Fallen Princeborn: Chosen Read online

  FALLEN PRINCEBORN: CHOSEN

  By Jean Lee

  Fallen Princeborn: Chosen.

  Copyright © 2020 by Jean Lee. All rights reserved.

  Tales of the River Vine: Night’s Tooth.

  Copyright © 2019 by Jean Lee. All rights reserved.

  Fallen Princeborn: Stolen.

  Copyright © 2018 by Jean Lee. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is coincidental.

  Lee, Jean.

  Fallen Princeborn: Chosen / Jean Lee—1st ed.

  Lyrics from Quadrophenia used with kind permission of Pete Townshend.

  Quadrophenia

  Copyright © 1972 by Pete Townshend. All rights reserved.

  For my youngest son,

  Whose creative spark burns star-bright

  When all else is so very dark

  Table of contents

  Cold Dawn, Colder Drums 1

  Conceal and carry 6

  Screaming Magic 19

  Shelved 30

  Royal Accusations 41

  Memory’s Door Splinters 45

  Here Comes the Sage 61

  Mystery Remains Rooted 72

  Friends Ashore 84

  Parlay 97

  Scouts Deliberate 101

  When Dorjan’s Gone 112

  Those Poisoned Enemy Hands 118

  On Scarred Land 134

  Hunting Campion 140

  Regroup 151

  Poppy’s Complaint 158

  It Grows Beneath 167

  Never One For Pruning 175

  Arlen Must Surrender 186

  Loving Cairine 197

  Storytime 204

  Twilight Talk 209

  Woman of Ice 213

  Giving Bone and Skin 216

  An Uneasy Trail 226

  Pale Fire 232

  Gutted 243

  Yes, Mother 250

  Chatting Up Artairs 260

  Charlotte’s Tootsie Pop Game 269

  Rope-A-Dope 281

  Defending Dorjan 289

  Raspberries 293

  Nettle Knows 309

  Crimson Claws Burn 316

  Calling Down the Heavens 333

  Bombshell’s Many Tastes 338

  Bloody Days 346

  Debate 361

  Engagement Dinner 365

  Doctor Jimmy Keller 376

  We Are Not Toys 383

  Fly to Burn 389

  Meeting Stars 397

  Trapped 404

  Dwindling Embers 413

  A Second Matrignis 418

  Let’s Split Up, Gang 432

  Damned Family Ties 438

  Bleeding Ground 456

  Constantine 471

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Cold Dawn, Colder Drums

  Ashes. Paper. Tea. Pie.

  Charlotte blinks once, twice, to color dancing about the library.

  The library?

  Yes, she’s sitting at Liam’s feet, having fallen asleep with her head resting on his knee. Liam’s fingers have wound themselves into her hair.

  The hearth is cold, and the stale food… unsettling. Shouldn’t Arlen be in the kitchen by now, scolding Dorjan for raiding the fridge? Shouldn’t there be a kettle whistling for the velifol tea? How in brewin’ blazes are we going to defend Rose House against Campion and the Lady?

  Charlotte slowly slips her hand beneath Liam’s to free his fingers from her hair. Still too many cuts and burns on his calloused skin for her liking. The Lady’s claws must have struck near his neck, where angry red inflammation peeks out from under Liam’s white tunic. The leather brace for his blood dagger seems to restrict the rise and fall of his chest, so Charlotte holds her hand up to Liam’s mouth and feels his fitful breaths. Dreaming, maybe.

  The teeniest, teeniest bit of space buffers her palm and his lips. She could close that space. Not, not too much: Charlotte’s thumb caresses Liam’s upper lip. Just once. Just to know how his lips feel when not covered by musty facial hair.

  A dull violet glow emanates from just beneath Liam’s chair—the stone from Orna’s ring. Charlotte bends forward, chin on the floor, eyes almost crossing as she gazes deep into the stone. Such a simple little thing, like marble, opaque with an inner shine. That shine’s got a power even Arlen doesn’t wanna touch. We better hide this, House, before a nasty Incomplete snatches it from Liam. She poises her thumb behind the stone, sticks out her tongue as she aims, and with a flick, the stone rolls into a little hole in the wall beneath the stained-glass window. One eyeblink later, and the hole’s gone. Eight ball in the corner pocket. Thanks, House.

