Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2

by Louise Cusack

  ‘I don’t know if I can forget —’

  He touched a finger against her lips. ‘You will never forget,’ he said, ‘but I hope in time you will forgive.’ His finger strayed from her lips to the tattoo covering the right side of her face, and she watched with awe as he looked upon it with something other than hatred. His light fingertip traced the swirling pattern, then his eyes met hers. ‘I have used your father’s sin to block you from my heart, but I can no longer.’ He tried to smile, couldn’t. ‘You have broken me.’

  Lae held Lenid tighter, feeling compassion and love for Kert overwhelm her, but was it because of his relationship to Lenid, or did she truly love him herself? ‘I do not know my own heart,’ she admitted, ‘except that it aligns itself with my son. I can do nothing to disadvantage him.’

  ‘I am the father of your son,’ he reminded her gently. ‘I love him more than life itself.’

  Lae nodded. There could be no better father for Lenid. She knew that already.

  ‘I do not ask anything of you that is not willingly offered,’ he said, his gaze dropping for only a moment to the stiff bodice of her gown. It was enough to let Lae know that he desired her and would wait.

  But did she want to wait? It had been three years since Pagan had kissed her. She was seventeen now and had partaken of no other pleasures of the flesh. Seventeen lifedays and only one kiss. The Lae of old — the one Kert had tried to break — baulked at this frugal tally and impetuously desired more.

  Kert was close and all she need do was lean forward to taste his lips, to see if the tenderness in his eyes would be found in his hands. It would be a turning point, a decision taken that she had not thought she’d need to face until Pagan returned. Yet here it was presented to her. Choose Kert now and Pagan would find her a happily married woman when he came for her. If he came for her. Perhaps she may even be carrying Kert’s child. That would add credence to their lie about Lenid’s parentage.

  Lae’s eyes cleared and she looked into Kert’s, trying to imagine herself carrying his child within her body. Couldn’t. All distracting thoughts of joining fled her mind and her future as a mother seemed already decided.

  If any child would grow within her, it would be Pagan’s. Her mind and her heart and her body seemed agreed on that point. Despite any vexatious behaviour Pagan might exhibit on his return, despite any doubts she may harbour on his duty towards Lenid, despite that Kert looked on her now with the eyes of a lover, she could not forsake her vow to Pagan. Their love had been true, and she sensed a destiny within it. Her place was with Pagan.

  Not Kert.

  He had been watching her closely, and now said, ‘I have spoken of my heart. I will not burden you with repetition but will wait until you are ready to speak of your own.’

  Lae opened her mouth to speak, to tell him that she had decided her destiny lay with Pagan, but some vulnerability she had never before seen in his face stilled her words. She, who had fought him bitterly once, could not bring herself to hurt him now. So instead she said, ‘I am young and inexperienced,’ which was true. ‘I need time for reflection and considered thought.’

  He nodded at the wisdom of her words, but she could see disappointment in the set of his mouth as he rose to put a distance between them. ‘I am a patient man,’ he said, then added, ‘now.’ For indeed, Lae had been about to query that pronouncement. She could not have imagined anyone with less patience than Kert — save herself perhaps. But parenting Lenid had obviously gifted them both with traits they had hitherto lacked.

  ‘I thank you for your forbearance,’ she said stiffly, awkward now in his presence. ‘I will call you when we have perfected the recital.’ She looked away to drop a kiss on her son’s head. ‘This time without any squeaking from unexpected quarters.’

  ‘Then I shall take my leave.’

  ‘Would you send Firde in?’ she asked, and immediately Lenid bounced on her lap.

  ‘Sweets!’ he demanded but Lae was distracted by Kert’s frown as he glanced towards the window.

  A second later Lae heard the sound herself. Hard running in the courtyard below. Shouting. Her arms tightened on Lenid.

  ‘Mama?’ he said, touching her face.

  Kert was already at the window, throwing back the heavy drapes to look down. He pushed open the mullioned glass casements and called, ‘What disruption is this?’

