In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3

by Lisa Blackwood

  She sank down and knelt beside him, one hand braced on the bench next to his thigh while the other caressed his primaries. His wings twitched gently, and she murmured nonsense to him until the quivering subsided. He leaned toward her touch, rubbing his cheek against her palm in his sleep. Her heart thumped in her chest, and once again she didn’t seem able to control her breathing when she touched him. She ran her fingers through his crest. A compulsion to lean nearer, to take him in her arms, to press herself against him and forge a closer tie, flooded her mind. She froze, her fingers buried in his crest. She narrowed her eyes and forced her hand back to her side. Power swirled through her blood. Likely it had been building for a while without her realizing. It had been so long since she’d last felt its manipulation’s, she’d forgotten the danger her Larnkin represented.

  “I think not,” she said to her magic. Resisting its influence, she turned her attention back to Sorntar. “I need space. Time to think. To understand what I feel for you.” Knowing he would want to be informed of her leaving, guilt kicked in her gut. “I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

  She fled the room. Her throat tightened with emotions she’d kept in check, until now. Thick carpeting muffled her footsteps. Its somber black and grey pattern matched her mood. As the corridor descended, she glimpsed other rooms along its length, one easily the size of the Great Hall. Her Larnkin stirred once, then stilled. Ashayna halted and waited to see if it was going to cause trouble, but it returned to sleep.

  “Sorntar deserves better than to get stuck with a stubborn, short-tempered bondmate who doesn’t trust or can’t control her magic.” Ashayna directed her statement at her Larnkin. “Why would you choose me for your host? I’m a human, for mercy’s sake! Even the elders think you chose badly.”

  As she expected, her Larnkin gave no answer.

  The corridor branched again. This new one easily large enough for ten or more santhyrians to walk abreast. Curiously, it curved steadily downward in a spiral. She prepared to turn back when she glanced to the left and caught sight of a dimly illuminated room. Hair on the back of her neck and along her arms rose. A thread of power slid over her skin. She sidestepped, drawing closer to one wall. With her back again solid stone, she treaded closer to study the room for danger. Entering, she saw a large, stone-topped table—the room’s only furnishing.

  Air, heavy with a deep sense of sorrow, enveloped her. She hastily backed away.

  No one living dwells here. This is a place for the dead.

  The thoughts came unbidden into her mind. If they came from her Larnkin, all the more reason to leave. Fleeing the room, she broke into a jog for a dozen paces, only to come to a sudden stop when nothing looked familiar. She glanced back to the hall. Shadows flirted across the tiles in front of the entrance.

  “It’s a trick of the light, nothing more,” she mumbled to herself.

  The subdued presence from the hall followed her, growing thicker as she stood there.

  “And my imagination.” In her haste to leave, she must have taken the wrong exit. She went back into the hall and chose the only other door. It led to another unfamiliar tunnel. Impossible.

  Cursing narrow passageways and untrustworthy magic, she returned to the first tunnel. It had to be the correct one. Yet both directions led farther down instead of back to the world above.

  “I did not just get lost again. No, I refuse to believe it.” Ashayna continued her denials until the sound of talons on stone interrupted her thoughts. She fell silent and followed the sound. At least whoever she followed likely knew where they were going. Rounding a bend, she spotted the distant figure of a phoenix. Her earlier experiences cautioned her against calling out. By the time she reached the place where the phoenix had been, the mysterious person was gone.

  Stale, musty air lay heavy on her lungs as she descended. Ahead, the path opened onto a vast room, stretching far into the distance. It must take up a huge section beneath Grey Spires, and filling it was a garden of stone. A giant tree arched its branches above her head. Lifelike leaves seemed to have been ruffled by some long-ago wind, then in a blink of an eye, frozen in stone. She trailed her fingers over its realistic bark as she walked by, snorting at her own whimsy. More likely it was just more intricate artwork, not of magical origins. Whatever its purpose or origin, she found it rather beautiful, if a bit strange.

