Mistress of blades, p.1
Mistress of Blades, page 1
Table of Contents
Books by Britt Cooper and Erin Dulin
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
A Map of Fayble
Dedication
Trademark Acknowledgements
Preface
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
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
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About the Authors
Finch Books by Britt Cooper and Erin Dulin
Chronicles of Fayble
Queen of Shadows
Chronicles of Fayble
MISTRESS OF BLADES
BRITT COOPER &
ERIN DULIN
Mistress of Blades
ISBN # 978-1-83943-708-3
©Copyright Britt Cooper & Erin Dulin 2022
Cover Art by Kelly Martin ©Copyright October 2022
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Finch Books
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Finch Books.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Finch Books. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2022 by Finch Books, United Kingdom.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Finch Books is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
Book two in the
Chronicles of Fayble series
Why let slumber rule your destiny when waking is your fate?
A sword, a kiss, a king, a kingdom—a prophecy that put a nation into unyielding sleep. The only hope of her countrymen, Aurora returns home to find that the exiled people of Penzelle have been poisoned. Alongside her guardian Artyrus, she learns the wicked truth when Merlin, the trusted Seer of Chamelaute, reveals that the king has put her people into a deadly slumber.
Despite Merlin’s best efforts to keep the pair in the realm of consciousness, a broken spindle carries them deep into a unified dreamscape, where their only aim is to get everyone out alive. When a series of trials are set to begin within their new reality, an opportunity to pull the vaunted sword Excalibur is revealed, leading Aurora to participate in the hopes that its deliverance will wake Penzelle.
Otherlande presents perils of its own, leaving Aurora and Artyrus contending with subconscious anomalies that would otherwise only exist within the confines of their minds. But combating the dream is merely half the battle, for, in the realm of the conscious, a full-scale rebellion brews.
Tensions peak when a jilted ex-queen joins forces with the growing insurgency, and their very future lies with the sleeping beauty and her warrior chaperone. A revelation, a crown, a princess, a divine destiny—it will take more than true love to awaken a revolution.
Dedication
To all our family—the lovers of our chaos who manage to keep our cups filled to overflowing. We could never do what we do without you!
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:
Map: Amanda Jeppson
Preface
A kingdom from stone and steel will soon rise,
Preserving their kin from fated demise.
A foolhardy curse she is born to break,
Alongside a soldier with equal stake.
Two souls and one heart unite royals lost,
Inscribed upon flesh, true love is the cost.
The war will be won in a tower high,
As centuries foretold, the time is nigh.
Chapter One
Try as she might, Rory couldn’t bring herself to trust Artyrus. Suppressing her misgivings, she ignored the brigand, though every rational impulse within her told her to turn and run the other way. Merlin had sent him—or at least, that’s what he’d claimed—and he’d stolen away with her, dragging her back to her duties in Chamelaute.
It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t have gone anyway. She was well aware of her obligations and the needs of her people. She’d have made her way home regardless, but the bastard was so insistent. Even now, her aggravating companion led the way astride his midnight-black horse, who was every bit as colossal as he was.
Resentfully, she eyed the back of his half-shaven head, the ash-blond hair sprouting from the top of his skull forming a short tail that bobbed in time with the beast beneath him.
Rory groaned. There were worse ways to travel through Wylewoode. There had to be, though she was hard-pressed to think of any at the moment.
“We’re stopping,” she shouted to her escort several yards ahead, slowing her horse. Her civility was a courtesy Artyrus didn’t deserve. She offered her compliance out of the goodness of her heart, despite her disdain for her supposed guardian.
“No.” Artyrus continued onward without sparing her a glance, his broad shoulders as stiff and unyielding as his ornery disposition.
Tempering her rising fury, she followed him, willing herself to be reasonable where he refused. Someone had to behave like an adult if they were to survive their trek, and that would be a monumental undertaking.
Now she understood the plight of her former sidekick Ric, the newly crowned king of Llundyn, for she had done the very same thing to him. She’d joined him by force and very much against his wishes. That arrangement had worked out better than she’d hoped, but she was under no illusions. Lightning wouldn’t strike twice.
“Mind your pace,” Artyrus added, his tone dripping with condescension. “We’re still days behind schedule.”
Rory tugged the reins, her horse rearing as she came to an abrupt halt. “Who put you in charge?”
