Forgotten Crown (The Two Hunters Book 1) Read online

  Forgotten Crown.

  That was the title whispered in dark corners, soaking into the stone.

  Seeping into my bones.

  Table of Contents

  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

  1

  Glacia

  I swallowed and blinked furiously. I couldn’t cry. Nanny would be angry if I cried.

  The older woman sat back with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re seven years old. I’ve explained this math equation to you five times, yet you still don’t understand. You’re so stupid, little one.”

  I hung my head in shame. “Yes, Nanny.”

  She huffed, and crossed her arms. “You know, if you were to disagree with me for once, I would at least know there’s a brain somewhere in that head of yours.”

  “Yes, Nanny.” You’d beat me if I did that.

  She sighed, waving her hand away from me in a dismissive gesture. “Well, as you obviously don’t understand the most basic principles of anything, leave. School time is over.”

  I stood quickly, trying to not to appear too eager, but I wanted to get away. I needed to move. I’d been sitting at this cramped little table for hours.

  I stumbled away. A thought came to me, and I swung around. “Nanny, it’s Fall Awakening. Do you think that maybe Mommy and Daddy will come, today?”

  A strange expression crossed her face. I didn’t know how to read it. “No, Glacia,” she said. “No, I don’t suspect they will. They . . . they are very busy.”

  I nodded, trying to swallow my rising disappointment. I already knew they wouldn’t come. They never came, even on my birthdays. It had been a very long time since I'd seen them.

  I left the room and entered the hall. I trailed my hand on the smoothness of the stone wall as I walked. Everything was made of stone here. The hallways, entries, chambers, courtyards. Everything. We, as the Chosen, lived in the mountains. Away from the Outsiders. Away from . . . them. The demons.

  I shivered, hugging my frame. I turned a corner and found a group of adults standing together in close conversation. One of the men looked at me. I stared back, unsure what to do. It wasn't very often that I saw anyone who wasn't Nanny or the servants.

  “It’s the Forgotten Crown,” the man mumbled, and the others glanced over briefly. “A pity she's been abandoned, really. She is supposed to rule us one day.”

  “Don’t question the Crowned Heads,” another whispered in a shocked tone. “Such important people don’t have time for children.”

  “Many of us don’t,” another said, and the crowd murmured their agreement.

  I was supposed to walk past them. But I stood still, humiliation and anger washing over me. They were right. My mother and my father were very important people. It was the strongest truth I knew, and I clung to it. There needed to be a reason they didn’t want to be with me, or see me. They were important. Special. Needed.

  I needed them. I shook my head and lifted my chin, weaving through them. A girl of seven was easily forgotten. Their conversation shifted.

  “I’ve heard the demons have found us,” someone breathed. The voice was barely above a whisper. “We’re all going to die.”

  “Nonsense,” another snorted. His voice was just as quiet, but full of derision. “That’s foolish talk.”

  “They’ve been imprisoned,” a third voice breathed. “They won’t discover our halls.”

  “The Crowned Heads would know,” yet another said. “They would tell us if the demons had escaped.”

  The crowd agreed, their voices hushed and full of reverence. The Crowned Heads. The rulers of this place. It was my great-grandparents who led the people away from the demons and brought them to this haven. Then my grandparents ruled, and now my parents. Such a heavy responsibility.

  “Still,” a final voice said, breaking away from the others. “It’s a shame they ignore their daughter the way they do.”

  I ran. Away from the voices, away from Nanny, trying to escape the hollow ache that gnawed at my middle. I was loved. I was wanted. When my parents became less busy, they would have time for me. They would take me from Nanny.

  Lies.

  My face twisted as I ran, my vision blurring. I choked down my tears. No. Not here, not yet. Crying was shameful, weak, wrong, but the choking built. I knew I was going to weep, and panic crept over me. Nanny would beat me if I cried.

  There was one safe place I could go, one refuge I could turn to, and I lifted my skirts, my little legs pumping as I ran down another hall, passing a few servants, into my bedchamber. I hurried out a back door into the garden. My garden.

  It was still and quiet. My little home. Safe and secure. Secluded.

  Lonely.

  I didn’t know why I was kept away from everyone else. Nanny told me it was to keep me safe, but I knew better. It was to keep me away. From them. From my parents.

  I stepped onto the little stone path, my breath coming in sobbing gasps. Why did they stay away? Why didn’t they come? My mother looked like me, a blonde, with large gray eyes and a beautiful smile. My father was tall, dark and stern.

  That’s what they looked like when I last saw them, anyway. When I tried to think of Mother, now, Nanny's face usually replaced it.

  I sat on a stone bench near a little pond, tears dripping down my face. I had one memory of my mother that I treasured. She’d read a story to me once, about a prince and a princess, who lived happily ever after. Just like your father and I, she’d said. Someday you’ll have a happily ever after, too.

