Olandon Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Olandon

  The Tainted Accords: Novella Two

  Kelly St. Clare

  Contents

  Kelly St. Clare

  Map

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Kelly St. Clare

  Rhone

  The Retreat

  Sign Up

  Thank you!

  Copyright 2018 by Kelly St. Clare

  First Published: March 22nd, 2018

  Publisher: Kelly St. Clare

  The right of Kelly St. Clare to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.kellystclare.com

  Kelly St. Clare

  When Kelly St Clare is not reading or writing, she is lost in her latest reverie. Books have always been magical and mysterious to her. One day she decided to start unraveling this mystery and began writing.

  Her words include The Tainted Accords, The After Trilogy, and her co-authored series, The Darkest Drae.

  A New Zealander in origin and in heart, Kelly currently resides in Australia with her ginger-haired husband, a great group of friends, and some huntsman spiders who love to come inside when it rains. Their love is not returned.

  Visit her online at

  www.kellystclare.com

  Or find her on

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  Prologue

  Two years earlier: Osolis, Second Rotation

  “Orita stares at you often, Landon,” his mother remarked over her raised goblet.

  Olandon didn’t turn his head to where she sat two seats to his left. “Yes, it is most unwelcome.”

  “Then your instincts are in tune,” she replied, a hint of humor entering her voice. “For that is one who will claw her way past anything to get to the top. Even you.”

  Olandon leaned back to allow the servant to take away his empty plate. “You rather sound like you admire her, Mother.”

  “I could hardly hate my own reflection.”

  He turned and saw her lips curve into some semblance of a smile.

  She studied him as a different servant refilled her goblet. “You are ready to begin your training, my son.”

  He was? Olandon didn’t answer—his mother didn’t require one—but his breath attempted to hitch in his throat as she continued to watch him. Olandon was the second child of the Tatum. When his elder sister became Tatum, he would become her Head of Guard. He hadn’t expected to begin training so soon, being just shy of his seventeenth birthday.

  “Yes,” Avanna purred. “You are ready. I will instruct your uncle it is to be so.”

  There was no one he hated more than Cassius, but the man was a necessary evil if Olandon wanted to commence training.

  “Thank you, Mother.” Olandon smiled at Avanna, and she returned the gesture.

  The murmured conversation in the dining ring dimmed and Olandon didn’t need to glance over to confirm his sister had entered the room. Veiled as she was, and hated by their mother, her arrival was always cause for vicious talk, though you would not guess it from how she carried herself. Olandon kept his proud smile in check, knowing there was a direct correlation between how much love he displayed for Olina and how much she was tortured by his mother’s guards.

  His sister sat between him and the Tatum, not saying a word, though as soon as Avanna turned her attention elsewhere, Olina reached under the table and held his hand. They did so through every meal because she hated coming into the dining ring. Many things had changed in their relationship over the last few years, but that habit never diminished.

  Her hand tightened as Avanna spoke. “I have just been telling your brother he is ready to begin his training.”

  Olina gripped Olandon’s hand tighter again, and he had the dreadful realization that he’d been used to land a cruel blow on his sister. She was nearly eighteen and hadn’t started training under their mother yet. For him to be training already was a direct insult to Olina. Why hadn’t he seen it immediately?

  Her hand relaxed a few seconds later, and with no small degree of bitterness, Olandon knew she’d made the same connections as he had, and was loosening her grip to show she didn’t blame him.

  “Landon,” Olina said in a mild voice, “I am proud of you. You have looked forward to this day.”

  She delivered the words neutrally to annoy their mother; though her words were honest, he could feel her hand trembling in his grasp. Sometimes it made him so angry, the way she never let him see the full extent of her pain. He’d expected it as a child and thought nothing of her protecting him.

  Now, he wanted her to share the burden with him.

  He wanted her to trust that he was strong enough.

  Olandon wrenched upright in bed, heartbeat thundering in his ears at the booming knock on the door.

  He rubbed a hand over his face as the person spoke, the thickness of the chamber door muffling their voice on the other side. “Sir, there is an urgent matter.”

  Olandon waited for his racing heart to settle somewhat and climbed out of bed, reaching for last night’s robes and shrugging them on. “Come in,” he mumbled. What time was it?