  Too busy staring at her surroundings, she didn’t see the stone pedestal until her knee banged into it. The ancient body lying in state shifted sideways a hand-span before coming to a stop. She screeched and scrambled back a few paces.

  The body, not much more than a few dried feathers and bits of bone, was encased in armor. Looking around, she saw more bodies on pedestals tucked in among stone trees.

  Her stomach tightened—these were the dead of a magical race. There was no telling what ghosts might walk among the stone trees in this cold place.

  Closing her eyes, she calmed her breathing. She shivered once more, but her heart followed the lead set by her lungs and grudgingly slowed its rapid pace. She was preparing to retreat the way she had come when something shuffled behind her. Her heart rattled against her ribs anew. Whirling towards the sound, she saw a corpse walking towards her. A shout of fear escaped her even as instinct guided her hand to her sword hilt.

  The figure moved closer. He was not a dead one awakened from its long sleep after all, but a flesh-and-blood phoenix painted in shades of ash-grey and charcoal to look like death.

  “I’m sorry.” Her words fell flat, swallowed by dead air. The stranger made no response. “I didn’t mean to trespass.”

  “You have disturbed the sleepers in the Garden of Eternity.”

  She shivered at the whisper of his voice along her mind, even though the tone lacked anger or any other emotion for that matter. This one was absolute tranquility.

  “Forgive me,” she responded, narrowing her thoughts down to a focused point. “I meant no insult. If you point me in the right direction, I’ll be more than happy to leave.”

  Another guard, a large gryphon, appeared beside the phoenix. A soft buzzing sensation on the outer edge of Ashayna’s consciousness warned her they communicated mind-to-mind for a brief time.

  “You are to come with us.” The phoenix covered the last bit of distance, now nearly upon her.

  “No, I must return to where Sorntar waits.” She evaded his talon-tipped grasp and placed another statue between them as she continued to back up.

  “None may leave once they have entered the sacred cavern.” The new mind-voice belonged to the female gryphon. It held a hint of pity.

  “I don’t think Sorntar would like that.”

  “The Dead King wishes to speak to you. Come willingly or be hunted down. It is your choice.”

  She must have imagined the pity, for the gryphon’s tone was as unforgiving as a winter ice storm and twice as cold. Ashayna backed away, retracing her steps. Though, by the scent of magic permeating the air, these two were formidable. She’d be lucky to get a hundred paces before they caught her.

  The garden of tombs held a menacing air, laden with urgency and darkness. Movement fluttered at the corners of her vision. Urged by her Larnkin or her own fear—Ashayna didn’t stop to ponder which—she turned and fled, as if every skeleton had arisen to give chase. Luck held and she made it to the morbid garden’s outer edge before a chilling power raised the hair on her body. It tried to instigate itself into her heart, creeping past her shields and along her skin. This new power was akin to the Wild Path’s strange magic, only stronger, so much stronger. A compulsion grew in her mind and insisted she surrender to that cold, eerie power. She slowed, listening to its silent command. Her Stonemantle stubbornness, mixed with a liberal dose of fear, wrenched her mind from its seductive call.

  With very little knowledge, less skill, but plenty of desperation, Ashayna summoned a shield of protection as she ran. Somewhere behind her, one of the guards summoned power. The hair on her arms rose to attention a moment before
the attack. To her amazement, her shield held against the guard’s first volley, but she sensed that the other cold power flowing after her, giving chase, was the true danger. It probed at her shields, learning them, seeking weakness.

  Another twenty paces and she was free of the garden. Continuing to run, she desperately called to Sorntar. Terror, generated by the presence of what lay behind, helped her focus her power.

  Her Larnkin flared to life. Its power flowed into her arms and legs, giving her strength. Ashayna embraced her magic for once. As she ran with renewed speed, the ground underfoot angled up in a gradual, curving spiral. Had she really just found her way free? Ashayna laughed in giddy relief. Yes, she had. Without slowing, she risked a glance behind. The corridor was empty, no sign of the guards or the dread presences. Too late, she realized the way ahead wasn’t as empty as behind. Another phoenix ran towards her. A familiar, warm magic brushed her skin, pushing away the soul-deep cold chasing her. Sorntar’s spicy scent surrounded her a moment before they collided in a tangle of arms, wings, and legs. Feathers of indigo blocked her view of the corridor. She scrambled to her feet, and then helped Sorntar up.

