CHAPTER ONE
Kayla cradled her flute in the crook of her arm and curtsied to the politely clapping nobles. Her stomach jumped as she waited for her final and favorite song to begin. She glanced upward, gauging the morning light. She wanted to finish her performance just as the sun crested over the outdoor theater. The applause died quickly, and still she waited for the expectant stillness to come over the room before she nodded to the orchestra behind her. She had more to accomplish with this final song than just entertainment for nobility or a welcome to the king. Oh yes, there was much more at stake.
The strings whispered a soft tremolo, the short strokes vibrating with sharp intensity that would carry her through the visions she needed to play. She lost herself in the sound as it began to build, the lower strings entering, the brass adding its muted blow, and Kayla closed her eyes to better see the picture within her mind, the image of home searing her eyelids in vivid detail.
And then she began to play.
Soft, so soft it seemed only a breath of sound, the flute came alive with her kiss. The instrument became her voice, expressing the poetry she felt in her soul, passing on the memories she held there. Her audience lived her thoughts without ever realizing what she had done, never knowing the doors she had opened between them. Even she didn’t know how she did it, but this once she took a chance on their ignorance and dared to try. She had to. It was the only way she could complete the path she’d set for herself ten years before.
The sight of a hawk greeting the morning sun spun out with her breath, carrying the crowd on a journey with her above the towers of Darthmoor to weave amongst the snapping piñons, past the strong walls of her home. As she played, the quiet room drew her more deeply into the music until the audience faded away. The music was a place all its own. The hawk called again through her flute, and the strength of Darthmoor answered in the brass. Back and forth, the call, the answer, until the hawk flew away and the horn and drum sang a song of pride and strength that came from the very stone of the keep itself.
The song was simple, easily played, the images familiar to all in attendance. There was neither man nor woman there who had not stood on Darthmoor’s walls, witnessing the rising and setting of the sun, the majesty of the mountains that guarded them, so the pictures were no surprise to the audience, causing no suspicion as she tampered with their thoughts. Her heart raced, and she could not help the light sweat that broke out on her brow, but her hands held calm and unwavering as she pulled the assembly into the height of her dream.
Selfish. She knew she was being selfish in this performance, too focused on impressing the right people to play it with passion, but she had grown so tired of the insults, the dismissals as if she were below the people of Darthmoor, unworthy of even their glance. Now she held more than their glance.
Much more.
She had their adulation. She could see it in their eyes, in the way they held themselves so perfectly still, bound by her power. They were lost in her music, unknowingly caught in her spell, and she only prayed it would be enough to free her family from society’s chains. Not selfish, she told herself. This is for Lady Kalandra. I do this for Mother, she whispered in her mind. Hardening her heart, she poured herself into the final phrases of music. The image of sun setting and moon rising came, and all of Darthmoor lay still in the silence of night. Her final note faded away to nothing. It was done. All that remained was to see the reaction.
Kayla lowered her head, still holding the flute to her lips, reluctant to let the moment pass when she was so at one with the music. There was not a stir—not a rustle, not a single breath as the audience sat transfixed for several long seconds—and then the room seemed to breathe a collective sigh before it erupted around her. She’d done it! There was no way they could keep her family exiled after that performance. People surged to their feet and clapped madly, whistling and howling their praise. Even King Rojan beamed as he stood and applauded.
Kayla took a deep breath, the tension leaving her shoulders. She actually let a smile creep through for a moment as she curtsied time and again.
The audience quieted as the curtains descended, the conversational buzz already beginning, but she ignored it. There was nothing more that could be done, and she felt confident her plan had succeeded. Kayla gathered her rosewood case from the back of the stage and fell to cleaning and taking apart her instrument, smiling to the first violinist and mouthing a thank-you for his good work. He beamed back at her and bowed. She latched the case and wound her way down the stairs to mingle with the crowd she had just finished entertaining. Before stepping into the grand hall, Kayla checked her hair to be sure her ears were covered. It wouldn’t do to remind them of her half-evahn heritage when she’d just gained their approval.
The Duke and Duchess Domanta waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. Kayla was disappointed their son Brant was not with them. He’d promised he would come.
“Congratulations, Kayla. That was an amazing performance,” the duke said, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. “I have never heard Darthmoor’s Honor played with quite such fervency. Not since Rajanya himself played it. Masterful.”
“Why, thank you, sir.“ Kayla looked at him from beneath her eyelashes, bowing over his hand. “Praise for such a humble player is vastly appreciated.“
The duke laughed. “Despite growing into quite an attractive young lady, you have not changed one bit from the little sprite who used to hide in my stables and steal away my son.”
