The Eidolons of Myrefall Read online

  The Eidolons of Myrefall

  Sarah McCarthy

  To my mom

  Contents

  Also by Sarah McCarthy

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Acknowledgments

  More

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2019 Sarah McCarthy

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover art by Fantasy Book Design.

  Edited by Kate Huebner and Rebecca Friedman.

  Also by Sarah McCarthy

  Shadows of Magic

  1

  Thirty-two days was Arabel Fossey’s limit, and now she was going out the window. If you had asked her a month ago how long she would allow herself to be locked in a room without doing anything about it, she would have said no amount of time was acceptable. But then, once she found herself actually locked up, with the tiny window looking thirty feet down the sheer side of the castle wall, things became more complicated.

  For one, there were annoying things to think about like food and warm clothes and where she was going to go. But after being locked in her room for thirty-two days, and after being trapped in this castle her whole life, Arabel welcomed the uncertainty. It sounded pretty fantastic, actually. Except for the demons. But that was a problem for when she was out of the castle.

  Arabel pressed her ear to the polished wood door and listened. Nothing. No maids coming to brush out her hair or turn down the bed. No soldiers on patrols. Not the heavy footfalls of her father.

  When she was satisfied no one was coming, she yanked her leather satchel out from under her bed and pulled the strap over her head, the bag hanging over her right hip. She rotated it back a bit to get it out of the way and touched the small emerald pendant that hung around her neck, the only token she had from the mother she couldn’t remember. She crossed to the window and paused, tying her messy brown hair back to keep it out of her face.

  Arabel undid the catch and swung the window open. Soft spring air blew in and she took a long, deep breath, feeling the sun on her face, then hitched up her blue linen gown and hoisted herself up. Below the window was sheer stone, not a handhold to be seen, but above the window a thin drainpipe ran diagonally towards a gable roof five feet below and ten feet over. Arabel reached up and tugged on the pipe, testing whether it would hold her weight. It felt solid enough. She tugged harder. It wiggled a little.

  Slowly, keeping her legs inside the window, she reached up with her other hand and gripped the pipe, hot from the sun. She began lifting herself up, putting more and more of her weight on the pipe. It held, and Arabel grinned. She lifted her left hand and moved it a foot to her left, then did the same with her right hand. The pipe jiggled under her weight but held. Hand over hand she went, inching farther and farther out the window until she could swing her legs out, dangling them down the wall.

  This isn’t so bad. This is fine. She was almost halfway there. The metal was starting to burn, though. She let go with one hand and licked her palm, holding it up in the breeze to cool. A bee buzzed past her face and she ignored it. She was just tucking a strand of flyaway hair back into its tie when she heard a door bang open.

  “Arabel?” It was the thin, cracked voice of Elyrin, her father’s sorcerer. She cursed herself for not closing the window behind her. Well, maybe he wouldn’t notice. She heard the creak of her wardrobe door, and the rustle of clothes being pushed aside. “Arabel?”

  A head of wispy white hair stuck out the window, staring down at the ground. Arabel hung silently, still one-handed. Maybe if she kept perfectly motionless, he wouldn’t look this way.

  His head turned and his eyes widened in horror.

  “Arabel Fossey, what in all the Holy Order are you—”

  “Nothing. I’m busy. Come back later.”

  Elyrin shut his mouth and eyed her. His thin white hand went to the circular gold medallion dangling from his neck. Arabel’s eyes narrowed.

  “Arabel, please come inside and discuss this.”

  “No, thank you. I’ve already discussed this at length with Cecil.”

  “Your father is simply trying to protect you.”

  “That’s great. He can continue doing that. I’m leaving.”

  Arabel gripped the hot pipe with both hands and resumed inching her way along. Her left arm was starting to shake with exertion now. She let go and hung with the right arm to give it a break.

  “And what, pray tell, is your plan once you reach the ground?”

  She ignored him.

  “Your father is Lord Protector of this city, there is nowhere you can go he does not know about. There is no one who will harbor you against his wishes.”

  “That’s why I’m leaving the city,” Arabel said.

  “There is no merchant caravan who will defy him, either.”

  “I know.” Arabel was over halfway there, now. Just a few more feet to go.

  “You plan to go alone?” His reedy voice was incredulous. “Your soul will be demon fodder by nightfall.”

  One thing at a time.

  “You have no plan,” he said. “Do you intend to end up like your mother, then?”

  “Obviously not.” She’d figure something out.

