The Darkest of Dreams Read online

  Copyright © 2018 Emigh Cannaday

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde Media

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Find a Pronunciation Guide at emighcannaday.com/pronunciation-guide

  For those who still believe.

  Contents

  Foreword

  A Partial Map of the Estellian and Ellunian Empires

  1. The Darkest of Days

  2. Finn’s Ghost

  3. Heron the Heavy-Handed

  4. No Ordinary Girl

  5. A Time Like This

  6. Home Sweet Home

  7. Trouble In Paradise

  8. Time Keeps Slipping

  9. Trial by Fire

  10. Guilt by Association

  11. Prison Bromance

  12. The Brightest of Stars

  13. My Little Sun

  14. So Close, Yet So Far Away

  15. A New Year, A New Leaf

  16. Secrets Unearthed

  17. The Ace in the Hole

  18. My Brother’s Keeper

  19. The Word on the Street

  20. East End Boys

  21. West End Girls

  22. At Long Last

  23. For Love or Country

  24. ‘It’s Complicated’ with Talvi Marinossian

  25. The Two Princes

  26. VIP Section

  Also by Emigh Cannaday

  About the Author

  Foreword

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  A Partial Map of the Estellian and Ellunian Empires

  1

  The Darkest of Days

  It was a gorgeous summer day in the wooded rolling hills of Srebra Gora. Birds were singing and cicadas were buzzing and honeybees danced from one flower to the next in their rush to collect pollen before the chills of autumn forced them into hibernation. The sun was shining brightly but not overly hot, and a soft breeze pushed the puffy white clouds across the deep blue sky. All in all, it was about as beautiful of a day as one could’ve asked for, which made it a particularly miserable day for a funeral.

  While Finn’s body lay on ice, horse-drawn carriages of all shapes and sizes had brought friends and relatives from every corner of the Estellian Empire to pay their respects to the distinguished and devastated Marinossian family. Their sprawling country hacienda had been draped in yards upon yards of purple and black bunting as was the tradition when a family member died. The colors of death cast the stately home in a forlorn and gloomy aura amidst the backdrop of bright green. The recent rains had ended the drought, but no one in the village was openly celebrating their good fortune. Consumed by their grief and drifting through each day on a wave of tears and pure exhaustion, neither Ambrose nor his wife Althea had wanted so many guests or such an elaborate ceremony for their eldest son. But once the authorities had shackled Talvi’s bloody, shaking hands behind his back and hauled him off to jail, and after the shrouded body of his brother had been carried away by the undertakers, it was only a matter of time before everyone in their village found out the shocking and horrible news.

  At first there was rampant speculation as to whether or not Talvi would be convicted of murder or found innocent and set free. By naming Finn as his korvaaminen, he was well within his traditional rights to cancel the contract the old-fashioned way—by death using the hands that had made that very same agreement. Half the residents of Derbedrossivic believed that Talvi had planned his brother’s demise all along, and that he’d named him korvaaminen to evade persecution when the time came. The other half refused to accept such a despicable thought, but knowing Talvi meant that anything was possible. And right about the time he was having his shattered jaw wired shut, a new twist came from nowhere to add more salt to the already gaping wound in everyone’s hearts. It was a follow-up letter from the Ancient Order of the Korvaaminens, addressed to Finn. Ambrose was so distraught when he read the first paragraph that he could hardly read the rest.

  Dear Finn Marinossian,

  * * *

  We are impressed by both the quantity and the quality of the evidence you have provided in favor of your argument regarding your sister by law being safer if placed under your care rather than remaining under the care of your brother Talvi. However, we must regretfully dismiss your request for a hearing. After searching extensively throughout our archives we can find no record of your official title as her korvaaminen. Please disregard our earlier request for sworn statements from you, your family, and any friends.

  The role of korvaaminen is an honor of the highest esteem that dates back to ancient times. It is a title that requires the utmost integrity, righteousness, and responsibility. As such, The Order takes great pride in keeping meticulous records of those who elect to uphold this increasingly obscure tradition. If your agreement was made prior to a half year ago, please provide us with the names and locations of those who stood as your witnesses so that we may verify your claims and conclude whether your title is in fact, valid.

  However, if this agreement was made within the past half-year, please be aware that a revised edition of The Rite and Rights of the Order of Korvaaminens has been in circulation since that time. All reference textbooks published prior to half a year ago are now null and void. Furthermore, any agreements entered into after that point without the proper documentation and witnesses are hereby declared invalid. As stated in appendix A, section 7, Korvaaminen contracts are now required to have no fewer than three witnesses present for validation purposes. One of those witnesses must be ordained by The Order to ensure that there is no possibility of confusion over the terms. This will also ensure the integrity of our archives as the practice continues to grow more uncommon with each passing generation.

