The Kingmaker Series, #1 Read online

  Everleigh sat in her chamber and flicked through the pages.

  It had all the information behind the tradition of the Kingmaker and it also had a page for every Kingmaker through the history of the Realm, with their likeness and story, the date they were born and the date they were sacrificed.

  On the last written page was her name, the date that she was born and the day that she would be sacrificed.

  She hadn’t known that word. She was only ten.

  It was times like that she had missed her mother the most. Without her to turn to she asked Nurse and she had told her: it was the offering of an animal, plant or human life, usually to please the gods.

  When Everleigh asked what an offering was, Nurse got a little teary eyed and had run out of the room.

  And then Everleigh asked her brothers.

  She could still remember the look on both of their faces.

  Macsen had looked wide eyed and frightened. He bit his lip, and tears filled his eyes. He took a step towards her, he was so much taller, almost grown at fifteen, and slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  Millard’s reaction was completely different. His eyes were bright, but not with tears, Everleigh was only ten and hadn’t been able to read his expression. But she knew it wasn’t sorrow. He turned his mouth down and tried to look sad, but his eyes were shining with something else.

  With the sad look plastered on his face, he stepped between Everleigh and Macsen, “You’re the Kingmaker. You are the offering. You will die and one of us will be King.” Millard had been thirteen at the time.

  And so, it dawned on her.

  And once it dawned on her, it became the very beat of her heart.

  From that day forward her first thought upon waking was that she was going to die. Her last thought before going to sleep was that she was going to die – but not naturally or at the random hands of fate like other people. Her death was decided when they announced she was a girl born and not another boy. She would die at the hands of someone on the morning of her seventeenth birthday. It was decided.

  Everything was coloured by her role as Kingmaker.

  When her father disclosed the girls that her brothers would be betrothed to – should they live and rule, she couldn’t stop thinking that she would never be matched, that she would never dance in the arms of the man that she loved while he gazed adoringly in to her eyes.

  Her role and her duty defined her so completely.

  And now the countdown had really begun, less than one week left of her short, special life.

  Halfreda

  I HAVE BEEN SLEEPING so much more than normal. I believe the dreams are sending me messages. I have such a strong feeling about this one – stronger than I have ever had before; I think she might be the one.

  I know what people think when they look at me, half of them revere me and half of them fear me.

  I admit I exaggerate my persona but never ever my powers. My powers are real. I know things and I see things. I see things that haven’t happened yet but will happen. I know a person’s heart – I can see greatness and badness, trust or ill will. I know if someone is cursed before they tell me. I know if a woman is with child before she does. I know the private thoughts of people. Some people. Not everyone – some people are good at hiding their true self, blocking off the signals I pick up, but for the most part I can.

  My persona is something else. I do have a little fun with the chanting – not all of which is strictly necessary. I enjoy staring at someone and then letting my eyes roll back in my head as if I have been overcome with some secret thing to do with them – that trick gets everyone in a fluster.

  But I’m a good woman and a useful one. I do help the King. I use my powers to advise him. I use my knowledge to guide him and I have never shown him wrong. The Realm is peaceful and prosperous, and I know that I have helped with that.

  But my real purpose, the reason my teacher placed me here at the castle, has eluded me thus far. Through no fault of my own, I must add.

  So, the blessing is over and here I am making up a future fire to see what I can see.

  I’ve gathered the wood and started the fire, the flames licking upwards and warming my room. I’ve put all the necessary ingredients in to my bowl over the fire. The liquid is swirling. I’m trying to see if my hunch is correct. If I’m right about Everleigh.

  Ah, I’m fed up of this puzzle. The fire will not show me anything, but does that mean I am wrong or that the future is too uncertain?

  Where is my knowledge now?

  Every time a Kingmaker comes to this final countdown in their life I intervene. Everleigh is the seventh Kingmaker I have known. That may give you an idea of my age I know, and yes, I am older than anyone I have ever met.

