The Midnight Tablet

THE MIDNIGHT TABLET

CLARE C. MARSHALL

THE VIOLET FOX SERIES BOOK 4

BOOKS BY CLARE C. MARSHALL

The Violet Fox Series:

The Violet Fox

The Silver Spear

The Emerald Cloth

The Midnight Tablet

The Sparkstone Saga:

Stars In Her Eyes

Dreams In Her Head

Hunger In Her Bones

Darkness In Her Reach

Voices In Her Song

Other Titles:

Within

Gear and Sea

The Midnight Tablet

Copyright © 2020 Clare C. Marshall

Cover Design © Clare C. Marshall

Editing by Leigh Teetzel

Map Illustrations by Scott Henderson

FAERY INK PRESS

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real persons or happenings are purely coincidental. This work may not be redistributed by third parties or customers without express written permission from Faery Ink Press.

One

RUN. THAT WAS what my people had done. Or what I hoped they’d done. For as my friends and I entered the capital in our rickety horse-driven wagon, we found Marlenia City ransacked and deserted.

Before I’d left, the market had been bustling. Our wagon should have been crawling at a snail’s pace. What remained of the colourful white and blue canopies, patched from my occasional careless runs across them, flapped in the wind with no one to witness them. The vendors should have been bartering and watching for thieves—yet the streets were empty. The air was uncannily still.

Judging from the wreckage of the stalls and the abandonment of the permanent shops behind them, whatever had torn through the streets of our capital had been brutal. Wooden planks lay with exposed upright, threatening nails. Ripped fabric and signs blew carelessly through the narrow, dark alleyways threading the city, and toppled woven baskets held only seeds and chewed-through, browned fruit. No bodies—a small blessing. So far, the only living people we’d seen had been the guards patrolling the top of the wall surrounding the city. Once they recognized me and, more importantly, Keegan, it had taken them fifteen minutes to open the gate. Seemingly my people, surface-born and Freetor alike, had squirreled themselves away from some unseen threat. Assuming they were alive at all.

Or, this was a trap.

We should have taken the tunnels, Laoise Mullen, my dearest friend, muttered over the crunch of the wagon wheels. She crouched behind me, tucking her short, dirty blonde hair behind her ears, hand ready to grab the knife from her boot at the first sign of trouble.

She was right. The Undercity tunnels may have been safer, but I was tired of sneaking around. I had been down this street thousands of times. Wearing a cloak and mask, I’d kicked up dust beneath my feet as I ran from the castle guards after stealing from the merchants and the rich, inspiring my people to continue believing that one day, they could be free. I had ridden in a carriage to retrieve a magical artefact while pretending to be Lady Dominique Castillo of the North. I had stood beside the love of my life, trying to embody good rulership, while I dreamt of adventure at the end of the world. I had snuck into the castle as a servant with Laoise when she’d disguised herself as Lady Linnaea Gareth. Now, I stood cautiously on top of a wobbly wagon with my closest, dearest friends—no longer hiding, no longer pretending.

We had accomplished our mission: save Prince Keegan Tramore from the clutches of our enemies and wake him from the magical sleep that continued to plague our world. Keegan Tramore—my love, my prince, and rightful heir to all of Marlenia, stood next to me as we rode through the eerily silent streets of Marlenia City. Even as the wagon rolled uncomfortably over the debris, I was relieved we had made it back home to the capital. I had to celebrate the victories, no matter how small, because the future seemed more uncertain than ever. 

Ivor Ferguson, former Advisor to the Holy One, had escaped my grasp and had embarked on a maniacal quest to find the origin of all magic: the Midnight Tablet. He was already more powerful than any Elder or apprentice I had seen. If I failed to find it before him, he would use the Midnight Tablet for his own selfish ends instead of helping others in need.

He’d made his feelings clear when he’d used magic against me in the cathedral in Eastern-occupied Sallingaire. Oh, he’d wanted me to follow him on his quest. Deep inside, he knew we both relished the chase, because saving others from people like him was what I had always done. I was Kiera Driscoll, the Violet Fox, famed folk hero and protector of the Freetor people, secretly married to Prince Keegan Tramore, heir to the entirety of Marlenia, and wielder of the Silver Spear—the famed magical artefact that had started the war and the prejudice between the two distinct classes of my people over two hundred years ago.