  Once we have an official record of your title, you may re-submit your evidence for us to address your concerns. If your brother’s career is determined to endanger the safety of his wife as you have claimed, it would be in your best interest to follow up with The Order as soon as possible. We apologize for any inconvenience or misunderstanding this may have caused.

  * * *

  Your faithful servant,

  Gabrial Clark

  Junior Magistrate of the High Court of the Ancient Order of Korvaaminens

  That letter could have easily saved Talvi’s life, and now it sealed his fate. He was facing a very likely death sentence, all because Finn had been referencing an out-of-date textbook when trying to steal Annika from him. The thought of losing both of their sons was too much for the Marinossians to bear, but they had no choice. Once the facts were confirmed with the Ancient Order of Korvaaminens, the local news was funneled into the regional news, which was sent along to the national news and thus read by more eyes than ever before. A trial was scheduled, although it seemed like little more than a formality. There was a body, a weapon, a motive, and a confession. The court of public opinion had already chosen the verdict—Talvi was guilty as charged…and so was his brother.

  With the family being so prominent and with Ambrose being a long-time diplomat and semi-retired High Court judge, it was inevitable that the national papers featured sensational headlines like ‘Murder at Marinossian Manor’ and ‘Death by a Thousand Cuts – says Coroner.�
�� Word spread like wildfire throughout the provinces, and while it was forbidden for the papers to disclose the exact location of where judges resided, there were no rules about sharing what the inside of their homes looked like. Crime-scene photographs were soon leaked to the press, revealing a blood-soaked kitchen with shattered glass for a floor, which lent another level of gruesomeness to the countless articles. There weren’t many souls left in the realm that didn’t have at least a general idea of how the Marinossians lived, or how vicious some of them were capable of behaving. Scandal and speculation reared its ugly head with articles questioning how honorable or capable of a judge could Ambrose truly be if he’d raised a murderer for a son? There were countless editorials claiming that it was time for him to step down for good and focus his energy on raising vegetables, not killers. Even Althea wasn’t able to escape public scorn, although it came primarily in the form of letters of withdrawal from her herbalism students who were ‘regrettably no longer able to attend her classes.’

  Then there were the exposés on Talvi. His reputation all but guaranteed that a new rumor would be churned out every hour. He’d remained in the local jail just long enough to have his wounds cleaned and his broken jaw dealt with; then the letter from the High Court of Korvaaminens had arrived. Instead of going home to recover, he’d been transported directly to Bleakmoor, the infamous prison island. Plenty of criminals were sent there, but they never left. The official explanation given to the family was that it was for his own safety, but the papers said it was because of the severity of his crime, and that no other prison could contain him. Regardless of the reason why Talvi was sent there, everyone he’d ever so much as snarled at since childhood came crawling out of the woodwork to tell the tale of their daunting encounter with him. Ladies were quick to recount how careless he’d been with their hearts, and how they’d been cast aside for the next pretty face. Men came forward with tales of how he’d cheated them at cards and stolen the very shirts off their backs. And Elden the papermaker was all too happy to remind the public to ‘Never mess with a Marinossian’ as he recounted the time that Talvi cut off his hand for the offense of showing interest in his twin sister Yuri. And speaking of papermakers, if only one positive thing came from the murder of Finn Marinossian, it was that paper production was at a record high to keep up with the sudden explosion of national interest in the quaint little village of Derbedrossivic.

  Unlike things in America, no reporters had come knocking on the door to hear Annika’s side of the story—or any of the Marinossians—for that matter. In the days that immediately followed her husband’s heinous crime, she quickly learned that it was considered taboo for outsiders to ask the immediate family for details of how Finn had died unless the family offered that information freely to them. Unless they were granted permission, it was customary for them to hold their tongues for the next month. It was the same practice for any death in the community. If someone broke their neck after falling off a horse, you weren’t supposed to question their riding abilities. You’d have to wait until a relative told you how skilled of a rider they were. If someone choked to death on a crust of bread, you couldn’t ask what kind of bread it was. Only the undertakers and the authorities had that privilege for the next thirty days, and for that Annika was grateful; she was sick of answering questions. She’d been questioned by the local authorities and then questioned by the ones from the regional province, only to be questioned by an investigation team sent on behalf of the London Embassy. Apparently it was routine protocol to follow up and do damage control on all of their employees…even if said employee had worked in a benign department like Mergers and Acquisitions of the Imperial Trade Commission.