  Time to find Arlen.

  Charlotte hugs herself against the chilly summer morning as her feet pad softly down the corridor into the kitchen. No Arlen, no Dorjan.

  Morning air clings to the Rose House’s walls, wary. Scared.

  “House, where are they?”

  A moment of silence. Then voices and distant footfalls: the third floor. But not Arlen or Dorjan. The gravelly voice booming orders has got to be Devyn, leading the other scouts to harvest the velifol flowers.

  Charlotte checks the patio. It did sound like the uncle and nephew went outside last night. Maybe they’re harvesting mint, or parsley, or whatever it is they use for pies—Charlotte never really paid attention to the cooking stuff. “Arlen?” She cups her hands to yell, “Dorjan!” Frost glitters upon the flowers beneath Rose House’s shadow, but under Charlotte’s feet the patio frost feels different.

  It’s not melting.

  And there is a rhythm.

  A drumming.

  Squeaks run through the silent halls and out into the kitchen—Poppy as her mouse self, scared.

  “What’s going on?” Charlotte asks as Poppy changes before her. Though I think I can guess.

  “Danger, Miss Charlotte, Danger!” Poppy says before her whiskers have the chance to vanish. “Terrible, terrible things below. Campion and the Lady, they got all juiced up and stronger than before, and they’re just totally super angry, and they wanna get the Incomplete meanies up here, and they wanna just, they wanna, oh, they wanna—”

  “Retaliate.” The human version of Ember lands on a patio chair, feathers not fully transformed into orange patchwork fabric. Her skin reflects the early morning sun from the hall window, turning her white with the frost. “Something’s helped the Lady regain her strength. Eating an Incomplete, perhaps. Heart’s fire knows, but she’s moving through the tunnels, and Campion’s at her side,” Her voice cracks under her former friend’s name.

  “So Devyn’s getting the scouts to take the velifol?”

  Distant thunder rumbles under a blue sky. Then Charlotte realizes the thunder’s not from above. Shhhit. “Arlen and Dorjan, where are they?”

  Ember’s voice remains smooth, but biting her lip doesn’t hide the trembling of her chin. “Not in Rose House, we’ve looked. The wolf kin can protect Arlen, I’m sure.”

  Charlotte nods, but this idea of the Lady of the Pits somehow getting out again and acquiring new power despite Liam slicing her face off and taking that magic violet stone from her ring…. How the hell does she find more power inside a bunch of tunnels? And Campion’s bones were broken to bits. Something is wrong, way too damn wrong. “Okay. You’re right. They can take care of themselves.” Because to say it out loud makes it feel more possible, more true. She will not allow her body to shake as Poppy’s does, even with the thunder rippling through the ground again, this time upsetting the patio stones. She will not let the fear freeze her as frost does a flower.

  Ember nods curtly. “We must hope Master Li
am’s tree withstands the attack. Come, Poppy, we need to carry what we can.”

  Poppy grabs Charlotte’s arm. “But we can’t leave Miss Charlotte! She’s my bestest friend, and she’s so nice, and she could come with us and be super helpful and—”

  But Charlotte shoves Poppy towards Ember. “No, stay together. I’ll get out with Liam.”

  “But Miss—”

  “She is right, Poppy.” Feathers tuft through Ember’s neck and hands. “Upstairs.”

  “But—”

  “NOW.”

  Another rumble. A patio chair topples.

  Poppy gulps a breath, then two, then takes off, changing as she goes.

  Ember takes a steadying breath. “You will hide,” she turns to Charlotte, “won’t you?”

  Well what do you know. She kinda actually cares about the human. A little. Maybe.

  The frost thickens, latching onto Charlotte’s toes. “Yeah.” Another rumble bumps them both up and down. “Not a time for fighting blind.”

  “Agreed,” Ember says, and exhales, relieved. “We’re going to the far side of Lake Aranina. It is hopefully too far for the misshapen limbs of the Incomplete to run.”

  “Far side, got it.”

