Sentinel's Dagger (D'Vaire, Book 2)

  SENTINEL’S DAGGER

  JESSAMYN KINGLEY

  Copyright © 2017 Jessamyn Kingley

  All Rights Reserved

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing: Flat Earth Editing

  Cover Design: 2017 © L.J. Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Prologue

  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

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “Why do we need to talk to these elves again?” Latarian pretended not to hear the boy’s question. She had explained to Idris—whose family’s secret fertility serum would be used as her bartering tool—at least a dozen times why they were on their way to speak to the leaders of the Cwylld elven tribe and despised repeating herself. Idris was in her life solely because she relied on his untutored power now that Dra’Kaedan was parading around as the Grand Warlock.

  As always, the thought of Dra’Kaedan made her blood churn and boil in her veins. For over six centuries, Dra’Kaedan had unwittingly been the conduit that had raised the meager amount of magic Latarian was born with to stratospheric heights. After complaining tirelessly to her grandfather, Carvallius, she had finally convinced the dark warlock to bind her to a stronger sorcerer whose gifts she could use for her own. Latarian had known from birth that she was deserving of the best and had begged him to use one of the teenage boys born to the mated pair of Grand Warlock T’Eirick and Grand Summoner Saura. The twin sons, Dra’Kaedan and Dre’Kariston, had potent abilities, and though they were only eighteen at the time, their power had been unsurpassed. Carvallius had taken to the idea immediately, and within days, Dra’Kaedan was lying in Castle Mallent while her grandfather covered his back in the blackest of spells—leaching part of his magic and giving it to Latarian.

  While she had professed to the D’Vaires, who Dra’Kaedan now called family, that she was unaware of his true identity, it had been a clever lie. She couldn’t imagine there was a warlock ignorant of the twins; their birth had been celebrated for months, and news had traveled far and wide about how enchantingly strong they were. When Dra’Kaedan became her “familiar,” she changed his name to Ayden and reveled in her newfound gifts, and for centuries it had all been at her fingertips—hers to use whenever the mood struck.

  But then Ayden had met his stupid overly tall dragon shifter mate, and Latarian’s link with him had been broken. Fearing a punishment of certain death, she had been forced to sneak out of the large mansion owned by the dragon shifters under the cover of night, as the shattering of the bond had all but killed Dra’Kaedan. The morons he lived with had believed him dead, but Latarian had known he was wavering only near death. Dra’Kaedan was far too powerful to have stayed in that state for long, and had he somehow managed to die it would have meant little to Latarian—it was only his abilities she had craved.

  Of course, the fool had lived; now Dra’Kaedan was allied with the dragons and Latarian had few resources, reduced to the pithy amount of magic she had been unlucky enough to be born with. After escaping, nothing could have dragged her back to the enchanted cottage she and Dra’Kaedan had once shared; instead, she returned to Castle Mallent. She still cherished all the years she’d spent there with her grandfather; it had been a magnificent place to call home.

  Time had not been kind to Castle Mallent, and now it was little more than a pile of crumbling rocks and strangely blackened dirt—hardly surprising given that Carvallius was devoid of life just like the land the castle once stood upon. All the rich vegetation Latarian had known from her childhood over seven centuries before had long since died, most likely from neglect. Carvallius’s death was a mystery to no one; he had been murdered by Dra’Kaedan’s twin brother, Dre’Kariston.

  As Latarian had walked the devastated ruins of the tranquil home of her youth, she’d done her best to set her hatred of the warlock twins aside. Only, the emotions had continued to boil blackly in her gut, and her focus turned to vengeance—but before a plan formulated in her mind, Latarian had collided with a gangly teenage boy, Idris. Idris Vioric was a wizard, who like Latarian, had been raised by a now-dead grandparent. Nothing at all like her brilliant grandfather, Idris’s only living relative had passed away quietly in his sleep.

  Now Idris was all alone in a giant crumbling heap of a house, not far from the ruins of Castle Mallent, with a huge wealth of magical ability he had no clue how to use. Latarian was only too happy to exploit that power and the lonely boy, who was hopelessly naïve. Regrettably, it was only a short-term solution; Idris was a wizard, and Latarian came from a rich line of warlocks, so each time she availed herself of his great wealth of magic, it grew more painful. The differences in their races were too pronounced; only someone with a bloodline similar to her own would suffice.

  After a few weeks of allowing Idris to wait on her hand and foot, a perfect solution had slowly manifested itself in the recesses of her mind. She desired two things: revenge and a formidable boost to her less-than-stellar abilities. With careful planning, she would return to Arizona and kidnap her grandfather’s murderer, Dre’Kariston. As he was unmated, Carvallius’s spells that had once enslaved his brother should work fine. In fact, if the opportunity to kidnap Dre’Kariston’s silly familiar presented itself first, he would do as well.

