Dividing Eden

  DEDICATION

  For my son, Max, who makes my heart smile.

  You certainly are not the doom.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  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

  Acknowledgments

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Books by Joelle Charbonneau

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Freedom was a myth.

  Carys’s brother Andreus didn’t think so. He said a person could feel free even when walls surrounded him.

  Carys loved her twin, but he was wrong. Freedom was a mirage. It taunted and promised a great deal as it hung just out of reach.

  Back when they were young, her brother loved pointing out the women carrying trays of bread through one of the city’s squares—or the commoners’ children chasing each other, laughter echoing through the narrow alleys. They were all surrounded by walls, and yet they were happy. The walls kept them safe. The walls made them feel strong and secure. That, he argued, was freedom.

  As they sat on the battlements he would sketch designs for a new windmill while she watched the guards practice, picking up tips on how to help Andreus improve his skill in combat.

  Those who lived in the town below the Palace of Winds didn’t understand that danger came in many guises. Not only in the form of darkness, or winter, or the Xhelozi that hunted during the cold months. Those were dangers that could be seen. Anticipated. Defeated. The massive gray stones erected at the perimeter of the town kept those dangers at bay. The white stones that bordered the castle grounds high above on the plateau doubly secured the powerful and those under their protection. But the walls were a double-edged sword. Even as they pushed back outside dangers, they kept in the things that made Carys wish for some other kind of life. One that didn’t require she hide everything she was.

  Carys placed her hand on the trunk of the Tree of Virtues and bowed her head, pretending to ask it for some blessing or other, as girls did when they wanted a husband or a baby or a pretty ribbon for their hair.

  Foolish girls. They thought the tree, like the walls, was a sign of safety and blessing. How anything planted in the middle of town to commemorate the slaughter of an entire royal family symbolized anything positive was beyond Carys. Of course, in Eden, it was only Carys’s family who need worry about that fate. Perspective was everything.

  Duty to simpering femininity done, Carys turned toward the royal guards. “Let’s go.”

  She kept her eyes on their backs as she walked, not looking left or right. Not meeting the eyes of those who fell into bows or curtsies as they noticed her.

  The streets beneath her feet were soon to be paved white to match the castle walls. It had been her father’s order. He said the white would show the city dwellers were as virtuous as those who lived above. He insisted the work would begin once the war was over. Carys supposed the Council of Elders would figure out how to keep the horses from mucking up the white of those stones. A fitting job for people as virtuous as animal droppings.

  She caught sight of her destination and hurried her steps toward the tailor’s shop on the far western square. “Stay outside,” she ordered the guards as she walked to the door.

  “How long will you be, Your Highness?” the freckle-faced guard asked.

  Carys turned and stared at him for a long moment. She watched as his face turned red, making his freckles almost pop off his skin. Carys had that effect on people. It would amuse her, if their discomfort weren’t so clear.

  When the hand at her guard’s side began to tremble she answered, “I shall be exactly the amount of time I require and not a second longer. And if you question me again, I shall see to it that your commanding officer teaches you the value of holding your tongue.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” The guard swallowed hard and looked down at the ground. “I apologize for any offense, Highness.”

  The apology was a start. If she were her mother, it would also be his end. But she wasn’t her mother. She could only hope he’d remember this moment. If he learned from embarrassment, he might have a chance to survive behind the white walls. If not, he had only himself to blame.

  Gathering her skirts, Carys stepped out of the last rays of sunlight, into the tailor’s shop, and shut the door. As soon as the latch clicked, Carys heard a familiar voice. “Welcome, Princess Carys. We’ve been expecting you.”

  Carys smiled. She felt herself relax in the warmth of the greeting and of the fire crackling in the hearth on the opposite side of the stone room. A large mass of tawny fur was curled into a ball close to the fire. The fur ball opened its eyes, blinked twice, and then went back to sleep. No bows or curtsying from felines. They had no enemies to avenge, power to amass, or familial interests to protect, so they had little need to curry favor. How did cats get so lucky?

  She nodded to the reed-thin man, who, straightened to his full height, barely reached the tip of her nose. The lines etched into his face were deeper than they had been the last time she saw him. Life had gotten harder in Garden City with the war. “Goodman Marcus,” she said with fondness. “Thank you for accommodating my request so quickly.”

  They both turned at the sound of footsteps pounding the stairs. Carys barely had time to brace herself before Larkin threw her arms around her and hugged her tight.

  “Daughter.” Goodman Marcus’s voice was sharp. “You forget yourself. The two of you are no longer children.”

  “Pity, since we both were so adorable when we were small. Weren’t we, Your Highness?” Larkin stepped back, tossed her mass of long, frizzy dark curls, and laughed the way Carys so often wished she could.

  “Royalty always strives for dignity,” Carys replied with mock sincerity, “which means we are far too controlled to ever be called adorable.”