  Arms become wings. Feet, talons. “Let us hope your luck carries us all through this day.” The orange bird soars up, plucks something from the rooftop, and darts south for the lake and beyond.

  Ashes touch the air.

  And a cackle.

  A shriek, far and away.

  Two entrances out of the Pits, both unlocked. One out in the woods.

  And one inside Rose House.

  “Liam!” Charlotte slams the patio door, locks it—idiot, it’s glass—and bolts for the library.

  Liam has yet to move, eyes closed, breath still slow.

  “Liam you have to wake up!” Charlotte shakes him, cups his cheeks, brings her face close—dammit, this isn’t time for that. So she slaps his cheek instead. “Liam!” She yells in his ear.

  Pounding, pounding below her feet.

  They are coming.

  2

  Conceal and Carry

  Pounding from below.

  Cackling from outside.

  “Shit!” Charlotte runs to the front door, sees the trees at the far end of the ovular clearing in front of Rose House shake and bend. “Okay, House, I need more than that floating bathroom, got it?” She slides and collides with the basement door, spreading her fingers wide over the wood. “Get rid of this door. Make it a wall. Make it anything. Just not a door. Make their trip up here hell.”

  Creaks move up and down in short succession. If a house could laugh, that’s how it’d sound. The hinges rust and crumble. The wood braids itself shut. Iron spools out from under Charlotte’s fingers and spreads as a vine on the wall.

  “No doors, House. No windows. Seal yourself shut!”

  Movement outside—claws and limbs burst out into the clearing.

  Charlotte slams her palms against the windows and door. With every touch come more braids and iron spreading outward from her palms to strengthen every wall and cover every window.

  “What are you doing?” Devyn calls from the second floor’s landing. He leaps down the length of the stairs and lands with sure feet next to her. His long grey hair is knotted and sweaty against his dark skin. He takes in the iron walls with wide eyes but does not speak of them. “You need to hide.”

  Pounding.

  “Can you get your people out?”

  Shrieking. Closer.

  “I can fly the wingless to the treetops. Dorjan and Arlen are already on the move. Do you have the princeborn Liam?”

  “Yeah.”

  Pounding, pounding, too damn close.

  Devyn looks at the stairs behind him with narrowed eyes. “Can you do something about those?”

  Charlotte nods. “House, block those stairs off. Make the bastards work.” In a spray of splinters and paint dust, beams slam down one by one over the entry to the second floor. It’s a freakish echo to the pounding beneath their feet, the pounding that grows closer with every slam.

  Devyn laughs as he morphs into talons and feathers. “I don’t think I regret letting you live now.”

  “Yeah, um, me too,” Charlotte says, flashing a quick’n’antsy smile. Devyn flies upward before the last beam falls into place, making the stairs a passage to nowhere.

  Shrieking crashes against the front door.

  Pounding underneath.

  Charlotte runs back into the library. Shelves slide protectively over the door behind her. The spiral staircase reels into itself like a ribbon. Yet the stained glass remains, shining despite the shadows crawling around its base, scraping against it.

  “Liam, now would be a REALLY good time to wake, the FUCK, UP!” Charlotte shakes him again. A pulse, a breath, but dammit, not a flicker. Too many fights over too short an interval with too little veli for himself and too much magic spent on keeping Charlotte alive.

  Charlotte grips Liam’s hands tighter, tighter. “House, we can’t run. Help us hide, please, you amazing House, please?”

  Pounding at the window.

  Pounding in the hall.

  Pounding at the doors.

  Gnashing.

  Clawing.

  A trap door appears before the hearth. Charlotte drags Liam in and shuts the door. They’re crouched just beneath the fireplace, warm and dry and completely dark. “Hide the door,” she whispers, “hide the door, hide the door, hide…”

  The door vanishes, sealing the crawlspace.

  Then Rose House moans, and a wall somewhere inside explodes.

  “Where are they?!” The voice swings through the air like a club, heavy and angry—Campion. No one else living in The Lady’s ranks would yell demands out like that. “You two, find a way to let the others in. You two, find a way to get to the third floor!” Another explosion. Debris strikes the library floor like gunfire.

  Heavy footfalls march above them. Deep sniffs like a bloodhound’s nose drag along the floor.

