“Perhaps Mr. Fescue has a book that could tell us another way to break the spell.” Lyssanne walked around the fire to Brennus. “We could return to Avery Hall for a few days’ rest, then journey back to his tower.” She held his mantle out, half-folded.
“Keep it,” he said. “The night is chill.”
“I have blankets,” she murmured, placing the cloth beside him. “You have only this.”
As she passed him to lay out her bedding, he snapped his gaze to her face. She was in pain again. The curse, in its milder form, had seized hold of her sometime during the night. She’d said nothing of it, but he’d learned to read the signs.
After all she’d just endured, she should be crumbling or at least resting in the care of her companions, not pouring out her kindness upon him.
Within half an hour, the camp lay in deep repose. Throughout his patrols and aimless piddling, Brennus’s gaze strayed to Lyssanne’s curled form. At last, he ceased resisting and simply watched her sleep.
She thought him a hero, a knight of greatest honor. Her eyes had shone with the sentiment when she’d returned from the land of the FAE. For the first time in his life, he wished above all else—above even the removal of his curse—that he could be the man she thought him.
“You’ve given me reason,” he whispered, “more than family allegiance, country, honor, or even love of my grandmother. However long this curse leaves me of life, I shall be that man.”
And for however long that might be, he must live with the pain he’d caused her every day since he’d set eyes upon her. That was a penance far worse than any a sorcerer, warlord, or avenging faerie could devise.
The next day, Noire perched in the treetops, as Lyssanne’s party searched for him. Two long years, he’d watched her thus, noting the multitude of changes life and Venefica wrought upon her. Through it all, she’d retained her character—loyal to friends, compassionate to those who harmed her, and above all, unfailing in her will to survive and serve her King. She saw light in places that had known only darkness. Including him.
“Do you think he is well?” Lyssanne asked. “He was more reticent than usual last night, and oh, he seemed so forlorn.”
“He is strong, child,” Reina said. “I am certain you’ve nothing to fear for his sake.”
“Maybe he’s scouting the land,” Jarad said. “There’s no sign of him in the woods.”
“He left no word,” Reina said. “Half the day is spent, I think his return unlikely.”
How true, her words. He’d chosen his coarse in the night. He would watch Lyssanne only while she lingered here. When she departed, he wouldn’t follow. He would fly away—to where, he cared not—but he wouldn’t return to Venefica. Not ever.
His choice would forever end his own quest. His family’s one hope died here. If only he could sever the bond his oath had forged with Venefica…To survive, Lyssanne would need greater aid than Reina or Jarad could provide, but he was more harm to her if he remained. He would not be Venefica’s weapon again.
Throughout the afternoon, Lyssanne alternated searching and waiting for a man who would never come. He should leave now, but couldn’t tear his gaze from the sight of her. He would remember every curve of her cheek, the way her eyes shone in the firelight, the wonder in her voice atop Duncan’s tower, her delicacy and grace. She, alone, held what passed for his heart in her tiny hands.
“Come, child,” Reina said, lowering herself so Lyssanne could mount. “Few hours remain of this day. We must move on, unless you wish to camp here another night and await your young prince.”
“No,” Lyssanne said, her voice thick. “He’s gone, and he won’t return." She stared at the mountains. "If he’d meant to do so, he would have made his intentions known…to one of us.”
He’d hurt her, again. Whatever pain his leaving caused, ’twould be far worse if he stayed.
Farewell, Lyssanne. You will forever shine in my memory. The only true light I’ve known.
A sudden tingle ran beneath his feathers, a pain sharp as loss, cold as regret.
Something thumped on the ground just below him. He leaned forward, expecting a rabbit or fox. Instead, he found a small cask, covered in red and black runes.
Ice gripped his heart. The oni!
Venefica was strong enough to transport them, and she’d used him to do so! Acting as a conduit, their oath-bond had pulled the most fearsome of her minions into Lyssanne’s presence.
But the creatures couldn’t escape their vessel, lest external hands open the cask. Perchance no one would see it.
“Wait, Lady Lyssanne,” Jarad said. “You’ve forgotten something.”
No!
Lyssanne shaded her eyes. Jarad was pointing to a small, cylindrical shape beneath a tree.
He went to the object and lifted it in both hands. Lyssanne dismounted and joined him. How could she have overlooked something nearly the length of his torso? The object resembled a vase or urn, covered in red and black markings.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It isn’t yours? A gift from Lady Avery or something?”
“I’ve never seen it, or its like,” she said.
“Think it belongs to Prince Brennus?” he asked. “Maybe he dropped it or, or left it for us. He could’ve left a message inside.” He stared at the object as if to read answers on its surface.
“If he wished to leave word, he would have simply spoken to us.” Why though, after all they’d shared, leave without farewell? Had she somehow offended him? Had Jarad, perhaps with his impertinent questions?
Reina snorted and tossed her head, as Jarad gripped the top of the cask.
With a sudden, loud caw, a dark shape fluttered down from the treetops to circle them.
Talons of a nameless dread pierced Lyssanne’s heart. “Jarad, I don’t think you should—”
He popped the lid off the cask. It flew from his hands with such force, it knocked him off his feet. Two dark, silvery forms billowed out like plumes of smoke, then flew at Jarad.