  “You would not speak so flippantly, had you ever been outside my wards,” he said, just barely loud enough for her to hear. “Nor if you had seen what was left of your mother when the demons finished with her soul.” He gazed out over the red rooftops of Myrefall, at the wilds beyond. Then he looked at her, his expression pained. “I am sorry, Arabel. Your father is wrong to keep you locked away. It is an…extreme position. I will speak with him.”

  “Thank you, but I doubt that will help.” She moved a few inches farther and was just about to leap for the roof when a wave of dizziness washed over her. Half a second later, every muscle in her body seized up. She struggled, but her body wouldn’t respond. She craned her neck to glare back at Elyrin. Only a slight tremor in his right hand showed the magic he worked. “Let me go, Elyrin.”

  “I apologize, lady, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to go to your death.”

  “So, if it weren’t for the demons, you’d let me go?” she said f
latly.

  “If… if your father were truly not amenable to any compromise.”

  She had an idea. “Well, make me a ward, then.”

  His eyebrows lifted.

  “You’ve made them for merchants before, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So, if you make me a ward I can leave without the demons getting me.”

  “I… a ward is by no means perfect, Arabel. And demons aren’t the only danger.”

  “I’m not defenseless,” she said, thinking of the short sword stuffed in her bag.

  He considered this. “You must agree to let me discuss your situation with your father first.”

  “Only if you don’t tell him I plan on escaping.” He’d wise up and lock her someplace without a window. She’d still get out, but it would be harder.

  “Of course,” Elyrin said, his watery blue eyes meeting hers.

  She weighed the chance he was lying against the chance of her finding another way to keep from being eaten by demons. “OK,” she said. Her muscles unlocked; her body was hers again, and she began inching her way back to the window. Elyrin withdrew.

  Arabel swung back in the window, landing softly and massaging her shaking arm muscles. Elyrin sighed in relief. He was standing a few feet away, his shoulders hunched. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his white robe, the turquoise and gold stitching glinting in the sunlight. He looked much older than his fifty-seven years; the strain of working magic over his whole life had left him pale, his skin almost translucent, the turquoise threads mirroring the thin tracing of blue veins.

  “Thank you, Arabel. I will speak with your father this evening.”

  “OK.”

  “If he does not agree, I will do what you ask. You have my word.”

  “Thank you. How long will that take?”

  “A week, approximately.”

  Arabel nodded, then sighed. She doubted her father would relent. Still, seven days was a reasonable price to pay for a way past the demons.

  2

  Elyrin sat in the rocking chair in the corner of her room, reading her father’s demands.

  “The daughter may exit her room once she is able to act in accordance with her station. Namely: One. Wear the attire befitting her role in Myrefall. Two. Attend all state functions.” Elyrin cleared his throat. “While acting appropriately.”

  Arabel suppressed a giggle. Elyrin eyed her and continued. “Meaning, said daughter will hereby dance with all potential suitors and refrain from all displays of unladylike behavior including but not limited to fainting, vomiting, pretending to vomit, tripping people, falling, nudity, and juggling.”

  Arabel frowned and picked at one of the scars on her arm. “Juggling is ladylike.”

  Elyrin cleared his throat and continued. “Said daughter will also greet all foreign dignitaries in the appropriate manner and refrain from any further conversation. There will be no discussion of the following topics, including but not limited to monsters, affairs, superstitions, death, the afterlife, butlers, money, politics, cows, farm animals of any kind, goats, bears, merchants, minstrels, or bakeries.”

  “But people love talking about those things!”

  “Three. Said daughter will prepare for her future life as a wife and lady, preferably in a faraway city state. She shall select a suitor in an appropriate—in the next three months—time frame. Said suitor must have respectable political and economic connections. Four. Said daughter will be silent and smiling unless spoken to.”

  “All of those are totally unreasonable.”

  Elyrin looked up at her over the paper. “We all have our roles to play in life.”

  “Well, that’s not my role.”

  “We don’t often get to choose. We do what is right.”

  “This isn’t about right or wrong. It’s just a list of things he wants. Why should he get to decide what I do?”

  Elyrin cleared his throat. “I understand your concerns. This is the cost of your station, however.”

  “Well, he can keep his station, then. I’m leaving. How long until the ward is ready?”

  Elyrin’s eyes fell to the emerald pendant she wore, then flicked away. “Just a few more days.”

  The next morning, Arabel was summoned to the throne room. It was where she and her father had most of their chats. He liked to remind her exactly who had the power.

