Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1)

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Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 28

by Bridgett Powers


  “Come, Lyssanne,” Lady MeMe said. “Let us leave the men to their practice.”

  Lyssanne followed her into the corridor, where they parted. MeMe adjourned to her daughter’s sickroom, Lyssanne to her chamber, praying the shadows would keep to its corners.

  Brennus sat in the shadows of the sickroom, a tiny, windowless chamber adjacent to the herbal. He stretched his shadowy limbs, unfeeling even after his hours spent recounting anecdotes of Noel’s early childhood at her request. It was unseemly—a beautiful, vibrant child confined in this dark place. He clenched fists of smoke and ground teeth that would not grind.

  Despite every remedy the healer had tried, Noel’s fever raged. Now, the infection threatened her mind, heart, and other delicate functions. She had but days, perhaps hours.

  “I like Uncle Bren’s new trick,” Noel whispered to MeMe.

  “I’m certain,” MeMe said, taking her hand. “But you must speak of it to no one else.”

  “I know.”

  At a knock, MeMe straightened. “That will be Lady Lyssanne. You remember Uncle Bren’s friend? She’s agreed to tell you a story while your papa and I speak with Healer Laud.”

  Brennus stiffened. Rather than slip from the room as he’d intended, he must remain, appearing to lounge in the chair, to make certain Lyssanne’s presence caused Noel no harm.

  At the door, MeMe paused, nodding a farewell to him.

  Lyssanne entered and perched on a stool at Noel’s bedside, her eyes only for the child. Noel responded to her honeyed tones like a man reaching for water in the Navvarish Desert.

  Brennus lost the thread of the tale Lyssanne shared to his own musings. Once, he’d thought of her as a common sparrow watching over her chicks. He’d not been far wrong, but she wasn’t so common, after all. Her plain feathers hid colors he’d not then seen.

  “The King of All Lands?” Noel said, arresting his attention. “The one Mama sometimes talks with?”

  “Indeed, the very same,” Lyssanne said.

  “Papa made her a special place to talk to him, ya know,” Noel said, her voice faint. “Mama told him she didn’t need it, but he said, if the lords and ladies of Lyrya have shrines to talk to their statues, his wife should have somewhere to talk to her invisible King.”

  MeMe worshiped the same deity as Lyssanne? Brennus had relegated the notion of this invisible King to the imaginings of half-crazed hermits and Lyssanne’s backward village. Sure, Duncan had mentioned erecting the little building in the inner bailey for MeMe’s religious pursuits, but they’d never discussed the nature of her beliefs.

  “That was very kind of him,” Lyssanne said. “Does he talk to the King as well?”

  “No. Papa thinks the King is just a story.”

  “Ah. Do you know the King’s story?”

  “The Tale of the Dawning?” Noel whispered. “Yeah. ’Tis sad.”

  Lyssanne leaned closer. “Why do you say that?”

  “’Cause the King died,” Noel said. “He left his castle to go save the people, even though they’d let his papa’s enemy take over. But they didn’t want him. They killed him.” A cough cut short her words. When she could again speak, her voice grew demanding. “Why didn’t the King’s papa destroy them all for that?”

  “Well,” Lyssanne said, “they didn’t recognize the King.”

  “But he told them who he was. They didn’t believe him.”

  “No.” Lyssanne sighed. “But that wasn’t the end of the tale. Since the King loved the people enough to die for them, He could save them. Then, His Father gave Him life again.”

  “He’s still alive? He really can hear Mama when she talks to him?”

  “Oh, yes,” Lyssanne said. “He can hear you, as well.”

  “Is His castle really as wondrous as they say? So far away in the Shining Land.”

  “More so than we can imagine, but the King isn’t far from us. He is the very Love and Light that shine in our hearts. He watches over us, as He did long ago.”

  “Is that why I’m sick?” Noel asked, her breath beginning to wheeze. “Do you think…He wants me to die, so I can go live with Him there?”

  Lyssanne covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes misty in the candle glow.

  “If that’s what He wants,” Noel said, “I wouldn’t mind so much. ’Tis just, I love Mama and Papa so. I think they would be too sad if I go.”

