by Shea Godfrey
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
In a land torn by war for generations, Princess Jessa is sent as a peace offering to the country of Arravan, understanding all too well that she is being sacrificed upon the altar of her father’s ambitions—and condemned to an uncertain and possibly short-lived future, if the machinations of her own family are any indication.
But what she finds at Blackstone Keep is not what she expects, and for a daughter of royal blood who has known little of freedom and even less of love, the members of the Durand family are proving to be a very pleasant riddle to be solved—the youngest daughter, Darrius Durand, is the most surprising of all. A captain in the King’s elite guard, Darry’s considerable charms pull Jessa rather happily into an unexpected friendship that quickly becomes something more, promising passion and the fulfillment of her deepest desires.
Jessa and Darry’s relationship threatens the fragile peace, and the future of two countries might very well hang in the balance. When family secrets and hidden agendas begin to surface, as well as an ancient majik that Jessa has been preparing to use since the day she was born, a prophecy is set in motion that will thrust both lands into a bloody war of revenge and retribution—a war that love alone will not be able to stop.
Nightshade
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Nightshade
by
Shea Godfrey
2010
NIGHTSHADE
© 2010 By Shea Godfrey. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 10: 1-60282-151-8E
ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-151-4E
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: May 2010
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Cindy Cresap and Shelley Thrasher
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my family and friends for your patience and support. Thank you for letting me be creative in whatever way I have needed to be. Your generosity in accepting me as I am and encouraging me to be an artist in a society that no longer promotes individuality or celebrates creativity has always been a part of my every day. I am grateful for you and I appreciate you. Thank you.
Dedication
A change came o’er the spirit of my dream.
—Lord Byron
Chapter One
Winter 1032
The Year of Attia’s Spear
The Jade Palace, the city of Karballa, Lyoness
The dogs attacked when they caught the scent of Princess Jessa-Sirrah’s flesh, brought up short by their leads after a violent rush. The chains scraped against the marble floor and dragged along the smooth stone as the dogs retreated, the iron links that had cut into their flesh easing when they did so. The broad, muscular animals were bred for killing, the black hair on their backs bristling and their claws left long for the hunt. When their barking rose, it echoed against the domed ceiling high above.
Jessa walked straight among them, a dark green sari wrapped about her lower body in turns of silk and draped forward over her left shoulder with a long-sleeved golden choli blouse beneath it. She wore a burka that covered her head and face, though it was not quite long enough to hide the ends of her hair.
The men lounged upon the dais. The raised platform curved about the head of the vast oval room like a horseshoe and closed in on the wide aisle that led to the throne at its deepest point, the Jade Throne, which was the seat of all power within the land of Lyoness. The massive chair was made of purest gold, its surface littered with polished hunks of jade, some as broad as a man’s hand. Its back rose nearly six feet with a wide cushion of rare Damascus silk upon its seat.
Seven chairs lined each side of the curved platform, smaller by far than the throne but no less gaudy, each made of gold and decorated in some way, though not with jade. Jade was the province of the throne and these were the chairs for the sons of King Abdul-Majid de Bharjah of Lyoness. Only twelve of the seats were occupied, one upon each end of the broken circle left empty for the two sons that had not lived.
Jessa was the only daughter of King Bharjah, and her brothers watched with interest as she strode to the foot of the throne. Several smiled at her with lazy contempt. Some were amused. She tried to walk with strength and grace. Though the dogs frightened her, she could keep her shoulders back and hold to the center of the aisle. One of her brothers threw his goblet of wine at the nearest animal and the dog spun about, his jaws snapping loudly. During the laughter a second goblet was tossed, another dog hit upon the back of the head and goaded into rage.
Jessa stopped before the foot of the Jade Throne and bowed her head amidst the commotion. She closed her eyes and tried very hard to steady her heart.
“Enough,” King Bharjah said quietly. “Serabee.”
The man who stood behind the throne, the Lord Serabee El-Khan, stepped forward and spoke. Tall and thin, he wore only black and had two swords fastened to his belt, one low on each hip. Throwing daggers were also attached to the wide leather, and he rested his hands on them in an easy manner. He was pale and his head was shaved clean, his facial features long and harsh.
The dogs heard the softly spoken words, as did Jessa, his spell weaving its way into the very air of the room. The animals slinked away as Serabee’s majik touched them.
