Magic and Shadows: A Collection of YA Fantasy and Paranormal Romances

by T. M. Franklin

  Their castle was built on a hill. Far below stretched the sprawling coastal city of Tibor. Along its eastern edge, vessels hugged the shoreline. They were all sizes and shapes, from barges and tugs, to merchant carriers and fishing vessels.

  High above it all, the three moons, called the three sisters, were perfectly lined up. Their full, brilliant glow bathed Tibor’s rooftops, masts, and booms, and rippled over the Sea of Tyver.

  Such an alignment of the moons is rare, Bevan had told her this morning. One that portends grave danger.

  Had Bevan said that? The memory proved as elusive as the wind that embraced and then abandoned her. She tried to remember and an ache instantly throbbed beneath her eyes.

  Wait! Bevan had told her that he’d gone off like this before, and then returned to his bed perfectly safe. How could she have forgotten that? She hurried into the room, shaking her head at her mother worrying unnecessarily. She should know better than to be concerned about that talented boy. “Bevan will come home soon enough.”

  The two women turned their angry looks her way.

  The dungeon suddenly seemed a safer place. Manacles and a rat-infested cell weren’t as frightening as the queen’s ire.

  “Do you not understand the situation, Tamara?” Saira asked. The only royal child with red hair, her sister often reminded her of a hearth fire – warm, but dangerous. “Someone’s taken Bevan. We must get him back.”

  “He’s gone off like this before and returned.” Tamara shrugged to display nonchalance. “So, why worry?”

  “When?” her mother asked. “When has he gone off like this? And why didn’t you tell us before?”

  The question sincerely surprised Tamara. “But it shouldn’t be news, mother. If he told me, he surely had already confided in you, or Saira.” Her quiet nephew had never been close to Tamara, and he thought of Saira as a second mother.

  Her sister and mother approached. At their close proximity, her old terror of being confined jabbed her. She inched backwards but a wall halted her escape.

  “Did he say where he went?”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  Tamara slid past the two questioning women. “Give me time to think!”

  The hairs on her arms prickled with tension as she hurried away. When did this become my fault too? She strode past a writing table, chair, and an intricately decorated oak chest pressed against a wall. In her haste, her bare foot struck the heavy chest, jarring it. She hopped on one foot cursing silently, until an iridescent ribbon stuffed behind the chest caught her attention.

  A little tug released the pretty scrap of fabric. Earlier tonight, Thyel had lovingly draped this around her shoulders. She’d instantly felt constricted. Tamara hated anything close to her neck. When he began to disrobe her, she tossed it off. The silky thing must have slid behind the chest. Missing Thyel now, she tied her loose hair back with it. A wave of dizziness struck.

  “Tamara,” her mother said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She rubbed at her temple, but it continued to ache abominably, and now green sparks fluttered behind her eyelids. With irritation, she off pulled the silky band and threw it back toward the chest, where it fluttered out of sight.

  Stupid ribbon!

  With her hair untied, her headache improved. Her mother and sister sent her worried looks.

  “Are you sure you’re well?” her mother asked.

  “Yes, please stop fussing.” This day was worsening at a gallop. If only she could remember what Bevan had said at breakfast. He was normally the quietest of lads. So, why hadn’t she paid attention when he came in for a chat?

  In fact, now she thought of it, most of this day felt unusually shadowy. Strange, since she normally had an excellent memory, unhappily so. Of course, this morning she’d been distracted, planning her evening with Thyel. When Bevan showed up, Tamara had even momentarily wondered if the queen had sent her grandson to spy on her truculent daughter.

  Concentrate. What had Bevan said about those times he went away? Something about meeting a stranger, yes, that was it. She turned back. “I remember now. Bevan said a being visited him and told him of a foreign land. You know how fanatical he is about seeing new places. He probably went to see for himself what it was like.”

  That caught their attention.

  “What did this stranger look like?” Saira asked. “And where is this foreign land situated?”

