoke, striving to not be overheard. “Don’t worry. I’ll escort you down until we separate to be on our respective sides. You can walk a few feet by yourself, right?” Her nod was timid, and Brandon offered his most reassuring smile. “Good. Then you focus on that. Walking a few feet away from me, then back. I’ll support you the rest of the way. You won’t trip.”