  “Oh, Noel.” Lyssanne’s voice broke on the child’s name. “The King did not make you ill. That, I know. He is Light, while illness is darkness. It steals from you—joy, strength, and sometimes, it steals life. Such darkness comes from the King’s old enemy, the Thief of Souls.”

  “He steals other things, too?” Noel asked.

  “Yes, and he lies, like any thief. He tries to make us afraid.”

  Nodding, Noel reached for Lyssanne’s hand. “He scares me.”

  “He has frightened me a fair bit as well,” Lyssanne said, clasping the child’s fingers, “but the King is much stronger than the darkness.”

  “He can make me better?”

  Brennus parted his lips to put an end to this game Lyssanne played. He wouldn’t permit her to give Noel false hopes, but her words forestalled him.

  “For the King, nothing is impossible, but we oft prevent Him doing what we most wish.”

  Lyssanne rose and took an unlit candle from a tray on the side table.

  “A candle can banish shadows, but only if you put a match to it.” She touched the wick to the flame of the lamp near the door then brought the candle back to Noel’s bedside table. “In the same way, you must spark your faith, so the King’s Light can banish the sickness.”

  “I want the King to light me up,” Noel whispered, “to scare away the dark fever. I believe Him, just like Mama, just like you.” She coughed, a wet, strangled sound. “Will He?”

  “I pray He will,” Lyssanne said.

  Noel sighed and closed her eyes. As if Lyssanne’s words had worked a magic of their own, she drifted into sleep, her breathing ragged. Lyssanne kissed Noel’s brow, tears glistening in her eyes and running in twin, sparkling lines down her cheeks.

  Why did she weep so for a child she hardly knew?

  Lyssanne whispered a prayer, then opened her eyes and peered at Noel’s midsection as if seeing something besides the thin coverlet. She stared with the intense concentration she’d once fixed upon the Shadow Mist. Brennus leaned forward, searching out whatever she saw.

  Lyssanne’s eyes narrowed, her jawline firmed, and her shoulders stiffened to a high, hard line. She spoke, her voice holding a tone of authority she’d never used in Brennus’s hearing.

  “Fever, illness, Thief’s foul darkness, you have no place here. This innocent child belongs to the King of All Lands. In His name, I command you to flee before His Light. In His name, I command that Light to flood Noel’s body.” Her voice softened, tears splashing onto the coverlet. “As she loves and is loved, let the Love and Light of her King wash her to new life.”

  Brennus barely suppressed an exclamation as Lyssanne began to shine. She laid her hands upon Noel’s abdomen; glassy, multihued light shimmering just beneath them. The colors coalesced as if refracted through a lens, forming a smaller, brighter pool of green, so pure and pale it was nearly white. It lingered for some moments, then the center of its brightness moved up to Noel’s chest. As if pulled by the light, Lyssanne’s hands moved with it.

  Brennus blinked. What in the Seven Lands? In the light’s center, an almost solid darkness took shape. It resembled some sickly, dark-green, horned thing one might find in a bog. The next instant, the darkness recoiled and vanished.

  Then, the light seeped deep into Noel and faded.

  Lyssanne looked up, her pupils retaining their normal size, as if she’d not even beheld that light. “Let it be so, oh King,” she whispered, sinking onto her stool with a sigh.

  Brennus drew a silent breath. Sweat began to bead on Noel’s brow!

  Just then, the healer and Noel's pare
nts returned.

  “The fever has broken,” the healer said, resting a hand on Noel’s cheek. “Her body is cooling rapidly, and her breathing is steadier. The illness seems to drain from her as I watch.” He looked up at Duncan, doffing his washtub hat to mop his brow. “Never have I seen the like. This child was on the point of death, yet ’tis as if she’s had three days’ recovery in the past hour.”

  Had Lyssanne’s Light driven out the illness? What magic could do such?

  Venefica wielded her skills to destroy and gained vigor from the deeds. Lyssanne had only ever used her power to heal or to warm and, apparently, did so at the expense of her own strength. For, she was growing paler before Brennus’s eyes.

