Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 Read Free

to
her jaw.
    “No, you must
listen to me. You are not safe here --”
    “Don’t fret,”
Hetty said. “I’ve enough tricks up my sleeve to fool a stupid
man.”
    Alecia
couldn’t believe her ears. “You said you were scared, Hetty. So am
I. I do not want anything to happen to you.”
    “Then stay
away. Now you must go.” Hetty pulled Alecia up from the table, her
grip strong for one so withered. Alecia barely had time to collect
her bow and quiver as she was ushered to the back door. The witch
unlocked the heavy metal padlock, slid the bolt aside and peered
into the alley.
    Alecia slung
her weapons about her person and checked her knives, reluctant to
leave.
    “It’s clear,”
Hetty said and while Alecia still struggled to think of a way to
keep Hetty safe, the old woman shoved her though the door and
slammed it in her face.
     
    The barracks of
the Prince’s Guard lay just inside the castle walls. Vard
dismounted and tossed his reins to a groom. Swift, his brown horse,
shied away as Vard handed the horse over, bringing the familiar
surge of frustration and sadness. After ten years of training, the
gelding still feared him and Vard had to face the fact that despite
all his careful nurturing, the horse would never overcome its
instinctive terror. It was just another price he had to pay as a
member of the ancient and mysterious order to which he belonged.
Defenders were destined to live out their lives in isolation and
secrecy while protecting the innocent. It was a high price to pay,
and as Vard was yet to find a mentor, he risked losing his human
core with every transformation -- and, worse, he endangered those around him.
    The stench of
human waste soured Vard’s stomach as he swept the soiled cloak from
his shoulders and hurled it into the bonfire. His shirt and tunic
followed. Clad only in fitted black breeches and boots, he grabbed
a pail of water that lay near the flames and tossed it over his
head. Goosebumps sprouted on his chest and shoulders.
    A crowd of
soldiers laughed. Vard ground his teeth; he must reek if his
misfortune had come to the notice of men who only washed when it
rained.
    “Bring me a
cake of soap,” he said to a gawky youth who didn’t seem old enough
to be free of his mother’s apron strings. He’d probably lied about
his age to join the army. The boy scampered to obey and then stood
watching.
    Vard soaped
his hair and upper body and rinsed with a second bucket. The stink
was a little less, but he’d smell like the inside of a chamber pot
for the next week. He bent to collect his weapons and found the boy
still stared.
    “What are you
doing here, boy?” Vard asked. “You can’t have seen your fifteenth
summer.”
    “I’m thirteen,
sir. Prince Zialni took me instead of the shield money my mam owed
him. Said he’d come and take one of her boys every year that she
couldn’t pay. He’ll do it too, sir.” The boy’s voice trailed off as
he realized he could be flogged for the words.
    Vard felt the
tug he always did when an innocent was at risk. “Am I right in
thinking your tenure here is unpaid?” He gripped the talisman at
his throat, seeking the inner calm of the wolf to control his
anger.
    “The prince
feeds and clothes me and gives me a place to sleep, but there are
no wages to send back to Mam. Things are terrible hard for her,
Captain.”
    Vard reached
into the pocket of his breeches and pulled out a silver penny,
which he shoved into the boy’s grimy hand. “You give this to your
mam,” he said gruffly.
    Tears welled
in the lad’s eyes as he clutched the coin to his chest. “Thank you,
Captain.” He looked around fearfully. “I better go. The sergeant
beats me if he catches me slacking.” He dipped his head to Vard and
jogged away to the smithy that lay beside the barracks.
    “What’s your
name, boy?”
    “Billy,” the
lad replied, before ducking through the wide door into the shadows
of the forge.
    Vard turned to
stare at the miraculous shining walls of