“Hush, sir!” Kayla mockingly reprimanded the man she loved and earnestly hoped someday to call Father. “You’ll ruin the reputation I am working so hard to gain, and how then could I earn your favor?”
He roared a great belly laugh that rang across the room, then patted her cheek and met her fiery eyes with twinkles of his own.
“You needn’t worry of me ruining your well-earned reputation, my dear. Right now you could talk the king into presenting you a duchy of your own.”
Her heart raced. The duke was hitting a little too close to home. He gave her shoulders a squeeze and spoke low, compassion and laughter lacing his voice. “I’m not sure how the nobles will accept a titled outsider, especially one of mixed parentage. Darthmoor will never be the same again, that’s for sure, but personally? I think it would be great fun.” He gave her shoulder another squeeze and released her, smiling. “It’s about time the pompous wake up and let go of their prejudice toward the evahn, don’t you think—even if it is only in letting a half-evahn into their elite circle.”
Kayla’s smile froze. The duke was much wiser than he appeared and had come right to the heart of the matter. She let it go because she knew he meant well, though she never appreciated mention of her half-human status.
A genuine smile crept across her face. This man reminded her once more of why she loved his son so very much. Brant and his father were two of a kind.
“Why don’t you come by and see Brant later,” the duke continued, winking. “I’m sure he’ll want to congratulate you himself. He was very unhappy about having to miss your performance today, but that’s the way of it when you run an estate. Sometimes things cannot wait.”
Kayla’s heart quickened a bit. Brant had been behind her completely since the day they had decided on a plan to restore her family honor. She laughed to remember it now. They’d only been seven and ready to take on the world, and now ten years later their dreams just might be ready to appear. “I’ll be there, sir. You can count on it.”
“Good. I’ll let Brant know to expect you.”
Brant’s mother then spoke, and Kayla groaned inwardly. “I wasn’t sure what to make of you at first, young Kayla, but you have done your family proud. Your performance was marvelous. All my boys were absolutely enraptured when you began Darthmoor’s Honor.” A gangly young man with foppish hair and rouged cheeks walked up behind the duchess and took her arm at the elbow. “Oh, have you met Matios? His sonnets are simply divine. I’m sure the two of you have much in common.”
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br /> The boy drew himself up proudly, and Kayla fought the urge to roll her eyes. It seemed there was a new “artistic genius” in residence at Dragonmeer each month, all of whom the duchess insisted on calling her “boys.” Sometimes it was a musician, at other times an artist or poet, but so far as Kayla could tell, none of them had a single ounce of talent.
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure,” Kayla answered, taking his limp hand in her own.
He kissed her knuckles, a sloppy kiss that left her wanting to wipe her hand on the back of her dress. But that would be the quickest way to offend the duchess, and she had only just gained some slight measure of favor from Brant’s mother. She’d always longed for the woman’s approval, but the evahn prejudice was too well-rooted in the heart of her society. Kayla had learned long ago it was a hopeless battle. Until society changed, the woman would never like her.
“Kayla! Lady Kayla!” a young girl called from the middle of an approaching swarm. Saved from having to find something unobjectionable to say, Kayla excused herself from the duchess’s snare and turned to face the gaggle of girls that surrounded her.
“Oh, you were sensational, lady. I wish I could play like that,” the leader cooed. Kayla had to fight a smile with the girl’s fawning. She couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen.
“I’m so glad you liked it,” Kayla said, bowing her head in acceptance. It was only polite, despite the girl’s age.
“How’d you learn to play like that?”
“Lots of long hours and hard work, I’m afraid. And a good teacher never hurts.” Kayla gave her staple answer, though it was not entirely true in her case. Besides, what she spoke was truth . . . it just wasn’t her truth.
“Excuse me,” called a voice from Kayla’s left. Her heart stilled. It was a voice the entire kingdom knew. She turned slowly and curtsied to the tall, skinny man who looked more like a scarecrow than a living being.
“Chamberlain Pedran, to what do I owe this honor?”
Pedran cleared his throat. “His Majesty wishes to speak with you privately, Mistress Kayla. Would you please follow me?”
“Of course,” she gushed, embarrassed at how heartfelt her response actually was. She could not afford to let anyone know just how much this meant to her.
“Excuse me, it was nice meeting you,” Kayla called as she left the group of young girls who had so kindly saved her from Duchess Domanta. She wanted to like the woman, for Brant’s sake, if nothing else, but it had never been an easy task.
