Mother of Shadows (The Chosen Book 1)

by Meg Anne

  At dinner the previous night, she was so engrossed in the storyteller’s tale that her visions of the scene had begun to spring to life around him, much to the delight of the Palace guests. The poor man had been so shocked, however, that he had lost his place in the story and was unable to continue.

  The day before that, she had been listening to another of Timmins’ lectures regarding etiquette, wishing she could be outside feeling the sunshine and breeze on her face instead when a gust of wind whipped through the chamber upsetting all of Timmins’ carefully laid documents. She had apologized profusely for the disturbance, embarrassed beyond end that her distraction had caused such havoc.

  Now, in a welcome moment of solitude, Helena sat in the flower garden, her anxiety over her upcoming trial and the strain of controlling her magic wearing on her. She was so afraid of letting her Circle down, or humiliating herself further, that it was pure bliss being able to sit quietly and just be.

  The last day of the Festival was almost upon her, and in mere hours she would finally face her trial. And then, assuming she succeeded, the final ritual which would bind her to her Mate would take place, concluding the Festival. Her mind sorted through her suitors, affectionately thinking about Amos and Micha, but knowing in her heart that the selection had already been made. She conjured Von’s face in her mind, smiling unconsciously as she did.

  She let out a heartfelt sigh and closed her eyes, tilting her face toward the sun. Appreciating her heightened sense of smell at the moment, she breathed deeply inhaling the scents of the flowers that surrounded her. In her mind, she was identifying each flower by its fragrance, and appreciating the mundane task immensely.

  “Am I interrupting, Damaskiri?” a deep voice asked next to her.

  Startled she jumped and twisted to the voice’s source, surprised anyone had been able to sneak up on her when she was not actively trying to diminish her senses.

  She felt her face flush and her heart begin to race as she stammered, “V-von, what, what are you doing here?”

  His lips quirked in an amused smile, “You summoned me, Damaskiri.”

  “I, I did what?” she asked in surprise, eyes widening in embarrassed realization. With a groan, she closed her eyes and covered them with the palm of her hand.

  Von moved to sit beside her, gently taking her hand and peeling it away from her face.

  She looked up at him sheepishly.

  “It’s alright; I didn’t mind. I hope I’m not intruding?” he asked again, steel eyes searching hers.

  She shook her head, “No, I was just noting the flowers.” She felt foolish as she uttered the words. She was supposed to be the most powerful woman her kind had seen in hundreds of years, and she was sitting in a garden daydreaming about a man she had just met a handful of days ago. She must amuse him greatly.

  Sneaking a glance at him, she saw his knowing smile. She snapped her eyes shut again.

  “It must be hard, having so many demands for your attention when you are used to being only responsible to yourself,” he said simply.

  Helena nodded, eyes opening to stare at the bright yellow roses in front of her, “Yes, it can be overwhelming. Especially when I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing half the time. Stick a shovel in my hands and point me in the direction of a garden and I could happily plod along for the rest of my days. Put me in a ballroom full of people wanting to dance and gossip and, and touch me,” she said with an exasperated laugh, “and I am so far out of my element I feel like a floundering fish!”

  He let out a surprised bark of laughter.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I shouldn’t complain, I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself at the moment, which is utterly ridiculous.”

  He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and electricity sizzled through her at the contact, “By all means, Damaskiri, I will happily sit here with you and let you unburden yourself.”

  She tilted her head and studied him, gray eyes shining with amusement and obsidian hair ruffled by the breeze.

  He looked more relaxed than she could remember seeing him before. Then again, she had only seen him briefly during the various festivities and had never truly been alone with him until this very moment. Her cheeks flooded with heat at the thought. Timmins would surely give her an earful about the inappropriateness of such a situation when he heard about this. A stubborn voice inside of her questioned: who’s going to tell him?

  She smiled ruefully, “I must seem like a child to you, complaining about not only finding that I have magic, but that I am, in fact, the Mother’s chosen Daughter.”