  Somber re-introductions had been made as elves and humans and samodivi and fairies trickled into the house during the days before the funeral. The names began to run together until Annika’s brain grew as numb as her heart. Althea’s side of the family arrived first; her sister Gousine, her husband Ishkan, and their children Zaven and Sevan. They were noble and elegant, and they quickly took over the task of managing the running of the house, along with finalizing funeral arrangements. Ambrose’s side of the family arrived later; a consequence of living so far south. First his cousin Corbin showed up with his wife Weaver and their sons Swift, Starling, Heron and Hawk. They brought with them an air of sympathy, warmth, and mild chaos into the house, along with crates upon crates of wine from their vineyards. A few days later, Ambrose’s most far-flung relatives finally arrived. Annika had a vague memory of meeting an elderly great uncle and a mess of dark-haired Marinossians—mostly named after birds—but she hadn’t seen them since Talvi and Yuri’s birthday party. They, too, brought more of that sympathetic warmth and chaos with them, thanks to the number of children running through the halls. Annika didn’t know the first thing to say to any of the family, which appeared to work both ways. The painful reason behind their reunion was still too raw to speak of without bursting into sobs.

  Instead of the customary flower arrangements that Annika was expecting, black boxes and baskets of fruit and small cakes began to arrive at the front door. Some were modest parcels sent over from the neighboring farms and villages, and some were large crates sent from the upper crust of society. Regardless of their origin, all of them were wrapped carefully in black paper and tied shut with black string. Annika was told that flowers were meant for celebrations, and would’ve been completely inappropriate at a time like this. The fruit and cake was meant to bring a bit of sweetness to those in mourning. But being as popular as they were, neither the Marinossians nor their guests could possibly eat all of it before it spoiled, so they set about canning and preserving everything that they could.

  The cursed kitchen had immediately been closed off from daily use, and the family had set up a makeshift one outside in the courtyard. Even with all the extra space and all the canning and all the extra mouths to feed, they didn’t seem to need or want Annika’s help. She was shuffled off to the side and told to ‘rest’ or ‘relax,’ and she didn’t dare argue with them…especially the women of the family. They were a force to be reckoned with. They gave out meticulous orders to the men on exactly what groceries were needed from town, exactly how much wood to chop for each day’s use, exactly how many funeral guests were needing lodging and travel accommodations, and even detailed instructions on which suit Finn should be buried in. The brown frock coat was too formal. The olive green tweed was too common. The black was too typical. They settled on a deep blue suit with a dark plum-colored waistcoat. Their talent for delegating at such a stressful time was sorely appreciated by their hosts, and much-admired by Annika, who was incapable of making any decisions at all. She couldn’t even decide whether or not to get out of bed, whether to change her clothes, or whether to eat. They all seemed like such unbearable obligations given the circumstances.

  Most of the extended family made an effort to be polite to her, especially at dinner, although they spoke primarily in Karsikko, which made her feel exponentially more isolated in her grief. On the occasions where she did speak up, they switched to English for a minute or two and then fell back into using their native tongue. She could hardly blame them, although she longed for just a fraction of that connection that she was missing out on. She only had a basic grasp of this new language, and the last thing she wanted to do was constantly interrupt her in-laws when they were trying to sort out funeral arrangements. Runa at least tried to translate things to her, along with Nikola’s help, but their best efforts couldn’t keep up with the amount of conversation happening under that roof. However, there was one family member present who had no qualms about letting her know exactly what he was thinking.

  Hawk Marinossian looked enough like Talvi that it was unsettling to say the least. His unruly and wild hair wasn’t brown like his younger twin brothers Starling and Swift; it was jet black like his cousin’s. While Heron refused to even be in the same room as Annika, his twin brother Hawk let his sharp gaze hone in on her as soon as they
were introduced, making her feel as through he were a bird of prey just like his namesake. But unlike Talvi, at the mention of Annika’s name or the mere sight of her, his handsome face melted into a nasty sneer of pure hatred. And instead of twinkling mischievously, his sullen and resentful blue and green eyes told her, Because of you, my cousin Finn is dead, and my cousin Talvi will most likely be hanged for killing him. His silent words echoed in her ears every night.

  Eventually the day before the funeral arrived, where the undertakers had brought Finn’s open casket into the larger of the two music rooms for the individual visitations. They’d promised everyone in the family a few private moments alone to say goodbye to him. For having all the time in the world, Annika loathed how quickly those precious last minutes had slipped away when her turn came.

  Finn had appeared so unnervingly alive while lying there, as if he were merely taking a nap, although his loose brown curls were too neatly arranged for him to be sleeping. He’d been bathed and dressed in the blue suit as requested, with a tall-collared shirt and a thick silken cravat to cover the knife wound on his neck. The loss of so much blood had left him pale, yet the deep suntan etched into his skin made up for it. The resulting color made him look like the epitome of health. The bruises from the fight that cost him so dearly had been artfully concealed with makeup along with the scars that ran down his jaw, making them completely disappear. He looked absolutely perfect. So perfect, in fact, that Annika had reached over and touched his cheek, only to discover that his skin was as lifeless and cool as wax. Just like the light in his permanently closed eyes, the essence of him was forever gone.