He also told me I could control and wield Freetor magic, just as he could. Once I was more receptive to his worldview, he would mentor me.

Because that was what fathers were supposed to do. 

The worst part was—I feared he was right. 

I had channeled magic from the artefacts before, yet to call upon my people’s greatest treasure was a singular gift only given to the now-dead Elders and their scattered, skittery apprentices. Magic had been tightly controlled in Freetor society. I’d always thought it was because the surface-born Marlenians equally feared and coveted it; now I knew it was because the desire for the dangerous lived within us all.

The four artefacts of Dashiell, the man-god, had an especially treacherous influence. They had been separated by four monks in order to keep any one person from becoming too powerful. The Orb of Dashiell could call lightning from the sky, even if you were underground. The Silver Spear had been cursed by the founder of the Freetors, Alastar the Hero, and would put any surface-born Marlenian into a frozen sleep that spread like a disease if another touched the befallen. The Emerald Cloth had soaked in the tears of the man-god, and had the power to heal—so long as you were willing to sacrifice your identity. The fourth and final artefact was the Midnight Tablet, which was still lost, for now.

We possessed two of the four: the Silver Spear and the Emerald Cloth. My father had the Orb of Dashiell. It took one artefact to correctly identify another: they glowed an intense, bright blue—the colour of Freetor magic—when other artefacts were near. As far as we knew, this glow could only be spotted by those with Freetor blood.

Because of the inherent danger the Silver Spear, we’d wrapped it in rags before our departure from Sallingaire. As we’d discovered with Keegan, the cure for the magical sleep-plague came with a terrible price. Pieced together and made whole again, the patchwork Emerald Cloth had managed to wake Keegan from his icy slumber. It had also taken all of his memories. Everything that made Keegan himself was gone. Including his knowledge of me and our marriage.

If I’d had my way, I may not have returned to Marlenia City. My father already had a head start chasing down the Midnight Tablet. He could’ve been anywhere in the world at this point. His mastery of magic had warped his mind, given him unnatural abilities, and had only deepened his thirst for power. If he reached the Midnight Tablet first, he would control the only known method to restore Keegan’s memories.

It had taken us nearly five days to ride back to the capital. Far longer than I would’ve liked. A sudden array of frozen soldiers had appeared in and around the cathedral in Sallingaire—all thanks to my father and his careless use of the Spear. We applied the Cloth to those we found, yet the more we woke, the more questions they had: Who am I? What place is this? Who are you? As we couldn’t give them a clear answer without alerting them to the fact they were our enemies, we had to make our escape from Sallingaire quickly. We slipped out of the Eastern-controlled city much the way we had come in, though the guards at the gate were far more concerned with putting out the fire Dominique Castillo had started in the cathedral and the confused soldiers to worry about a merchant wagon rolling past the checkpoint with inadequate identification.

Once on the road to the capital, we had to avoid the Eastern patrols and other curious merchants making their way between the two warring provinces. The open plains and lack of supplies made our stealthy journey difficult. More than once we had to ride the wagon off the road and hide in the tall grass to avoid being spotted. The Eastern patrols seemed uninterested in investigating our seemingly abandoned ride; they galloped by on their mounts, to and from the capital, often veering from the main road towards the mountains. They had a camp somewhere close, but we had neither the time nor the resources to infiltrate them. I hoped that Bidelia, with the Roamers’ help, had some answers.

To pass the time and quell the gnawing hunger in our stomachs, Laoise, Monju, and I filled Keegan in on his previous life. We respectfully stuck to what we knew of Keegan’s childhood, his relationship with his father, the now-deceased Holy One, our journey to retrieve the Silver Spear, and an overview of the world and the rulers who thirsted for his father’s vacant throne. He absorbed the information gratefully and with appropriate scepticism. After all, who were we, a bunch of ruffians, to tell another equally scruffy young man that he was, in fact, the ruler of our world?