  He shrugged, “It’s one thing to grow up knowing who you are and what you will do with your life, and then quite another having it all turned on its head. I think anyone would struggle with such change.”

  “And you?” she asked curiously, “Did you know what you would do with your life? Did you know that you would be here, sitting beside me?”

  He laughed again, his laugh notably forced. “No. Decidedly not. I knew that I would be a warrior and that I would bring honor to my family on the battlefield. I never imagined that I would be a guest at the royal court fighting for the hand of the Damaskiri. Not my kind of battlefield at all,” he finished dryly.

  She arched an eyebrow in surprise, “Then why are you here?”

  He sighed, “Do you know who I am, Damaskiri? Why those people taunted me during the declaration ceremony?”

  She shook her head quickly.

  “I am Von Holbrooke, son of Darius Holbrooke,” he stared ahead of him, unflinching as he continued; “My ancestors were the ones who declared the blood war on Kiri Celestine Di’Cameron and her Circle. They were responsible for the slaughter of thousands.

  “They almost succeeded, but they were eventually defeated and branded as blood traitors. My family line has been banned from Tigaera ever since. None will so much as trade with us, except by coercion, and we live in exile from our people and our birthright.”

  “I became who I had to be, to help my family survive: ruthless; cunning; a mercenary in every sense of the word. There is no softness in me, Damaskiri. I cannot afford the luxury, so no, I had not planned on ever being one of the declared suitors of a Damaskiri.”

  He glanced down at her quickly, gauging her reaction before continuing, “Life, as you are aware, does not go according to plan. I wanted to bring honor to my family, remind the realms of our power and all that.” He snorted dismissively, “Instead, I am ridiculed by those that see themselves as my betters, and feared by those who recognize my strength. Yes, I’ve reminded them of our power, but still, they slight us.”

  His voice had deepened as he spoke. He had rested his elbows on his knees, hunching forward.

  “So, you came here hoping to…” she trailed off, not wanting to finish her sentence, her heart aching at the thought that she was simply a means to an end.

  He sighed, “I came here to continue my task, Damaskiri. I need to restore my family’s name; I need the ban lifted so that my brother can have a proper healer. But nothing goes according to plan,” he stated again wryly.

  Confusion was etched on her face. Was he saying that that wasn’t what he was after anymore? Afraid to ask that question, she asked another, “What’s wrong with your brother? Why will a healer not see him?”

  “Nial was in an accident when he was younger. It was my fault,” Von grimaced at the memory, “He had always been small, but he wanted so badly to be like me. I challenged him, told him to try and ride the new stallion that our father had just won. The stallion was pure temper, not the sort that would allow a rider anywhere near him, but my brother was determined. He vaulted on the stallion’s back, and the stallion reared. He couldn’t stay on, and he was thrown. The stallion trampled him as he rode away. Nial’s legs were damaged beyond repair, they’ve never grown properly, and he’s been confined to his bed ever since. That’s no life for a man.”

  Helena could feel the misery and guilt rolling off Von in waves. T
his is why he seeks you. Despite her bruised ego, she gently touched his back, feeling him stiffen at the contact.

  “No matter what happens tomorrow,” she said softly, “I will help your brother. He will have a healer, even if I must go myself.”

  Von looked at her in surprise, “Even after I told you who I am, what my family has done, you would help him?”

  She nodded, “I may not understand everything that you’ve done, nor agree with the decisions you have made, but everyone deserves to be judged on their own actions, not those of their ancestors. You have done what you needed to do to survive and to support your family; there is no shame in that.”

  He looked at her in wonder, “Is that why you spoke for me?”

  Her eyes narrowed at the memory, “I spoke for you because it was the right thing to do, and because you are mine; whether you intended to be or not.” Her voice was soft but unyielding. She was reeling from his confessions, his depiction of himself at complete odds with his tale about his brother. Her pride at war with her compassion, she couldn’t help but feel like an utter fool for sitting there like a lovesick girl, while he had been strategically plotting, even if it was for a valid –if selfish- reason.

