“This,” she whispered, and leaned forward to place her lips on his.
Her core glowed warm as they kissed, and she reveled in it. Aidan’s arms wrapped around her waist and back as he returned her kiss with an intensity that frightened and excited her. She let herself float in the embrace for a minute, and then regretfully pulled away. Aidan’s eyes were closed and his face woeful. She stood on tiptoe and pulled his head down to lightly kiss his forehead. He opened his eyes to look at her one last time, their startling greenness so familiar now.
“Goodbye,” she whispered, and left quickly, picking up her backpack on the way. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t look back. She knew she would see his woebegone face and forlorn frame drooping beside the counter, and she would dissolve in tears. She wasn’t ready to relinquish all control over her emotions, not entirely.
She walked quickly down the road out of Amberlaine, relishing the cool wind and letting it dry the tears making tracks down her face. Stars twinkled overhead, glittering between her wet lashes. She was reminded of her marking ceremony under the very same stars, Aidan beside her. She smiled through her tears. Despite the changes and upheaval in her own life, the stars remained unaffected and unmoved. Her turmoil shrank under their ancient light, and she was oddly comforted by their constancy.
Ellie appeared around a bend, meandering along the road. Gwen caught up.
“There you are,” Ellie said as Gwen reached her. “I didn’t think you’d be this quick, honestly.” She then noticed Gwen’s wet cheeks and put her arm around her shoulder. Gwen did the same and they continued up the road linked together.
“You good?” Ellie asked.
Gwen gave one last big sniff then breathed out deeply, letting it all go. It was easier to do after allowing the emotions to take hold for a time. It was less suppression and control, and more of a release.
“Yeah, I’ll be good soon.”
“Are you still glad you came on this trip?” Ellie asked as they walked together down the road to the castle, the lights at the gate a beacon in the dim.
Gwen laughed, the sound cutting clearly through the gathering twilight.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Epilogue
Bzzzt.
Gwen dug her phone out of her pocket as she walked down the busy Vancouver street. A text from Aidan waited for her. She smiled broadly as she checked the message.
Decided on a major in music composition and performance, for flute.
Her thumbs hesitated over the keypad, and then tapped out:
There’s a good program for that here in Vancouver.
The reply came almost immediately, as if the Atlantic were merely a puddle and the prairies and Rockies were no more than a molehill beside a garden.
I was hoping you’d say that.
Dear reader,
I hope you enjoyed reading Mark of the Breenan as much as I enjoyed writing it. Gwen and her friends were bouncing around in my head for quite a while before I finally let them out on paper. I’m so glad I did!
I have a favor to ask of you. If you’re so inclined, I’d love a review of Mark of the Breenan. If you loved it, if you hated it, if you’re somewhere in the middle—I want to know what you think. I write because Gwen and her friends won’t leave me alone, but I also write for you, dear reader. Reviews are difficult to come by, and you have the power to make or break a book. If you have the time, you can find my book list on Amazon.
If you did enjoy Gwen’s adventures in the Otherworld, sign up for my newsletter at emmashelford.com where you can receive news of upcoming releases and sneak peeks.
Happy reading!
Emma Shelford
Acknowledgements
I am very grateful to a number of wonderful people who helped make this book a reality. First and foremost to my mother, who was the earliest recipient of my writing, and to this day remains my biggest fan. My father needs a special mention for reading to me every single night while I was growing up, building the foundation for my love of reading. My grandparents also gave their support. Judith Powell was full of helpful comments and encouragement. Larry Brooks of storyfix.com evaluated my original story structure. Michele Holmes at Precision Editing Group gave me tremendous insight into my manuscript. Melissa Bowles designed the mesmerizing front cover. And, of course, my husband deserves thanks for his encouragement and patience while I squeezed writing into every available time slot.
Garden
of
Last Hope
Emma Shelford
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
GARDEN OF LAST HOPE
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2016 Emma Shelford
Cover design by Christien Gilston
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
www.emmashelford.com
First edition: April 2016
ISBN: 978-1530439355
For Dad,
for all the bedtime stories
Chapter 1
He walked swiftly through the woods. The trees pressed close to the path, long tendrils of hanging vine softly brushing his shoulders. He swept them off unconsciously and peered behind him as if looking for someone following. His feet never broke pace.
The sound of cracking twigs stopped him abruptly. His hair glinted fiery copper in a ray of sunlight as he frantically scanned the forest around him. Distant voices began to murmur.
He leaped to a nearby tree and scrambled up using rough grooves of bark as handholds with the ease and grace of an experienced tree climber. The first branch was high in the air. He clung to it and quieted his breath to listen.
“Seriously, Crevan, I don’t know why we’re bothering.” A voice drifted clearly up the tree, deep but with a touch of childish petulance. “You know he’s just run off again on one of his adventures.” The last word almost glistened with sarcasm.
A different voice answered the first, its tone curt.
