Gwyn: Light Chaser Legends Book 2

by Cantwell, J. B.

  Indeed, as she waltzed out of the room, the same guard who had come looking for minutes ago stepped out in front of her now.

  “What are you doing here?” he said. “This room is for Torin alone.”

  She sighed and turned to him. “This room is for Riona as well,” she said.

  “And you are not Riona.”

  His hands gripped her forearms, and just as he was about to open his mouth, she ripped herself free of his grasp and shoved him up against the wall. It was easy doing this, and when his cohort tried to capture her from behind, she was able to defend herself without thinking.

  She was angry. It was easy.

  A moment later, she had both men up against the wall, her hands burning their necks.

  They opened their mouths to scream in pain, or maybe to scream for help, but she shook her head just a touch and released them.

  “Shh,” she said, holding one finger up to her mouth. “Don’t say a word.”

  Both of the men stared at her, their eyes round, fear plain on their faces.

  “Don’t you tell him,” she said. “I’ll know, and then I’ll find whoever it is you’re protecting by being here.”

  It was only a guess, but it was an educated one. There was no use for things like money or gold or jewels in a place like the Opal Kingdom. Whom might the servants trade with? Each other? There was some other reason they were there, something so valuable to them that they would allow themselves to be abused, killed even, to protect it.

  A wife. A father. A child. These are things that people cared about more than money and riches. One could always make more money, but to save another’s life, to hide someone, to protect them, was infinitely more important than a few coins.

  “Don’t you tell him,” she said dangerously. “Don’t you dare.”

  * * *

  And they didn’t tell him. She knew this because there was a drunken king knocking on her door twenty minutes later. Her father never even bothered accompanying them anymore. Instead, he stayed with the sorcerers, trading stories and powers deep into the night while she mopped up his mess.

  Every once in a while, the king knocking on the door would be handsome. Young, even.

  This king waited patiently for her to answer, and when she did, he handed her a single red rose.

  “My lady,” he said. “May I enter?”

  She frowned as she took the flower. This was unusual behavior, especially considering how much wine she’d watched him drink.

  She stepped away from the doorway. “Yes, Your Highness. Of course, you may.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and he took a couple of steps inside.

  He surprised her when he walked to the fireplace and not to the bed. He sat down on a small sofa beside the flames, and she thought she knew what was coming next. She was preparing herself to sit upon his lap when he spoke again and surprised her again.

  “Would you care to join me by the fire?” he asked. His short blond hair was swept back, and he didn’t have so much as a slur in his speech.

  “Your Highness, wouldn’t you be more comfortable on the bed?”

  She was getting impatient. There was a routine she needed to uphold, and this man was wasting her time.

  “No, my lady. I have no desire to sit or lay on your bed.”

  She walked around the sofa and looked at him, confused.

  Before she had a chance to speak, he put his hand into the fire and drew it back out again.

  She gasped.

  “Your Highness!” she said. “You mustn’t. Your hand, it’s—”

  The man showed her his hand, his forefinger still alight. She grabbed a piece of her skirt and suffocated the flame.

  “There is no need for you to call me ‘Your Highness,’” he said. “My name is Derric. My king and I have played a little trick.”

  Her eyes grew wide as she realized whom she was staring at.

  This was no king.

  This was the sorcerer.

  “You’re playing a very dangerous game,” she said. But she felt better; she couldn’t deny it. She sat down beside him and inspected his hand, which he held out for her.

  “It may be,” he said. “But my king desires to know the man with whom he is doing business. The only way for him to discover your father’s true intentions is to pretend.”

  “You’ll regret it,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  She looked into the fire for a minute, but then her curiosity got the better of her.

  “What else can you do?” she asked.

  The man smiled, and she was relieved it was not a sneer.

  “What would you like to see?”

  She thought about it for a moment, unsure of what to ask and feeling very juvenile. What she wanted to ask for was a show, something to entertain her sixteen-year-old self that wasn’t required to bed man after man in order to appease her father’s greed.

  But she had to stay on track.

  “How do we get out?” she asked.

  Immediately, she realized her mistake, and her hand jumped to cover her mouth with surprise.

  “And why would you want to do that?” he asked.

  She was heartened by the fact that he was not making fun of her, that he actually seemed genuinely concerned.

  She took the sleeve of her dress and ran it down the makeup on her right cheek, exposing the skin beneath.

  This time, he was the one who was surprised. He reached up with one hand and delicately touched her cheek as if the injury were new and painful.

  “You poor thing,” he said. “You understand I cannot get you out. But I can tell you what awaits you. Do you have magic?”

  She paused, not sure if she should answer.

  “Let’s just assume you do,” he said. “That will make things harder for you. There are enchantments around the castle, and he will know as soon as you set foot beyond them. You will have minutes only before he is upon you. What can you do?”

  She looked down at her hands, and even though she had a pocket full of magic stones, she was embarrassed. All of the shattered glass and ruined pillows in her pink room meant next to nothing when it came to using magic in the real world.