Lyssanne hurled herself in front of him. Time slowed, as one of the creatures came for her. It halted within inches, a faceless mass of liquid pewter resembling a wispy, ragged cloak slung over a peg—a cloak with a frayed hem and gleaming claws that reached for her throat. Then, it was upon her.
The claws locked around her neck, piercing her skin and stifling her breath. She struggled to scream, to speak, even to whisper. The working of her throat only drove the claws deeper. She must call upon the faeries, give them authority to help her. She must call upon Light Himself to intervene. She must…she must…
A flutter and a raven’s frantic call reached her fading senses. What was it she’d been thinking? Something she wanted? Needed? Perhaps she should try to wrest the pain from her throat, but she had not the will to move.
Her mind numbed. Where was she? Who was she? A part of her—identity, will—was suddenly ripped away. That severing, far worse than the piercing at her throat, tore a reflexive scream from her soul—a scream her body could not loose.
The ripping within her mind ceased, and she fell.
She lay on her back, her head slung to one side. A cask stood mere paces away. Something crashed behind her head, then flames leapt up, licking the sky. Heat buffeted her arms and neck, as the fire drew nearer. Still, she couldn’t summon the will to move. She no longer cared even to scream. None of that was of importance. There was only the languor, the peaceful nothing, spreading through her.
A dark shape floated above her, stirring her hair. It spread out between her and the fire. A bird? Black wings beat against red flame, an omen of hovering death. Would she be swept away to meet it on those ebony feathers?
A sudden vibration shook the ground under her cheek. A blur of gold and white flashed beneath the bird’s wings. Hooves?
Screeching, one of the silvery creatures returned to its cask. It was half in, half out, when that flash of gold—indeed a hoof—crashed down on the lid, crushing the creature and
its vessel.
Feet ran to and fro in front of her face. A blanket snapped and waved, beating at the flames. At last, the fire dwindled, and the black shadow of the bird beat the air and flew upward.
Her eyes burned, but she could only stare ahead.
An equine face bent to nuzzle her, managing only to roll her head about. “Can you speak, child?” the unicorn asked.
She tried, but her efforts brought forth only unfeeling tears.
“Rest, child,” the unicorn said. “We will help you. Serena will know what to do.”
“She’s gone,” a boy’s voice said. “That creature, the other one, it took Queen Serena. I tried to shoot it, but the arrow went right through.” His hands shook her shoulder. “What did that thing do to Lady Lyssanne?”
Lyssanne? Yes, that was her name.
“I know not.” The unicorn’s voice sounded as heavy as Lyssanne’s body. “She is trapped, somehow, within her mind. I’d thought Serena could call forth the FAE, but…”
A breeze fluttered Lyssanne’s hair again. A dark bird landed in front of her.
“Go away, crow,” the unicorn said, nudging the bird with her hoof. “There is no feast for you here. Nor will there be.”
The bird croaked and pecked at the hoof, its feathers standing out in all directions. It hopped to one side, then settled and turned toward Lyssanne.
“Begone, I say.” The unicorn swatted at the bird again.
It dodged her swipes, each time landing nearer Lyssanne’s face, seeming to stare into her eyes. Finally, the unicorn just let it sit there.
Lyssanne remained immobile—with the boy, the unicorn, and that strange bird keeping vigil—until dusk began to darken the world.
A sudden hiss and the odor of acid filled the air. The raven leapt aside, away from the smoking heap that had been a cask. Sizzling, the vessel crumbled to ash.
Lyssanne blinked stinging smoke from her eyes. Blinked? She could move! Memory flooded back. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before she could whisper, “Reina?”
“Oh, child, thank the King!”
“Lady Lyssanne!” Jarad said. “You, you…”
“I know.” She coughed, weakness stealing her breath. Jarad lifted her at the shoulders. “Wait,” she whispered, fingers pressed to her injured throat. “Let me rest.”
Before lowering her back to the ground, he handed her a water-skin.
“We must tell the faeries about Serena,” Lyssanne said. “I, I couldn’t save her.”
Sunlight faded, mirroring her heart. The campfire cast a glow over Reina, the raven, and the trees behind them. A sudden, mighty twitch shook the raven, and…it began to change.
Its wings stretched like molasses candy, growing slimmer, paler. The raven threw back its head, and that, too, changed. Its entire body was growing into a misshapen…something. Within moments, it was over.
In the raven’s place, sat Prince Brennus.
24
Serpent’s Truth
Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. Lyssanne’s heart didn’t even beat in her ears. Then, Jarad’s cry shattered the silence.
“Shapeshifter! Sorcerer!” He rushed around the campfire and hefted his bow.
Reina backed away from Brennus. Lyssanne levered herself up and managed to stand just as Jarad nocked an arrow, aiming it at Brennus’s chest.
“Jarad, no!” Lyssanne took a few unsteady steps toward him. “Whatever we’ve just seen, whatever it means, that isn’t the answer.”
“He’s a sorcerer!” Jarad said again, anger replacing the fear in his voice.