  The teacher told me I will live until my life’s purpose is completed and my life’s purpose is to find the Kingmaker who is not the Kingmaker.

  Does that even make sense?

  When I met my teacher, I was only a teenager. I was rebelling against my power and trying to drown out my knowledge and gift with drink. Alcohol dulled the power and the voices inside me.

  My teacher helped me, guided me and allowed me to live with my power, enjoying the help it gave me and embracing it fully. He also told me that I had been chosen for a special and important purpose.

  He asked me if I had heard of the Kingmaker. Of course, I had – everyone had. The Kingmaker was a sacred tradition used to choose the new King of the Realm.

  The teacher had been privy to a prophecy told years ago, which told of the one Kingmaker who would not die, she instead would rule as the Queen and the greatest ruler that the Realm had ever known.

  I was to learn my craft and then go to the castle and work as a wise woman to assist the King. But every time the Kingmaker feast came around, I was to secretly meet the Kingmaker and test if she was the future Queen.

  I have a feeling with this one that I’ve never had before. I’m more excited than I’ve been previously to test her. I’m nervous too. The one thing the teacher never told me was what happened next. If I found the Kingmaker who should be Queen, how did I convince anyone else?

  My fire has let me down. I leave it to die and decide to finish for the night. After all, if she does as I’ve asked, I will meet Everleigh at the river at sunrise, which isn’t that far away.

  I lay in my bed, watching the embers of the fire flicker away, and as I do I see a crown forming in the smoke. Is it a trick of my imagination or is it a sign?

  I drift off to sleep pondering.

  2

  EVERLEIGH LEAVES THE feast with Addyson, her eyes are closing as she sits and her speech is sleepy. She lifts her up. “Come on sleepy head.”

  Addyson snuggles closer to her sister, stealing her warmth and closing her eyes fully. “I don’t want you to die.” Her voice is a whisper, but Everleigh hears her; one tear rolling down her cheek. Her death only upsets her now in relation to how it will hurt others. She is resigned to it but would love to spare her family the pain.

  “Addy, baby, it’s always been coming. I wish I could stay with you. But you’ll be fine. Whichever of the boys is King will look after you even better than I do. I promise.”

  “Stay with me.” Her voice is so quiet and Everleigh doesn’t know if she means now or forever. She lays her in her warm bed, a little maid already in place, and tucks her in. She won’t change her into night clothes and risk waking her fully, but kisses her forehead and her cheeks, resting her lips against her sweet soft skin, tears wetting her. She wipes them gently so as not to wake her. Poor little cursed Addyson. What would happen to her without her big sister to love and protect her? Everleigh is glad in a way that she will never know.

  Lanorie has readied a bath for Everleigh while she is taking Addyson to bed. The feast will go on for hours, but as a young princess Everleigh has a curfew she must stick to, no matter what celebrations are going on at the castle. Macsen and Millard are still enjoying the feast, which seems unfair to Lanorie. Eve
rleigh isn’t bothered, though.

  “The boys always get to do more than me. It’s only because I insisted to mother that I learned to read, write, ride a horse and shoot an arrow that I did anything. Most princesses sew, sing and play the lute.”

  Lanorie starts undressing her, unravelling the ties that do up her dress at the back. It’s a stunningly beautiful dress, made of shimmering red silk with panels of lace and satin. It’s not even one of her best dresses and it is breath taking. She undoes her necklace – a gold chain with a thick ruby hanging off it like a tear drop and takes off her bracelets and rings.

  “Still, unfair if you ask me.”

  Everleigh laughs. “I’d rather go to sleep. My feet are hurting – I can’t believe father danced with me. He never dances. Oh, weren’t the singers great? I loved it.”

  Lanorie holds Everleigh’s hand as she steps in to the bath. It is steaming hot and filled with fragrant petals. Lanorie grins. “It was the best party we’ve ever had, I’m just sad that-”

  Everleigh interrupts her. “Don’t now Lanny. We know it’s coming. It’s fine.”