Now in Marlenia City, the mountain castle loomed ahead, its restoration incomplete, thanks to me and the rebellion carried out over a week and a half ago. I wondered if Bidelia and the Roamers had gathered everyone there for safety as they fought off the last of the oppressive Frostfire regime? Although in desperate need of repair, the castle’s position on mountain high and its abundance of secret tunnels made it the obvious place to hide our vulnerable population. 

Is that it? Keegan asked, pointing up at the imposing structure.

Yeah, I replied. It didn’t always look like that. Parts of it were destroyed in a fire. The Frostfires were rebuilding it with slave labour. Which we stopped.

At least, I hoped we’d stopped it. When my father had delivered the Silver Spear in the cathedral in Sallingaire, he’d said Bidelia and the Roamers were successful at retaking the castle. What if he had been lying? What if everyone was dead?

This was looking more and more like a trap.

Monju Farin perched on the front of the wagon bed, deftly directing our one horse around the debris. We’d stolen fresh peasant clothes in Sallingaire, though his green trousers were already frayed at the ends and ripped at the knee. 

We should stop, I said to Monju.

He glanced over his shoulder with a grim expression. Monju, a travelling bard-assassin and once an agent of Dominique Castillo’s was now one of my trusted friends, and Laoise’s beau. The Lady expected a more pleasant welcome? 

As he was originally from the South, Monju’s speech rarely included informal pronouns like you or I, except in intimate or extremely informal conversation. Ever since I had saved his life, he considered himself in my service. If this madness ever ended and Keegan and I reclaimed the throne, we’d make him an official member of the guard.

In truth, I had expected a pleasant welcome. We’d returned Prince Keegan Tramore, the rightful monarch, to the capital. We’d driven out the Eastern invaders. Sure, we still had my father to deal with, and the East and the North were poised to strike again—but for now, we’d won. Or so I’d thought.

Are we waiting for someone? Keegan asked. Or is it faster to go on foot from here?

Not once we reach the mountain, I said. He had a point, though. If there was a trap, I wasn’t going to wait for it to trigger. The guards already knew we were here. Might as well get it over with. 

Nodding to Monju, I called out, Hello? Anyone?

The wagon wheels turned slowly once more as we continued our punishing pace down the street, and as we passed by the dark alleyways, I could make out shapes peering out of the narrow strips of darkness. Laoise saw them too; she remained crouched and ready to defend us. I reached down and retrieved the Silver Spear. Only to be used as a last resort, I promised myself. If anything, the Freetors would see the blue glow of magic, and know that it was me, their hero, returning to save them and restore their lives in the sun. 

It’s the Violet Fox! someone said loudly from a nearby alley. 

That proclamation unleashed my people into the streets. As our identities were traded among the populace, I heard hope course through the city once more. Men, women, and children poured out of the alleyways and surrounded the wagon, grasping for and then clinging to the rough, splintery sides of the bed. All of them with the same requests on their lips: Help us.

Until I’d become betrothed to Keegan, it was illegal for Freetors to be on the surface at all. The most notable physical difference between surface-born Marlenians and Freetors was the sun-starved skin. However, that wasn’t the best differentiator, as Freetors snuck onto the surface all the time to steal or fight or both at the behest of the Elders—who were dead now. As most Freetors were living hand to mouth, despite our efforts to steal, collect, and distribute food fairly among the caves, the second, more obvious tell was our starved appearance. If you looked starved or even seemed impoverished, you were often branded a Freetor, even if you weren’t. You were weighted with the consequences of the title: imprisonment. Slavery. Death.

Before Keegan, when I was just the Violet Fox, I had prided myself in seeing the differences. Now, everyone was equally poor, dirty, and desperate. These could have been people born in the caves or surface-born merchants who had lost everything. Between the fire at the castle, the Frostfires’ invasion and terrible reign, and whatever had happened while we were gone, it was common folk who had suffered the most. More than ever, my people needed me.

They called to Keegan, too. He spun in place, taking them all in with surprise and wonder. Their questions tore through him like a blunt knife.

Was the prince really imprisoned by the East?

How did the Violet Fox rescue her betrothed?