  “Not much,” she said.

  “Does he know?”

  “No.”

  “And are you taking anyone with you?”

  She looked up. “Yes.”

  “And do they have magic?” he asked.

  She thought she understood where he was going with this line of questioning, and her heart lifted.

  “Yes!”

  He smiled. “They can hide you. Tell me, when will your father leave?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know if anyone knows.”

  “Then you must be ready,” he said.

  She smiled.

  Death

  The false king had helped her in more ways than he could know. He’d given her hope, somehow convinced her that she was not completely on her own. But, like the others, he soon left. She wondered if he’d found what he’d been looking for. Maybe his king had magic, enough to fool her father. It would’ve had to have been, or else they would both be dead. But she looked out the window as he and his king mounted their horses and rode away.

  Now, she needed to wait.

  That evening she made her way to the dining hall. She hadn’t bothered to put on the makeup, and she was wearing one of her older dresses. The sorcerer had convinced her that she needed to be ready to run at any time. That afternoon she’d taken a small knife to her high-heeled boots and removed the bulk of the heel from each, just in case.

  When she sat down at the table, she thought she might be greeted by a father in good spirits. After all, they’d just had a successful evening. For all he knew, she’d slept with the king. And for all she knew, he’d struck a bargain with the sorcerer.

  But that wasn’t how things went.

  He entered the room with a long wooden cane in his hand. With each step he took, he
slammed the wood onto the floor, the vibration echoing in the room.

  To say he was drunk would not be accurate. But to say he was drunk on power might be. He approached the table, held up the cane, and smacked her across the head.

  She tried to imagine where this had come from as she hit the floor, reeling.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” he said. “You helped him. Don’t deny it.”

  She stayed down on the ground, not sure yet if it was safe for her to try to right herself.

  It wasn’t.

  Again and again, he beat her about the head with the cane.

  Don’t react.

  But it was difficult. The hope that had come from the young man made her less willing to tolerate any more from her father. But this beating was such that even her mother was willing to get involved. She jumped up from her chair, screaming, and ran around the table until she was face-to-face with him. She grappled with him, trying to get the cane out of his hands.

  “Enough!” she yelled at him. “We have all had enough!”

  “And you!” he yelled back.

  He drew back his arm and swung the cane until it met with the side of Riona’s head. It was enough to knock her to the floor. Side-by-side they were, the two women of the house, their arms raised in defense.

  He threw the cane so forcefully across the room that it broke one of the windows on the other side.

  This is it. Be ready to run.

  “Get up,” he commanded.

  He walked up to them both, and he drew back his leg, readying himself for a kick. Gwyn rolled away in time, but her father’s boot made contact with her mother’s stomach, and she doubled over in pain.

  Gwyn didn’t know how to heal. Her mother would have to heal on her own.

  Satisfied for the moment, Torin walked around the table to where Bevyn usually sat. The place was empty.

  “Tell me the truth, and I might spare your lives,” he said dangerously. “You helped him get into the vault,” he accused. “I want to know how.”

  Bevyn had gotten into the vault. But how? What’s more, how had she? Their mother had told them that their power was greater than that of Torin’s. And yet, she’d never seen Bevyn so much as lift his own hand in defense. She’d never seen him perform any kind of magic whatsoever.

  So how had he gotten in?

  “He’s gone,” Torin said. “He’s stolen many artifacts from me, and it’s because of you; I know it.”

  What had he taken?

  Suddenly, she had the urge to laugh. It was very difficult to keep her face straight, and when her laugh couldn’t be controlled, she tried to cough, masking.

  He’d made it out. Somehow, he’d managed to escape. It was only when it dawned on her that he’d gone alone and left them behind that her smile fell away from her face.

  Her mother was on the floor, writhing in pain. Gwyn knew that her father knew how to heal; she wondered if, later, he might heal her mother. Maybe tomorrow when he wasn’t so angry.

  He’s always angry.

  Gwyn got to her feet and climbed into her dining chair. Phalen and Varik were sitting silent as stone. Their eyes were wide as they watched their father abuse the others. They were older than her by a decade, but she recognized fear on their faces. They may have been in her father’s good graces for the time being, but there was always the chance he’d turn on them, too.

  “I want you out,” Torin said. “Both of you.”

  Gwyn didn’t wait. She pushed back her chair and reached down to help her mother to her feet. Riona had a difficult time, but after a few moments of trying, she was able to manage it. Together, they made their way to the doorway.

  “He’s dead,” Torin said, one last blow. “And if either of you thinks you can gain entry into my vault, you’ll be next.”

  * * *

  Dead?

  Awaiting them in the hall were two male guards. Gwyn recognized one of them from the night before. She’d threatened him, and he’d let her go. Now, though, it was his job to take her mother and Gwyn to wherever her father had directed him to.

  Where would it be? The dungeons?

