Betrayed

  Contents

  Title page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THANK YOU

  ALSO BY THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BETRAYED

  The Taellaneth - Book 3

  Vanessa Nelson

  BETRAYED

  The Taellaneth - Book 3

  Vanessa Nelson

  Copyright © 2018 Vanessa Nelson

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction.

  All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or in part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Click or visit:

  http://www.taellaneth.com

  Cover design by Lou Harper at CoverAffairs.com

  For my fellow alumni of the online self-editing course Autumn 2014 and our fabulous tutors

  It’s hard to believe the course was so long ago!

  Your sharp insights, wisdom and humour have helped me more than you can know

  No green socks in this story, though!

  .

  CHAPTER ONE

  The air was saturated with the heady scent of spring, fresh green and citrus cut through with the coolness of water. The burner was turned as low as Arrow could manage, the pot simmering gently, mixture almost the right shade of green. Almost. Almost.

  Even as she reached for the handle to take the pot off the heat, the colour shifted in a blink from forest green to mud brown, the scent of growing replaced by a stink Arrow had no reference for.

  “Oh, fur and fang,” she said to the uncaring air, borrowing a favourite phrase of the ‘kin, and ducked under the workbench, tucking her legs and arms underneath its shelter, covering her head with her hands.

  Above her the pot exploded silently, the brown, sticky, stinking stuff spattering every surface. An impossible volume from such a small vessel. It coated the large workspace. The wooden bench. The concrete floor. The pale, painted walls. The plasterboard lining the ceiling, high overhead. The skylights. The side of the vehicle parked several feet away.

  Pieces of the pot, a hardened ceramic that had been extremely expensive, clattered to the floor next to Arrow’s feet. She took a moment to be glad she had worn socks today.

  Breathing in the fumes, she tried to find something else to be grateful for as her eyes watered with the smell. All the cupboard doors were closed, the open shelves covered with heavy duty tarpaulin. Cleaning up was going to be easier. This time. After the first two attempts had resulted in similar explosions, noxious stuff spread all over her workspace, coating her few, precious, books, and her, she had learned to be cautious. Numerous attempts later, and she felt she was making progress. At least she had a routine for cleaning now.

  When the bits of pot had settled, she cautiously crept out from under the bench, wrinkling her nose, then coughing on the fumes as she straightened. The words of the cleaning spell stuck in her throat and she had to cough some more before she could send the spell out. She made a mental note to pre-prepare a household cleansing spell for next time.

  Silver magic rose around her, cutting through the stench and spiralling out across all the surfaces, the magic finding its way into every crevice that the potion had gone, leaving pure, clear surfaces behind. The cleansing spell gathered the noxious remnants into a tight ball in the room’s fireplace, then set that alight, burning fast and hot, until there was only another handful of ash to add to the pile already in the grate.

  With the surfaces clear, she sent another flare of magic up to the ceiling to open the skylights, letting out the remnants of the smell and letting in some fresh air, carrying the faintest scent of spring.

  Worst of the damage taken care of, she bundled the bits of pot into a waste bag and padded across the floor to the large waste bin in the corner. The bits of pot clinked together and clashed with their brethren as they hit the other bags already there.

  Arrow sighed, looking at the number of bags in the bin, each one a failed attempt. She turned back to the workspace and shook her head slightly. It was so clean it was almost sparkling. No evidence of the explosion or further failure.

  She had run out of ceramic pots now, the half dozen the shifkin had provided all now in the waste bin along with at least three metal containers. She was not using metal pots again. The explosion sharpened metal into knife-like shards. She still had a bandage on one arm covering a cut that had come too close to an artery for comfort.

  About a month had passed since the rogue magician had been defeated in the Taellaneth. An Erith lord thought long dead but in fact melded with a surjusi, a malevolent spirit from another realm. Between them, the Erith and surjusi had been powerful, skilled in forbidden magic, leaving a trail of dead behind and gathering support for their hatred of the Erith among disaffected humans. Defeating them had come at a cost. Erith, human and shifkin lives had been lost in the rogue’s quest for revenge and power.

  Arrow had held the rogue down in the middle of the Taellaneth’s most powerful spells, sent the surjusi back to its realm. And been summarily dismissed, the Erith wanting no more to do with her after her oath-service to them had been completed.

  The shifkin had given her shelter. The building around her that hummed with layers of warding, space enough for an entire cadre of White Guard and more besides, and all for her personal use, although she spent most of her time in the workspace. Released from the Erith’s restrictions, she could use her magic freely for the first time in her life and even the simplest spells brought their own delight, the course of power running through her, shaping to her will.