  Tamara rubbed at her forehead. The throbbing had returned with a vengeance. Then in a flash she saw the person Bevan described. As clear as if she gazed at his portrait. “The man has a narrow face, icy blue eyes, pale white hair and skin. Oh, and he spoke with a soft musical voice.” Of its own accord, her arm shot up until her hand hovered high over her head. “And he was this tall,” she said, though she felt as unsure of that fact as her arm seemed certain of it.

  It had green skin, stood knee high, and was nasty tempered, Tamara. It was very rude.

  She frowned, confused. Had she imagined Bevan saying that last bit? The words swept by in the whisper of a cold, north wind. The latter description was so different from the picture that stayed glued to the forefront of her mind. She delved deeper into the memory and the hammering in her head thundered. She cried out.

  Saira was at her side, her hands covering Tamara’s head. “Let me look at you. You’re flushed.”

  “I’m fine!” Her sister’s fingers burned. She pushed Saira away and stumbled backwards. “Leave me alone. You’re making my head hurt more. Why must everyone crowd me?”

  Tamara edged away. The further she went from Saira, the less her head hurt until she could finally look around without squinting with pain.

  “I’ve never heard such an odd description,” her mother said, thankfully keeping her distance.

  “Neither had I,” Tamara agreed readily. “Truly, Mother, I thought he’d dreamed it or I would have spoken sooner.”

  “What else did Bevan say?” her mother asked.

  Did he say something was green? The memory faded. “Nothing I recall.”

  Her mother turned to Saira. “The Erovians were a myth until you introduced them to Rycan society. Could this tall, white-haired stranger be real too?”

  “I don’t know, Mam.”

  The pet name surprised Tamara. It was an old nickname Saira had used as a child because she couldn’t pronounce Mamosia. The slip showed how upset her sister must be, for she was always careful to refer to the queen only as “mother” these days.

  The queen approached and gently took Tamara’s fingers. “Try to remember, dear. What else did Bevan say?”

  Tamara trembled within her gentle hold. Could her nephew truly be in trouble? Had she made a terrible mistake in not listening to him? Looking into her mother’s worried blue eyes, Tamara’s guilt spiked. Could Bevan die because she had allowed Thyel to distract her? The large room shrank, crowding her. “I don’t remember anything else.”

  The disappointment in her mother’s eyes brought a lump to Tamara’s throat. She freed her hands. Maybe if she had some privacy and space, all what Bevan said would come back. “I’m going to my room to rest. If I remember anything else, I’ll send word. I promise.”

  “Should we contact Garren at the university to let him know what’s happening?” Saira asked.

  “No,” Mamosia said. “You’ve contacted Anna and Marton. That’s enough for now. Let’s leave Garren be. I don’t want him troubled as he focusses on his studies.”

  Tamara ran out before she burst into tears. Two guards stood watch outside. She was half way down the corridor when she remembered Thyel had heard Bevan too. He might remember what her nephew said. She ran back to the two guards. “Where has Thyel been taken?”

  The men remained silent.

  “Tell me!”

  “I’m sorry, your highness. You are not to see Master Thyel again. Queen’s command.”

  With a frustrated shout, she stormed off. Further down the corridor she halted a female servant passing by
. “Do you know where Master Thyel was taken by the guards?”

  “Out of the castle, your highness,” the young girl said, voice quivering. “To the docks, some say. I’m so sorry.”

  It was too late for a ship to set sail tonight. Without sunlight to guide the way, a vessel could never navigate safely past the rocks that surrounded Tibor’s harbor. That could mean he was being held onboard a docked vessel, awaiting a morning sail.

  If so, for once, time was on her side.

  Realizing she still held the shaking servant girl, Tamara released her with a muttered apology and thank you for the valuable information. She hurried along the twisting corridors. Picking up her skirts, she sprinted down the curved stairs that led to the front entryway.

  She had to find Thyel. Talk to him about Bevan.

  The guards posted by the heavy front doors lowered spears to bar her way. Furious, she pivoted and sped back up the stairs. Other doors led to the outside. Surely not all would be guarded. Footsteps pounded behind her. A shoulder check showed a guard in pursuit.