  “Brennus,” Duncan said, his voice thick. “Did you hear that? My little princess is…she’s not leaving us.” He reached for MeMe, who smiled through fresh tears.

  Brennus sank farther into the shadows, struggling to mask the hollow croak of his voice. “It is the best tiding I’ve heard in years, my friend.” He glanced back at Lyssanne.

  She stared in his direction, her eyes wide pools of sapphire in a face white as marble.

  “Perhaps Mr. Laud would send for a maid to escort Lady Lyssanne to her chambers?” he said. “You will want time alone with Noel, and I believe the lady is in need of rest.”

  The healer gasped. “Why, she looks quite faint! Come, miss, I have smelling salts in my bag in the herbal.” He pulled Lyssanne to her feet and ushered her from the room.

  Brennus would permit Lyssanne time to regain her strength, but he wanted answers; and come sunset, he would have them.

  18

  Reflection

  Lyssanne struggled to prevent her limbs shaking as Lily helped her drape a thick dressing gown over her chemise. “You’re certain this is proper?” she whispered.

  “Proper enough, milady,” Lily murmured. “You’d not want to keep him waiting.”

  “No.” Lyssanne stared at her bedchamber’s closed door. He’d been in that sickroom, had seen what she’d done. Had he come to make her leave or…or worse?

  She drew breath and, as if trudging through syrup, walked into the sitting room.

  Prince Brennus turned to face her. “Lyssanne—”

  “Good eve to you, Your Highness,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

  As she curtseyed, her knees betrayed her, folding like soggy parchment. She flung out a hand to brace against the impact. Arms caught her around the middle before her knees could hit the rose marble tile. Prince Brennus held her there, peering into her face.

  “I, I just need a moment,” she said.

  “You’re ill.” Keeping an arm around her waist, he guided her to the settee, then lifted her and stretched her out upon its cushions. “Is it the ailment that plagued you in the forest?”

  “No,” Lyssanne said. “It…is a small thing. It will pass.”

  “Oh, my lady!” Lily said, rushing over to a sideboard. A splash followed her words, then she hurried to the settee with a glass and pitcher in hand. “I fetched some water.”

  “Good,” Prince Brennus said, passing the glass to Lyssanne. “I shall see to the lady’s needs. Leave the pitcher on the end table. I’ll ring if you are required.”

  “Very well, Your Highness,” Lily said, bowing as she backed into the corridor.

  Lyssanne sipped at the water, grateful for the excuse not to look at him or to speak.

  “Does this happen," he said, "this weakness, every time?”

  “I’m not certain what you mean,” Lyssanne said.

  “I speak of your use of…unnatural abilities.” A sharp edge laced his voice. “Is that so great an exertion, it causes you to collapse? Or is this the price for altering nature?”

  Lyssanne stiffened. “What happened with Noel was…wasn't magic.”

  Shivers overtook her. What would they do to her? She’d heard tales of the horrors that befell people suspected of witchcraft in lands where magic was forbidden.

  Prince Brennus stood and crossed the room. To call Lord Duncan’s guards? Were they awaiting summons outside her door?

  Instead, he returned with the woven coverlet that had decorated her window seat. He draped it over her and knelt beside the settee. “Lyssanne,” he murmured, tucking the blanket about her shoulders, “I have not come to accuse you.”

  She stared at him, unsure what to say, what to believe.

  “You’re safe. No harm will befall you here. What you’ve done…”

  “I’m not a witch,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  “You…?”

  “At least, I know there was no evil in what you did.” He shook his head, his raven hair feathering out in a dark cloud. “I spoke with Reina. Just this past hour.”

  “Reina?” Lyssanne’s heart pounded in her temples. Dared she allow herself to hope?

  “I had to know, Lyssanne.” Emotion thickened his voice. “What I saw was…” He shook his head again.

  “What did you see?” The lump in her throat strangled her words.

  “Light,” he said, “and…something else.” He took a long breath. “You spoke—prayed, I suppose—and, as if you’d become a lamp, you shone from within. Then, the light seemed to outgrow your body. It spilled forth from your hands, yet it wasn’t from your hands. I know not how to explain it.”

  He rose and paced the length of the room.