  The weeks spent here had been more than pleasant. No one had tried to kill her. She had her own space. The ‘kin had also provided her with a vehicle to use. And, although they gave her work, it was not enough to fill her time. It was a completely new experience to have time for herself, time that was not taken up with chores.

  Chores that had previously taken days under the Erith’s restriction on the use of her magic, could now be done in moments. She could clean the entire building, all the crockery and utensils she had used, all her clothing, and her person if she wanted to, with a few simple cleansing spells, and for several days had cleaned everything apart from herself every morning and night, just because she could, and taking long, hot showers or long baths filled with scented bubbles, delighting in being clean and having a never-ending supply of hot water.

  It was strange to be able to do as she pleased and she was still experimenting, the freedom a heady experience and daunting at the same time. Curiosity often took her out into the city. Despite her Erith heritage, she could pass for human as long as she kept her ears covered and was careful not to let the power show in her eyes. So, she explored the human world. Visited art galleries and museums. Pretended to read human books in cafes whilst listening to the human conversations around her, fascinated by the variety and complexity.

  As far as she could tell, the human city of Lix continued
much as before, most humans ignorant of the threat that had been so narrowly defeated.

  The weeks that had passed were not long enough for everything to be completely back to normal, of course. Residue of unclean magic clung in places the rogue had used for his spellworking. The shifkin had learned that they were highly sensitive to the aftermath of unclean magic and surjusi impressions on the world. It would not harm them, but they found the traces unpleasant, and some were close to shifkin territory. Zachary Farraway, the shifkin Prime, had asked Arrow to come up with a way of cleaning areas that had been tainted, or had battle magic performed on them.

  It seemed a simple enough task. There were several cleansing spells, some specifically designed to remove surjusi taint and cleanse areas where forbidden magic had been used. It should be straightforward to make a potion, but was not, as the shards of pot in the waste bin proved. Arrow was running out of ideas and increasingly frustrated by her failures. She could cleanse each area, naturally. But that would take time, and would need her to be physically at each site for quite a while with ‘kin escort. The sites were on human land and the ‘kin did not wish to disturb the humans more than they had to or raise awkward questions among the human authorities about why the ‘kin had access to an Erith-trained mage. Besides, they had other requests for her, too. Having a pre-prepared potion that anyone could use, quickly and discreetly, would be worth it. If she could get it right.

  The building’s wards flared for a moment, cutting through her thoughts, announcing a visitor. Welcoming the interruption, Arrow made her way to the front door.

  ~

  The newly-installed, human-made spy camera, an upgrade that the ‘kin were making to all their buildings, showed her a dark vehicle parked at the roadside, and a tall male walking along the short path to the front door. She froze, hand half-raised to the door handle, stomach turning itself into a knot. She knew this Erith, and was not at all sure she wanted to see him.

  Kester vo Halsfeld. Youngest member of the Taellan. Trained warrior. The only Erith ever to kiss her. Her mind slid around the possibilities of why he was here and refused to calm as she forced herself to open the door, and locked her spine to overcome the impulse to bow.

  “My lord.”

  “Arrow.” He inclined his head, a polite greeting that somehow made her conscious of her tangled hair, and the cheap human clothing she wore.

  “You wished to see me?” She could not think of any other reason for him to be here, but it still seemed unlikely.

  “I did.” There was a trace of what might have been laughter in his voice. She could not read his expression.

  “Come in.” She stepped back and had a momentary sense of dislocation as he came into the building, the wards recognising him as a previous visitor. He moved with the fluidity of a trained Erith warrior. She felt graceless and clumsy by comparison.

  Not knowing quite what to do with her uninvited guest, she went back to the workroom. He followed without comment.

  She retreated to the other side of the workbench and faced him across its bright, clean, surface, curious as to why he was here and slightly puzzled. He was looking even more polished than normal, a sharp contrast to her own person. She did not think she had any remnants of potion on her but despite careful washing, she often found bits of herb in her hair as she had a habit of shoving her hair back when she was working, and her fingers were stained, ink difficult to remove with soap and water alone. The ‘kin seemed to find the dishevelled look amusing, not caring what she looked like, but she doubted an Erith lord would share their relaxed attitude.

  “You seem settled here,” he observed, looking around the space, mouth twitching in what might have been a smile as he saw the tarpaulin draped over the shelving. Arrow followed his gaze around the space, wondering what he saw. With the cupboards closed and shelving hidden, he could not see the rows of ingredients she had collected, or the dozens of vials of potions and pre-prepared spells she had created. Even if the cupboard doors had been open and shelves in view, he would not have been able to see the backpack that she had recently bought and started to carefully stock, one item at a time. Things she would need for her travels. A pack big enough to carry essentials and small enough that she could, in fact, carry it. She carefully did not look in that direction. Her plans were still forming and she did not wish to share them.

