Shattered by Shadows: The Innocence Cycle, Book 1

by J D Abbas

  Elena pondered this. “If I hadn’t told you I saw the light around you, you wouldn’t have known, would you?”

  Mikaelin didn’t want to answer. “Elena, we can’t deal with what might have been or what could have happened differently. It’s done.” He looked down. “I can’t undo it, nor would I, if I could.” He was silent for a moment then faced her full on. “How do we move forward from here? You can’t stay on the balcony forever.”

  She looked up at him. Even in the dim light of the terrace torches, he saw the ice in her stare. “What are you feeling that is mine?” He immediately looked away. “I have the right to know, Mikaelin. What of mine is staying in your body?”

  “Most of it has passed.”

  “I can see that it has not. You’re in great pain. What are you feeling?”

  “Many things...” Too many things. He didn’t want to answer. “Some I understand. Some I don’t.”

  “That’s not good enough. What of mine do you feel?”

  He sighed and struggled with how to respond, how to describe it to her. “There are feelings near the wounds that Braiden stitched, from the attack here in the keep.” He gazed at her with tender compassion. Her responding glare told him she didn’t want his pity; she wanted the truth.

  “The sensations are sickening. My jaw feels like it’s breaking as he thrusts into my mouth, tearing my lips as he pulls away in anger.” He stopped as her hand went to the edge of her mouth, caressing where the wound had been, her expression stricken.

  She nodded for him to continue, and her expression softened. “I feel my head being struck by a fist again and again. A knife slicing down my chest repeatedly, gouging the skin by my heart. I feel my skin tearing as the man shoves inside...me.” He faltered, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to witness her horrified expression. “And...and the flesh ripping free from the stitches at the top of my leg. A fire burning through me as man after man violates my body. Crushing humiliation as objects are shoved inside me, making me feel as if I’ll rip wide open.”

  Mikaelin stopped; his breathing had grown rapid, his voice intense. He worked to quiet himself.

  “And I feel things I don’t understand: repeated sensations like I’m drowning or suffocating; surges of energy bursting through my body, making my head feel as if it will explode; sharp piercing pains in different areas like large needles stabbing me; the pain of something pouring on my flesh, burning it away; and over all and through all an absolute, paralyzing terror.” He opened his eyes and saw her face bathed in tears. “Is that not enough?” he whispered.

  She nodded feebly and attempted to take several deep breaths, but they were ragged at best. “All...all of that is from me?” Her expression was filled with confused agony.

  Mikaelin squeezed his eyes shut. Oh Qho’el, she didn’t know. Slowly, his lids raised, and he gazed at her. “You have no memories of those things?” His stomach twisted when she shook her head.

  “Only vague images...pieces that make no sense. I have the scars. I feel the pain at times, but I don’t understand much of it.” Her eyes darted back and forth. “I know what I am. I know what I’ve done—or so I’ve been told, but I recall little.” She stared at him, then, as if his words had sunk in; horror replaced confusion. She covered her mouth and swallowed hard. “What have I done to you?” Her eyes were focused on some far-off place, moving, searching. Her face took on a deathly pallor. Finally, her tormented gaze turned back to Mikaelin, and she dropped to her knees facing him. “Oh, please”—a ragged sob disrupted her words—“please, forgive me. I didn’t know. Oh, Mikaelin, I didn’t know.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, Elena. You didn’t put the wounds in your own body, and you didn’t transfer them to mine. You aren’t responsible for any of this.” Mikaelin grasped her arms and gently pulled her to her feet. “I’m sorry for what you’ve had to carry inside for so long—sorry and amazed. The weight of it is overwhelming. I don’t know how you survived.” He paused, staring at the ground, breathing deeply, afraid he might humiliate himself any moment by bursting into tears.

  When he’d regained control, he turned a tender gaze to her. “Perhaps this is your chance to start anew, my friend, the end of the old suffering and torments, and hopefully no more new. A time for joy. I don’t want you to live entrenched in regret. Please don’t do that to yourself.”