King Bharjah smiled as his sons let their laughter fade and the dogs became submissive. Once powerfully built, in recent years he had lost his imposing physique. He reclined upon his throne in silk and sandals, a light blue robe about his shoulders, his long braids of dyed hair falling onto his chest. Bharjah displayed no gray hair despite his advanced age, and those who dyed it dark black had no tongues with which to speak of such vain inclinations. His beard and mustache, long enough to curl, featured several tiny braids that dangled from the tip of his chin and were adorned with small pieces of jade. “Remove the headdress, Jessa-Sirrah,” he ordered.<
br />
As Jessa pulled at her burka, her hands trembled. She bent her head and removed the heavy silk.
“Pretty cunta,” her brother Malik-Assad taunted, and the others laughed as a sharp whistle cut through their amusement. The dogs responded and dragged their chains in search of attention.
Bharjah lifted a lazy hand and the laughter died away.
Jessa stood before her father with her face lowered, her attention on the rise of the dais as she counted the turns of jade within the stone.
“Look at me.”
Jessa obeyed. She studied his face, careful to avoid his eyes. One could become trapped within them, for their darkness was not of color but of spirit, and their dominance and violent sway could devastate. To keep her wits about her and her fear at bay she had to avoid his gaze. She noted that his complexion was ashen and his skin shadowed beneath his lids and puffy about his cheeks. A thin sheen of sweat on his face suggested discomfort, for the air was still cool.
“You shall be the last piece of jade within my tower,” he said.
Jessa did her best to ignore the hooded tone.
“What have you to say to that?”
“Whatever is your wish, my Lord King.”
Bharjah chuckled and looked to his right, observing his eldest sons. “You should take note, you rabble.” He laughed louder. “Respect!”
Sylban-Tenna, Bharjah’s firstborn, was seated at Bharjah’s right hand. He stared at Jessa’s body, something shadowed flaring within his expression. “She’s a good little rabbit,” he said.
“Up!” King Bharjah snapped, and the power of his eyes instantly caught Jessa. “I have a use for you.” Her brothers sat straighter in their seats. “You will travel with Trey-Jak Joaquin and the Lord Serabee El-Khan into the heart of Arravan. You will marry their firstborn.”
After a heavy silence, the shouts rang out, more than one prince pushing to his feet in shock and rage. The dogs began to bark and the noise level escalated, flooding the pillared throne room.
“Enough!” Bharjah shouted.
The silence was instant.
“If you do not like it, then you are free to…” His expression was almost playful. “Then you are free to complain to Serabee. And your brother Joaquin, of course.” He smiled and sought out Joaquin, who was but a few years older than Jessa. He was seated on the left side of the platform near the end and had not shouted or moved, nor shown any discontent at the announcement.
“Joaquin?” Sylban-Tenna’s dangerous tone moved in the distance between him and his younger brother like a dagger, though Joaquin merely smiled.
“Yes,” Bharjah said with apparent satisfaction. “On your toes, Sylban.”
The shouting began again and Jessa stood in the center of the storm. One of the dogs, set loose from its chain, rushed across the aisle and was met instantly by two others.
“You may leave,” Bharjah said above the din, never once distracted from Jessa.
She stood extremely still, mindful that if she moved, the dogs would react. At least one of them was now free from its restraints.
Bharjah lifted a hand and Serabee walked down the right side of the dais in answer. The uproar abruptly halted as he moved, the still-chained dogs pulling back as he passed.
He reached into the fight without pause. The largest dog yelped in pain as Serabee tore it from the conflict by the neck and flung it from the dais, where it landed in the aisle with a snapping of bones and a heavy thud. The other dogs scattered and Serabee turned, focusing a subtle challenge on Jessa.
“Leave it,” Bharjah ordered. “Find your ugly witch woman, Jessa-Sirrah, and prepare for your journey. You will depart at the first turn of the spring moon.”
“As you command, my Lord King.” Jessa bowed her head then turned away. During the long walk back down the aisle she could feel the weight of the moment. When she approached the wounded animal she hesitated and a strange rush of understanding engulfed her as he tried to crawl. Crawl to where, Jessa had no idea, but she recognized the instinct. She stepped around his hind legs and kept moving as the animal whimpered.
Yes, child, keep going. You cannot help.
The unexpected words slipped like smoke through Jessa’s thoughts and she breathed in relief as she searched for the source of the warning. She quickened her pace as a new majik moved within the air and was certain Serabee would sense its presence as well. As she left the carpeted aisle for polished marble she saw only shadows, the sun’s rays through the enormous terrace doors bright and sharp as they slashed across the chamber.
