Beach of Bones (Empath Book 1) Read online

  Beach of Bones

  Empath: Book One

  Dawn Peers

  A PERMUTED PRESS BOOK

  Published at Smashwords

  ISBN: 978-1-61868-683-1

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-684-8

  BEACH OF BONES

  Empath Book 1

  © 2015 by Dawn Peers

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art by Christian Bentulan

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Permuted Press

  109 International Drive, Suite 300

  Franklin, TN 37067

  http://permutedpress.com

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  About the Author

  1

  Sammah had warned her that the hustle of the Great Hall would prove too much. It wasn’t that Quinn hadn’t believed him; she hadn’t wanted to believe him. Quinn was tired of being swathed in cloth and kept in the background, when all along she suspected that her adoptive father was simply being over-protective. As one of the scullery boys scurried past with a platter, overburdened with meats, spilling gravy and hot fat to the floor, and forcing Quinn to push herself up against the wall once again to keep out of the way, she began to doubt her reasons for volunteering for the kitchens.

  You’re more suited to working alone were the words Sammah had used, and Quinn had thrown those words in his face, telling Sammah that he was always holding her back, that she wasn’t a child any more. Sammah had tried to reason with her she realised shamefully, the redness rising in her cheeks having nothing to do with the heat of the kitchen. A woman near her shouted, waving a heavy iron skillet around in the air. Quinn flinched, wishing she were now anywhere but here. Her heart began to beat painfully against her chest, her breathing coming in rapid, shallow gasps. Come on, Quinn, you wanted this, you can do it, she muttered to herself as she approached the head cook. Sweat began to trickle down the back of her neck. She hadn’t even spoken to the woman that would be giving her orders for the evening, but Quinn was already a nervous wreck. She tried to shove that unwanted thought to the back of her mind as she wiped her clammy palms against the itchy smock uniform the chamberlain had told her to wear. The head cook, a visually unassuming woman in her later years, was up ahead bawling orders at anyone unlucky enough to be within earshot. This kitchen served the Great Hall in Everfell, and even without visiting dignitaries from other cities, they would be expected to feed the hundreds of workers, soldiers, and nobles that hung around the court. Quinn’s usual job was to tidy the rooms; to dust, prepare baths, ferry around linen, and generally keep out of sight.

  It’s for your own good, Quinn. Sammah’s words stung her ears. She kept control of herself, biting down the rising panic and focusing on what she needed to do, just as Sammah taught her. She could do this. All she needed to do was serve some plates of food; by the Great God himself, she should be able to cope with this.

  “Madam Renner? Ross told me I should report to you.”

  Quinn blanched as the slight woman, her skin red with the constant humidity of the kitchen and her eyes shrunken, pinched from years of squinting through clouds of steam, wheeled that pincer gaze around. Madam Renner, the unequivocal matriarch of the kitchens, regarded Quinn with a thinly veiled sneer. Quinn rallied slightly when the woman began to talk; Renner affected a thick accent from the southern states; she had been born and raised in Everfell, and Quinn thought it was silly the woman would make such a pretence for the sake of sounding exotic. “You’re Sammah’s girl, aren’t you?” Renner pronounced the word girl as if it had more vowels than strictly necessary. Quinn nodded anyway, still not trusting her voice. She kept her mind tight, concentrating only on what she had to say to Renner, and the tasks the kitchen master gave her. If she let her concentration slide any further than that….

  Renner squinted, her eyes virtually disappearing under the corrugated folds of skin around her forehead and cheeks. “I thought you weren’t allowed in the kitchens, girl?”

  “Ross thinks it would be a good experience for me.” Quinn lied smoothly.

  “Hmm.” Renner appeared to weigh those words against the reputation Quinn knew already circulated about her among the staff of the Everfell court. She was unstable, the kind ones said. The rest of them said she was simple, a fool; clumsy and good for nothing. Quinn knew that wasn’t the truth; that she couldn’t help what happened to her, not all of the time. Still, she couldn’t explain that to anyone, even if Sammah did let her. Renner waved at her face. Quinn was startled, her legs turning leaden as she panicked about what she was meant to be doing, until the old woman tugged her out of the path of another young girl with a stack of plates so high, she shouldn’t by all rights be able to see where she was going.

  “You’re going to have to be more alert if you’re going to work in here, girl.” Renner clucked, her mouth open slightly, as she tried to decide whether Quinn was going to be helpful, or whether Ross was up to another one of his tricks, sending him one of the dullards that worked the castle and the court in the dead of the night just to disrupt her kitchens. Still, a simpleton or not, this girl was Baron Sammah’s daughter, and Renner didn’t want to find herself before that man, explaining the reason she had turned his daughter away from Renner’s kitchens and an evening of honest work. “You can work out in the hall tonight. Get used to the way we do things.” Renner stuck out an arm, leaving it outstretched for a few seconds. Quinn frowned, wondering if the woman was pointing for her to go somewhere, until she caught the collar of a boy wandering past. His clothing wasn’t new, and wasn’t even showing signs of a beard, but he wore a dark green tunic with a mustard yellow lining, and that marked him as one of the king’s own pages. This boy was a noble son, though Quinn didn’t know from which house, so she’d have to at least treat him with deference. “Briar, here, is learning how the underside of a castle works, before his grandfather conscripts him to a life of duty in the courts. He will show you what you need to do.”