  Elena sat on the bench and was quiet. Mikaelin joined her. He could only imagine the turmoil he’d created by revealing too much too fast. He wanted to kick himself.

  “I won’t continue to spit on your sacrifice.” Elena swiped at the tears she so clearly despised. “I owe it to you to move on and to be grateful. I don’t want your suffering to be in vain.”

  “You owe me nothing. One is not indebted when another gives them a gift.”

  “That might work with the gifts Braiden gave me, but not this. This is too much.” She shook her head. “Whether I ought to feel indebted or not, I do. But I’ll try to be gracious.” She glanced toward the keep. “I just don’t know how I’ll stand before the others. I’m ashamed to show my face.”

  “Your face is beautiful. Why would you be ashamed?”

  “Because I’ve been such a fool, worrying about my appearance, and as a result, I passed on my ugliness and torment to you. What did it really matter how I looked on the outside?”

  “So, what does it matter if you’re now beautiful?”

  She eyed him sideways and gave him a weak grin. “You’re skilled in argument, my friend.” After a pause, she nodded to herself. “I suppose I can’t postpone the inevitable.” She pushed herself off the bench with a heavy sigh. “Will you enter with me?”

  “It would be my honor.”

  He rose and followed her toward the door to Celdorn’s chamber.

  ~

  Elena braced herself for the men’s reactions. This had all happened so fast. She didn’t know what to think.

  Just before they reached the door, Mikaelin clasped her arm and pulled her to a stop. “Elena?”

  She turned and looked up at him.

  “I know it wasn’t by your choice and you’re still angry with me, but thank you for allowing me to share in your pain. I’m deeply honored...and humbled. I feel...a special bond with you because of this.” He shifted his weight. “One day, I’ll tell you more of what I hide.”

  Elena didn’t know how to respond. Now that her emotions were subsiding, she was able to study his face more carefully. While most of the bruising and swelling had left, his right eye still drooped as did the side of his mouth. Her scars were etched all over his once broodingly handsome face. She wondered if he’d forever carry her stigmata in his flesh; the thought made her heart twist.

  What other bonds did they share? What memories of Rhamal did he carry? She could only guess. While she sensed his profound shame, his heart and mind were stalwartly sealed off. Nevertheless, from what he said earlier, his memories tormented him. Did he secretly long for someone to enter into and help carry his anguish, like he’d done for her? Could she somehow provide him that relief?

  Mikaelin must have misread her silence. Looking dejected, he turned to open the door.

  “No, wait.” She grasped his forearm. “If you choose to share more of your pain with me, I would be equally honored.”

  Mikaelin’s eyes shifted nervously before they settled on hers. Silently, they gazed at each other, time slipping away, neither of them ready to give up this private interlude. Elena hesitated then reached up and caressed the scar by his mouth. He closed his eyes and seemed to embrace the sensation of her touch. She could see the pulse pounding in his neck.

  Then abruptly, he pulled away, reached for the door and ushered her inside. His hand trembled against her back. Elena wondered if she’d frightened him again or if he didn’t like to be touched. Or maybe he felt too vulnerable, too exposed. She understood those feelings all too well.

  Once inside, they found Celdorn and Elbrion waiting along with Braiden and Silvandir. Elen
a’s gaze dropped to the floor. It was her turn to feel denuded. No one spoke. No one moved, until Sasha nearly plowed her over in her enthusiasm. Standing behind the dog, Elena slowly lifted her eyes and glanced at Celdorn, who stood back, smiling at her.

  Elbrion came forward and kissed her forehead, having to lean over Sasha to reach her. “You are free from your mask.” His voice was full of cheer, but as he pulled away, he frowned. “There is no joy?”

  Elena shook her head as tears filled her eyes. This time, she chased them away. She stepped backward toward the door, longing to retreat, but Mikaelin wasn’t going to let her get away with that. He put his hand in the small of her back and gently urged her forward, pushing Sasha out of the way.

  “No regrets,” he whispered.

  Braiden moved toward her. He seemed mesmerized as he touched the places he’d stitched on her face. “Y-your skin’s as p-pristine as a b-baby’s. I d-do amazing work,” he teased. “I c-can’t see any stitch m-marks.”