  A faint voice reached Lae’s ears. ‘The Guardian Pagan, My Lord Sh’hale. He was at the gate fighting Northmen who had trailed him from the forest. I sent out a party of Guardsmen and he is through and on his way to you. Alone. No sign of The Light’s child.’

  Lae stared at Kert’s profile, saw it harden to stone. ‘My plan room,’ he called back coldly, then turned to Lae and she felt his wintery gaze wash over her. She did not need to refocus her eyes to see his aura. She knew it would be swirling with fear and jealousy. ‘Your beloved returns,’ he said, and without another word he stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Lenid squirmed on her lap. ‘Papa did not tell me goodbye,’ he said softly. ‘May I still have a sweet?’

  Lae simply stared at the door he had closed, her heart hammering in her chest.

  Pagan was back.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  ‘Don’t lie. I know you are homesick for Ennae.’

  Mihale lay quietly, listening to the voice inside his mind, wishing he could see its form, wondering if he would be repulsed or admiring. No amount of demands on his part had coaxed the voice into revealing its identity, yet Mihale sensed it was benign. Its friendly conversation had kept him company during the long night he had rested between life and death, his mind alert and yet his body as useless as the corpse it had been. Blood pumped, breath moved, yet that was all.

  ‘I have offered you your kingdom back,’ the voice went on, ‘and all you need do is accept me into the tiniest part of yourself. A small corner that is mine alone so I may look out of your eyes and enjoy the pleasures of life as a king.’

  The offer was tempting. To return to Ennae and reclaim his throne. Khatrene, who sat beside him singing a lullaby, was tiring of Atheyre and wanted to return to their world. She had argued with Talis to that end. If Mihale accepted this offer they could go home together. Yet at what price?

  ‘A paltry price. Simply accommodate me within yourself and when I ask it of you, order your Guardian to bring a Plainsman to you.’

  Mihale knew the deal would not be struck unless he agreed, unless he opened himself to this … possession. And at first it had seemed a hideous prospect, but over time the voice of temptation had proved persuasive, pointing out that Mihale had been dead and would continue to live only this half-life unless he allowed himself to be ‘rescued’ from it.

  ‘Today is the day. You can waken now if you choose,’ the voice said, and in excitement at this prospect Mihale felt the blood move faster in his quiescent body. Why today?

  ‘The Maelstrom approaches. The Catalyst is on Ennae. The timing is right.’

  Mihale considered this. Was he going to accept? The consequences seemed slight, merely hosting a life that would otherwise be denied any active existence, as he would be if he refused.

  ‘We would be doing each other a favour. Such is the way of friendship.’

  Friendship. Mihale smiled inside his mind. A sad smile. How he had missed the companionship and care of his Guardians and the lords of the great houses. To see them again, to cross swords with Sh’hale and laugh with Verdan. How he ached for that.

  ‘They need you on Ennae. The Northmen will overrun them if you do not return and offer your strong leadership.’

  Mihale’s happy memories faded. He remembered how he had died and the treachery The Dark had employed. He remembered, too, the stricken eyes of his sister staring into his own as his lifeblood had ebbed from his body. Then nothing until he had woken into the tranquillity of Atheyre. Yet though his mind was roused, his body still lay dormant.

  ‘Would you have The Dark rule Ennae in your place
?’

  No. The decision was as clear as that. At all cost The Dark must be stopped.

  ‘Then you agree?’

  Mihale felt the breath slide in and out of his chest. Destiny rested in a moment, and for him, that moment was come.

  Yes, I accept your offer, he said and prepared himself for the price.

  ‘Then it is done,’ his ‘friend’ said and a heaviness settled into Mihale’s mind. Yet conversely, his body felt light, as though he might float away from his resting place.

  He opened his eyes and saw white, then wondered if he was blind. Remaining still, he glanced to the left and saw his sister, staring into the endless mist surrounding them, talking about ahroce petals, for all the world as though she was speaking to herself. He swallowed several times to wet his throat, then said, ‘I would return to Ennae to smell them myself.’

  She stiffened, then slid her gaze sideways as he had done, staring at him as though in fear.

  He smiled and lifted a hand to take hers. ‘So patient. I’m sorry I made you wait.’

