The Kingdoms of Evernow Box Set Read online

  The Kingdoms of Evernow

  BOX SET

  Heidi Catherine

  Copyright © 2019 by Heidi Catherine

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About the Author

  Heidi Catherine is an award-winning fantasy author and hopeless romantic. She lives in Australia, not able to decide if she prefers Melbourne or the Mornington Peninsula, so shares her time between both places. She is similarly pulled in opposing directions by her two sons and two dogs, remaining thankful she only has one husband.

  Contents

  The Whisperers of Evernow

  The Alchemists of Evernow

  The Empress of Evernow

  The Guardians of Evernow

  The Angels of Evernow

  The Whisperers of Evernow

  BOOK ONE

  For my mother - a true master of the spoken word

  Before the Evernow

  “The Whisperers are whispering. The Whisperers are whispering. The Whisperers are whispering.”

  A thousand hushed voices rose from the arena and swirled in the air, floating down the grassy hill and into the ears of the people in the Valley of the Blessed. They raised their heads at the familiar hum, straining to catch the words. But the whispering was too quiet, sounding more like an ocean than a wave crashing on the shore.

  What did King Virtus desire this time? More riches? Another wife? Or perhaps more Whisperers to add to his army of voices?

  Never did he whisper for more food for the people. More beds for the hospital. More schools for the children. The King’s Whisperers granted his wishes alone.

  “The Whisperers are whispering. The Whisperers are whispering. The Whisperers are whispering.”

  The Conductor swept his sword across the arena, satisfied his army’s voices were warm.

  The first row of Whisperers fell into silence and knelt on their mats with their heads bowed, the hoods of their robes shading their faces. Once in place, the second row followed, then the third. This continued until the final row were on their knees. One thousand Whisperers, men and women alike, all waiting to hear the King’s deepest wish.

  The Conductor raised his sword above his head, his eyes scanning his army, looking for anyone out of place. The Whisperers kept their heads down, perfectly still, barely blinking, scarcely breathing. That sword could remove a head with one swoop. Or two if the Conductor’s aim was off.

  Satisfied once more, the Conductor brought the sword down slowly, holding it in front of him and resting the tip at his feet. He looked to the balcony at the rear of the arena and nodded at the waiting King. The Whisperers were ready.

  King Virtus tilted his head, a subtle movement, yet it was enough.

  “The Queen has birthed a son,” the Conductor whispered.

  The first row of Whisperers lifted their heads and removed their hoods, eyes and ears glued to their leader.

  “The Queen has birthed a son,” the Conductor repeated.

  No noise could be heard as the first row of Whisperers rose to stand on their bare feet.

  “The Queen has birthed a son,” they whispered.

  The second row lifted their heads and removed their hoods. The Conductor nodded and they stood.

  “The Queen has birthed a son,” the first two rows whispered together.

  With each row that joined, the chant became louder, the arena filling with hushed voices, whispering in unison, over and over, as they brought the King’s wish to life.

  It didn’t matter what the Whisperers wanted. It didn’t even matter what the Queen wanted. They all knew that soon she would birth a son.

  The Whisperers accepted this would happen, just as they accepted their role in life. Their purpose was to whisper. Their power was in their voices. They were no longer individuals, with hopes and dreams and names. They were part of an army, granting wishes for their King.

  Except for one Whisperer. He didn’t accept any of this.

  His name was Jeremiah.

  JEREMIAH

  THE BEFORE

  “Surprise!”

  Jeremiah opened his eyes and squinted at Micah, who was waving an orange in his face.

  “Surprise!” she said again, jiggling her skinny legs in some kind of happy dance. There was nothing she loved more than surprising him, and she’d shout this word like it had magic powers.

  “Surprise, yourself!” He snatched the orange from her and brought it to his nose. “Mmm.”

  “Give it back!” She leaped on top of him, knocking the air from his lungs. The orange rolled to the floor and she pounced after it.

  “Where did you get that?” He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It’d been years since he’d seen an orange. Micah was only eleven. He doubted she’d ever seen one before now.

  “Da gave it to me. Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you ever saw in your life? Just look at the color of it! It matches my hair.” She held it up next to her head, as if to prove her point, and grinned.

  Jeremiah liked his sister’s hair, although he didn’t see anything particularly special about this color on a piece of fruit. His memory of the taste, on the other hand. That was beauty in its finest form.

  “Where did Da get it?” He swung his legs out of bed and yawned loudly. “Is there one for me?”

  Micah shook her head. “You have to go get yours. There’s one for every person over sixteen.”

  He frowned, forgetting he’d recently had a birthday. His frown deepened when he realized Micah was right, certain that his coming of age couldn’t be a good thing.

  “It’s a special gift from the King,” Micah continued. “Ma and Da got one each. They shared Ma’s, even though Da didn’t want to. He said this one’s all for me.”