  I felt my heart would break before I found a happily ever after. I cried freely, futilely wiping the tears from my eyes, new ones springing up in their place. I needed to stop. I would be punished if I was caught in this state. Showing one’s emotions in such a strong way was frowned upon. One had to learn to school their emotions, if they were to gain knowledge. Logic and emotion couldn’t coexist. Emotion was said to be the fall of mankind. It was why the demons existed—or so I’d heard.

  “Girl. Why are you crying?”

  I looked up, shock reverberating through me. A boy was standing a few feet away, looking down at me, curiosity painting his features. I stared back, forgetting my grief for a moment. He looked my age, maybe a pinch older. He was tall and thin, with bright blue eyes and the strangest hair I’d ever seen. It was silver. Almost like an old man’s hair, except it was not gray, or white. It was silver, the strands glinting with a metallic light in the pale sunlight.

  I gazed into his eyes, expecting to glimpse disdain behind the curiosity. Surprise flickered through me when I read compassion in his gaze. Real compassion.

  He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen.

  He stood perfect
ly still, watching me, and with a jolt, I remembered that he'd asked me a question. My sadness came crashing back, and I turned my face away, shame making my cheeks burn. “I cry because no one loves me,” I choked, “and because I’m lonely.” The words were true, the first time I’d ever voiced them aloud. “I’m alone.” Dark despair pushed against me like a thick fog. I didn’t know why my parents ignored me. What had I done wrong?

  The boy was silent and I hastily wiped my face. I hated myself for my weakness.

  In a few lanky strides, the boy crossed the distance and closed the distance between us. “You are not alone,” he said, pulling a handkerchief from his trouser pocket. “Hold still,” he instructed, and I obeyed, unmoving as he carefully wiped my tears away. “There, there.” He patted my cheek. “Don’t cry anymore. You’re not alone. I am here. I’ll be your friend, and I will love you.”

  I stared back, feeling a warm glow in my gut. What was this feeling?

  I felt . . . hope, as I looked into the eyes of this strange boy. Wanted.

  “Do you live here?” I asked.

  The boy shook his head, silver locks tumbling about his shoulders. I wanted to touch that hair. Such a strange color. I kept my hands to myself. “I live out there.” He pointed to the tall garden wall and my breath caught.

  The boy was an Outsider.

  I peered at his silver hair, my tears forgotten. “Are you a demon?”

  The boy laughed, and the sound made me smile back. “Do I look like one?”

  I shrugged, embarrassed by my obvious stupidity.

  The boy’s gaze softened. “I’ve seen demons,” he said, his pale face turning serious, “and believe me, they don’t look like you or me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, I should go.” The boy fingered his belt pouch and stood. “I found the mushrooms that Master sent me to find.” His expression turned anxious. “At least, I hope they’re the right mushrooms. I’ll feel terrible if I poison one of my brothers.”

  “You have a family?” I bit my lip. Stupid. Everyone had a family.

  “In a way,” the boy replied, suddenly cryptic. “Goodbye.”

  “Don’t leave!” I begged. I grabbed his arm. “Please, don’t go.”

  “I must,” the boy said. “I have to go home.”

  “Will you come back?” The thought of never seeing this strange, fascinating boy ever again made me want to resume crying. “Please?”

  The boy smiled. “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

  I blinked at him. Did he?

  “My name is Silvan,” the boy continued. “And I don’t live far. I will come back to see you as soon as I can, okay?”

  I nodded, feeling weak with relief. “Thank you.”

  He turned and scrambled up the wall, finding handholds in the rough stone. I stared at him, suddenly envious of the trousers he was wearing. I’d never make it up that wall in the dress I was wearing.

  He was gone in a moment, and I clenched my fists, remembering how rather than beating me for my tears, he’d tenderly wiped them away.

  The boy with silver hair.

  Silvan.

  2

  Glacia

  The next morning, I wanted to go out into my garden immediately, but Nanny had awoken me, so I had no choice but to go through the day as usual. I had breakfast, did hours of study, and had lunch and more study before I was able to retrace my morning steps down the cold, familiar halls, and back to my little sanctuary.

  The boy was already there, crouched by the pond, intently watching the little gold and red fish that swam in its shallow depths.

  “You came!” I ran over to him, relief and happiness washing over me like a spring rain. “Thank you!”

  Silvan smiled up at me, clearly pleased by my enthusiastic response. “Yup. And you’ll be pleased to know the mushrooms were not poisonous.” He patted his stomach. “Good thing, ’cause I ate some of them, too.”

  I laughed, the sound echoing about the garden like tinkling crystal. It startled me. When had I last laughed? “Were they yummy?”

  He grinned. “Delicious, actually. I think Master will have me forage more often. I’m glad, because I love to explore.”

  “Where do you live?”

  Silvan jerked his head toward the wall he’d climbed yesterday. “Over there. In the mountains.”

  “With your master? And brothers?”

  Silvan nodded and stood. “I’m one of the Elite.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re the protectors.”

  “Of what?”

  Silvan blinked, taken aback by my question. “Of this world, of course. We keep these lands safe from evil.”