  Her fingers were warm and so was the smile that followed. ‘You’re okay?’

  ‘I am restored,’ he assured her, and squeezed her hand.

  ‘Majesty,’ Talis said, and Mihale shifted his gaze to find his Guardian crawling closer. Mihale reached out a hand to clasp his, happy beyond words to see him again.

  ‘He’s alive,’ Khatrene said to her beloved, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘I knew all those dreadful stories and songs would wake him up.’

  ‘They did,’ Mihale told her. ‘I couldn’t bear to hear another one.’

  She kissed his cheek. ‘Or maybe it’s something to do with the Cliffdwellers.’ She frowned a question at Talis who shrugged in reply.

  Mihale had overheard that news earlier and wondered if this was also a part of the ‘timing’ his friend had spoken of. ‘We will leave for Ennae soon,’ he told them. ‘But first —’

  ‘Majesty,’ Talis interrupted, his happy smile fading. ‘This is Atheyre. Those who are accepted here —’

  ‘We can leave,’ Mihale told them. His friend had assured him of that. It was part of the bargain. ‘But first we must bring a Plainsman here.’

  ‘A Plainsman?’ Khatrene looked down at her brother in surprise.

  ‘His name is Breehan.’

  Khatrene was speechless but Talis shook his head. ‘I have just seen him on Ennae with Glimmer.’ He pointed away into the mist, but before he could say more, Khatrene interrupted.

  ‘Glimmer is on Ennae? I’m not dead on Ennae. I can go there.’

  Talis looked from one royal twin to the other. ‘Atheyre has never released those it claims.’

  Mihale squeezed Khatrene’s fingers. ‘We will return,’ he assured her, ‘but we must bring the Plainsman here first. He has something that will allow us to leave this place.’

  ‘How do you know? Did the voice in your mind tell you?’ she asked.

  ‘Admit nothing,’ the voice cautioned and so Mihale was silent.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Khatrene smiled. ‘I think it’s the Great Guardian. He was in my mind too.’

  The Great Guardian! Mihale waited, but the voice made no reply.

  Khatrene turned to Talis. ‘You can bring Breehan here. You can open the way between the worlds.’

  Talis shook his head. ‘The Catalyst is performing her duty and Breehan aids her. She spoke of anchoring the Four Worlds.’ He appealed to Khatrene. ‘We cannot interrupt such important work.’

  ‘We can wait,’ Mihale heard inside his mind. ‘When the Four Worlds are anchored, I will tell you. Bring him then.’

  Mihale repeated this and Khatrene latched onto it happily. ‘I will see her,’ she said, and smiled at Talis who valiantly struggled to match her good humour. Mihale could see his disquiet and knew it to be fear for them both. Apparently Khatrene knew it too. She leant forward to brush a swift kiss against his lips.

  Mihale’s natural instinct was to glance away from this private moment but his eyes would not move and to his horror they lingered on his sister’s lips long after the kiss was finished.

  Stop it, he ordered, but the reply that came was unrepentant.

  ‘Friends share,’ it said calmly within his mind, and as his eyes obeyed him at last Mihale closed them and forced his mind to emptiness. The dread and misgivings that clutched at his heart must not be verbalised in his thoughts for his friend to overhear. But those feelings, unspoken, were like a stain across his soul.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  ‘Where is she?’ Pagan demanded of Kert. ‘Where is your wife?’ His breaths were fast but he couldn’t control them, couldn’t quieten the thoughts that tore at his mind. His initial overwhelming relief to hear that his beloved lived had been quickly overturned by uncontrollable jealousy. Lae wed to Sh’hale and a child between them? Immediately after he had left. The child was three, the guardsman had told him. The guardsman whom Kert now glared at.

  ‘Leave us,’ he said in the imperious tone Pagan remembered well; it grated on his nerves even as the door hinges grated closed leaving the two enemies facing each other over a desk strewn with maps. The king’s plan room. Thinking of Mihale reminded Pagan of his death, and the negligence of his Champion who stood before him.