  A young guard poked his head into the room, fully entering when he saw Olandon was up, if only barely.

  Striding forward, the guard held out a small scroll secured with a wax seal Olandon knew all too well. He took the message in a careful grip, registering the guard’s immediate departure from the room only as a s
ign the message clearly did not require an answer. Olandon stared at the note from his mother, now fully awake; his thoughts—as always—moved to concern for his sister’s wellbeing. Swallowing, he pried his finger under the wax seal and unfurled the scroll, eyes falling to his mother’s elegant, looped handwriting.

  Son,

  Your sister left for Glacium with Prince Kedrick.

  You are heir to the throne of Osolis.

  With love, your mother.

  Olandon blinked, his body stalling as the words simultaneously registered and did not. He needn’t have worried because as he skimmed the note again, the four short lines slammed into his head with such force white light erupted at the corners of his vision. Olandon stumbled back until his legs hit the bed, and sat heavily, his ears buzzing.

  The crisp scroll fell from his fingertips, curling up again on the floor.

  Olina ran away? She’d left him here alone, just to be with a Bruma?

  Olandon covered his mouth as bile surged up through his throat. His chest rose and fell and he shook his head. No, it couldn’t be true. The note had to be a trick.

  Yet hadn’t he seen the romance between his sister and the prince of Glacium growing stronger? Olina had told him she loved Kedrick just the other day, and Olandon himself had helped the couple meet in secret twice. How could he not, when the prince made her so happy?

  She’d left him here.

  As the first trickles of firelight tumbled through the opening, Olandon fell to the ground, scraping his knees in a frantic search for the dropped piece of paper.

  Uncurling the cruel note once more, he re-read Tatum Avanna’s message, breathing as though he’d run for an hour.

  Your sister left for Glacium with Prince Kedrick.

  “No,” he said loudly, squeezing his eyes shut against the horrible words.

  Olina couldn’t have given up on their plans so easily. Olina was going to be the Tatum of Osolis and Olandon would be her Head of Guard. Together, they would change the world for the better.

  Your sister left for Glacium with Prince Kedrick.

  Your sister left for Glacium with Prince Kedrick.

  Your sister left for Glacium with Prince Kedrick.

  He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, shaking his head in silence. Yet no tears came, and no sound left his lips. The tears and words couldn’t come because eight words could not possibly describe such a betrayal. But he’d seen how happy Kedrick made her. How much she’d changed in recent months. He’d studied the new bounce in her step with wariness, knowing a union between her and the prince was doomed to fail; he’d already been preparing to pick up the pieces.

  He just never realized he’d be picking up pieces of himself.

  Olandon dropped his shaking hands and stared at his knees with blurring eyes.

  “She left me,” he whispered, fists clenching. “She left me here alone.”

  Chapter One

  Present day: Osolis, First Rotation

  “Tatum Olandon, forgive the intrusion.”

  In truth, the intrusion was welcome. Anything other than rations, complaints, and treasury reports, just for once. Olandon lifted his head from the papers scattered across the black desk and gestured for the Head of Guard to continue. Olandon ignored the familiar burning jealousy as he took in Faront’s formal attire.

  The Head of Guard position should have been his.

  Faront bowed, saying, “I’m afraid there have been three more reported attacks on Ire folk traveling between here and the Oscala.”

  Three more? “I instructed our guard in the First Rotation to be doubled.”

  “Yes, Tatum Olandon. Your instructions were enacted, and the attacks have decreased in recent weeks; however. . . .”

  Olandon sighed. Not long ago, one month to be exact, the court members and guard hadn’t hesitated to speak plainly with him. So much had changed in so little time. “Continue, Faront. My time is short.”

  The man bowed again. He and Olandon used to bout daily in the training yard and knock each other into the dirt.

  “I suspect some of the guard agree with the people shooting the Ire folk down. I’m wondering if they’re turning a blind eye . . . or helping.”

  A bolt of heat shot through Olandon, despite the indecision doing backflips in his stomach. He steepled his fingers, leaning forward. “I suggest you find out which guards have chosen to disagree with their Tatum’s orders, Faront, and fast. As Head of Guard, disobedience is a reflection of your leadership.”

  Faront inhaled sharply.