We aren’t paying for your wedding with our taxes!

I wasn’t sure I believed you when you said I was a prince, Keegan said to me, far louder than a whisper. 

My Keegan had always been poised and confident in front of a crowd. He never faltered. He had grown up learning from a long line of rulers and advisors. All of that teaching had evaporated when he woke.

But no one knew that, except us.

As their questions and concerns grew louder and more insistent, Keegan leaned towards me, equally panicked. Whose wedding are they talking about? 

I slid my free arm through his. The movement surprised him, and he stiffened. Sorry, I said. We have to show them a united front.

He frowned and gently, though not unkindly, removed himself from my grasp. If you say so, but…

I cursed internally. Of course he didn’t want to touch me. He didn’t know. This wasn’t how I wanted to have this conversation. I’d hoped when we arrived at the castle and cleaned ourselves up, we could speak privately. 

But I didn’t have to tell him. My fears had drawn my face.

We’re…together? he asked, incredulous.

There was no good answer. I lowered my voice and spoke into his shoulder. We were married, in secret.

He began to protest. 

Not here, I warned him lowly. "They can’t know that you don’t know."

I hadn’t found the courage to tell him about our romantic history, and most importantly, that we had married. Yes, that marriage was just between the two of us, at the God Tears by the end of the world, with no witnesses. It was within Freetor tradition. This had proved inconvenient later. No one believed I, the Violet Fox, born from dirt, a liar and a thief, had married the heir of the world, despite our public betrothal. Princes changed their minds with the wind and the political climate, after all. That was why Sylvia Frostfire and her family had easily managed to capture and hold Marlenia City for so long, with Keegan as the convenient, sleeping hostage, none-the-wiser.

The wagon began to shake as our people shouted louder and louder for us to give them an explanation or excuse for not giving them what they wanted. One tried to grab on to Keegan’s leg and pull him into the street. He recoiled, panicked, as others tried to climb aboard. I protected him with a decisive arm across his chest and warded the sides of the wagon with a wave of the Spear. My people, Freetor or not, watched the sharp, somewhat jagged tip of the legendary artefact warily.

It has been a long journey, I told them carefully. I know you have concerns, but so do we.

Monju couldn’t move the wagon now, even if he wanted to. We were caged on all sides. The horse was getting antsy. Laoise stood, no weapon yet, trying to calm the crowd. Yet they didn’t know her. They didn’t want her words. They wanted Keegan’s—and mine.

My mind leapt ahead with horror as I realized the terrible mistake I’d made. Laoise had been right. We should have taken the tunnels.

For if my people, surface and Undercity dwellers alike, realized that the knowledge of Keegan’s past had been robbed…they’d revolt. The Freetors loved me, or, most of them did, at least. They’d support a Freetor High Queen. Yet, without Keegan, my presence on the throne would be seen as a hostile usurping of a kingdom held by a royal line. Dominique Castillo and the Frostfire family would use that against me and swoop into Marlenia City to pick up the pieces.

Keegan turned awkwardly, trying to avoid the reaching hands, and I caught his arm before he nearly stumbled over the side. His gaze wildly suggested I do something. 

What happened here? I shouted, pointing at the debris with the Spear.

The people slammed me with their replies, each loud and demanding: 

The Frostfires took everything!

The Advisor is holed up in the castle, hoarding silver and food! 

Armed mercenaries. 

Killers in the dark!

I nearly asked them, What Advisor? for that had been my father’s role, yet if I appeared incompetent, my lack of control over and knowledge of the situation would trump all else. Killers in the dark and armed mercenaries weren’t surprising given the state of the city. All that mattered was the people were scared, and they were looking to Keegan and I for support and validation. 

We don’t have any food, I told them. 

Laoise began echoing my sentiment to the needy faces surrounding us. As this truth settled in, they relaxed. It was hard to lie about resources when the wagon hid nothing on its splintery, rotting bed. Most of the crowd detached and we could move again. As we cleared the market debris, Monju increased his speed. Some filtered off into the alleyways, but many stayed on the street, following us at a hurried pace as we made our way to the Grand Square.