  “A recent cleansing?” he asked, and that was definitely a smile in his voice. Arrow’s skin heated.

  “A new spell,” she said, then closed her mouth against further explanation. She no longer answered to the Erith. And having this Erith in her workspace was making her uneasy, particularly as she did not know what he wanted. A month of working with the ‘kin, and she preferred a direct approach, so asked, “How may I serve?” It was a traditional Erith request from servant to master, words familiar on her tongue after so many years’ service. His face tightened in response and she frowned inwardly, wondering how she had offended him.

  “You have not returned to the Taellaneth,” he observed.

  “I am banished from the Taellaneth,” she reminded him, brows lifting.

  “I would have preferred to speak with you there,” he said stiffly, back straight. There was nothing in his manner apart from proper Erith outrage, but Arrow’s cheeks scorched. Last time she had seen this particular Erith lord had been unsettling to say the least.

  “You could have requested my presence,” she reminded him. None of the rest of the Taellan would have dreamt of seeking her out. A touch of colour along his high cheekbones drew her attention. “Unless you did not wish the other Taellan to know, of course. What is it, my lord?” She had been sent on enough sensitive errands by Erith lords and ladies over the years that she thought she now recognised the signs. She expected to be sent to one of the higher quality human retail establishments to procure items considered contraband within Erith borders. The ban on human items was upheld particularly within the Taellaneth, the heart of Erith government and the Erith’s showpiece closest to the human world. Chocolate or coffee were always popular human items, no matter how the more tradition-bound Erith might disapprove.

  Instead, he reached into a pocket and drew out a long, slender, flat box. It was Erith made, beautifully crafted of nearly translucent pale wood, a House symbol on its front. Not the Halsfeld House. A crest she did not know. The box was old, humming with quiet magic. A family heirloom. He made a small bow, and passed the box across the surface of the workbench, setting it carefully and precisely near her hands. She felt her brows lift further. She had only seen one of these before in her life, carried with great ceremony by a messenger within the Taellaneth grounds, but knew what it was.

  “A first courtship gift?” She was more than surprised, but kept her voice even. “And who would you like me to deliver it to, my lord?” Among the Erith, courtship could be a tortuously elaborate process. The first gift was normally delivered via intermediaries following a series of delicate conversations and negotiations between the hapless parties’ families. A brief bit of rapid thinking and she concluded that, with his birth House disbanded, this lord might not wish his brother by vestrait to act for him. Using a neutral third party made sense, although she could easily think of at least a half-dozen better candidates for the task.

  “I have delivered it,” he said, voice tight. She frowned, seeing the colour still high in his face.

  “Yes, to me, but who is it intended for, my lord? Perhaps the Lady Suranne, or Lady Aen, or Lady Missel?” All daughters of Taellan Houses, and among the few eligible ladies that she had met. Also among the few eligible ladies who did visit the Taellaneth from time to time, and who she might reasonably be expected to reach. If she were not exiled. Her brows drew together. He seemed to have missed that important point.

  “For none of them.” His face was stiff now, voice clipped. He seemed angry.

  She frowned, looking down at the courtship gift so carefully placed in front of her.

  “You will need to give me a
destination, my lord,” she told him, bending under the counter to fetch a clean, plain square of cloth from one of the boxes there. Careful not to touch the immeasurably precious object, she gathered it into the cloth and wrapped it, focusing on making the folds as neat and precise as possible. Whoever the lady was, she would doubtless appreciate some care having been taken over the gift, and that a half-breed’s hands had not touched it. Most Erith reacted with disgust at her heritage. Placing the wrapped box back on the counter she glanced up and took an involuntary step back, fingers twitching in the first rune of a defensive spell in automatic reflex.

  Kester vo Halsfeld’s eyes blazed pure amber, lips thinned to white, face taut. He was almost entirely still apart from rapid, shallow breathing. She swallowed, hard, not recognising the stranger in front of her.

  “You think to insult me?” he hissed.

  “By no means, my lord,” she began.

  “Stop calling me that.” The sharp words snapped off the glass skylights and echoed back into the room.

  “Of course, svegraen.” She bowed her head, realising she was falling into the learned habits for dealing with enraged shifkin, but, exiled from the Erith and autonomous from them for the first time in her life, she had no precedent or pattern for dealing with an enraged Erith warrior.

  “You consider my gift beneath you?” His voice was low, furious.

  Her mouth opened, no sound emerging for a moment.

  “Beneath … by no means,” she started, stopping again when he gripped the side of the bench with white-knuckled hands and bent forward slightly, amber eyes holding her own. She could not look away for five, long heartbeats, mouth dry.

  “Then you find me unworthy?”

  “I … what?” Arrow blinked, utterly confused.