  Charlotte holds Liam behind her. If Campion and his bunch burst through, they will meet her first, and she will go out in such bloody glory, with the gift of Liam’s breath upon her neck as goodbye—STOP THAT. But Charlotte draws the blood dagger and listens as shelves are torn down and chairs are thrown against the window.

  “Why won’t this break?” a gritty voice asks.

  “The same reason the stairs go to a ceiling.” Campion sounds way too mellow for this. “Miss Pretty Tricks has been at it again.”

  Slithering. Scraping. Clawing. Heavy, wet breathing, sloppy breathing, creepy breathing. “Lee-ahhh-mmm…” Slither, scrape. “Mmm-aaiiii… bee-luhhh-ved.” Slurp, suck. “Fffiiind… heeem.” Slither, claw, slurp, slurp.

  “No, we haven’t found the princeborn—hang on. I think one’s managed to get to the balcony.” Campion’s footfalls leave.

  Breathing stays.

  “M-my Lady, shouldn’t you aaaah!” A body falls, and the gritty voice’s question is lost to claws, teeth, and gurgling. Limbs writhe above Charlotte’s head.

  Breathing quickens, scarfing, laughing, sighing.

  Claws scrape. Scrape again. Just above Liam’s head.

  “My lady!” Campion again. “There’s humans upstairs, hearts intact.” His steps have to be right next to the body. He…he kicks the thing over. “Still hungry?”

  Breathing grunts.

  “I’ll see what I can beat from the others. HEY! SAVE SOME FOR THE LADY!”

  Scraping and knocking of books off shelves.

  Breathing quickens.

  Claws scrape. Something sinuous slithers across the floor.

  Only one creature makes that sound. And only one would eat one of her own: Orna, the Lady of the Pits.

  The Voice in Charlotte’s heart whispers, You must leave without being seen.

  Uh, yeah, I got that. But how?

  Trust Rose House.

  Claws scrape. Breathing pants.

  Okay
, House, I can only think this. No time to talk. We need a way out to safety. Out to safety, out to safety… Charlotte weaves her fingers with Liam’s as she holds the dagger against the wall and thinks, thinks, thinks.

  Laughter from above. Shrieks and cries from the murderers who escaped humanity’s law only to be hunted by Velidevour. But Charlotte cannot think about that. She must think of a way out. A way out of Rose House to Arlen and the others. And then, a way to fight back.

  Thin orange flames lick the feather engraving of the blood dagger as she thinks, hopes, envisions a secret way out—

  The stone beneath her hand turns to dust. A breeze carrying the scent of fresh water reaches her nostrils. The tunnel is big enough to crawl in without rubbing against the sides.

  Charlotte sheathes Liam’s dagger and back-crawls to drag Liam away from that damn scraping, sniffing, breathing, all of it. Dirt floods the space behind them—the Lady will find nothing now.

  The tunnel dips slightly before leveling into black silence. Charlotte closes her eyes to let her nose fix upon the lake water, the fresh air. Air means a hole. And after a few minutes, Charlotte feels light’s warmth upon her eyelids.

  The light thinly frames a heavy wooden door in the earth above her head. Charlotte presses her ear to it, waits…no sound. She carefully pushes the door up and squints through a crack large enough to reveal the small cove in the lake where the bear cub had been trapped. This portion of the western woods had been haunted for far too long by the She-Bear, so the Incomplete Velidevour would never come here unless they had no choice.

  Charlotte casts out her senses. Nothing to see, hear, smell. But there’s no way in hell she can drag Liam along Lake Aranina’s shore on a search for Devyn and the other scouts. Any sort of signal to get Dorjan’s attention would help the Incomplete find them, too. Staying here would only last so long: they’d have to seal the door and bury themselves, hope to be found…

  No.

  Charlotte deftly closes the door and huddles next to Liam. “Liam.” Barely a whisper. Charlotte tucks curls away from his face and searches for an eyelid flutter, a twitch, anything. “Liam, you have to wake up.” His head falls upon her chest, where her burns from Uncle Mattie—do NOT think about that. She lifts his head to face hers. “Please, Liam, I know you’re tired, but you’ve got to try for a little longer. Please.”