“Father wants him close to home ever since that business at the marking ceremony.” A brief silence was followed by the appearance of two men. Crevan had short copper hair to match the watcher in the tree, and he wore a resigned expression. His brother Owen trailed behind sullenly. He swung a long sword at nearby ferns in a desultory manner, his strawberry-blond hair pulled into a low ponytail. Both wore loose shirts of a fine silken fabric and long slim pants of a muddy green.
The young man in the tree held his breath in an effort to avoid detection. His eyes crinkled with contained laughter as he gazed down from his perch at his two brothers. Quietly, he stroked the bark of the tree and narrowed his eyes in concentration.
“And now you want to find him to show Father that you don’t fumble every task he gives you?” Owen gave a derisive snort. “Good luck with that. You know our dear brother is too slippery to be caught, and he’s the favorite. It’ll take more than finding him today to win Father’s approval.”
“Come on, we have a lot of ground to cover.” Crevan strode off through the forest, clearly eager to put distance between himself and his surly brother.
The young man in the tree waited until his eldest brother had left Owen behind. He continued to stroke the bark. Owen heaved a sigh and gave the trunk of the tree a solid whack with his sword before he turned to follow Crevan. The watcher stared intently at the ground in front of Owen’s feet.
Soil stirred and a large root emerged unnoticed from the forest floor, a sinuous arc shedding dirt and needles on its ascent. It rose higher and higher until Owen unwittingly slipped his foot into the arc. The watcher stopped stroking the bark as Owen attempted another step. The root entrapped his foot perfectly and
he sprawled to the ground, his entire body stretched across the dirt.
He cursed loudly, and the watcher clutched a hand to his mouth to stifle explosive laughter, eyes watering in mirth and face scrunched up with glee. Owen cursed again and dusted himself off. He stomped after Crevan, never once looking at the offending obstacle. The root sunk quietly back into the ground.
The young man waited until the stomping noises disappeared into the silence of the forest before he clambered down the tree. He chortled quietly as his feet picked out crevasses in the bark. On the ground, he leaned against the tree and grinned broadly. Then he reached into the pocket of his pants to draw out two objects.
One was a shiny copper penny, the facing side engraved with a blooming rose. On other side was the profile of a young woman with long hair and sharp features, softened by a smile.
He grinned at the coin and held it up to look at the engraving. Then he dropped it back into his pocket and focused his attention on the other object.
A golden locket lay across his palm, its surface covered with a finely wrought design of leaves and vines highlighted by the darkness of dried blood within the crack of the pattern. The warm metal shone softly in the dim light of the dense forest, a glimmer of sunlight in shadows. He pried open the locket with eager fingers. It yielded with a soft click to reveal two miniature portraits and a curl of baby-fine black hair. Carefully, he moved the lock of hair onto the tiny portrait of a dark-haired beauty with a knowing smile, to uncover a picture of a man with laughing eyes.
He walked to the other side of the tree. Almost entirely hidden in an overgrowth of ferns and moss were the remains of a stone archway. The keystone and upper arch had long since crumbled, leaving only ancient stones of the side pillars. He grinned and stared at the image of the man for a minute, then snapped the locket shut and hung it around his neck. Holding his hands aloft, he stepped forward and touched the uppermost stones of the pillars. His eyes slowly closed.
A light began to pulse in the doorway. First it outlined the stones, then it filled the emptiness between them. Ghostly shadows of the missing stones traced a clear arch above his head. Brighter and brighter the light grew. He held his position, eyes sealed tight and arms spread.
Just as the light grew to blinding proportions, he abruptly withdrew his hands. With eyes still closed against the light, he stepped through the doorway.
The light dimmed to dull daylight, and he emerged from the other side of the doorway and blinked rapidly. He stood in a tiny patch of scraggly grass surrounded by wild-looking hydrangeas and foxgloves which swayed gently under a leaden sky. The garden was enclosed on three sides by a chest-height wooden fence. Beyond lay other small garden plots in a long row, flanked by a continuous line of thin two-storey houses made of gray stone.
He turned to look behind him, eyes wide. On the blank wall of the house, a haphazard arrangement of stones in the approximate shape of a squat doorway was outlined in a faint glow that faded as he watched.
He blinked in astonishment. A slow grin spread over his features, and he threw his fist in the air.
“Yes! I did it!” He laughed wildly and turned on the spot to gaze around him with a rapturous look. On his second turn he swung toward the house and stopped short. A girl of about seventeen stood watching him warily. Her cut-off jeans were too tight and her hair was pulled into a severe ponytail, but her cautious eyes were large and pretty and her mouth fell in a full-lipped pout.
“Who’re you, then?” The girl crossed her arms over her chest and shifted weight to her other leg. “What are you doing in our garden?”
The young man gave her a dazzling smile and swept into a deep bow. The girl’s wariness melted with a small smile.
“Greetings, my lady.” He stood upright again. Seeing his bow had not been acknowledged with a returning curtsy, he looked puzzled. Then his face brightened. He stuck his hand out in front of him stiffly, fingers outstretched. The girl raised an eyebrow, but grasped his hand and shook it briefly. The young man beamed at her.
“I’m glad to make your acquaintance.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it with another small bow. She blushed. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Bran.”