  Could her mother have ordered her confined to her quarters? She sped up, racing up to the second floor. She ran past a courtier and several startled servants. Around another corner and she came across the servants’ stairs. She headed up to the third floor. What she needed was a safe route to the outside and she knew exactly where to find it.

  It sounded as if the guard was gaining ground so she slipped behind a heavy wall-length tapestry and held her breath. Her pursuer flew past where she hid. She was about to go in the other direction when her palms skimmed past a hidden catch along the rough-cut stonewalls. A smile of triumph spread her cheeks wide.

  As a child, Tamara had used the castle’s secret passageways many times to evade her governess. She pressed two depressions on the wall and a panel at her back slid open, sweeping out cool air. She fell backwards into the passage and then instantly regretted her rash action. Before she could run back out, the door slid shut on her face and the lock clicked closed. A frantic search with her hands in the dark confirmed no handle or latch on this side.

  She covered her mouth tight to stop her scream releasing. Getting caught by a guard would be worse than being stuck in here. There was a way to escape, but was she capable of doing it? She had run down these hidden corridors enough times to know where the next opening was.

  Fears born of her long entrapment in the time spell, however, were creeping closer. Her legs quivered in the drafty corridor. Her knees buckled and she slumped onto the cold stone floor, knuckles scraping along the walls. Anger, frustration, and horror engulfed Tamara.

  Years of being held immobilized returned with a vengeance. Then, her mother cast the charm to protect her. Now, Tamara’s mind cast its own spell of terror, one her body unconditionally obeyed.

  How could she have been so foolish as to put herself in this position? Her heart raced as if it planned to tunnel out of her chest. Her palms and forehead grew sweaty, and her throat closed in so tight, she couldn’t have screamed even if she wanted to.

  Minute by minute she became as immovable as the stone walls that surrounded her. Her body stayed frozen in place.

  2

  Tamara stayed crouched in the dark, trembling, her mind shouting at her to, Get me out of here!

  But time stood still.

  Again.

  In the silence, drums sounded a call inside her head.

  That’s what Bevan had said this morning. Something about hearing drums. Her nephew needed her. He could be in danger. What if he was killed because she didn’t help?

  Along either side, the corridor stretched the length of the castle. There were other openings with handles on this side of the wall. All Tamara had to do was get up and find one.

  Sobbing, she forced herself to stand and move along the musty enclosure, one forced step at a time. Little things scuttled away from her bare feet in the dark. She tried to ignore the sound of skittering nails in the darkness ahead. Palms flattened against the wall, heartbeat thundering, she repeated, “Breathe, Tamara, and take a step. You are free.”

  An interminable time later, her hand brushed across a lever. She slammed her weight against it and a panel slid open. Crying in relief, Tamara tumbled in and fell to the floor. A glance up confirmed this was Saira and Tom’s bedchamber. At least neither of them were here to witness her breakdown. As she lay there, every wasted moment ticked by at an excruciatingly slow pace.

  Tamara managed to crawl to the bed but once on it, she had to lie still while her head settled from its spinning motion. A rustle brought her alert. She squinted in the faint moonlight and noticed a man standing in the middle of her sister’s bedroom.

  Was that Tom? Had her sister’s husband come in?

  The outline of the intruder showed a tall spare-framed male wearing a floor-length robe cinched at his waist and clutching a fat book. His skin was dark enough to blend into the shadowed room, but his distinctive white robe proclaimed him as none other than Jarrod of Erov. That’s why she hadn’t heard the door open.

  An Erovian had the ability to pop in and out of places, and only Jarrod carried that silly tome wherever he went.

  Jarrod’s interest had always been allied solely with her sister Saira. He would never come to see Tamara in the middle of the night, without warning, and in an obvious fluster about something. Her eyes narrowed with displeasure. Surely Tom wouldn’t approve of a handsome single man invading his wife’s bedroom in the middle of the night. She disregarded the fact that she’d invaded her sister’s room uninvited.

