Free Shadowmoor (de Lohr Dynasty #6) by Kathryn Le Veque

from the east had icy fingers that dug into a man’s chest, causing him pain every time he drew in a breath. Brynner was dressed in what he was usually dressed in; a heavy tunic, breeches made from leather, and a cloak that had once been fine and expensive. All three of those items were heavily worn and extremely dirty because Brynner never took them off. He slept in them, and drank in them, and at times had vomited in them, so they were beyond the normal filth of man.
    In fact, he’d worn the same clothing for the past three years, ever since he’d gone to meet his lover and she’d told him of her plans to marry another. He’d never been able to change out of them, wearing them like a weighty suit of armor to remind him of that day his heart had been ripped from his chest. He needed those dirty clothes in a way he couldn’t describe, not only as a reminder of that terrible day but also as penitence.
    With every step of the boots that had holes in them or every whiff of that horrific smell of his tunic, he was reminded of Maud. Only in moments like this, when he wasn’t drunk, did the pain and the smells weigh heavily on him, so heavily he could scarcely move. It was the drink that allowed him to forget. Drink had become a weapon against those memories and the punishment those dirty torn clothes brought about.
    That was Brynner’s life these days. He wasn’t particularly tall but he was still strongly built, his battered body still holding some semblance of its former shape in spite of the fact that he was slowly trying to kill himself. He had the same bronze-colored hair that his sister had and his features were quite handsome still, although drawn and shaded from the self-abuse.
    In moments of lucidity, however, he inevitably thought of his lovely Maud and her reasons for leaving him. Her father had insisted she marry another man, one of his choosing; a man who brought great wealth and an alliance to her family. Maud hadn’t wanted to marry him but she had been duty-bound, leaving Brynner, her love, a burned-out shell.
    Her duty, his curse.
    Brynner alternated between hating her and forgiving her. Sometimes he did both; he hated her sense of duty, the one that had cost him everything. He hadn’t been strong enough to pull himself out of his funk and move on with his life. All he could do was try to hide from the pain and pray that, some morning, he simply never woke up.
    But that hadn’t happened yet, so on this dreary and cold morning he was forced to face that pain once again. He stumbled away from the gates of Shadowmoor, out into the darkened moor beyond, his thoughts turning from Maud to where he would get his next drink. His father kept ale around the castle, and sometimes even wine, but he tried to hide it from his son who seemed to have an uncanny ability to sniff it out. Brynner wasn’t beyond stealing ale or wine from local farmsteads, either, which he had done numerous times. That was why he always carried a dagger with him, in case he needed to threaten a farmer into turning over what alcohol he had.
    Stumbling down the muddy path that led to the northeast, Brynner could see the landscape below the moor as the sun began to rise, all soft green patches and rolling hills. Fingers of gentle colors began to tint the horizon, creating stark contrast against the clouds that were moving their way east after the storm that had blown through overnight. He turned to look behind him somewhat, towards the southeast, where the horizon seemed to go on forever, and noticed figures on the road just below the moor.
    They looked like specks with legs from where he was, men on horseback, but he could see them making the turn to the small road that led up to Shadowmoor. There were four of them that he could see, thundering up the road that was still muddy and slick from the rains.
    Since the moors of Rombald weren’t well-traveled, only men with particular business for what was upon the moor would be traveling up the