  “I’m certain you looked very dignified the day you fell into that pile of horse manure, Your Highness,” Larkin said with a deep curtsy.

  Carys laughed. How could she not? “I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t pushed me.”

  “I didn’t push you,” Larkin said. “I was giving Prince Andreus a well-deserved shove. You, Princess, simply obstructed my path.”

  Goodman Marcus’s eye twitched at his daughter’s antics. Carys remembered that look well from the days when he would bring Larkin to the palace to help with the court’s dress fittings. She was too enthusiastic and filled with energy to carefully pin hems and display bolts of silk. Typically, Larkin ended up feeling her father’s hand before being put in a corner to wait until his work was complete. A corner was where Andreus found and rescued her.

  At first, Carys didn’t talk to the sniffling girl with the tear-streaked cheeks. Even at five, Carys had been told time and again that she was to avoid strangers, to protect her brother from anyone who might get close enough to learn what must be hidden. Even then she understood her duty—to quiet the whispers in the Hall of Virtues and stymie those who would do anything to remove her family from power.

  But Andreus never paid attention to the rules, and he could never ignore a child in distress. Not now. Not then, either. And he refused to leave the dimpled, dark-haired girl weeping in a crook of the castle. N
o amount of arguing made Andreus relent in his quest to free Larkin from her punishment. That was the beginning of the friendship. It was the first time Carys trusted anyone besides her twin. It was also the last.

  For the next several months, the Queen frowned whenever she spotted Larkin giggling in the castle halls, but their mother never said anything pointed about the dangers of outsiders when Andreus was around. She saved that for the moments she and Carys were alone. She assured Carys that Larkin would be used against them. Maybe even hurt by others who wished to do the King and his family harm. Carys was ordered to let the friendship die. By the time winter came, Andreus had found a new friend to rescue and had forgotten about Larkin. Carys swore to do the same.

  She lied. It was a minor fabrication compared to all the others, but it had always felt like a victory to her. And even small victories were significant in the middle of a lifelong war.

  “Larkin,” Carys said smoothly, “perhaps we should focus on my order instead of worrying your father over events long past.”

  “Of course, Highness,” Larkin sang out with a hastily bobbed curtsy. “This way.”

  Larkin bounced up the stone steps leading to the second floor. As Carys followed, Goodman Marcus cleared his throat and said, “I apologize for my daughter, Your Highness.”

  Carys stopped at the top of the stone steps. She looked back down at Larkin’s father as he twisted a length of hemp between his hands. A man who loved his daughter. A man who lived life with a virtue none in the castle could ever understand. “You have nothing to apologize for, Goodman.”

  Carys walked through the doorway at the top of the stairs. Larkin closed the door, turned, and perched her hands upon her hips with a frown. “Now that we have Father convinced we are still giggling children with nary a true thought in our heads, tell me what’s wrong. You’re troubled.”

  “Don’t you know it is not acceptable to tell a lady she looks out of sorts?”

  “You have never been a traditional lady.”

  And wasn’t that the heart of her problem? “My mother would have you locked in the tower for saying that.”

  “Compliments come in many forms, Highness. Especially outside the white castle walls. Ladies are boring. Every move in every situation already prescribed. Gods, they’re barely even people.” Larkin walked over to a large wardrobe and opened the doors to reveal several gowns. “I sewed through the last several nights to complete the special accommodations you asked for. Try them on.”

  Larkin selected the most important dress first.

  Ignoring the questions in Larkin’s eyes, Carys allowed her friend to pull the corset tight, as if willing curves out of thin air. But as much as Larkin tried, Carys was never going to be soft and curvy. Her edges were hard, inside and out. Still, the dress fit like a glove. Her mother would appreciate that.

  Carys cared more about what she’d asked Larkin to add to the dress. The compartments were hidden in the seams, impossible to spot even for one who knew they existed. Larkin was both cunning and skilled.

  Carys slid her hands into the pockets and smiled.

  “Extra deep, lined with leather, each with a built-in sheath, just as requested.” Larkin paused, staring at Carys for several long seconds. Carys knew her friend was waiting for her to explain. But Carys said nothing and Larkin understood her well enough to simply nod before walking to the table near the window. When she turned she was holding an iron stiletto. “For my lady’s inspection.”

  “Where did you get that?” Carys hissed, looking toward the door.

  “Never fear, Your Highness.” Larkin smiled again. “It belongs to Father. He hasn’t used it in years, and I doubt he even knows where he last saw it. I did, however, and felt a royal request was a proper enough reason to borrow it. I’ll return it to its very dusty chest after you leave.”

  The handle was less intricate and the blade inferior to the ones Carys had asked her twin to commission two years ago. No princess could commission the castle blacksmith to make weapons. Not unless she wanted the rest of the court and the Council to find out and start asking questions. Questions were the last thing Carys or her brother needed.