  “It spread over Noel like a blanket. Then, in it, just beneath your hands, was this pool of…darkness.” He spun to face her. “It had form, yet was shapeless. At once a faceless creature and an inanimate mass.” He pulled an armchair around and sat, his knees brushing the settee.

  Lyssanne could only stare, stunned.

  “What was it?” he asked. “That darkness?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps, ’twas some manifestation of the illness plaguing Noel’s body.”

  “You saw it not, then?”

  “No, neither it nor the light you speak of, but I, I felt it.” A sudden thought seized her heart. “You don’t think, surely you don’t think I conjured it?”

  He laughed. “No, the darkness fled before your words, your Light.”

  Sighing, she leaned her head against the settee’s winged back.

  “Reina agrees it was the illness I saw fleeing,” he said. “She claims few could have seen it as I did. I was certain you would have.”

  “Did she say why you saw it thus?” Was this akin to Lyssanne’s ability to see the Shadow Mist? Might he, if it were near, be able to perceive it as well?

  “She says it was because I’ve been permitted to see your Light. The disease was entirely encompassed in it, and Light reveals the truth behind shadow.”

  “Oh.”

  “It makes an odd sense, I suppose,” he said. “Reina claims I have some kind of gift.” He made a sound deep in his throat. His next words tumbled out as if breaking free of a fist. “She’s spoken of it before, this…discernment…that lets me witness what she calls the King’s Light. Says Light’s the only power worth pursuing, because it isn’t granted for its wielder, but for the aid of others. She insists I’ve seen the truth of this in you and claims my gift, too, has a purpose beyond its own ends.”

  “Do you believe her?” Lyssanne asked.

  “I'm not certain what to believe, but I know this, magic always has a price.” He paused. “I asked Reina about that, as well.”

  “About magic?”

  “That, and your fatigue after what you did. I asked what toll it might require of you.”

  “You were concerned? For me?”

  “I needed answers,” he said. “You weren’t available to provide them.”

  Lyssanne's voice flattened. “Did she satisfy your curiosity?”

  “In part, though her explanation more befits superstitious tales.”

  “What, may I ask, did she say?”

  “She insists your fabled King would lay no such price upon you for using a gift he granted. However, his enemy des
pises such gifts and those who wield them. You’d used your power to heal, so this enemy, this”—he chuckled—“Thief of Souls, attacked your health.”

  Lyssanne offered a silent prayer of thanks for an answer she had long sought.

  “Whatever the case,” Prince Brennus said, “what you did can’t have been magic.”

  “Why?” she asked. “You were so certain, before.”

  “You received no benefit from it. Had you done this for wealth, acclaim, or even for gratitude, you would have taken credit when the healer pronounced Noel recovered. I daresay you thought no one was present to witness what you did.”

  She nodded and buried her fingers in the coverlet, recalling the shock of his hoarse voice rising like an ill wind from the corner of the sickroom. “Has Noel awakened?”

  “Moments after you left,” he said. “She asked for you, seemed surprised by your absence. She wasted no time in telling MeMe your fabled King had chased away the, er, evil sickness.”

  Lyssanne had to smile at that. “How is she feeling?”

  “Her fever was gone within the hour. After another, her cough had ceased. She’s been moved back into her chambers, but ordered to rest. The healer will take no chances on a relapse.”

  “There won’t be a relapse,” she said. “What the King of All Lands makes whole is truly whole. That isn’t to say she will never catch a chill or some other malady.”

  “MeMe seems of the same opinion. Still, she’ll follow the healer’s advice.”

  “Are they—does she know…?”

  “What really happened?” He leaned closer. “Yes.”

  Clutching the blanket, she took a deep breath, but her throat locked around her words.

  “Duncan asked,” Prince Brennus said, refilling her water glass. “He wanted to know if Noel was right, if you had indeed spoken to the same King who holds his wife’s devotion.”

  “And the rest?” Lyssanne made herself ask. “Do they know what you saw?”

  “MeMe wasn’t interested in the particulars, but Duncan had questions. He took me aside, and I told him everything. He is Noel’s father. He deserves to know what befalls his child.”

 

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