  He sat unmoving for a moment before reaching his hand towards her. “Helena,” he said softly.

  She noted the use of her name with surprise.

  Grabbing her hand, he continued to meet her gaze intently, “Things do not go according to plan. I told you what brought me here because you asked. It was not my intention to do so, at least not like that, but I would not hide it from you either. You should know who I am.”

  She remained quiet, uncertain of what he was saying.

  He let out a breath and continued, “Helena, your soul calls to mine. I could no more deny that than I could my name. Just because it may not have been my intention at the start of my journey, does not mean that I am not pleased with the result, or that I will not do right by you and our bond.”

  He nudged her playfully with his shoulder. She bit her lip as she smiled, pleased to hear his admission. “You leave much to be desired in the way of wooing, Von.”

  He laughed, relief evident in the sound, “I did not realize you desired wooing, Damaskiri.”

  “Damaskiri I may be, but I am a woman first and foremost, Mate. You would do well to remember that.” When she stood and looked at him, it was with iridescent eyes. Her hair danced in the wind, and she turned away from him, but not before watching the grin falter in shock from his face. Her laughter floated behind her as she walked toward the Palace.

  He remained on the bench, stunned. He had known that she was whispered to be the most powerful Kiri his people had ever seen, and he thought he had an idea of what that meant. As he watched her hips sway while she walked away from him, he realized that he knew nothing.

  Ah, that’s where she’s run off too. Gillian landed softly on a tree branch high above the flowering garden, leaves raining down gently from the contact. And with him!

  This should prove very enlightening; she thought jumping down a few branches to better hear their intent conversation.

  From her perch in the trees above them, Gillian could overhear Von’s story, shocked that he was so blatantly confessing his selfish motivations. Gillian had tried to use every spare opportunity she could to get closer to the young Damaskiri, and she had learned easily enough that the girl was a romantic. Growing up so far removed from court society had not prepared her for the reality and politics of royal courtships. Gillian was certain such a declaration would seriously bruise her tender feelings for her suitor.

  Tawny feathers ruffling in the breeze, Gillian leaned forward, unconcerned with looking suspicious. If the two felt her watching them, they gave no indication and would only see a hawk if they did happen to look her way.

  Gillian noted the strain around the girl’s eyes, but it was not hurt making the aqua orbs glow, it was compassion. Mother help her, she’s falling for it, and for him, Gillian rolled her eyes in disgust; she’s making this so easy. Gillian was almost disappointed that the task ahead would not require her to use the true extent of her creative plotting. Almost. The sooner this was settled, the better.

  ‘Your soul calls to mine…’ the blood traitor was saying now.

  Please! Gillian squawked in amused disbelief. The warrior wouldn’t know the sight of his blackened soul even if he had one, let alone admit that he actually had feelings for the girl. Green eyes noted the softening of the girl’s face at his words, and she winced in sympathy before catching the errant emotion. She could not afford to let herself feel anything for the impostor. She scoffed, the fool believes him! He is practically doing the job for me.

  With a toss of her head, Gillian spread her wings and took flight, missing the sight of the girl as she stood, or the man’s look of amazement as she walked away.

  Chapter Six

  Helena sat at the ancient sprawling vanity, fingers tapping a mindless tune on its shining surface. Alina was deftly twisting and pinning loose curls atop her head, using magic, instead of pins, to help keep the curls in place. Helena was glad for the shift, the sheer number of pins needed to keep her hair from listing drunkenly to the side of her head made her head ache.

  She was wondering idly when she had begun thinking of the Palace as home, and her Circle and Alina as her family. Although it had been little over a month since she had moved here from the sweet cottage and her simple life there, this life, this world, was becoming more real to her than her years at the cottage.