Chapter 2
Gwen Cooper surveyed the chaos of the suite before her. Light streamed in through the doorway behind her and cast her shadow over a nearby pile of boxes in the dim room. A tiny kitchen was tucked into a cubby on her left, its counters unseen under cardboard boxes and an old-fashioned birdcage. The cage’s inhabitant, a yellow budgie with a fluffy white crest, chittered indignantly at her.
“Quiet, Pongo,” Gwen said as she picked her way through the mess to deposit an armload of clothes beside the birdcage. “Or else I’ll regret having you as a roommate.”
“Here.” Her friend Ellie Brown emerged from a hallway that was half-obscured by a squashy armchair salvaged from a thrift shop down the block. She tossed Gwen a brightly colored foil bag. “I found his treats. Pop one in—he should shut up.”
Gwen ripped open the bag and slotted a treat through the bars. The budgie jumped to grab it from her fingers and scuttled back to his perch. He glared at Gwen with beady eyes when he bent to eat the treat. Gwen laughed.
“I don’t think your new bird likes me much.” She swept back her long black hair into a ponytail, a few strands of dyed blue bright in the dim light. She wore shorts in the late August heat and a low-cut tank top that did nothing to hide the green tattoo that stretched from her collarbone to her shoulder blade. Vines and leaves swirled in an intricate pattern, a constant reminder of her journey through the Otherworld. A parallel world, the Otherworld was only accessible through magical means and inhabited by a people known as the Breenan. Gwen and Ellie had stumbled into the Otherworld during a trip to England last May, along with a local boy named Aidan. Along the way, Gwen and Aidan had been forced to participate in an initiation ceremony where they had both received tattoos revealing their partial Breenan parentage.
Ellie rummaged through a cardboard box. She gasped and held up a bundle of light-blue fabric.
“Look what I found.” Her round cheeks, pink with exertion, lifted in a smile. She shook out the bundle until it became a dress, a floor-length gown that would not have looked out of place in the Middle Ages.
“No!” Gwen shook her head incredulously. “You kept that? I thought it would bring back too many bad memories.” Ellie had worn the blue dress during her enslavement in the Otherworld, three months before. She had been kidnapped and forced to dance to the brink of madness by Queen Isolde, Gwen’s Breenan mother. Gwen, along with Aidan and a friendly Breenan prince named Bran, had saved Ellie in the nick of time. Ellie looked at the dress thoughtfully.
“I guess it does. But I spent so much time making it, it seemed a shame to get rid of it.” She draped it carefully over the armchair. “Besides, it’s a great costume for my medieval dance troupe.”
“I can’t believe you started dancing again. I thought you swore off dancing forever.”
“Yeah, well, dancing is what I do.” Ellie shrugged with a wry smile. “And hey, I finally got you out as well.” Gwen, to Ellie’s astonishment and delight, had joined Ellie in her Latin dance classes over the summer. Gwen was enjoying them far more than she had expected.
“You’ll have to get Aidan to come along to class. We’re always in need of more leads, and you two would make a cute dance pair.” Ellie beamed at Gwen. Gwen and Aidan had grown close over their trials in the Otherworld. She had left England expecting to not see Aidan again. But when he had expressed interest in going to university, she had sent him information on schools in her hometown of Vancouver, Canada, and had been elated when he had decided to move there.
Now, however, she felt a twisting, gnawing sensation in her stomach whenever Ellie mentioned Aidan—which was often. She didn’t understand why, but she felt anxious and grumpy when she thought about Aidan moving halfway across the world to be with her.
Ellie must have noticed her si
lence, because she said, “What’s up? Aren’t you excited he’s coming out?”
“Yeah, of course,” Gwen said automatically, hiding her face by putting away cans from her box on a shelf behind her. She turned back to see Ellie staring at her with a half-exasperated, half-sympathetic look on her face, hands on her hips.
“Spill. What’s eating you?”
“Nothing,” Gwen said. Ellie raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Gwen sighed and rubbed her eyes. “It—it’s just that—” She paused, trying to formulate her confused thoughts into something articulate. “I mean, he’s moving so far—and we’ve only known each other a few weeks.” She swallowed. “What if it doesn’t work out?”
Ellie waded across the box-filled room. She gave Gwen a hug and then stood back, hands on Gwen’s arms.
“It’s going to be great. I could see how well you guys fit together. You’ll see.” She gave Gwen an encouraging smile and squeezed her arms. “Now stop worrying so much.”
Gwen watched Ellie pick her way back to the hallway. She did not feel reassured, and her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip. A copper ring, given to her by Bran so he could track her location, was warm on her thumb. She fidgeted with it, lost in her thoughts.
***
Bran sauntered down the busy road. Occasionally, he stepped off the sidewalk and into traffic. Cars honked and swerved to avoid him and he waved back, all smiles.
“Where are you off to, fancy boy?”
A trio of girls were perched on a short stone wall in front of a boarded-up house. Bran whirled around. He grinned when he saw them and moved nimbly to their side.
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