  The only obstacle she foresaw was needing to drain her target’s power so the spells could be cast. The thought had no more materialized in her brain before she remembered—the Cwylld elven were rumored to have a skill that drained and neutralized sorcerers. Latarian knew elves could not cast spells, so they must have some other crafty way to subdue people with magic. She twisted her lips as she thought of the Cwylld; they were the notorious tribe that had left the world with just Latarian, Dre’Kariston, and Dra’Kaedan as the last living examples of their kind.

  History books called her grandfather an evil traitor, and they spoke of terrible lies—accusing him of allying himself with the Cwylld and betraying his own people. Stories conceived by jealous idiots said Carvallius was motivated by a selfish desire to become the Grand Warlock. That word was one she no longer used, nor would she as long as Dra’Kaedan held the title. She was a witch, and here at Castle Mallent and whatever pile of rubbish Idris called his home, Latarian was the ruler of her people. Latarian was the Grand Witch.

  It would be her mission to see Carvallius’s name restored as soon as she had a familiar again. Squashing down her often-impatient nature, she reminded herself that her first step was to locate these hermi
t-like elves and secure their ability. Latarian knew it had to be impressive—they had managed to decimate her people in roughly a year’s time.

  “Latarian? You didn’t answer my question. Why do we need to find these elves?” Idris asked.

  Looking at him out of the corner of her eye, Latarian promised herself that once her magic was restored, Idris would be the very first thing to go. “Foolish boy, I have told you why we seek the elves,” Latarian said with a sharp slap to the back of his dark curls. It was not an easy task as Idris stood several inches taller than her own petite frame.

  “Sorry, I forgot,” Idris said as he rubbed his now-tender skull.

  “It matters not to you. It is I who will do the talking when we find their leaders.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Idris said in a soft tone. He was quiet for a few moments before he added, “But I want to help. I can’t help if I don’t know what we are doing.”

  “You may help by keeping quiet. I cannot concentrate on finding anything with your constant prattle,” Latarian said and leveled an angry look at the youth.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled to the grass beneath their feet. Latarian didn’t bother to reply; she was scanning the seemingly endless forest for any hint of life. There was no way around it; she was going to need Idris’s power to amplify her ability to sense any elves close by. The last time they had merged their magic, her body had felt like it was lit on fire from the inside for hours afterward, but she certainly wasn’t going to give up her search.

  “Boy, I need your magic,” Latarian demanded. As soon as the words left her lips, she felt a surge of electricity singe her nerves; it was both a horrible feeling and a fantastic one at the same time. Oh, how she had wasted all those years with Dra’Kaedan, she thought with not a small amount of remorse. She had settled for making him do all the work while she languished about with her monumental abilities sitting idle. Once her powers were restored, Latarian was determined to use them to their full potential; the possibilities made her smile and reminded her that she did have a task at hand.

  As empty as these woods appeared to be, Latarian’s senses told her there were elves not far from where they stood. She sincerely hoped they were Cwylld—she was sick to death of trudging about looking for them.

  “Did you hear that?” Idris asked in a loud voice next to her.

  “Lower your voice,” Latarian ordered with another slap to his head.

  “Did you hear that?” the boy repeated in a stage whisper. Latarian let loose a long-suffering sigh. The boy really was irritating, she thought with annoyance.

  “Can you not simply tell me what you heard?”

  “Oh yeah, sorry. I heard leaves rustling or something,” he said, still speaking in a loud whisper.

  “Idris, stop that idiotic whispering.”

  “But you told me not to yell.”

  “Use your normal speaking voice unless I tell you different. Surely you cannot be so stupid as to not figure that out on your own.”

  “You there. Remove yourself from these woods,” a disembodied voice said sharply from somewhere on Latarian’s left. She and Idris quickly came to a stop.

  “We seek the Chieftain of the Cwylld,” Latarian replied with a regal tilt of her chin.

  “For what purpose?”

  “We wish to offer a gift,” Latarian said and watched as from behind a large tree a tall elf emerged. She noted his clothes seemed of decent quality, which surprised her, considering he lived in the woods. Waist-length blond hair tipped with lavender was tied back, and his long, thin ears pointed away from a regal, fine-boned face. In his left hand, he carried a wicked-looking spear.

  “What gift could a wizard and a warlock have for my chieftains?”

  “Take me to them, and you will have your curiosity well satisfied,” Latarian promised and decided if the insolent elf would not cooperate, she would use magic to force him to lead her where she needed to go. The elf seemed to take forever to reply to her statement. He walked closer to the pair and stared at them through suspicious eyes the same color as his clothes.

  “Come with me,” he finally ordered, and Latarian was inwardly thrilled. The sooner they talked to these Cwylld, the sooner she could get her plan in motion.

  The elf took them on a long walk that eventually led to a small smattering of huts. They were barely taller than their companion and were made of earth and leaves. Less than a dozen of the rounded structures comprised the village, and smoke rose from each one. Since it was late in the afternoon, Latarian imagined the elves that lived here were busying themselves with their dinner preparations. The trio crossed the short distance toward the largest of the huts, and without so much as a knock, the elf entered with Latarian and Idris on his heels.