  It wasn’t the grandeur of her new home, although she loved the soft femininity of her room decorated in its various shades of purple and gold which were both calming and lovely. She especially loved the deep armchair which sat underneath a large window with an unimpeded view of the main garden. And there was definitely something to be said for carpets that were so thick she felt her feet got lost in them. She scrunched her toes into the soft fabric at the thought and smiled, wrapping her lavender shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

  Alina noted her mistress’s smile, and couldn’t help her responding one. “Thinking of someone, Damaskiri?” she teased lightly.

  Helena blushed, she hadn’t been thinking of Von actually, but at the suggestion, his image blazed brightly in her mind.

  Her mind replayed their afternoon in the garden. She knew that she shouldn’t be disappointed by his story, and she wasn’t really, it was more of a deflation. Her coming back to reality and recognizing that it would be incredibly naïve of her to think all of the suitors had declared themselves because they had dreamed of her since they were children, or heard stories of her beauty and decided they must have her. And really, she chided herself, wouldn’t that be worse? To be wanted as an object rather than a person.

  Von had stated that he hadn’t even anticipated the possibility that he would be selected as the Damaskiri’s Mate, he was just trying to help his family. That was honorable in its own right, and she couldn’t find it in herself to blame him for it. More than that, he was honest about it. He hadn’t tried to hide his reasons for pursuing her behind false claims of emotion and feelings for her.

  His honesty gave them a foundation to build from, and that’s all you needed to start a relationship she decided. Not that she had been in one before, but surely it would be like any other, built on mutual respect and trust? She hoped that eventually, those would grow into affection and companionship since she had always wanted a marriage full of love and laughter.

  She stared wistfully into the mirror trying to imagine Von gazing at her with love or bouncing a child on his knee, but entirely unable to conjure the image. He was too cynical, too… too male, she thought, to be placed in such a domesticated role. It was his maleness, though, that was causing the fluttering low in her stomach.

  Well that, and the way his dimple would flash and his gray eyes would light up in surprise when she made him laugh.

  Alina’s laughter tinkled sweetly. “So that’s the way of it?
” She asked.

  Helena grinned at her ruefully and stuck her tongue out at the girl through the mirror.

  “You’re very lucky, Damaskiri, to have such a strong Mate. He will be good to you.”

  Helena smiled at Alina, “You don’t believe him to be a traitor then, as the others do?”

  She shook her head, lips pursed as she concentrated on pinning the last few curls up. “No, Damaskiri. He’s your Mate, which means that he was made for you. You’re the most kind and warm lady I’ve ever met; I cannot imagine the other half of you would not be as passionate.” Alina’s eyes met Helena’s briefly before she continued, “He may be less inclined to show that side of himself, but that does not mean it doesn’t exist within him.”

  Helena was pleased with the thought. “You don’t think that if he’s the other half of me, he is the darker half?” repeating her Circle’s explanation for the match.

  Alina paused, considering, “He might be, Damaskiri, but aren’t we all made of both shadows and light? Shadows cannot exist without light though, so you cannot have one and not have the other. Just because he may be that side of you does not make him evil.”

  “Yes,” Helena responded, her smile blooming beautifully across her face, her eyes going soft and dreamy, “I think so too.”

  Alina chuckled at her mistress’s obvious infatuation. “There, all done. You are ready.”

  Helena glanced into the mirror and studied the reflection that stared back at her. Chestnut curls were piled intricately atop her head with their ends falling softly to her shoulders. Her face was absent of any make-up, the effect should have left her looking fresh and youthful. However, her aqua eyes peered back sharply, the silvery ring around her pupils swirling like a mist of light creating the sense of all-knowing wisdom that belied any innocence. It was a captivating and stunning effect, for all of its simplicity.

  There would be no elaborate dress to armor herself with this time. She would wear the traditional attire of the trial – a loose cotton robe, belted with a cord around her hips all in shades of tan.