  Jeremiah didn’t understand. King Virtus never gave out gifts, special or otherwise. He was the sort of king who liked to keep his gifts all to himself, sitting in his palace on the top of Mount Allegro, looking down on all his people.

  Micah rolled the orange around in her hand. “Hello, my pretty. Would you like me to eat you now?”

  “Where are Ma and Da?” Jeremiah wasn’t likely to get much sense out of Micah. Better to speak directly to their parents.

  “In the square, eating an orange.” She rolled her eyes, far more dramatically than the situation required.

  Jeremiah reached for his shoes, put them on, then slipped on the leather cord he liked to wear around his neck. The shell from a walnut dangled from the cord like it was some kind of jewel. To him it was. It was his lucky charm, reminding him of the time he’d found a tree loaded with walnuts and had taken off his shirt and filled it with as many as he could, running home, then returning for more. Feeding his family like that was the warmest feeling he could remember. From that day on, he’d made it his duty to fend for his family, carting goods for market stallholders in exchange for vegetables, tending chickens for farmers for a payment of eggs, or cleaning out chimneys to put a few coins in his pocket.

  “You stay here and eat your orange.” He ruffled Micah’s matted hair. It’d only just grown back since Ma cut it during the most recent lice outbreak. “I’ll be back soon.”

  She grinned, still holding the orange like it was made from gold. Perhaps to her, it was.

  “Wash your face and hands before you eat,” he said. “You’re covered in mud. Your freckles are starting to join up.”

  She wrinkled her freckly nose and poked out her tongue. He was surprised even that wasn’t coat
ed in dirt.

  Micah’s problem was that she liked to dive headfirst into any experience, more than she liked to worry about cleaning its evidence off her hands or face. She climbed trees, made slingshots, did somersaults off chairs and taught herself to sing the alphabet backward. He once even caught her fast-asleep standing on her head. Her enthusiasm sometimes inspired him, but mostly it just broke his heart. One day she’d grow up enough to realize the life she cherished had nothing to offer her. There was no hope for people in the Valley of the Blessed. It was a ridiculous name. The only thing they’d been blessed with in life was an abundant supply of air.

  Jeremiah closed the front door behind him and made his way to the town square, almost tasting the orange already, as he wondered what the catch could be. What could the King possibly want from his people that he hadn’t taken already?

  He meandered through the crowd looking for the familiar shape of his parents. Perhaps they’d already made their way home. Maybe he wouldn’t bother with the orange and would head back too. His stomach growled as if hearing his thoughts.

  “Jeremiah! Over here.”

  It was Tallis, his best friend. He wasn’t holding an orange, but he had the same excited look in his eyes that’d shone from Micah’s earlier.

  The square was teeming with people, all looking far happier than they had on Giving Day when their stockings had been even emptier than their groaning stomachs. That day, which was supposed to be a celebration of the miracle of life, was becoming a little less colorful each year as the enthusiasm of the people waned. There wasn’t a lot of joy in giving your child a doll made from straw or your mother a flower that was actually a noxious weed picked from the meadow. Giving Day was becoming a day to dread. It was hard to celebrate the miracle of life when your days were filled with misery.

  Jeremiah wondered where all these oranges had come from. And if the King had so many to hand out today, what did he normally do with them when he wasn’t in such a generous mood?

  “Where have you been?” asked Tallis, slapping him on the back.

  “Just at home,” he said, not wanting to admit he’d been asleep at this late hour. Sleep was his favorite thing to do after eating. And unlike food, sleep was in plentiful supply around here.

  Tallis shook his head, not fooled. “You really should be better looking than this, with all the beauty sleep you get. Although the girls have always found you pretty, I suppose.”

  Jeremiah punched him playfully on the arm, keen to steer the subject away from girls. He was interested in them, just not in any one of them in particular. He saw this as a good thing. If there was no girl, then there’d be no children. And he couldn’t bear the thought of having children only to have to watch them starve.

  “So, what’s going on?” he asked Tallis. “Micah woke me up making even less sense than usual.”

  “Ah, so you were asleep!” Tallis laughed, bending his wiry frame forward as he clutched at his ribs. “I knew it.”

  “So, what’s going on?” Jeremiah asked again, ignoring his friend’s amusement at his expense.

  Tallis pulled himself together and cleared his throat. “Everyone over sixteen is getting an orange. It’s been going all morning. I thought you were never going to turn up. Nearly came to drag you out of bed myself in case the oranges ran out. All we have to do is complete a simple test.”

  Right. So, there was a catch. One simple catch, which worried him more than if it were a complicated one. Nothing in life was simple.

  “What’s the test?” He tugged on the walnut shell hanging from his neck, not trusting King Virtus for a moment. His name might have roots in honor and integrity, but his nature most certainly did not. Never had there been a more selfish king, leaving his people to starve, while his own girth expanded by the hour. He was the fattest king Forte Cadence had ever had. He looked like a kingdom himself.

  “Dunno.” Tallis shrugged. “You have to look at a couple of paintings and tell them what you see.”