  As soon as Latarian crossed the threshold of the small dwelling, her eyes began to burn from the smoke inside. Blinking rapidly, she tried adjusting to the darkness of the room, but there was very little light. What she could see was a large pot above the fire that burned in the center of the hut within a circle of grayish rocks. Behind the pot, two figures sat at a roughly hewn wooden table.

  “Chieftain, these two wish to speak,” their guide stated before taking a seat against the wall of the hut.

  “What do you want of the Cwylld, warlock?” The chieftain’s voice was laced with derision.

  “Cwylld Chief, my thanks for allowing us this audience. I am Latarian of Mallent, granddaughter of Carvallius. My companion is Idris Vioric. We have come to offer our aid. We know elven struggle to carry on their rich birth lines. We wish to offer you our secret formula that increases fertility. It also hastens the birthing time. With it, the Cwylld would soon find themselves as prosperous as they were before the great war,” Latarian said with as humble a tone as she could manage. Truly, she did not care if all the Cwylld perished; she just wanted to fix her own unfortunate circumstances.

  “Your grandfather was a traitor, yet you expect me to believe you wish only to help us? How am I to know if you are any more capable of the truth than that worthless Carvallius?” Latarian curled her nails into her fists to prevent herself from circling around the dirty hovel and smacking some sense into this “chief.”

  “This is a trade, nothing more,” she said with a forced smile.

  “A trade, is it? What do you think I would offer you?”

  “Just as the warlocks once reduced your tribe to nearly nothing, I too have been betrayed. It is my wish to make the twin sons of Grand Warlock T’Eirick and Grand Summoner Saura pay. I need knowledge of your magic-dampening ability to see my plan through,” Latarian explained. Surely the names of the former rulers would evoke some response from this insolent ass, she thought in disgust. He could not have any love for the offspring of the pair who led the warlocks against the Cwylld in the war that left both races decimated.

  “That is a secret my tribe has never before shared. You ask for too much.”

  “Cwylld Chief, we would like to offer you a free sample of the serum we speak of; it is enough for three couples to use. We will return in three days’ time, and if all three couples are not with child, then you may ask us to never return, but if they are, then we can begin our negotiations,” Latarian said. If this serum did not do as Idris promised, then she was going to kill him. Looking through the smoke-filled hut at the blond chieftain, she watched him glance at his mate, who Latarian had barely noticed before in the dark room. Neither elf looked particularly regal, but through the laced-up tunics they wore, the raised lavender swords emblazoned on their skin below their collarbones displayed their rank. The swords had an ethereal glow that was possible to see even in the dim confines of the earthen hut.

  The chieftain looked back to Latarian, and after giving her a nod, agreed to her proposal. She handed over the vial of the dark liquid Idris swore would work, and they were soon walking out of the small village.

  “At this time three days hence, I expect you to be here to escort us back to your chieftain,” Latarian ordered the spear-holding elf wh
o had guided them to the edge of the Cwylld settlement.

  He lifted a fair brow before agreeing. Without a word, he sprinted back toward his home. Latarian turned her attention to the boy at her side.

  “It is your death should the serum not work.”

  “I told you, it works, but you gave away half of what we have. I don’t have the ingredients to make any more,” Idris complained as they began walking out of the woods.

  “We will barter what we have and give them the recipe if that is not enough. They will soon figure out on their own that the ingredients are nearly impossible to attain. I will have what I need from them.”

  Idris’s face was white with shock, and his voice quivered as he spoke, “That recipe is all I have. Without it, I have no way to make money. How will I eat with no money?”

  “Stupid boy, as soon as we have Dre’Kariston’s magic, money will be of no consequence.” More importantly to Latarian, Idris would no longer be in her life.

  Chapter 1

  “So, what do you think?” Grand Warlock Dra’Kaedan D’Vaire asked from the comfort of his mate’s lap.

  “I don’t know,” Blodwen replied with a small shrug. Like Dra’Kaedan, she sat snuggled close to her mate, Trystan. Two months before, Trystan had arrived on their doorstep, and the pair had been inseparable since. Now safely mated, Trystan was helping Blodwen deal with her biggest fear: sentinels. A necromancer afraid of her own soul-bound assassin was unthinkable inside the Order of Necromancia, and that fear had ostracized her within her own people. While growing up, Blodwen had heard horror stories and was convinced that her life could be in jeopardy if she ever cemented the binding between her and her sentinel.

  Trystan had suggested they approach her trepidation by learning all they could about the mysterious race. His belief was that if they gathered everything there was to know on the subject, they could determine if there was anything to fear from Blodwen’s sentinel. That had led them to today; they’d searched through every source they could get their hands on, and the information they found was proving to be full of gaping holes.