  “What’s he want this time?” she asked, but the two soldiers who had come to escort her remained silent. She knew them, knew their faces, but they never spoke to her. Her hands clenched around the soft blue fabric of her skirt and she kicked at the frilly white lining with her stupid useless beaded slippers. Wearing clothes that would trip you if you didn’t hold them up with both hands was idiotic.

  Maybe Elyrin had broken his promise. He hadn’t seemed to be dragging his feet; from what he’d said the construction of the ward was going well. But what else could it be? He must have betrayed her. She knew he’d agreed to that too easily. She eyed an open window as they passed. Tempting.

  The creak of the hinges echoed off the vaulted ceiling as the soldiers pushed the dark oak door open, holding it for her and inclining their heads forward as she passed. She swept into the enormous stone chamber, lit by a bank of stained-glass windows at the far end. Yellow and red blocks of color streaked the sandstone floor. Two long dark shadows stretched out towards her. Visitors.

  Their backs were turned to her. They looked weather-beaten, their boots dark and scuffed, their leather jerkins stained. Swords hung comfortably at their sides. There was strength and power in their postures. The taller of the two was a woman with her dark brown hair in a severe braid down her back. A bruise purpled her neck. She was long-limbed and stood with her weight balanced solidly between her feet.

  Her companion was a young man with short, jet-black hair. Streaks of dirt ran down his side; a blood-soaked rag had been tied around his upper arm.

  What stood out most, though, were the weapons slung across their backs: long wooden staves with what looked like blown glass at either end. The glass ends were in the shape of closed flower buds about to burst and glowed with a flickering light deep within. Arabel couldn’t imagine they’d be much use in a fight, not if you were trying to keep from breaking that glass.

  Arabel approached curiously, keeping her expression blank. Were these scouts? Emissaries from a neighboring city state? Or was this some trick of her father’s? He’d hired people to pretend to be messengers before.

  They turned and watched her approach. The woman’s eyes swept down and up, evaluating. She had a deep gash over her right eyebrow.

  Arabel turned to the younger of the two; he was only about an inch taller than she was, and she found herself looking into thoughtful grey eyes. They didn’t look like the eyes of someone her father had paid off. He wore a simple dark green tunic under his leather jerkin, a belt slung around his waist at an angle. There was a tension in his jaw, and his hand rested casually on his sword hilt.

  “This is my daughter, Arabel.” Arabel didn’t have to look at her father to see the smirk on his face, but she did anyway. Yep, there it was. He sat tall in his throne, the gold circlet resting on his forehead, compressing his dark, albeit quickly greying, hair.

  “Arabel, this is Master Naomi Albury and Acolyte David Mellor of the guardians.”

  Arabel’s eyes widened. Demon-fighters? The guardians were an ancient, bloody order that barely even existed anymore. This was a new one, even for her father. She scanned the exits.

  “Hello,” David said, nodding and giving a slight, formal bow. Naomi inclined her head briefly.

  “Hi,” Arabel said.

  “You will be returning with them to Castle Claria where you will begin training as a guardian.” Arabel’s self-control slipped and she gaped at him. He caught her expression and the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.

  A gasp came from the shadows at her father’s side. It was Elyrin. “Sir, you can’t possibly—” He looked at the
two guardians with distaste. “That… that is tantamount to a death sentence.”

  “Oh, have more faith in her than that. It is tantamount to exactly what she needs to knock some sense into her.”

  Arabel watched his face closely, trying to see what was underneath.

  “It is not her abilities I doubt,” Elyrin went on, clearly uncomfortable arguing with his master in public. “It is the guardians themselves. They—” He lowered his voice further, but his whisper was still clearly audible, echoing loudly through the hall. “They are degenerates.”

  “This from a blood-sucking sorcerer,” Naomi spat.

  David’s hand tightened on his sword hilt, and Naomi glowered. If this was a performance, it was the best one Arabel had seen yet.

  “I know exactly what the guardians are, Elyrin, thank you.”

  Elyrin darted a glance at Naomi, then turned back to Cecil. “They are deeply immoral, sir. Please, I invite you to reconsider. The guardians are completely obsolete these days, an unfortunate relic of a bloodier—”

  Steel rang out as Naomi unsheathed her sword in one fluid movement. “People have heard enough of your lies,” she said, levelling the blade at Elyrin’s throat. His face flushed, and he swallowed hard. His voice quieted but shook only slightly as he continued.