  Quinn gulped and nodded, muttering her thanks, but Renner had already spun away, her thickly acerbic tongue already lashing out at another kitchen lackey. Briar curled his hand in a gesture that meant Quinn should follow him. She did that, mirroring his movements as Briar tucked and turned out of the chaos of the kitchen. They walked rapidly through a wide stone corridor, the ceilings high and the path well-lit by stones in regular sconces. The air was
noticeably cooler already, and Quinn was relieved. She would never be able to cope for a full evening in that kitchen, not for one day; never mind a lifetime. The corridor was a back stair from the kitchens direct to the Great Hall, she knew, and they weren’t the only ones using it. Coming past them, back towards the kitchen, was a constant stream of girls and boys, the occasional elder thrown in for difference or pity. They all had their hands full, no one daring to show any signs of fatigue, not daring to go back near the gaze of Renner with anything less than arms bulging with dinnerware. Quinn wondered how they managed to move without tripping. A quick glance at the floor showed her how smooth the flagstones were here, compared to the ones that lined the walls. The feet that trod through these halls knew full well where they were going. It wasn’t worth your hide to make a mistake.

  Briar swept his arm around the hall, when they finally emerged. He pulled her to one side, so they didn’t cause a blockage as others made their way out of the kitchens with hot food. Quinn had seen the Great Hall enough times; she was familiar with its layout. Rows and rows of benches on the ground level seated the common folk; staff and soldiers, and the like. Near the main doors, it didn’t matter where you were seated, but the closer you came to the dais, the higher in general rank or stature you were. It wasn’t unknown for people to be frozen out of those seats, sent with an empty platter and the bawling of laughter in their ears, to find a seat again with the commoners, your transgression unknown, but your shame secured in front of most of Everfell’s gossiping populace. Up at the dais, the long table that usually seated the royal family, along with the highest-ranking household members and visiting nobles, was mostly empty. Ross, the Chamberlain of Everfell for as long as Quinn had ever known, was taking his meal, and a few seats down the Baron Sammah, her adoptive father and the emissary for the Council of the City-states of Sha’sek, was sitting sipping from a wooden cup. He was making a point, she thought, of not looking at her. Quinn returned the gesture, moving her gaze quickly back to Briar, who was looking up at her with a cocked brow.

  “Are you from Sha’sek?”

  Quinn shook her head. Sammah had found her, he said, in the care of some beggars in Oster, a poor fishing port in the northern province of Yender. She was an orphan and, like many of Sammah’s other “children,” he had brought her back to the city, given her shelter and a job, and the protection of his name as she grew up. “Sammah adopted me.” She kept her response to Briar simple. She didn’t like talking about her private life, and she didn’t like the sense of curiosity she was getting from this boy. “Why?”

  “Does this have anything to do with the service?” she responded, trying not to sound irritated.

  * * *

  Briar reddened a little, and moved the conversation on. Curious as he might be, any lollygagging could be reported to Brenner, and that would undoubtedly make its way back to his father. Briar would prefer to avoid that kind of complication.

  “No.” Briar decided that he didn’t like this girl. He had heard of Quinn. She was the daughter of a noble, but she wasn’t of noble blood. He didn’t have to treat her with any kindness, and she was in no way his equal—her father was from Sha’sek, after all. He scouted around, looking for the rowdiest table he could find. Down at the front, he saw what he wanted. A bench, covered with empty mugs and red, raucous faces. He’d already seen one serving girl leave the table in tears. Perfect. He pointed Quinn in their direction. “Go to that table. Clear their mugs, and ask them if they want any more ale.” He pointed to another table, the other side of the entrance to the kitchen corridor. It was already covered with empty kitchenware. “Put them there. Then go over there,” he pointed to another corner, where a boy was frantically filling mugs from barrels, handing them to waiting servers. “And get the drinks they want. When you’ve done that, come back here, and I’ll give you a different area to serve. Is that okay?”

  * * *

  Quinn nodded. She was starting to sweat again, but this time it was from the concentration. There were a lot of people in this hall—far more than she was used to in her quiet life upstairs—and it was all she could do to keep their merriment and mirth out of her head. She fixed her eyes on the table Briar had sent her too. The sight of it made her balk, but she couldn’t back out now. There were people all around her, and Quinn had to keep telling herself that none of them—well, perhaps Sammah excepted—were paying any attention to her. None of them were a threat to her. Just collect some mugs. Get some more ale. You can do this.