  Elena smiled at that.

  Silvandir grinned and stepped alongside Braiden. “And your smile’s no longer crooked. I don’t know if I can get used to that; I kind of liked it the other way.” He reached for Elena’s hand. “You were beautiful before. Now you’re stunning.”

  Elena blushed and felt a stab in her heart for Mikaelin.

  Silvandir put his hand on Mikaelin’s shoulder, studying the changes to his face. “I’m amazed and humbled by you, my friend. The sacrifice you made is profound.”

  You have no idea, Elena thought ruefully.

  Chapter 49

  Freed from the shadows of physical pain for the first time in years, Elena’s days improved. She began to take joy in simple things like the butterflies with their mahogany and orange wings that lighted on the trees overhanging the terrace—still one of the few places she was allowed to go. Sometimes she felt like a young child as she watched the birds build nests or studied the cloud formations as they passed over Mount Iliand. There were so many little things she’d missed out on; things the men took for granted.

  For some reason, it delighted them to watch her enthusiasm. When she smiled, they smiled with her. She even ventured a heartfelt laugh now and then, something she hadn’t had occasion to do in her previous life.

  With the returning of strength came a restlessness, a longing for greater independence—she was never alone; even if she appeared to be, there was always someone watching, someone listening—and to be allowed to move around and explore, if only within the keep or the gardens below the terrace. She persisted in asking Celdorn until he relented and permitted her to leave the guarded floor, but only if she had two of his inner circle with her. Under no circumstances was she to go to the southern end of the castle where the bulk of the men were housed. Likewise, she was forbidden to go near the stables or smithery, which lay beyond that end of the keep. She wanted to see the Ilqazar, but until her attacker was found, they were off limits as well.

  Elena was most often accompanied by Silvandir and Mikaelin on her adventures, as she liked to think of them—limited though they were—and sometimes Shatur or Braiden would join them, though Braiden was often busy with his weaponry training.

  She was thrilled when Silvandir announced one day that he and Mikaelin were taking her to explore the lower level of the wing in which they resided. In her excitement, Elena almost danced down the stairs, a bright smile on her face. She’d learned from Braiden some time back that Kelach’s library was found in that part of the keep. “What else is down there?” Elena’s heart thumped with anticipation.

  Silvandir and Mikaelin exchanged a mirthful glance before Silvandir replied. “Well, there’s the Great Hall, which is used for large assemblies or celebra—”

  “Do they hold grand dances there? With music and decorations?”

  Silvandir chuckled. “No, no dances. Remember, there are no women here, and few men are willing to give up the lead.”

  She blushed, feeling foolish.

  “It was a fair question, Elena,” Silvandir was quick to say. “I’m sorry for laughing. I meant no offense. It’s only in Kelach that the Great Hall isn’t used for such. Celdorn made that choice a long time ago. The men are here to train and the absence of women is part of that training. We do, however, hold festive dances at all of the other fortresses.”

  “Have you ever been to one?” She glanced from Silvandir to Mikaelin. “Do you dance?”

  “As seldom as possible,” Mikaelin replied with a smirk. “But yes, we all dance to some degree.”

  “I have always thought it would be wonderful to dance.” Elena’s mind drifted to a favored place in her dreams where she danced freely.

  A hand slapped her face. Elena winced and shot a terrified glance at Silvandir and Mikaelin before realizing it was just a flash of memory.

  “There are also two sitting rooms and a chapel in the wing,” Silvandir said, unaware of what was happening with her. She focused on his words, rubbing her cheek and willing the fear away. “The chapel is beautiful. There are large, multicolored windows etched with amazing designs.” Elena found herself smiling again. This was so exciting.

  At the foot of the stairs, the two guards, who looked to be little more than her age, bowed to Elena with formality. She stared at them with surprise.

  “It’s appropriate to nod toward them in acknowledgement,” Silvandir whispered in her ear.

  Elena did.

  “And a smile helps too.”