  Lanorie purses her lips, nodding. Everleigh hates talking about her death, understandably. “Fine, how was the blessing then. I couldn’t see or hear a thing. How scary is Halfreda?”

  Everleigh laughs and sinks a bit lower in the bath. She shakes her head, “Halfreda doesn’t scare me at all. She’s so clever and gentle.”

  Lanorie shudders and shakes her head. “Is she the one who...?” She can’t finish the question.

  Everleigh nods and closes her eyes. Halfreda is the one who will slit her throat and collect the sacrificial blood in two cups – one for each brother.

  Lanorie shudders again and sits on the floor next to the tub. She trails her hand in the water, causing the petals to twirl and dance.

  “Tell me about the blessing, then.”

  Everleigh keeps her eyes closed. Maybe if she does, it will all go away? Be a bad dream. She thinks about the feast and the blessing.

  The feast had been spectacular, even though it was strange to be an honoured guest at a feast that marked the almost end of your life.

  The food, drink, singing and dancing had all been wonderful. Everleigh had almost forgotten why they were there. She had danced with her father and chatted with her brothers and drunk far too much wine.

  Then her father had taken her arm and led her to the throne. She had felt as though this was her execution day.

  The butterflies in her stomach had seemed to multiply and multiply until they filled her up and she could hardly breathe for their swooping.

  She had to kneel on the floor, her head bent in supplication, while she waited to see what happened next.

  “You’ll be fine, darling,” the King had whispered to her.

  Everleigh had kept her head down and nodded. She didn’t know what to say. She might be fine now, but she wouldn’t be for long.

  The next thing she had seen was the scruffy hem of Halfreda’s dress. Halfreda wasn’t too bothered with physical appearance and tended to wear the same dress and hooded cloak every day. Her hair was long and silver, always curled into a bun at the base of her neck and usually covered by the cloak’s hood. She always dressed in black and had the appearance of an old crow as she moved around the castle and the grounds.

  “Child.” Halfreda’s voice had sounded as old as she looked. Everleigh wasn’t sure how old Halfreda was but she was certainly the oldest person in the castle. Even her lines had lines, her wrinkles had wrinkles.

  Halfreda had put her hand on Everleigh’s head. She had flinched at the touch.

  “Child, do not fear me.” Her voice was low and sounded like it came from far away. Like it came from her mouth but journeyed a thousand miles before it reached Everleigh’s ears. As though it saw wonders and dangers and sadness, happiness, joy and fear and then burdened by the world, whispered whatever she needed to say.

  “Child, your job is a difficult one, but a special, sacred and important one. Rise up.”

  Everleigh had stood as instructed but found her legs were wobbly.

  “Rise Kingmaker. Rise history shaper, history maker. Rise Kingmaker.”

  Halfreda had then moved around her, chanting low and strange words that Everleigh didn’t understand.

  “Kneel.” Halfreda instructed her again and Everleigh did as she was told.

  She could hear her father stand up from the throne and call Macsen and Millard forward.

  Everleigh saw her brother’s feet but still didn’t raise her eyes.

  “Rise, child,” Halfreda said and Everleigh stood. Halfreda had a hand on each of her brother’s heads. She took Everleigh’s hands and laid one on Macsen’s head and one Millard’s head.

  Everleigh saw her life with her brothers as she touched them. Games they had played, trouble they had got in to, laughs, jokes, teasing and tears.

  “Boys, kneel,” Halfreda said. And they did.

  Halfreda had started chanting again in a different language. Everleigh kept her hands on her brother’s heads, feeling the soft warmth. She had never forgotten that her sacrifice would kill one of her brothers. What an awful curse being the Kingmaker was. She would die, one of them would die and her father would be pushed aside. The traditions of the Realm were so far beyond her comprehension it didn’t seem fair that she had to abide by them.

  Eventually Halfreda’s droning had stopped and the boys had stood up. They had all embraced, the King included.