  By the time she reached the bench in question, she felt ready to faint. There were eleven men sitting around the bench. Thankfully none of them were paying any attention to her, though that wasn’t guaranteed to last. Quinn tried to edge in, keeping out of sight. As her thin, pale arm snaked across the edge of the table, her trembling hand closing on the first empty mug, a huge hand, the back of it covered in black hair, clamped onto her wrist. She wasn’t pulled anyway, but she was kept in place as a soldier turned to her, his leering grin revealing yellowing teeth and his breath rank, stinking of meat and ale. “Hello there. You’re new. Have you come to sit with us?”

  She tried to pull her arm back, but the hand around her wrist closed tighter, the force of it stinging her. Quinn cried out in pain, but this only made the man smile wider. Another soldier next to him had turned to her now. Quinn could feel it; her control was slipping, now she was more focused on what they were doing to her, rather than what she was meant to be doing herself. The air around her became suddenly hot; the humidity in the kitchen was nothing by comparison. There, the atmosphere had been loose; there was still room for air. Here, what she was feeling now, she had learned the men were feeling lust. She didn’t really need to be an empath to figure that out, with the glinting look in the eye of the man that had her held fast. Desperately, she looked up to the dais, but her father wasn’t there anymore, and the chamberlain was looking another way. Quinn didn’t pull her arm away again. She was too distracted trying to breathe, as the air around her became so thick she felt she would barely be able to move. More of the mens’ eyes had turned towards her, and she knew she wasn’t just feeling the lust of one man. It was overwhelming; stars began to spin in front of her eyes, the colours dancing as a wave of nausea rose in her stomach. If the man hadn’t been holding her, she would have fallen already.

  “What are you doing to my daughter?”

  The voice came thick through the haze around her, but Quinn still recognised the inflection, the danger of the careful intonation clear. The soldier released her wrist, darting back from Quinn as if she were on fire. She felt like it. The stars solidified and her vision went back. The last thing she remembered was how the heat rushed back to be replaced with the cold ice of fear, before she fainted into her father’s arms.

  * * *

  It was still dark when she woke. She didn’t rise with a start. Quinn knew what had happened, and she knew that Sammah would have taken her straight back to her rooms. The air was soft again, and Quinn took in a deep breath, glad to be safe once more, almost alone. The scents of lavender and rosewood drifted through the air. Without opening her eyes, she tested her voice. It came out softly, but she didn’t croak. At least she hadn’t screamed, this time.

  “Maertn?”

  “I’m right here, Quinn.”

  She opened her eyes then, letting them adjust to the flickering light of the candles, one by her bed on her plain wooden stand, and another, thick, the length of her arm, in a tall sconce in the corner. Maertn, her closest, and only real friend, was sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed. His arms rested in his lap and he seemed poised, ready to react if she’d taken a turn for the worse, she supposed. Maertn was one of Everfell’s most talented—and youngest—healers. They had a good reason to be friends, too: he was also one of Sammah’s orphans. They were, their father told them, mere months apart in age.

  Quinn didn’t need to let go of control, to reach out and find Maertn’s thoughts, to know that he was concerned
for her. She made it a point to never read his emotions, not when she could help it. It wasn’t fair to him. She and Maertn might be close, but he had no idea what she was. An empath.

  Only Sammah knew the truth. Only Sammah knew, which was why he encouraged her to keep away from others. Only Sammah had the knowledge of the pain she bore; of how crowds petrified her, and how enough concentrated anger could give her headaches that would nearly send her blind. All Maertn knew, was that she had fainted again. She didn’t make a habit of it, especially not in front of others, not when she was already thought of as peculiar. It didn’t matter to Maertn though, what others thought of her. She was his friend, and she was not well. He was a healer, and he knew how to make her feel better. He would have lit her burner with a small candle. It would be a long enough wick, and the pot filled with enough water, for the calming aromas of lavender and sandalwood to scent through the room for the whole of the night, if needed. Her temples pulsed. Quinn wouldn’t be surprised if there was a little lavender oil in her hair, too. That always made her sleep better.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I helped carry you from the hall.” Maertn answered softly. Quinn cringed, burying her face in the pillow. How embarrassing. Yes, she was aware of her reputation, and no, where possible she did not let it bother her. But she was only human, and tonight she had dealt her own wellbeing a humiliating blow. Maertn wouldn’t understand, no matter how hard he tried. Everyone liked Maertn. The sadness inside her wide and echoing, she let a small part of herself creep towards her friend. What she felt from him couldn’t be further than the taunting and lascivious things she had felt in the Great Hall before she had collapsed. Maertn felt solid, like oak, the air around him smooth. Trustworthiness, Sammah had told her, was represented this way. Her temple tingled. Maertn was concerned, too.