The Grand Square was a wide stretch of stone-inlayed public space for gatherings and announcements. It was also the place where Marlenians would crowd around to watch the public executions of Freetors. I had to watch my brother Rordan burn, and I did nothing, for I was on a mission. Now, I wondered if I had spoken up then and told Keegan the truth about my identity, what could have been different. 

Built into the mountainside beside the Grand Square was the Cathedral of Dashiell, where Keegan had nearly married Sylvia Frostfire—where I had revealed my name to everyone. The holy site looked far worse than I had ever seen it. It, and the buildings surrounding the Grand Square, had been turned to rubble and partially destroyed. The work of explosives, perhaps? Only the Extremists employed that dangerous methodology, as they had little regard for the lives of the surface-born. The devastation extended out over several streets in a circular blast radius. Only a large explosive—or the work of magic—could have triggered it.

Ahead, a group of armed Roamers in a loose formation blocked the intersection between the Grand Square and the street. As we drew closer, Monju slowed the wagon. Behind us, our curious followers hesitated and kept a generous distance. They appeared to be no stranger to the armed Roamers.

I frowned. I counted less than fifteen people guarding the Grand Square. Someone must have run to tell them we were coming. We could spare no messenger from Sallingaire, so our arrival to Marlenia City, and by extension the castle, would be a surprise to Bidelia and the Roamers. Their armour, if it could be called that, was tattered and torn. Some had tried to patch it with official banners from the castle, or scraps of patchwork leather. None of their weapons were uniform either. While most had raised swords at our approach, a few wielded makeshift spiked clubs, and one carried a rusted halberd. I saw no Freetor apprentices among them, which was equally worrying.

By nature, the Roamers were a friendly lot, provided you left them alone and respected their traditions. I had trusted them to work with us to overthrow the Frostfires, and as far as I knew, they had. I expected them to be patrolling the streets, cleaning up the debris, and generally helping my people find their feet in the midst of this cruel war. Not blockading a public gathering place. Even more curious: the citizens, as frenzied as they seemed, outnumbered the Roamers. Sure, the Roamers were armed, but it wouldn’t be difficult for an angry mob to overwhelm them if that was their desire.

I let out a slow breath as the unofficial leader of the Roamers, Pascal Antony, clapped one of his men on the shoulder and shuffled his way to the front of the formation. I raised the Silver Spear, proving that I had returned. He gave me a toothy grin.

Do I know this man? I feel as if… Keegan trailed off, and reached around to the scars on his back. 

My heart sank once more. The body remembered, even if the mind did not. When Keegan, Monju, and I had passed through the Roamer camp at Toram Lake, the Roamers were attacked and a woman with a striking resemblance to me was murdered. Out in the wild, and with no real evidence as to whether it was the shadow killers who hunted us or an unrelated tragic act of violence, the Roamers dispensed their own justice upon those they believed to be guilty. As we had brought chaos to their camp, they judged we had to suffer punishment. Keegan insisted on enduring it himself. Twenty lashes on the back, in front of a maddened crowd, delivered by none other than Pascal Antony.

I searched for a hint of this memory within Keegan’s gaze, but found only confusion there, and I felt relieved. I didn’t want him to remember that. Why would his mind grasp futilely at a terrible event, instead of remembering me—his beloved?

The Violet Fox returns, Antony said, standing awkwardly on his good leg. He nodded at me, and then stiffly to Keegan. Your Grace.

Keegan pressed his lips in a firm line and returned the nod. Good. The fewer people that knew about Keegan’s memory loss, the better. 

Monju, Antony said jovially, turning to the Southern bard-assassin. You’re not dead yet, I see.

Not yet, old friend, Monju replied good-naturedly. Many adventures have been had.

As always, I look forward to hearing them! Mostly the tale of how Kiera Driscoll bested Leszek Frostfire, Antony said with a sly grin. Perhaps later, you’ll regale me.

