Lark Rising (Guardians of Tarnec)
Page 29
He was in the pool; I knew he would be. The water made the lightest rippling sound from his swim. I walked along the footpath. The candlelight in the windows glowed golden, but the stones were silvery under starlight. And then Gharain was rising from the water, pushing his streaming hair back with his hands.
He took a deep breath. “The king …”
I shook my head. And then I ran to him, and he reached for me over the stone edge of the pool and clasped me in his warm, wet arms as I kneeled on the stone to claim his embrace, whispering, “I am sorry.”
“It is all right,” he murmured. “I knew this would be. We all knew it.”
I pressed my forehead against his chest. “I feel I should weep for him, but I’m not sad. He was happy to be with his Guardian again. His queen.”
Gharain drew away from me then, but only slightly—enough to look into my eyes and brush my now-damp hair back from my shoulder. And then he smiled his beautiful smile and said, “My queen.” And he kissed me.
That brought the tears up, but only a little, only from joy. Gharain kissed my mouth, my cheek, my jaw, and my neck, letting his fingers trail over my collarbone to my shoulder blade, where he turned me slightly so he could press his lips against the small black point hovering just above my birthmark. A mark of light and of dark burned into one flesh.
“I wish I could take this scar from you,” he whispered against my skin.
“It is mine to bear.” I reached for his face, to draw him back to my gaze. “We each make our sacrifices.” And I laughed a little that I’d said that. Tarnec had its influence.
He nodded. And then, perhaps in response, he said, “Laurent left earlier this evening. He’s gone to find your cousin.”
“Evie … Laurent? Why?”
“Maybe he’s just making sure that no Breeder finds her first.”
Our birthmark. A bond seeking. A Complement to be determined. “Gharain! I never told her of it: of our marks, what I’d learned in Tarnec, the amulets, none of it! I never had the chance—I never thought she’d be gone. Oh, what sort of queen am I that I’ve left it all undone?” I leaned my head into his shoulder. “I am …” And I laughed a little. “To say that I am awed by what has happened is to simplify all feelings.”
Gharain kissed the top of my head. “You are strong, love. And you are not alone.”
It made me remember what I still held in my fist. I opened my hand to show Gharain. “Look what Nayla left for me.”
The objects were small and my palm was shadowed, but there was a glitter from them nonetheless. Gharain’s finger brushed the minion flower first, briefly, murmuring, “The most powerful of healing herbs. That is for you.” But then he touched the two rings, which lay as sparkling circles against my skin, and said, “You understand what these are.” Gharain raised his eyes to catch mine as I shook my head. “They are gifts. Gifts from the Earth—precious metal mined from her stores, passed from Life Guardian to Life Guardian. Look closely.”
He cupped his hand beneath mine and raised it so we could both look at the delicate things. They glittered, catching the starlight, and warming from our completed touch. Crafted from strands, seemingly of a spider’s thread—strands of brilliant gold and copper, woven in an intricate, webbed design, no wider than a blade of grass and almost as thin.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“It is a sign of the Keepers and their allies,” Gharain whispered back.
The weaving design—like what the young men of Merith made from leather. Allies, all. I took the smaller of the rings and slid it onto my finger. It was warm—like a blade of heat that ran from my finger and into my whole body. Simple and whole.
I held the other ring out to Gharain. “Rule with me.”
He smiled, and after a moment lifted my hand, pressed a kiss by the remaining ring, and closed my fist over it. “I will. But Tarnec needs its queen first.”
And then he released me and glided to the other side of the pool, where he walked up the steps, grinning—because he knew I watched him—and pulled on his leggings and shirt.
“Come,” he called out. “The dawn is nearly here. Let us watch it together.”
And so we passed once more through the quiet halls, our bare feet silent on the paving, and stepped out onto the back terrace, which circled Castle Tarnec to where the cliff dropped away. We faced northward first, to see the Myr Mountains still dark as night. Then we turned, walking to where we could look east at the sun piercing its first rays over the hills of Tarnec, watching the new light flood over the pale canyons and green valleys. We gazed south—where Merith nested at the foot of Dark Wood, and the Cullan foothills and Niler marshes carved out their empty and crowded spaces. And last we turned west, to see the wealth of the land behind Castle Tarnec—grass and tree, stone, field, and cottage refreshed in the morning light. A pale moon was just setting beyond the rise of woods. I wondered which direction Evie had chosen.
And then the morning was waking the birds—their songs were pealing through the air, and my eye was caught by something shooting up from the ground to catch the first light.
“Look!” I cried. “Look, there, how the lark rises against the dawn!”
Gharain turned to me; I could sense him watching me, his beautiful smile curving his mouth.
“I see her,” he said.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
IT IS TRUE that this story was born in the field behind my house, where beauty and magic grow faster than I might try to mow them back. But that this story became a book is due to the collective life breathed into it, and so I owe heartfelt thanks …
To my agent, Jenny Bent, who took a seed and coaxed forth a bud, and to my editor, Diane Landolf, who nurtured that bud into blossom. That you both believed so wholeheartedly in this story leaves me speechless.
To my friends in my writers group, the dynamic trio of authors—Tatiana Boncompagni, Melanie Murray Downing, and Lauren Lipton—who so carefully critiqued the way-too-many installments with keen eyes, warm hearts, and good humor.
To those who paused in their own creative pursuits to go beyond the call of friendship, sisterhood, and spousal duty by accepting armloads of pages with enthusiasm and offering incredible support along the way: John Gahl, Lisa Worth Huber, Lisa Klein, Jacklyn Maddux, Kathy Waugh, and Jonathan Stern. And those who lent their artistic talents: Deborah Chabrian, Ed Martinez, and Melanie Kleid.
To my family at large—my mother, Diana; my father (in memoriam), Hillary; my sister, Kathy; and my brother, Lawrence, who shared the growing up in a house where creative expression was a given.
And to my family at home—Jonathan, Christopher, and Jeremy—who all graciously accepted my setting up camp on the most prominent chair in the house because it is my favorite place to write. I love you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SANDRA WAUGH grew up in an old house full of crowded bookshelves, in walking distance of an old library that allowed her to drag home a sack of six books at a time. It goes without saying, then, that she fell in love with an old house in Litchfield County, Connecticut, because of its many bookshelves. She lives there with her husband, two sons, and a dog who snores. Loudly. Lark Rising is her first novel.
For more information, reveries, and an author blog, visit sandrawaugh.com.
DON’T MISS EVIE’S BOOK!
GUARDIANS OF TARNEC BOOK 2
Moonlight on water brings Nature’s daughter,
Swift-bred terror and sorrow of slaughter.
Silver and sickle, the healing hand,
Find the shell’s song; bring rain upon land.
AFTER THE DEATH of her beloved, seventeen-year-old Evie Carew wants nothing more than to lose herself in Rood Marsh. But when the old seer Harker tells her she’s meant for a greater task, Evie’s curiosity gets the best of her. What is the shell that Harker insists she must find? And why does the name of one of the twelve Riders of Tarnec echo in her thoughts?
Available September 2015
Sandra Waugh, Lark Rising (Guardians of Tarnec)