  ‘Why are you in the Volcastle?’ Pagan demanded. ‘Why are you not at Fortress Sh’hale?’ Did he think to claim Ennae for himself? Had Pagan been wrong all those years ago when he had assured his cousin that Kert’s only thoughts towards the throne were of duty?

  ‘You are old, Guardian,’ Kert observed, as though taking pleasure from the fact. He leant back against the window casement and mellow morning light accentuated his fine cheekbones. Too masculine to be delicate, they gave Kert a refined appearance which Pagan had admired when they were friends, though he had taken comfort from the fact that his own face was handsomer. Now, as Kert rightly pointed out. Pagan was older, and might no longer be handsome.

  It was a shameless vanity but Pagan wished for a looking-glass so he could assess the damage the years had wrought on him.

  ‘Do you come only to berate me?’ Kert asked, raising an eyebrow as though Pagan’s return was of no consequence to his life. ‘Or do you have another purpose here? And where is the child of The Light?’

  ‘He no longer requires my championing,’ Pagan said.

  The eyebrow rose higher. ‘Were you dismissed?’ Kert asked. ‘Or did you simply abandon your duty.’

  Pagan stalked forward to the edge of the table. ‘Do not speak to me of forsaken duty,’ he said. ‘If not for your petty battle with my cousin, our king would live.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’ Kert came off the window ledge, his easy posture snapping into tensed muscles as he leant over the desk, eye to eye with Pagan. ‘Not one night passes that I don’t dream of the horrors of that day. Not one moment that I don’t regret my actions. Do not think to shame me, Guardian. You can do no more to me than I have done to myself.’

  Pagan was taken aback by the vehemence of this attack and he thought to see something of the old Kert emerge — the Kert he had known before rivalry with Talis had stolen over Sh’hale’s mind. ‘And what have you done to revenge Mihale’s death?’ Pagan demanded. ‘Does The Dark still live? Does the man who killed my father —?’

  ‘Mooraz is dead,’ Kert snapped. ‘I rescued Lae from his clutches when he would have returned her to her father.’

  Pagan was chastened. ‘Then I owe you for that,’ he said softly. Both for avenging his father’s death and for rescuing Lae. Was that why she had married Kert? Out of gratitude?

  ‘I have remained in the Volcastle securing it for your return,’ Kert said. ‘I had thought you would bring the royal child with you.’

  ‘As had I,’ Pagan admitted. ‘Yet when I returned with no memory of my time in Magoria he was not with me. Then I saw another royal on the Plains, a young woman. ‘She dismissed me from championing and ordered me here.’

  ‘Another royal?’ Kert s
hook his head. ‘There is no other. Are you sure it was not the boy?’

  ‘Definitely a woman,’ Pagan said, remembering how she had appeared out of the flames with no clothing, scant curves but most definitely female. ‘And too old to be my charge. A Plainsman was with her. They set off towards your fortress.’

  ‘Sh’hale?’ Kert lowered his gaze, thinking. ‘Northmen hold Sh’hale. Why would she go there? And who is she? I know nothing of this royal.’ He raised his eyes, met Pagan’s with suspicion now. ‘How do I know this is not some deception on your part?’

  ‘To what end?’ Pagan replied.

  Kert merely continued to gaze at him. Did he know Pagan had returned for Lae? Was that where his suspicions had fixed?

  Pagan laid a hand over his heart. ‘As I honour my Guardian vow,’ he said, ‘I swear to you this is a truth. A royal met me on the Plains and ordered me here. She said my charge must henceforth act alone.’ She also said that Pagan was to go to his betrothed. Did that mean he had royal approval to take her from her husband? And what if she did not want to be taken?

  ‘I hope the boy is not alone,’ Kert replied. ‘Because he will not last long if the Northmen find him. How old would he be?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  A faraway look came to Kert’s eyes and Pagan wondered if he was remembering Mihale, who was near to those years when his own life had been cruelly stolen. Though that death obviously tortured Kert, Pagan felt no sympathy for his old friend. Kert deserved to suffer for his negligence. And he certainly did not deserve Lae.

  ‘Why did you marry my betrothed?’ he asked.