  Olandon wanted to do the same, though he’d never embarrass himself in that way. His words to Faront were utterly hypocritical because if disobedience was a reflection of leadership, it certainly explained the unrest within Olandon’s court.

  Three months had passed since the war and his mother’s death. His sister, the rightful heir to the Osolis throne, abdicated to him two months after the war, leaving him a world bordering on collapse and a life he’d never expected to live; a life he grew more certain by the day that he didn’t want.

  “You can depend upon a swift round-up, Tatum Olandon.”

  Olandon nodded as the Head of Guard bowed once more and left him alone in the dark meeting chamber in the depths of the royal palace.

  Osolis was in near chaos after the recent war. The villagers were yet to regain their full strength, though they, of all his people, were causing the least trouble. His army had clearly forgotten where their sovereignty lay, according to Faront. More hurtful was the fact they’d forgotten who he was to them, how he’d trained beside them.

  His court was the biggest problem, but Olandon had no idea where to start fixing their prejudice against the villagers and other races. He hadn’t shared the extent of his concerns with his Head of Guard, but Olandon was fairly certain the attacks against the Ire folk stemmed from within the palace walls. The villagers were peaceful under their own volition, but they were still poor and would accept bribes and payment from the court, as would many guards.

  In short, Olandon had to fix Osolis, but had no idea where to start. And if he didn’t do something soon, he wouldn’t be Tatum for much longer. The wrong move could be the end of everything. He’d go down in flames as the most incompetent Tatum in history, and his people would suffer; everything he and Olina had dreamed of since they were children and achieved through blood, sweat, and tears would’ve been for naught. Olandon pressed his lips together, surveying another report from Satum Jerin.

  “I don’t care how many apples we have,” he mumbled under his breath. He tossed the report onto the ‘seen’ pile and leaned back in the high-backed, cushioned chair. How could he worry about apples when his world balanced on the edge of anarchy?

  He had to tread carefully, very carefully. Where he was used to voicing his opinion with confidence, he’d never actually been the one to make the decisions before, and after a month in his new role, Olandon felt the confidence he’d known as Olina’s younger brother slipping.

  He smoothed a few strands of his blue-black hair, staring at the pile of papers with unseeing eyes. “You chose the wrong person, sister. This was meant for you.”

  The boom of a knock made him jump.

  “Enter,” he called. Each day was the same; people constantly interrupted him. No wonder the pile never lessened.

  Two members of his elite guard filed in. Rian, who had rebelled against Tatum Avanna’s rule early on, followed by the newest addition to the team, Agri.

  Rian spoke. “Tatum, the new tri-world party from Glacium will arrive in ten minutes.”

  “Their passage was safe.”

  “Yes, Tatum. They came with several guards.”

  “Thank you, Rian.”

  Rian dipped his head, but didn’t turn to leave. “Satum Namas’s wedding is planned for this afternoon.”

  He’d forgotten about that. “Please alert me when the time comes to attend.” The sooner this wedding was over and done with, the better. Namas’s bride-to-be w
as a former villager, and Olandon believed seeing an esteemed court member and villager marry would do the rest of his court a world of good.

  The two guards left.

  Abandoning the desk of papers with a mixture of dread and relief, Olandon twitched his dark blue silk robes into place and rolled his shoulders, groaning. A person of his height wasn’t meant to hunch over a desk made for Solati females. The difference in height between male and female here was usually a foot at least, and the furniture was made accordingly. His mother had been petite, and Olina as well. His neck was so sore it hurt to speak to females in general now, with the downward tilt it required. He needed a different desk.

  He’d do just that as soon as he figured out how to save his world from destroying the first true peace they’d accomplished in hundreds of years.

  And he’d do that right after he greeted the next lot of guests from Glacium.

  Chapter Two

  Greta clutched at the wooden pole beneath her, arms straight. The Soar she was strapped to was a wooden frame with supple material stretched between the rods like wings—wings that might somehow tear and send her plummeting to splatter on the cracked ground of Osolis far below.

  Three days’ travel through the floating islands of the Oscala hadn’t served to chase away that fear. But where there was a will, there was a way, and Greta had will to spare—as her father liked to point out. That made her feel better because while her father may not be aware of why she’d stolen away to Osolis, and while he would be rather angry when he discovered her absence, he would know her will made her do it.