Perhaps. News had spread fast. No doubt Dominique and Boris had fanned those flames. The Violet Fox killed the High King of the East with a magical Freetor weapon—juicy news that could be spun for good or ill on either side. I hadn’t meant to kill the man. I’d stabbed him with the Spear while defending my father. I’d believed Leszek would freeze like the rest. He did freeze…and then fell upon the cathedral floor and burst into millions of shards. Dead. According to succession laws, that meant Boris Frostfire, Leszek’s oldest son, was now High King, and Dominique, his new wife, was High Queen of the East.

Which was bad news for me and everyone else.

Antony still did not move from his spot, nor did those under his command. He glanced at the crowd gathered behind us. Any trouble from the locals? 

This was not a good sign. I balled my hands into fists as my bitten fingernails dug into my palms. N-no, I stammered. The city I had grown up in? In ruins. My people were terrified. Stunned. Leaderless. Governed by rebels. I saw it in their faces. They believed Keegan had abandoned them. They thought I had abandoned them. But we were back now. We’d lost the Orb of Dashiell to my father, but we had the Emerald Cloth, and that was what mattered. We’d be able to cure those affected by the curse of the Silver Spear. I’d explain everything to them, and after we’d dealt with my father and the Midnight Tablet, and the threat from Dominique and the East, then, then we could focus on reuniting our people, sharing the land, and distributing resources fairly to rebuild a stronger Western province.

First things first—returning my husband to his childhood home.

Are you blocking our path? I asked Antony.

His lips curled into a smile. My relationship with the Roamer was on uneasy ground. He had come to my aid, when the Frostfires and the Castillos had controlled the castle. Antony and one hundred of his people had agreed to help those loyal to me and the Tramores overthrow the oppressive regime—for a price. I had promised them land, silver, and whatever loot they found belonging to the Frostfires. Since I’d left in the chaos of the rebellion, I didn’t know if they’d been paid at all. A former mercenary, Antony cared about such agreements, especially when his people’s lives were on the line. It was only a matter of time before he would demand what he was owed, and I didn’t know if I had the land or the silver to repay him for his generous service.

Had we known you were coming, we’d have given you a more formal welcome, he replied. We sent a runner to fetch a more royally appropriate carriage for your journey up the mountain. But no. That’s not why we’re here. We’re still finishing up our end of the bargain, Violet Fox. Shadows and Frostfire soldiers lurk within the city. Not but a few hours ago there were reports of three hooded figures brandishing bloodied knives and swords. We’re holding our position here in the open, waiting for two of our own kin to return with news. Hopefully of the invaders’ deaths.

I glanced behind me. Some of Antony’s men had corralled the growing crowd. They were out of earshot, or so I hoped. I counted at least twenty men, women, and children craning their necks, trying to get a better look at the Violet Fox and her prince.

I had left them. And for what? To chase magical artefacts. To rescue Keegan. That at least had been worth it. But my people had suffered—all because of this rebellion and my relationship with Keegan.

It was all my fault.

Laoise subtly nudged my shoulder. She could see my pain, even when others couldn’t. We will fix this, she whispered to me.

Keegan also seemed concerned about his citizens, though he said nothing, staring up again at the mountain castle he once called home.

A distant crunch of gravel became a covered carriage barrelling down the narrow, winding path—our ride away from the peasants and their pleas for help.

Antony seemed to be waiting for my instruction, or at least, an acknowledgement of his effort. Thank you, I said.

Keegan jumped down from the wagon then, landing with a clomp on his worn boots. As he steadied himself, not an easy feat after our rocky ride, I leapt down and landed beside him. This only served to startle him: he spun like an alley cat, facing me with round eyes and raised, defensive hands.

It’s just me, I said. Sorry. I was apologizing to him more today than I had in our entire relationship.

He blew out his fear in a prolonged sigh, but he did not relax. I couldn’t blame him. Whatever curiosity Antony had provoked in him had passed. He was in strange territory with strange people once more. 

Antony seemed to note our unusual exchange as the carriage came around and stopped behind his men’s defensive line. He signalled, and two of his people parted for us as the carriage door opened.

Out stepped Bidelia Mullen, Laoise’s mother, and long-time family friend. Stray hair blew from her otherwise neat bun. She sported a long blue coat, and although tattered at the hem it