  Carys felt inside the pocket for the sheath opening, then practiced sliding the blade into the concealed carrier and drawing it again. The first three draws caught on the fabric. The fourth came free without incident. With an hour of practice she would be able to draw and brandish the weapon with both speed and ease. Knowing that made the knot of anxiety wedged deep in her stomach ease a bit. It had been growing there for weeks as if trying to warn her of—something. When she’d mentioned her unease to Andreus, he’d told her she was just jumping at shadows, that she shouldn’t look for problems where there were none.

  Perhaps she was being paranoid, but she liked having her blades near. With so little she could control, it was good to have command over this and to know that no one, not even her brother, was aware of the secret. To survive in the castle, a girl needed all the secrets she could get.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Carys spotted Larkin poking a stick into the small fireplace. Once the end was ablaze, she began lighting candles throughout the room to chase away the lengthening shadows.

  “Is there a reason you’re not using the overhead lights?” Carys asked. Every business in the town was allotted a share of the power harnessed by the windmills atop the castle towers. Seven massive windmills to represent the seven virtues of the kingdom and the power that those who lived by those virtues wielded.

  Power. It came in many forms. Running the lights. Operating the water. Raising people above their stations. Ordering people to their deaths. In Eden, he who controlled the wind had the power.

  “Candlelight is not as harsh as the overhead glow.” Larkin glanced at the window, then finished lighting the last candle before placing the burning stick into the fire. “Shall we move on to the next garment, Your Highness?”

  “Larkin, what do I not know?” Carys asked as her friend busied herself at the wardrobe. Larkin always changed the subject when she was hiding something. When she looked away the trouble was even greater, and right now Larkin was keeping Carys at her back. “Larkin, tell me. Is there something wrong with the lights?”

  Her friend turned with a sigh. “People are saying the wind has not blown as strong as it should in recent weeks, Highness, and that’s why there isn’t as much power. The shortage has caused some . . . tension.”

  Tension was never a good word when it referred to the King’s subjects. When there was tension, trouble followed.

  Carys moved to the window and looked up at the palace windmills. The massive structures loomed above the white walls and cut through the backdrop of a darkening sky. The sound of their churning was the accompaniment to life in Garden City. Carys could hear their pulsing hum now, but could the blades be moving less speedily than in the past? Andreus would be able to tell. He’d made studying the windmills and the power they created his life’s work. The orb—the light that sat high atop the tallest tower of the palace—used his design. The light was supposed to welcome all who wished to add their talents to strengthen the kingdom and promised safety in its glow, because the things that hid in the darkness could never triumph when there was a light powered by virtue pushing them back.

  Her twin had helped build the newest light, but even he had known that the brightest orb would never banish the darkness completely—no matter how big it got or how hard the windmills turned.

  Andreus would know if there were a problem with power production. Without her brother’s knowledge, all Carys could say was that the hallways and great rooms in the palace were still illuminated just as brightly by the wind-powered light. Not that it mattered. Lack of power in the palace would cause little inconvenience; down here in the city, it would lead to much larger problems.

  “Where is the tension greatest?” The gown rustled as Carys turned her back to the window.

  “A few of the millers have expressed some upset, but Father has
given them some of our wind power allotment. That has helped quiet the loudest of the complaints.” Larkin helped Carys out of the formal gown and into the next dress. “But there are still whispers, and those whispers are getting louder with every day.”

  “What do the whispers say, Larkin?”

  Larkin bit her lip and sighed. “The whispers say the cold is coming. The days are getting shorter and the Xhelozi will be waking to hunt if they haven’t come out of slumber already. People are making offerings at the old shrine to keep the winds blowing—especially now that we have so few guardsmen to keep the walls safe if there is an attack.”

  “I thought most people avoided the shrine.” The first of Eden’s seers had ordered it constructed to give citizens a place to appeal directly to the Gods in times of struggle—and they had, until five years ago. A cyclone had appeared above the castle, and though the seer drove the wind tunnel back into the mountains, he warned that the deadly winds had been an answer to a careless request made at the sacred site. After that, the common people stayed away. Only the most troubled were driven to visit the grove on the edge of the city.

  “They did, Highness.” Larkin sighed. “But that was before, when the old seer was alive and there was enough wind power in the city. The new seer is lovely, but they wonder how someone who looks as if she can be blown over by the wind can possibly have the power to control it. Those who visit the shrine say they are trying to send her strength.”

  “And those who aren’t visiting the shrine? What are they saying?”

  “They say your family and the Council have put us all in danger by installing Lady Imogen as Eden’s seer. They are wondering if your family truly wishes to keep Eden safe.”

  Carys stiffened. “Do they speak of the Bastians?”

  “Not where I can hear them,” Larkin assured her. “A new seer is bound to make people nervous, especially as the first cold season approaches, but those I have talked to trust Prince Micah to keep the kingdom safe. They know he would not be planning to wed Lady Imogen if he wasn’t convinced of her skills. Once they are wed and the warm months return, things will settle down.”