  “Like the demons?”

  “Yes. Luckily the demons aren’t anywhere near here.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I just can.” He shrugged. “Besides, Master says they are imprisoned.”

  “I heard an adult say the demons were close.”

  “Adults like spreading bad news,” Silvan remarked. “Especially when it’s false.”

  That seemed true enough. Grownups were dour creatures, and I shivered, feeling my mood dip. Nanny had been in a particularly foul mood today. I rubbed at my side where a welt was surely forming where she'd hit me earlier.

  Silvan noticed the movement, his brow scrunching in concern. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” I lied, and Silvan’s blue eyes narrowed.

  “You’re lying. I can’t stand lies.”

  I nodded eagerly, not wanting to upset my new friend. “You’re right, I'm sorry. I got in trouble with Nanny, but I’m all right.”

  “Let me see.” Silvan stepped forward, tugging my blouse up to expose my midriff.

  I stood perfectly still as he examined my side.

  “It’s bruising,” Silvan said, his young face crumpled in a scowl, “but I saw some balmweed around here. Let’s fix you up.”

  He took my hand in his, and I dutifully followed as he led me further into the garden. His head was lowered as he scoured the area. “There it is.” He pointed to what looked like tall green grass. “Balmweed.”

  “What is it for?” I asked, and he grinned, puffing his chest out a little. “For healing, of course. I’m surprised you don’t know.”

  My face heated and I looked away. “There’s a lot I don’t know,” I admitted. “For all of Nanny’s teaching, I am a rather stupid girl.”

  Silvan’s look of smug pride was immediately replaced with shame, his own cheeks flushing. “Don’t feel bad,” he said, pulling some of the balmweed up by the roots. “I’m only smart because Master has taught me all of this. Too bad girls can’t join the Elite, or I’d take you back with me.” He brightened. “Hey, I can teach you everything I know, anyway. Just here, instead.”

  Putting the torn grass onto the small path, he took a knife from his belt and began cutting it up into small pieces. The stone walkway became damp from the juice the grass bled. “Here we go.” He picked up a wet handful of the chopped balmweed.

  I lifted the hem of my shirt, and Silvan sloppily pressed the grass onto my bruised side, his tongue protruding in concentration. He stood motionless, keeping the grass in place, and I studied his hand. It was only a little bigger than my own, and skinny. Nanny said my body was stubbornly holding onto the last of my baby-fat, but I didn’t see any of that on Silvan. The boy was rail thin.

  “Do you feel anything yet?” he asked hopefully, his blue eyes looking up at me. I nodded. I could feel the grass doing its work, a soothing chill seeping into my skin. “It’s cold.”

  “Good,” Silvan said, seemingly satisfied. “That means it’s working.” He dropped his hand away, and shook the wet, sticky balmweed from his fingers. “That wasn’t long enough to get rid of the bruise completely, but it should help with the pain.”

  “You seem to know a lot about plants and stuff,” I observed.

  Silvan nodded. “Yes. I’ve received much training in the art of basic foragin
g and medicine. I have to learn those before Master will teach me how to fight.”

  “You want to fight?”

  The boy’s face lit up, his large eyes shining with excitement. “Yes! I want to be a warrior.” He jumped away from me, his arm stretched out as he clutched an imaginary sword. “I’m going to save the world. I’ll hunt down and defeat wicked beasts, witches, and demons. Everyone will know my name. I’ll be a hero.”

  I clapped my hands, his enthusiasm contagious. “I want to be a hero, too!”

  “Why not?” Silvan’s eyes crinkled in a wide smile. “The world’s big enough for two heroes, surely. We might even work together, sometimes.”

  “I need to learn about plants too, then,” I whined. “Nanny doesn’t teach me any of that.”

  “Come here.” Silvan took my hand again, marching around the garden. “You already know what balmweed is. This one over here is bitterweed. That’s good for pregnant women. I don’t know why, though. And this one over here is mint. It’s yummy as tea, and invigorates you. And—”

  I listened to him as he rambled on, eager to share his knowledge. I listened to every word, drinking it all in. I studied the plants with the feeling that I was looking at them, really looking at them, for the first time. The vegetation reminded me of myself. Quiet and confined. Stuck in the rock. Unable to go anywhere or do anything. But despite that, life still glimmered within them. They were alive, reaching up to the sun.

  Standing next to the mysterious boy, I realized with startling certainty that this boy, Silvan, was my sun. My warmth. My life. In just the short amount of time I’d been with him, I felt more alive than I ever had.

  “How old are you?” Silvan asked suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  I lifted my chin proudly. “I turned seven this past summer.”

  Silvan arched a silver eyebrow. “I’m older than you, then.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Seven,” he replied. “But I’m almost eight. So that means I’m older.”

  “Hmm.” I eyed him suspiciously. “When will you be old enough to fight?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Soon, I hope. I was born to fight. I can feel it in here.” He tapped his chest, a fierce light burning in his eyes. “To protect people like you.”