  Her face lit up as she nodded again. “Good day, sirs,” she added, supposing that would be proper. This evoked another bow and bright grins from the guards.

  Elena appreciated Silvandir’s reminder that all of life needn’t be taken so seriously. “Thank you.” She wrapped her arm around his.

  A slight blush rose on his cheeks, and he gave her a warm smile and a nod in return. Elena noticed Mikaelin’s lips curl, his eyes bright with mischievous laughter. Silvandir’s blush deepened, and he looked away. Elena glanced from one to the other, wondering what that was about.

  “This is the entrance to the Great Hall.” Silvandir motioned toward the doors on their left.

  While he and Mikaelin held the doors open, Elena entered with wide eyes and awed silence. She felt tiny and insignificant as she moved into the massive hall. “This must run the entire length of Celdorn and Elbrion’s chambers...and beyond,” she whispered.

  “Yes, the Great Hall and the chapel lie beneath the entire northwest wing of Kelach,” Silvandir replied.

  “But there are no windows or access onto the garden. Why wouldn’t they want that beautiful view to add to the magnificence of this hall?”

  Silvandir grinned. “It’s for security purposes. Kelach’s a fortress and a training fortress at that. The great hall is primarily a place for war councils and for caring for Guardians who’re deployed to this region. When large numbers are here, this room is filled with tables to feed them or pallets for them to sleep. There have been feasts held here, but not during my time. As far as I know, this hall has been used for no other festivities, though it’s a fine place for such.”

  “It is that.” Elena studied the wood slats beneath her feet that had been laid with great care and kept up well. They shone as if freshly oiled. There was matching wood trim along the walls carved in elaborate designs. An artisan created this place.

  On the extensive walls hung a dozen beautiful tapestries, none of which, to Elena’s surprise, depicted battle scenes. These were calming, pastoral scenes: gorgeous snow-capped mountains surrounding tranquil villages, rugged obsidian peaks overlooking a valley bathed in light, herds of wild horses racing through meadows of prairie grasses, and her favorite of all, fields of wildflowers in every color she could imagine.

  Unbidden images from distant daydreams leapt into Elena’s mind, of dancing and whirling, strong hands guiding her as she laughed and glided with grace. In the past, they had been in open fields of wild flowers, but they quickly adapted to this grand room. She could hear the music
of flutes, the cadence of drums—

  “Elena?”

  “Hmm…”

  “Are you all right?”

  Her gaze flashed to Silvandir, who eyed her with concern, her face immediately on fire. “I-I was just lost in thought.”

  “Does this place upset you? You’re shaking.” He grasped her arms as if to steady her.

  How could she explain her foolishness to him? He and Mikaelin would surely laugh at her outlandish fantasies and be ever more certain she’d lost her mind. Used-up whores would never be dancing in grand halls such as this or frolicking in mountain meadows. Searing tears stung her eyes. She turned away so the men wouldn’t see.

  “I must be more tired than I thought.” She clasped her hands together to still them and bit her lip to quell the tears. “This place is...lovely. Not what I expected of warriors. I thought you would have depictions of great battles and mighty heroes.”

  Silvandir stepped alongside her, gazing up at the array of wildflowers. He was quiet for a moment, considering. “While we do train as Guardians and although we are willing to go forth whenever called upon, Celdorn has instilled in us the desire and respect for peace. One doesn’t do battle without taking on wounds in one’s soul, wounds we don’t wish to be reminded of. Better to focus on what we value, the things we long to sustain and protect. That’s what you see before you.”

  Elena looked up at Silvandir, his face somber as he gazed beyond the tapestry. These men were a puzzle. Where was the violence, the manipulation of others, the rabid hunger, the striving for power, the arrogant confidence with which she was all too familiar?

  Silvandir, feeling her eyes upon him, glanced down at her with a slight smile. “You find my words surprising?”

  Elena blushed again. “It’s just... I’ve never met men like you.” She glanced from Silvandir to Mikaelin. “You’re the opposite of everything I’ve known.” Her words came out in a whisper, behind them a silent plea: please let this be real, please be speaking the truth.