“Aurora—”
“No!” Her steed turned in an anxious circle beneath her before she met his gaze, her eyes burning with unrestrained anger. “I’m through taking orders from you. I’m hungry, I’m tired and I want a break. We’ll get there when we get there. Why all the urgency?”
He turned to face her, his patience apparently waning. “I was more than generous with you and your friends in Llundyn, and we stayed far longer than was reasonable, given your circumstances.”
“Ah. How benevolent of you.” Rory took a fortifying breath, all the while reconciling the little she knew of Artyrus with the seemingly endless knowledge he possessed about her. She smiled brightly, steeling herself for the inevitable battle of wills. “You may go at your own pace, but I’m going to set up camp. You’ll make excellent time without me.”
Trotting away, she eased her horse into the tree line, aiming for the stream that ran alongside the roadway. To her satisfaction, she didn’t hear her captor tailing her. Perhaps he’d seen sense after all.
At last.
For the first time in days, she began to recover herself, reveling in the peace their rare separation afforded. It would undoubtedly be short-lived, but she wouldn’t let that ruin the moment.
So what if she was a bit petulant?
Running away from Artyrus was childish, a far cry from the commanding manner in which she typically acted, but she’d had enough. He’d destroyed her restraint.
“Well, that’s better,” Rory sighed, patting her mare, Briar. Doubtless, she was temperamental like Rory was. Only somehow, she managed to get away with it. For even Artyrus, God’s steadfast gift to bravery, was apt to steer clear of Briar’s moody escapades and snapping teeth.
Throwing her leg over the mare’s broad back, Rory dismounted, guiding Briar toward th e stream for refreshment. The familiar thrum of rolling waters soothed her stormy spirit, the crystalline flow deceptively languid as she plunged her canteen into its depths. Briar wasted no time, easing in at Rory’s side and quenching her thirst.
To any onlooker, the pair made for a hapless duo. But they were all they needed, making the ubiquity of Artyrus an utter nuisance.
Drying her mouth on the arm of her sleeve, Rory reached into her satchel, feeding Briar a handful of oats and taking care not to catch her fingers in the overeager horse’s mouth. “This will do, will it not?”
Her newfound freedom was intoxicating, bringing a small, satisfied smile to her face. Why it had taken her so long to assert herself, to demand control of the situation, was beyond reason. Perhaps it was Artyrus’s unsettling reticence that had unnerved her—that, or his sullen disposition. Somewhere along their journey, she’d decided not to poke the bear, unwittingly leaving the brute in charge of their odyssey.
She wouldn’t make that mistake again. Better yet, she’d simply rid herself of him altogether.
Or perhaps not.
From beside her, Briar started, spooking only a moment too late for any resistance. Swiftly secured from behind, Rory was swept away from the tranquil waters, thrust headlong into the relentless embrace of her most formidable nemesis.
Rory thrashed about like a beached fish, arching and kicking furiously to no avail. “You’ve got to be kidding! Leave me alone!” Wielding her heels as a weapon, she struck, her foot whacking its target with vicious accuracy. Artyrus’s sharp intake of air was little consolation, however, as he managed to hold her fast.
In one quick motion, he released her, but not before he’d somehow managed to capture both of her arms, deftly securing them before her with a leather thong. He stepped away, doubling over for one precious moment to catch his breath. “You’re ridiculous,” he wheezed, regaining his composure.
“You’re playing a game you cannot possibly win. This is child’s play,” Rory snapped, holding her bound hands in front of her. He was sorely mistaken if he thought a simple leather strap would bring her in line. She wriggled her wrists, maneuvering one against the other to free herself. He’d gone too easy on her, leaving the band with plenty of slack. Twisting her wrists, she gave them a final tug.
Artyrus only smiled, an evil little smirk that had Rory itching for all-out war as he’d merely given her the means to entrap herself. He stepped toward her, plucking her sword from its sheath, seemingly unfazed by the hatred surely evident upon her face. “Your cooperation, if you please,” he urged, his dark eyes meeting hers. “I do not wish to report such juvenile behavior to Merlin. Certainly you’d like to prove yourself worthy of your obligations.”
Rory scoffed. “Tattling as if we’re a pair of children. Why am I not surprised?”
“You are, indeed, behaving like one.” Artyrus folded his arms across his chest before raising a single eyebrow.
A challenge.
Infuriating.
His assertion was annoying in its own right—but making matters worse was the sinister truth that he’d somehow hit a mark she hadn’t realized existed. Her life had been one trial after another, with duty ever looming in the back of her mind and obscuring every facet of her future.