  Jeremiah raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know anything about art, unless you count the drawings Micah does in the dirt with a stick. None of us know anything about art. You sure?”

  “That’s what everyone’s saying.” Tallis took a step toward the queue.

  “So, what’s the test for?” Jeremiah’s feet remained planted to the ground.

  “Dunno.” Tallis shrugged again.

  “You don’t know much, do you?”

  Tallis rolled his eyes. “It’s got something to do with something called Whisperers.”

  “Whisperers?” Jeremiah had never heard of such a thing. It didn’t sound like that could be good.

  “Come on, let’s go line up.” Tallis pulled on his arm.

  “You go. I might sit this one out.”

  “You are not serious!” Tallis grabbed him this time, practically dragging him to the end of the line. “How can you say no to a sweet, juicy orange?”

  “It’s not the orange I’m worried about.” Jeremiah rubbed his arm as Tallis let go. “It’s the test.”

  “It’s just looking at a couple of paintings. What’s the harm in that?”

  “You mean, what’s the point in that?” Jeremiah ran his hands through the mass of dark curls that sprouted relentlessly from his head. “How could that possibly be helpful to the King?”

  “Who cares? Maybe he’s arguing with the Queen over what painting to hang above their bed.” Tallis waved his hand in front of Jeremiah’s face. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Sorry.” Jeremiah pointed at his parents who were approaching. “I was looking for them earlier.”

  His parents smiled as they made their way over.

  “Where were you, Ma?” he asked, kissing his mother’s cheek and tasting orange. She was pregnant, her swollen belly looking like it’d expanded by more than the size of half an orange since he’d last seen her. Life would get even harder once the baby was born. They didn’t even have enough for the four of them. How would they cope when they were five? He just hoped it wasn’t twins.

  “We were taking a rest while we ate our orange,” his mother said.

  “You gave yours to Micah,” he said to his father, who was leaning heavily on Ma’s arm for support. Despite her current state, she was far stronger than he was. He looked well today, better than Jeremiah had seen him in days.

  “Micah’s a growing girl,” his father said. “And your mother’s orange was a big one, so we shared.”

  Jeremiah doubted that. His parents were always going without, so he and Micah could have more.

  “We’ll see you back at home?” His mother squeezed his hand and stepped away. “Enjoy your orange, darling.”

  Jeremiah nodded. “Micah’s at home. I’ll join you when I’m done.”

  As they reached the front of the queue, the sweet smell of oranges hit them and saliva flooded Jeremiah’s mouth. He was hungry. So hungry. Maybe Tallis was right. What harm could come from looking at a few paintings? His parents certainly looked better for having shared their reward.

  Sensing he might still change his mind, Tallis pushed him forward, and Jeremiah stumbled toward a palace worker, sitting behind a table. She was around his mother’s age and wore a crisp white gown that would stay that shade for approximately five minutes if she lived in the Valley of the Blessed. Clean clothes were yet another luxury they’d failed to be blessed with.

  “Name.” The worker didn’t even look up from the list in front of her, scanning for a name she’d not yet heard.

  He gave his name and she found it, crossing it off with the tip of a feather.

  “Left hand.” Once again, she didn’t look up, instead dipping her feather in an ink pot and grasping his hand firmly to draw an X on the center of his palm. That was one way of making sure nobody cheated the King out of an extra orange. Ink like this took days to rub off.

  “There,” she said, granting him the privilege of eye contact for the first time, as she pointed to a curtained-off stage that’d been s
et up behind her.

  Jeremiah glanced over at Tallis who was giving his name to another worker at the table beside him.

  Tallis looked across at him and mimed eating an orange, an enraptured look plastered to his face.

  Jeremiah shook his head and laughed. Sometimes his friend was just like an older, male version of his sister. It was no wonder Tallis and Micah got along so well. Ignoring his instincts screaming at him to turn around and run, he went to the stage.

  “Next candidate,” he heard someone call from behind the curtain.

  A guard nodded at him and he stepped through the curtain with no thought other than the taste of an orange.

  The stage area was only small with temporary walls set up on its sides and rear. There was a door in the far wall and he couldn’t help wondering what was behind it. The roof was open and sunlight streamed in.

  A dark shape to the side of the stage caught his eye and he turned to see a large bowl of oranges on a table. His reward for all this nonsense. In the center of the room was a chair.

  “Sit,” a palace worker instructed. This one was female too and seemed to have been to the same school of manners as the worker at the desk. She was wearing an identical white gown, only she’d managed to get a large gray mark smudged on it.

  Jeremiah smirked as he took his seat, glad that her perfection had been ruined.

  “What do you see?” she asked, holding up a painting.

  Not being able to find a trick in her question, Jeremiah looked at the artwork.

  “I see a circle made up of colored dots.” He tilted his head to study it closer.

  “What do you see in the dots?” she asked from behind the painting.

  A shape emerged as the colors grouped together in his mind.