*
Jessa waited on the wide veranda beyond her rooms, the cushioned bench she occupied one of her favorite places as she viewed the landscape beyond the palace grounds. In a seldom-used wing of the palace she had made her home, and she had more freedom than perhaps her father had intended when, years ago, he had ordered that she be kept out of his way.
It was still chilly, the winter season reluctant to relinquish its power to the softer winds and warm rains of the spring. The sky was deep blue, streaked with gold that layered into rich pink as the sun slid beneath the horizon. The stars were born within the sky like flints struck upon the weight of its impending darkness, the constellations slow to form.
“You did well.”
Jessa looked to the voice. “Radha.”
Lady Radha was small and thin, her white hair short and tossed by the breeze, the fine curls blown about her wrinkled face. Her tanned skin blended with her black skirt and dark tunic, and several fringed shawls were draped about her shoulders. Her eyes, the palest of blue, ruled her weathered face with a glorious sort of power. She had been Jessa’s guardian and companion since the moment of Jessa’s birth, and she attended to the duties of her position with total love and a cunning sense of responsibility.
“I did nothing but bow my head,” Jessa said. “I didn’t know you were there.”
Radha considered Jessa’s words and assessed her mood, even as she measured their place in a broader tapestry.
The presence of a royal daughter had always been a curiosity and a nuisance, and the fact that Radha had kept Jessa but a ghost amid the palace life was deemed a worthy service. Jessa was there only when summoned, which had always fascinated and pleased Bharjah. Only Radha occasionally tempted him with Jessa’s presence, allowing Bharjah to take credit for her loveliness or her skills, and thus earning her some status.
Jessa was the one thing of beauty that Bharjah had ever produced, and Radha’s skill in handling him had secured Jessa at least some measure of protection from his many sons.
Radha laughed as she walked across the terrace stones and stopped beside the bench before she sat next to her charge with a flutter of shawls and fringe. “That was the point of my spell,” she said, certain that though she had been watched closely for decades and always bowed to Serabee’s apparent dominance, never once had anyone discovered the truth of her abilities. Once nursemaid and now servant to the Princess Jessa-Sirrah, Radha was a high priestess and shaman in the service of the nomadic Vhaelin Gods.
“You will leave this place at last.” Radha studied the beauty of Jessa’s face and saw how troubled she was. “Arravan is said to be a most attractive land, green and ripe with plants and flowers. Blooming things that a woman of Lyoness might only dream of.”
“Yes. And so I shall go from being Bharjah’s chattel to being the slave of a stranger, meant to serve him in his bed and keep my eyes down still. I know very well what traveling to Arravan means for me, Radha. Do not try to dress this up as some sort of grand adventure so I might sleep tonight. I am being sold.”
Radha squeezed her hand. “I wasn’t. I was just happy that we shall see some green things.”
Jessa let out a breath of laughter. “And what else are you happy about?”
“The Vhaelin speak favorably upon this, child. I have seen it within the Waters of Truth. Strong portents,” Radha replied, recognizing Jessa’s doubt. “Do you think you know what the heart of an Arra
van king might hold?”
Jessa pushed back the hair that had blown across her face. “I know exactly what the heart of a king may hold, Radha. The land he rules is but a formality.” A touch of temper flared within her expression and Radha smiled at the sight of it. “Must you always bait me? Have you nothing better to do, old woman?”
Radha laughed happily. “Not a thing.”
They glared at one another, neither backing down. Radha smiled and Jessa scowled back at her.
“Would you like me to find out about him? About his family?” Radha asked. “Perhaps you might sew him a pretty shirt while we wait for spring to arrive.”
Jessa yanked her hand free and rose from the bench, then strode to the terrace railing. “And perhaps I should have you beaten for your insolence,” she said, though Radha knew that she would never order a stranger beaten, much less her.
“I shall find out what we need to know, you needn’t fear. And perhaps you might consider the reasons why you’re being sent as a possible bride for the son of your father’s greatest enemy, yes? It is a good question.”
Jessa turned about and then rested against the wrought iron. “Possible?”
“Bharjah knows little about Arravan etiquette, I think. It is the woman who must agree to the contract and no one else, and before the witnesses of her choosing. Use your mind, girl. It’s that nuisance that has been hiding beneath all of your curls and rotting with disuse since the weather changed,” Radha said. “I’ve taught you better than to sulk and bow your head when you might look about you instead.”
“Yes, Radha, thank you for reminding me that I’ve been found lacking.”
Radha laughed.
“Joaquin has been busy, I am thinking,” Jessa mused.
“How so?”