Kayla turned and nearly stumbled as a huge hooded man stepped in front of her. He held a long box under his arm, much like the rosewood case she used for her flute. She stared into the cowl of his robe for just a moment, catching a flash of white teeth and shadowed curl across his cheek, though whether it was a scar, or hair, or something else, Kayla couldn’t tell. The man nodded slowly to her, gave a slight bow, then faded into the crowd. Kayla shook herself. She felt odd, but threw the feelings aside to scurry after Pedran out of the great hall and through the corridors of Dragonmeer. They wound upward quickly through the long ramps that led from level to level. Kayla had lost her breath by the time they reached the fifth floor, and Pedran wasn’t even breathing hard, despite his advanced years.
Now Kayla’s hands shook as they hadn’t during her performance. She’d never met the king before, and her stomach was understandably jumpy as she approached the great double doors to his personal quarters.
“Wait here, please,” Pedran ordered, though not unkindly.
Kayla nodded as he slipped inside and, she assumed, into the king‘s presence. She stood there only a minute at most before the chamberlain returned, the hooded man she’d nearly run into at his side.
Pedran held the door open wide, and once again the stranger nodded toward her as if he knew her somehow. He reached up to pull the cowl forward, so she never caught sight of his face, but his hand was covered with blue tattoos that swirled in random patterns. It gave Kayla chills. She watched him turn to her right and stroll casually down the hall, his strength apparent in the roll of his shoulders and sureness of his step. Why was he meeting with the king? Such a strange man. She shivered and glanced toward Pedran, then back at the cowled figure, but he was gone. She jumped when the king’s chamberlain spoke.
“The king will see you now, Mistress Kayla. This way, please.“ Pedran bowed slightly and lead the way through the door. For some odd reason, it surprised Kayla that such a large hinge hardly squeaked. Kayla completely forgot the stranger as she passed the doors to the king’s hall.
The room was amazing.
Kayla couldn’t take it all in at a glance and so found herself ogling about like a village girl. The ceiling of this one room was higher than her entire house, with sweeping, arched beams and windows. There were tremendous lengths of velvet at the glass, marble on the floors, and more gold in ornamentation than Kayla had seen anywhere. It was too much, almost offensive to her in the misuse of such needed funds. An entire family could live for a year on the gold from a single lamp, and there were dozens of them.
Without her noticing, Pedran had stopped before the king, and Kayla bumped into him. She reddened, stepped back, and bowed nervously.
“Pardons, Pedran, Majesty,” she said, bowing again, more slow and deep the second time, examining the king from beneath her lowered lashes.
King Rojan was in his middle years. He was not a tall man, nor was he large, and though he did not seem to be powerful in appearance, the energy and strength of his position rolled off him in waves that were undeniable.
“It’s all right, Kayla. It’s a bit ostentatious for my taste, too.” King Rojan gestured at the gaudy décor and smiled.
Pedran cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, I have not yet presented the girl to you. Etiquette, sir, is—”
“I know, Pedran, I know,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go ahead and present her so we may speak.”
Pedran cleared his throat again, and Kayla could tell that he disapproved, but he straightened himself and continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Your Majesty, I present to you Kayla Kalandra Felandian, daughter of Countess Kalandra and Felandian of the evahn kingdom of Fashan.”
“Welcome, Kayla.” The king‘s voice was soft, but full of strength. “It is an honor to meet one of such great talent.”
Kayla curtsied low before him. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am honored that you think so.”
The king chuckled and Kayla looked up, startled. “You know I’m right, Kayla. You couldn’t play with such passion and confidence otherwise. I felt you . . . shall we say . . . tinkering, my dear. We need to talk.”
The king turned to his chamberlain and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “You can go, Pedran. Kayla and I have some matters to discuss.”
Pedran seemed confused. “Sir?” The old man stepped forward and whispered loudly in the king’s ear, though Kayla still heard every word. “I am always a part of your meetings. Have I done something to offend Your Highness?”
King Rojan shook his head with apparent patience and spoke softly. “No, Pedran. Kayla and I have some personal items to discuss, and I wish to do it alone. Take no offense, my friend.”
Pedran nodded stiffly and bowed his way from the room, pulling the large doors shut behind him.
Kayla’s heart hammered in her chest. He had felt her today? How was that possible? She would never have used her power if she’d thought she would be caught. She had only meant to right some injustices. If she had been nervous before, now she was close to terror as she stood shaking before her king.
She was not relieved by his next words.
“I have heard of that which you seek.”
Kayla was still.
“You are a bit young for a duchy yet, but I don’t think you’ll have much longer to wait. You shall have your title in time.”
Kayla’s heart slowed. A title? She hadn’t expected it so quickly, but would take any hope she could, even if it w
as only a carrot dangling before her at the moment. The king’s word was law. If he said he would have her duchy, then she would have it, and she couldn’t help the relief that washed over her.
“That is not the reason you were summoned, though, my child. I brought you here to present you with a gift . . . and a calling.” The king moved his hands from his lap, and Kayla saw he held the box she’d seen earlier. He stroked its length with gentle, loving fingers.