  Jarrod came around the side of the bed and knelt. He was about her age, perhaps a year or two older, but where her skin was ivory, his was ebony. She might have never seen him in the darkness if not for his white robe. “Saira, I have urgent need of your help.”

  He was here for Saira. Always, Saira. At all royal functions, he ignored Tamara. On rare occasions when they found themselves face-to-face, he avoided eye contact.

  Tamara gave a curt nod. “Good evening, Jarrod.”

  “Princess Tamara. Where’s your sister?”

  A quick succession of pictures flashed through her mind. Saira fast asleep by a camp fire in the woods, waking up inside a hut, speaking formally to long-robed Erovians in a multi-colored tent city.

  Saira had said Erovians could share their feelings without saying a word to each other. They were circumspect with outsiders, never intruding unless invited. It surprised her that she could sense Jarrod’s thoughts in this instance, and so clearly. Did he realize he projected them? Even more intriguing was the idea that these images were how Jarrod viewed her sister.

  The scenes fit Saira’s adventures to rescue her family. Seeing the story through this quiet, studious man’s dark gaze brought those stories to life. Except, her sister had looked frightened in Jarrod’s memory. How strange. Tamara had always thought Saira was the bravest of her family.

  “Where’s your sister?” Impatience gained ground in his normally calm tone.

  She didn’t care where Saira was. Tamara needed to find Thyel and ask him what Bevan had said this morning. She swung her legs to the floor. Could Jarrod be of help with her need? “There’s a problem with Bevan. My sister’s helping with that matter.”

  “Perhaps I can help her.”

  Ah, Jarrod to Saira’s rescue, not Tamara’s. With an irritated sigh, she jumped off the bed and then regretted it as the room shifted as if she were underwater.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, steadying her with a hand at her elbow

  “No time.” She waited for her sight to settle and then shook off his hold and ran to the door.

  He hurried after her. “I must find Lady Saira-Gilly. It’s imperative.”

  Tamara stopped to turn and say, She’s busy, when she noticed Jarrod’s gaze transfixed to her shoulder.

  Was he avoiding eye contact again? She itched to slap him to relieve a bit of frustration. Then she noticed that because of his earlier hold on her, her already loose gown
had slipped to reveal a generous glimpse of her pale shoulders.

  Well, well, well. Could it be that the strikingly aloof Chief Councilor of Erov was not as immune to her charms?

  She lowered her shoulder and her dress obligingly slipped to the edge of her bosom.

  A delightful frown appeared on his forehead.

  “Jarrod, would you mind tying my gown in place?” She turned, to give him a clear view of her bare back.

  His precious volume dropped to the floor. Tamara bit her lip to keep her laughter in.

  His fingers fumbled as he pulled the cords tight to tie it. His hands were warm on her cold back and she leaned into his touch. “Please stand still, Tamara.”

  She thrilled at the tremor in his voice. He’d forgotten to address her as princess. All too soon he was done and he picked up his book, shuffling loose pages together.

  She turned to observe him, her mind running rampant on how she could use his attraction of her to her advantage.

  He straightened, his precious book clutched like a shield. Sending her a frowning glare, he opened the tome and follow a line of script with a finger. “Where Saira is should be marked in here,” he muttered. “I don’t understand why I can’t find the notation.”

  It was Tamara’s turn to squint at what he looked at. He couldn’t possibly see anything in the dark. The bit of moonlight from the window barely highlighted his handsome dark face. Erovians were intrinsically magical, so perhaps the script was spelled to allow him to read even in the dimmest chamber.

  A useful talent, if one was a scholar. Useless to her. Jarrod had another talent that could work on her behalf. His ability to pop in and out of places without anyone noticing.

  To gain time to plan her next move, she allowed him to read in peace as she lit a candle and then deliberately, brushed by him on her way to set it on the hearth’s mantle.

  He practically jumped at her touch.

  Priceless! Hiding her jubilant grin, she set the candle down and swung to confront him. “I’m curious, Jarrod, how did you get into this room?”