  Sorntar pulled her to him, sheltering her protectively in his wings. “I thought they’d kidnapped you again.” Ashayna felt his burning power before she saw it. Fire licked at her arms but did no harm, so she tightened her hold on his waist. Odd though the sight was, his magic gave her comfort in a way she couldn’t explain. She must have been more addled than she thought.

  “Hurry, we must get out of here.” Seeing he would balk at her request, she lowered her shields and shoved all her thoughts of what had occurred at him.

  “Tomb guards,” he said. Without another word, he loosed his hold enough so she could move and dragged her up the spiral stairs.

  The cold emptiness still pursued them, though her fear lessened now that Sorntar was with her. He, at least, must have some idea of what occurred and possibly a solution.

  Pushing her in front, he shoved her down another corridor without a word. When they were some distance from the garden of death, he slowed. “It’s too much, first the Oracle Tower and now this. You should not be punished for the fears of others.” Sorntar’s black look skimmed over her face. His expression softened a notch. “Ashayna, I give you my word I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from the Dead Rulers.”

  “I know.”

  The corridor came to an end, opening onto a balcony. Such a vast, open space shattered her thoughts. Sorntar grabbed her hand and ran to the edge, dragging her along behind. Struggling and twisting in his grasp did nothing to slow her advance towards the pink-tinted sky.

  Fear stuck words of protest in her throat.

  “Don’t fight me,” Sorntar warned while he turned her to face him.

  Movement behind him alerted her to their enemies’ arrival. Ashayna drew breath to warn him, but he must have sensed them at the same time. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he hoisted her onto the balcony’s railing.

  “Put your arms around my neck, avoid catching my wings.”

  She did as instructed and gripped his hips with her thighs hard enough to leave bruises. Sorntar hopped up onto the railing and balanced there a moment before launching them both over the edge. Ashayna screamed as they plummeted, her arms locked around his neck, her face buried against his chest. Long moments slid by as they fell. She imagined she could feel the earth approaching from below, awaiting the right moment to shatter all her bones. Sorntar unfurled his wings to their fullest. Ashayna’s downward motion stopped so suddenly, she was sure her spine had just kept falling.

  Sorntar beat his wings once, then again, slapping at the air. He grunted, wings laboring to gain altitude. Slowly, too slowly, he began climbing upwards. Glancing over her shoulder at the scant distance to the ground, a small yelp escaped her before she locked her jaws together. Sorntar chuckled in relief and lifted her higher, placing a supporting hand on her rump. “We’re actually still alive. I wasn’t sure we were going to pull up in time.” He brushed his lips against her ear. “My little scout weighs more than I thought she did.”

  He could make bad jokes or place his hands anywhere he liked and she wouldn’t say a word. Being alive always put her in a better mood.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sorntar landed on the Oracle’s Tower and set Ashayna down carefully. He hoped the tower’s stronger magic would hide them. A fat, orange sun vanished behind the lofty, western summit of Dragon’s Ring Mountain, taking with it the illusion of safety. A gust of wind buffeted them, its scent of recent winter. Even in the shelter of his wings, Ashayna shivered. “What do they want with me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, honestly. “Tomb guards have a sacred charge to watch over the dead. No other living being is allowed within the tombs. You shouldn’t have been able to find the path by accident. Someone tampered with the shields guarding their territory to make you a threat they’d eliminate.” He did what he could to calm his emotions, afraid if he spoke too loudly or dwelled too long on a thought it would draw unwanted attention. “There are two possible outcomes. They could hold you hostage as punishment for intruding upon their domain. In which case, my mother might be able to intervene. However, if the Rulers of the Dead led you there on purpose, whatever slim hope you had just narrowed by half.” His mouth turned dry and he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

  “What are the Rulers of the Dead? King Ryanth mentioned them.” Ashayna shifted uneasily and looked back the way they had come.