“This belonged to my grandfather,” he said as his fingers trailed down the polished surface of the box. “He gave it to me to keep safe until I found its new guardian, and I believe that should be you. Your playing today showed me not only your abilities, which are tremendous, but also your heart. And it is the latter that is most important.”
King Rojan opened the box, and a faint blue glow shone from its depths. Her eyes widened.
“What do you feel?” he asked as he turned the box around for her to admire.
She sucked in a breath of awe. What didn’t she feel would have been a better question. Kayla knew of this flute, as it was the dream of every flautist alive to possess it. It was made of sapphire, said to have been cut whole from mines that birthed the stones of power, and was supposed to have incredible power. Legend told of its ability to manipulate the elements and give the bearer protection with its bond.
The flute tickled her senses in a way nothing had before, not even the visions the music brought. She felt warm, alive, multiple—as if there were more to her than just the self that stood before the king. She felt powerful and humble, weak and strong. There was no end to the contrasts she felt. She stared at the instrument and finally met the king’s eyes with frustrated confusion, unable to mouth the things her heart spoke.
King Rojan smiled. “That’s what I thought. You can feel it, can’t you? You feel it the way you felt the music today.” He leaned forward, intense and anxious.
Kayla could only nod.
He sat back, apparently satisfied.
“I have it on the best of authority that S’Kotos himself has been trying to get his hands on this instrument since it came into existence. It is not just a gift, but also a calling.”
He beckoned her even closer and signaled for her to kneel before him, then took the flute in his hand and rested the mouthpiece on the crown of her head. It sent an electric shock through her. Whispers of music echoed through her entire being, and his next words seemed to have been spoken in the vastness of the concert hall and not the cloth-lined walls of his quarters."
“Kayla Kalandra Felandian, I hereby call thee to bear this flute in defense of Darthmoor. I name thee Guardian of the Crystal Flute and bearer of the sapphire power. I transfer the calling, I give the gift, I call you up to take this upon you. Guard it with thy life, thy heart, thy hearth, for in the end it will stand against S’Kotos in healing the world Rasann. Dost thou accept this calling?”
His voice echoed in her mind, and she knew she would forever remember every single word.
“With all my heart,” Kayla heard herself respond, awe in her voice.
“And wilt thou stand against S’Kotos and his evil minions throughout time?”
“I shall.”
“Evahn folk live a long time, Kayla. It could be many years before you are called to give up the Sapphire Flute. Are you sure you wish to accept it?” He seemed to be straying from the formal speech, but it didn’t matter. Kayla would do anything in her power to obtain that instrument. She could feel its soft tones calling to her as it lay upon her head, and her hands itched to hold it, her mouth longing to bring life to the sound.
“Your Majesty, I would die before letting it fall into the hands of The Destroyer. I shall guard the flute with my very soul.”
King Rojan smiled. “Then claim thy calling, Kayla, for the flute was made for thee to possess.”
Kayla lifted her hands slowly toward the glowing blue flute that sang her name, but as she reached, the king pulled it from her head and laid it back in the box. She nearly cried out when it left her head, her hands automatically reaching for it. The king took her wrist and met her eyes.
“One last thing, child, and this is the hardest to ask of you. The age of The Chosen One is upon us, and the time will come that he will call you up to stand with him against The Destroyer. Until The Chosen One claims you, you must not play the flute.”
Kayla’s heart fell. Not play it? It would be sheer torture! The most beautiful sound, the purest tones, would not be hers to play?
“Kayla, hear me.” The king‘s voice pressed at her, and his hand squeezed her wrist to the point of pain. “You must listen. If you play this flute before it is time, you could destroy us all. Do not let S’Kotos find it because the allure was too great for you to resist. This is the flute of the Guardians. It can be heard by any who are tuned to it. So long as the flute does not sound, it will hide itself. You must guard yourself against The Destroyer and his minions, especially from C’Tan.” Kayla shivered at the name of The Destroyer’s most terrifying disciple. “She would claim the flute for herself and has been searching for decades. Do not take the chance and call down S’Kotos upon us! Guard it, hide it, keep it safe, but do not play it until the time is right. Do you understand?”
Kayla nodded. She would do anything to get the flute, even if it meant hiding its sound from other ears. Her eyes were drawn back to it hypnotically.
The king sighed. “Then its power is in your hands. I pray that you will keep us safe.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Kayla eagerly took the box and pressed it to her breast. “I will guard it with my life.”
He smiled sadly. “I’m afraid that’s what it will take, child.”
The Sapphire Flute: Book 1 of The Wolfchild Saga Page 5