  She looked over at her mother, who was walking with great difficulty and had tears running down her cheeks. Gwyn wondered how bad the damage was on the inside. She herself had fallen victim to more than one boot in the gut in her short life. She knew how it felt. But for her mother… she was weak to begin with. She relied on her father for healing. Something told her that he might just let her heal on her own this time.

  As the men led them away from the dining hall, Gwyn’s mind went wild.

  Dead. Was that possible? What if Bevyn had stolen enough to get him away from this place? She knew better than to trust her father, but the fear remained. She wasn’t scared for herself; she’d learned enough to understand how she might defend herself if she ever needed to. True, a kick in the stomach was a good reason for defense, but to let Torin know about her powers too soon could be deadly.

  That time would come.

  Slowly, her mother seemed to crumble. After a few short minutes of walking, she fell to the floor and curled up there. Gwyn knelt down, and only then did she realize her head was throbbing.

  They’d both been taken out, just in different ways.

  “Mother,” Gwyn said. “You need to get up. He could be along any time.”

  But her mother didn’t get up. Instead, she let her sobs overtake her body. Her son, her beloved son, was dead.

  “If only he’d waited,” she said. “We could have gone together. We were getting so close. Now, I fear you’ll need to go alone.”

  “Shh,” Gwyn said, glancing up at the guards. “It’s time to walk.”

  But Riona couldn’t walk; she could barely stand. The second guard picked her up, and Gwyn couldn’t help but realize he was showing her kindness. It was a dangerous game.

  The first guard gripped Gwyn’s arm and pushed her forward.

  “You must be his favorite,” Gwyn said. “That’s a dangerous thing to be. She was his favorite once, and look what happened to her.” She tilted her head toward her mother.

  In response, the guard simply gripped his hands more tightly and pushed her more fiercely. Maybe he himself would be in trouble that night, too. Maybe he would be joining her mother and her before too long.

  She was surprised when they did not lead them down to the dungeons. There could have been many reasons for this, not the least of which was Bevyn’s whereabouts. Alive or dead, if he were still in the castle, he was probably in the dungeons. Either way, it would expose Torin’s lie if they were to come across him.

  No, instead of down, the guards took them up. Up and up until they were in the highest point of the castle Gwyn had ever been. At the end of their initial climb awaited a spiral staircase hewn from stone. Gwyn had only rarely spent any time outside the castle, but she knew that one of the towers hovered over the Opal Sea. Is that where they were headed?

  At the top of the staircase was a large, metal door. There was no key, only a large bar that served as a lock. The only way out was if someone on the staircase opened the door for you. The guard released her arm and opened the door, shoving her inside. The second guard was kinder, and he took her mother to the center of the room and gently placed her on the cold, stone floor.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to her.

  “Is it true?” she asked him. “Is he dead?”

  “I do not know.”

  “It’s time to go,” Gwyn’s guard said to him.

  The man touched her mother’s face gently for a brief moment. “Good luck to you.”

  And that was it. They were gone.

  * * *

  The tower was dark, but she didn’t dare try to light it. The false king had been able to summon flames to his hands. Gwyn looked at hers in the moonlight, the only light that came through the slim stone windows. She wondered what they might be able to do. She’d only ever practiced her magic in her pink room. But fire, that could be really useful.r />
  Her mother was sleeping on the floor, shivering. Gwyn had nothing to give her, no way to cover her, so she curled up next to her and put her arms around her, taking care not to touch her stomach. It wasn’t much warmer, but at least they were together.

  She must’ve slept because when she opened her eyes again, the moon was gone.

  Her mother was gone, too.

  For a moment, Gwyn was confused. Where had she gone? She turned around then and found her standing upon one of the windowsills, one foot hanging over the edge. The windows were narrow, but her mother was slight, and she fit easily through the opening.

  “Mother?” she asked. “What are you doing?”

  Her mother glanced back at her, but her face was blank.

  Far down below, Gwyn could hear the waves crashing against the rocks that protected the castle from the sea. Suddenly, she knew something terrible was about to happen. Her mother was inching closer and closer to the edge.

  “Mother!” she said harshly. “He’s not dead! Bevyn. Father is lying! Come back inside.”

  Her mother ignored her, almost acted as if she couldn’t hear her at all. Wasn’t she enough? Even if Bevyn was dead, wasn’t she reason enough to live? To protect?

  “Answer me! Mother!”

  But she didn’t answer. Instead, she let her body crumble, and though Gwyn was rising to her feet, reaching out her hands, there simply wasn’t enough time. Riona fell more than jumped.

  Gwyn flew to the window, thrusting her arms through in hopes she might be able to grab on to her mother’s hand, her mother’s dress fabric, even. Anything.

  But she was too late.

  She herself jumped up onto the ledge and looked down, hoping and praying that her mother had hit the water, not the rocks. But it was too dark to see. Perhaps down below, her mother was making her escape. How many years had she endured with Torin? Was it just long enough to encapsulate Gwyn’s lifetime? Or had there been lifetimes before?