  Before Everleigh had returned to her seat, Halfreda had gently touched her on her arm and said: “Meet me at the river at sunrise. Tell no one.”

  Everleigh had been taken aback. Why would the wise woman need to see her alone? Was it part of the blessing? Or something else?

  Everleigh opens her eyes and smiles at Lanorie – her maid and her friend. “It was less scary than I thought.”

  “What did she say?” Lanorie wants all the details to tell Cook later.

  Everleigh shakes her head. “I don’t know. Mostly it was some funny language. Lots of chanting.”

  Lanorie’s smile drops. Everleigh knows she is disappointed. “Sorry, Lanny, but it wasn’t that exciting.”

  “Well, it looked exciting.”

  Everleigh laughs and sits up and Lanorie washes her hair. One of the little maids has brought jugs of hot water for Lanorie to rinse Everleigh’s hair and the other one is warming her bedclothes by the fire.

  Lanorie helps Everleigh out of the water and wraps her in a cloak to dry.

  Everleigh yawns. “It’s been a long day.”

  “We’ll get you dressed and leave you.” Lanorie nods to the two little maids. One brings a hairbrush and Lanorie starts brushing Everleigh’s long dark hair, letting the fire dry it as she does so. Then she dresses her in her warm nightclothes. Lastly, she pulls back the bed covers and takes out the hot bricks that have been warming it.

  Everleigh lies down and tucks the covers up to her chin. Her room is warm now, but the fire will die out through the night. She loves her room. It is enormous, with an area to bathe, an area to sit and play instruments or cards and her bed. Her brothers both have several rooms that connect, one for sleeping, one for bathing, and one for everything else. Everleigh likes having one big space. Her room is bright and light.

  Lanorie kisses Everleigh on her cheek and the two little maids curtsey deeply before backing out of the room.

  “Good night, Everleigh, sleep well.”

  “Thanks Lanny, you too.”

  Lanorie closes the heavy door behind her and Everleigh turns on her side, snuggling deeper in to her blankets, enjoying the warm spots from the bricks, then smiling to herself that such a simple thing could bring her enjoyment when she has so little time left to live. She pushes the thought from her head as she always does. When anyone asks her about her life as the Kingmaker – or more accurately, her death – she always shrugs and tells them that she is what she is.

  The truth is, if she questions it too close
ly, thinks about the reality, really thinks about Halfreda slitting her throat and her dying in front of a cheering crowd, she will go insane. The same way her mother did because she knew her first born daughter would die; she can’t let it happen to her. The way to cope, the only way to survive until they sacrifice her, is to dwell on it as little as possible.

  Why cry and wail over the love she won’t experience, the first dance, the first kiss? Why upset herself wishing for a child to call her own? Why think of anything except the here and now. And the here and now is six days. She has six days to live. And then a woman she has always loved and trusted will kill her.

  She shivers and turns over a few times, trying to get comfortable. Time to think of something else, anything else.

  There is the gentlest of knocks and she knows who it is before he pushes the door open.

  Will pokes his head around. “You’re in bed! The shame.”

  Everleigh smiles. She is never to be alone with a man, but everyone accepts her friendship with Will; he is not judged as a threat to her reputation.

  Will is the fool’s son, though not technically, as the fool is celibate, no woman would ever allow herself to fall in love with the fool; by the nature of his role he is ridiculed and never taken seriously. Will was abandoned as a baby at the fool’s front door and he hadn’t the heart to turn him away. He looked after him as his own, and Will is such a hoot, he is following in his father’s footsteps. He doesn’t dress like a fool yet, he just wears the castle livery most of the time, but he has a fool’s look. Everleigh can’t tell if it’s his eyes and the way they are just slightly too far apart, or his crazy wild curls, or just because she knows what he will be.

  “How are you, sweetest pea?” He lopes to the bed and sits next to her. Everleigh sits up and lays her head on his shoulder.

  “I’m coping. I feel nervous and sick and frightened more than I ever thought I would be. But I am determined to keep my head.”