  “Powerful and old, there have always been two—a king and a queen. Their office predates this city, their function never changes. They guard against threats to the Balance.”

  “Are they really…dead?” A visible shudder raced down her body. “The guards are flesh and blood, but something else down there set my teeth on edge.”

  “Yes. Though I have never seen them in person.”

  Her eyes widened, but otherwise, her expression didn’t reveal the amount of fear their situation warranted. She’d shut him out like she always did when scared, so he couldn’t read her thoughts. Like so much of her magic, it might be more instinctual than actual control. Whatever the reason, it was a disadvantage he could have done without.

  “Ash.” He placed a hand on her arm, curling his fingers gently around the tense muscle. A tremor betrayed some of the bone-deep terror she tried to hide.

  “There must be something I can do,” Ashayna pleaded. “I’d do anything to avoid a tomb guard’s fate.”

  “There is one means. They cannot take you if another holds a previous claim to you, a binding claim.”

  “You mean to bond.” Her words, while blunt, were free of judgment.

  “If we complete the first phase of bonding, you would be protected. I’m innocent of any wrongdoing. By the laws of my people I can’t be punished, and there is no greater punishment than to separate a bonded pair.” He placed one hand on her shoulder. “I know of no other way. I’m sorry.”

  In the silence of the spring evening, with winter’s scent still a fresh memory, a chill rippled through his body. Full-dark had settled and he couldn’t see her expression. The sound of Ashayna’s ragged breathing brought forth every protective instinct he possessed. His wings quivered with the need to shelter her or to fly with her to some distant location, but no place would be safe.

  Her voice reached out of darkness, soft yet certain. “I can’t live in the darkness below this city. I would rather die.”

  Fear struck deep in his soul. His Larnkin stirred uneasily. “I’ll not let tomb guards or death take you. Bond with me now, while there’s still time. I’ve conveyed our danger to my Larnkin and used his strength to create false trails, but if they search the Oracle Tower or the area around it…”

  By her turbulent expression, she fought an internal battle. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “If I must choose between you and the cold presence below this city, I would choose you.” Ashayna hesitated. “But you deserv
e better. I’m flawed in some way. Can’t you feel it?”

  Sorntar’s breath escaped in a hiss of surprise. He’d come to expect Ashayna to be stubborn, harsh at times, and very, very sure of herself…but this vulnerability shocked him. “Ash, your Larnkin is young, untrained. You’re not flawed. You may even find it easier to control your magic once we’re bonded. I’ll be able to help.”

  Ashayna nodded. Her expression blank, like she was lost in thought over some serious matter.

  At her hesitation, pain twisted his heart. Is bonding with me really so horrible? Surely I am better than death.

  “I’ll bond with you.”

  Even though her voice lacked any hint of pleasure at the idea, relief swept through his body, leaving his feeling weak. Once they were bonded, he’d have time to convince her magic wasn’t all bad. They could find common ground, strengthen their growing friendship. Maybe she’d even come to love him. At the thought, a mix of fear and excitement flooded his body, causing an involuntary shudder to ripple down his wings. Silently, he thanked the evening breeze for cooling his nervous sweat.

  ***

  The tower’s deep-rooted foundation reached many layers into the mountain. A double set of stairs burrowed down the tower’s center. At their base was a vast, cave-like chamber illuminated by a pale, silver glow. It took a moment for Sorntar’s eyes to adjust in the minimal light, but he caught the reflection of a pool glowing with power. Like a tree drinking water from a river, the tower drank power welling up from the magic-laced spring at its base.

  Skirting the pool, he ducked under a stalactite and made for a stone table and bench tucked into a recess carved from the cavern wall. A mortar and pestle lay beside several cloth-wrapped bundles. As he began unclasping his arm bands, magic uncoiled from where it slumbered in his chest, reaching out to his limbs, pressing him in the direction it wanted him to go. At his Larnkin’s wordless prompting, Sorntar scooped up one of the packets. The herbs, preserved by wards, still smelled fresh enough, even though they were many seasons old.