Perhaps some piece of her did crave the freedom of youthful irresponsibility, and being held to account was the last thing she needed. Rory closed her eyes, the fight she’d been harboring within her suddenly dissolving. Her sentiments hadn’t changed, but taking a stand in the middle of a booby-trapped forest wasn’t good headwork.
Artyrus nodded, wordlessly turning to lead the way back toward the roadway. Sighing, Rory grasped Briar’s reins, guiding her along as she followed in Artyrus’s shadow.
The man was at least aware enough to maintain a healthy distance, quickly reaching his horse where he awaited Rory, who was traipsing toward him slowly. “Up you go.” Clasping his hands before him, he indicated his monstrous midnight steed with a bob of his head.
“No, thank you.” Rory raised her bound wrists. “I can manage my horse well enough, even without the full use of my hands.”
His grim features softened as he bent at the waist, beckoning her forward. “Nonsense. And besides, traveling together should help prevent any further detours.”
Rory huffed, willing herself to ignore his provocation, finally having tired of the ceaseless back and forth between them. Making her way toward him, she mounted the devilish stallion without protest, settling into the saddle.
Clasping her boot as he rose, Artyrus extracted a dagger before moving around the front of his horse. Rory eyed him with growing suspicion as he reached for her other one, plucking a second dagger from its sheath. She was still armed to the teeth. Losing a pair of blades was of no consequence.
“Are you through?” Rory asked. “For one so concerned with making good time, you’re certainly wasting enough of it.”
Artyrus ignored her, instead jamming his foot into the stirrup before swinging his leg over, seating himself behind his unruly passenger. He retrieved two more daggers with maddening calm, which were concealed beneath a thin layer of linen, set between her shoulder blades.
“In case you wish to slit my throat,” Artyrus gruffed, urging his steed onward with Briar following at his heels.
Rory fumed, even as she refused to acknowledge—at least outwardly—that he’d succeeded in disarming her almost entirely.
His ability to annoy her was truly unparalleled.
Their journey proceeded without disruption, providing Rory with an opportunity she’d always loathed—time to think. With Artyrus firmly in command of their route and horses—and even greater control over her from where he sat with his arms encircling her form, though he dared not touch her—she allowed her mind to wander for the first time since she’d left Chamelaute.
Planning had never been a strong suit for the wayward woman, taking on each obstacle only as it arose and never before. It was a way of life and not a bad one, though it sometimes led to a close call now and then. Rory eyed her surroundings, eager for a distraction.
The woods themselves were nothing special. Indeed, they were no different from any other woodland terrain. But their ordinary nature bred complacency, leaving one vulnerable to all the perils within Wylewoode. Deadly plants, quicksand and creatures that defied the imagination all resided within the confines of the forest. And though it was difficult to fathom, there were people there, too.
Rory had no interest in them, for only a loon would remain in Wylewoode by choice.
“Perhaps it’s time,” Artyrus said around a yawn after a time, guiding his horse through a gap in the foliage toward the water’s edge. Lifting his arms, he shielded Rory from the tangled mess of branches as they ambled through to the nearby bank.
At first glance, the riverbank was pleasant enough, though the poisonous brambles lining the opposite shoreline reminded them that they were not in friendly territory. Soft light from the fading sun filtered through the canopy of greenery overhead, bringing a chill to the early evening air as shadows veiled the warm glow of day.
“Very well,” Rory replied, reflecting an indifference she didn’t feel. She was bushed and ready for a break. Artyrus dismounted first, turning to assist her as she did the same.
“Your hands.” Pulling a blade from his breeches, Artyrus gestured toward her bound wrists. She offered them, palms up, avoiding his steady gaze as he cut cleanly through the strap in one slice, his brusque manner never failing to peeve her.
Artyrus excused himself then, striding into the brush and out of Rory’s eye line. He had disappeared periodically to relieve himself, but it had never lasted long enough for Rory’s liking. In truth, he could continue his trek and vanish altogether and there’d be no complaint from her lips.
She set to work, unpacking their meager belongings from each of their horses before sending them to the water’s edge to graze. Minutes later, she’d gathered more than enough fodder for a fire and had a small blaze underway.
The burgeoning flames crackled as she prodded them to life, and before long, she had the makings of a tolerable meal, none of which she had any intention of sharing. Rory looked up, suddenly mindful of the blessed solitude in which she’d completed her tasks. How long had it been?
