Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles Read Free Page B

to a tall throne, lacquered gold and polished to a shine. The Crown of the North, men called it—both the ornate chair and the Gairden who sat upon it. Beside it sat a smaller companion chair where a Gairden’s mate, co-ruler of Torel, sat during court.
    A bearded man adorned in ceremonial mail only slightly less silvery than his hair stood between the thrones, one hand gripping the hilt of the sword at his waist. Aidan knelt and waited until he felt the man’s gauntleted hand touch his shoulder. Then he rose slowly, digging through his memory to remember just how the customs of the great day dictated he greet his father.
    Edmund Calderon was known by many names. King. General of Torel’s Ward. Many, mostly the Wardsmen and the clansmen of Darinia, referred to him as Edmund the Valorous. Twenty-three years ago, Edmund had been a lieutenant in the Ward when a wave of barbarians from across the Great Sea had stormed through the Ihlkin Mountains and cut down General Lotren Kietel in a surprise attack. Edmund had rallied the beleaguered Wardsmen and pushed the invaders back in a series of clashes through the mountain range’s peaks and valleys to sweep them from the cliffs and back into the sea. After the war, Charles Gairden, Aidan’s grandfather and then Crown of the North, had bestowed the title Valorous on the Ward’s new general. In repayment for his aid and bravery, the best smiths in Darinia fashioned him the sword he wore at his waist. Valor was etched into the flat of the blade.
    Before Aidan could speak, the king swept him into a warm embrace. The cloud of worry hanging over Aidan’s head vanished in a puff. Torel’s people could keep Edmund the Valorous. Aidan had Edmund the Father.
    “Happy sixteenth birthday,” Edmund said, speaking over cheers of “Valorous!” and “Long live the Ward!”
    “I am so proud of the man you are, and the man I know you will become,” the king continued.
    “Thank you, Father,” Aidan said.
    Edmund held his son out to arm’s length and gave him an amused look. “I trust you left the capering snowmen outside, Prince of Mischief?”
    Aidan grinned. Edmund had given him the title when he had caught the eight-year-old prince and his newest playmate, Daniel Shirey, whose family had just moved to Torel from the east, sneaking down to Helda’s kitchens in the dead of night in search of sweets. Aidan probably would have pulled off the late-night raid if he hadn’t managed to stumble into every suit of armor lining the wide and otherwise empty corridors. Prince of Mischief didn’t hold the same weight as Edmund the Valorous, but Aidan did his best to live up to the title. Secretly, he vowed it would be one of many.
    His stomach gave a lurch as his father came to stand by his side, giving Aidan a view of the throne. He turned away.
    “I left a little something for you in your bedchamber,” Edmund said, draping an arm across his shoulder and leaning in close to whisper as the assemblage resettled themselves.
    Aidan’s eyes brightened. “What is it?”
    Now it was Edmund’s turn to look mischievous. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
    Aidan’s mind, enflamed by curiosity, turned over at least a dozen possibilities as Tyrnen approached the thrones. The old man did not fold himself over, but simply inclined his head to Edmund, who returned the gesture.
    “For the past thirteen years,” the old man said, his voice magically amplified to reach the far corners of the room, “it has been my privilege to instruct Prince Aidan Gairden in the development of his gift.” He paused. “A privilege most of the time, and a trial at others.”
    Waves of soft laughter swept through the room.
    “The opportunity to step aside from the onerous responsibilities involved in leadership and personally instruct a Touched is a privilege for any Eternal Flame,” Tyrnen continued, his voice serious. “But the opportunity to instruct a Gairden, a duty never before shared by any outside the