Brennus lifted his hands out to his sides, staring at Jarad. “I am no sorcerer.” His soft words ended on a sigh heavy as a millstone. “What I am is far worse.”
“We know what we saw,” Jarad said. “You were a bird, a raven.”
“Yes.”
“A spell?” Lyssanne said. “It must have been a spell. Like Serena.”
“Then, why’s he human now?” Jarad asked, arrow and gaze still trained on Brennus. “How’d he break it?”
“Think, Jarad. He detests magic,” she said. “One of those creatures must have—”
“It wasn’t the creatures," said Brennus. "They do not possess the ability.”
Jarad’s bowstring creaked, and Lyssanne’s heart took a pause.
As if in the presence of a ferocious animal, Brennus eased his elbows onto his knees then rested his head in his hands. “It is a spell, though, a curse.”
“Who did this to you?” Lyssanne asked, taking a step toward him. “When? Surely not Seianelle, or those Neigeans?”
“The curse is generations old. Hereditary.” He spoke in the flat tones of one resigned to the ice instruments’ spell. “I was on a quest to free my family line of it. A quest that has failed.”
“You said you're on a quest for some lady…Lady Effie,” Jarad said. “Or was that a lie?”
“I am…was.” Brennus looked up. “I shall tell you…everything…but, Jarad, either shoot me or lower that bow.”
“Oh, you would like that,” Jarad said.
"You’ll only give your arms cramps if you remain thus." Brennus blew out a breath. “I will not harm you.”
“That’s what the two-headed snake told Lady Lyssanne. Just before it tried to choke her!”
“If such were my intention, I’ve had ample opportunity to do so.”
“His words are truth,” Lyssanne said. “How often have our lives rested in his hands? Let his past actions speak for him.”
Jarad lowered his bow but kept it in hand, still eyeing the prince. “Tell us.”
“As I said, the curse was cast upon the heirs of my house generations ago. Once the title passes to a man, or boy, he falls beneath its spell. By day, to take the form of a raven—by night alone, the man he truly is.”
Lyssanne gasped. She took another step toward him, but Brennus lifted a hand, turning her way for the first time.
“No…” Jarad said. “No, we’ve seen you, she’s spoken to you, during the day.”
“Only at a distance,” Brennus said, “in shadow.”
“What does that have to do with—”
“It is an illusion.” Brennus waved a hand. “But that’s another tale altogether.”
“What of your quest?” Lyssanne asked. “Why has it failed? Perhaps we can help.”
A bitter syllable that might have been a laugh escaped Brennus’s throat, and he stood. Jarad’s bow snapped into position, trained on him.
“Just stretching my legs,” Brennus said. “Here.”
He unbuckled his sword belt and held it out. When Jarad made no move toward it, Brennus let it drop to the ground.
“The lady…her name, her true name, is Venefica.” Brennus hung his head. “I sought her aid in breaking the curse. I’d come to understand that I couldn’t succeed where my forefathers had failed. Not by their methods.”
“How could this lady help?” Lyssanne asked. “Is she a faerie?”
He laughed, fully, this time. “Far from it.” He rested his hands at his waist and turned away. “It is she who sent the oni.”
“The what?” Jarad asked, his bow again dragging on the ground.
“The creatures from the cask. Soul-stealers, or so they are called. Nothing can truly steal a soul.” He’d begun to babble, his words tumbling over one another. “The oni have the power to take one’s identity, leave a person mindless. They steal the capacity for rational thought, rob their victim of the will to choose, to resist.”
“And,” whispered Lyssanne, “make you not care that they are doing so.”
“Yes,” He scrubbed a hand across his face then let it fall. “They leave the victim unaware he is even human.” He spun to face her. “No one should suffer such a fate.”
“You knew what they would do,” Jarad said. “You knew and—”
“Tried to stop it,” Lyssanne said. “It was you, flying over us. I heard you cry out. Then, with the fire…You tried to shield me.�
��
“It was all I could do.”
“But why?” Jarad said. “Why’d you bring them here? If you don’t mean us harm?”
“I didn’t bring them, though she used me to do so.” His gaze burned into Lyssanne’s. “She sent the cask by means of magic. Lady Venefica is a sorceress.”
Lyssanne stiffened, the force of his next words slamming into her heart.
“Lady Venefica Mortifer, Keeper of the Shadow Mist. My liege lady.”
Breath vanished from Lyssanne’s lungs. The world fell in upon itself, constricting until it consisted of none but her and Brennus.
“I pledged myself to her service two years ago,” Brennus said. “Since then, by day or night, you have scarcely been out of my sight.”
“Me? You…you watched me?”
“Yes.” He stepped closer. “It was part of the bargain, the oath I made to her in exchange for the lifting of my family curse. I was her spy, but no longer. Never again.”
“No, you couldn’t have.” It was incomprehensible. This prince of knights who had so often saved her life couldn’t be…“Sh-she attacked Cloistervale. You wouldn’t—”
“I did,” he said. “She can’t see you from afar, save through my eyes or those of a creature ensnared in the Mist. I have served as her spy since just before your illness began…and I’ve done worse.”
“Why?” Lyssanne whispered. “What has Cloistervale done to earn your loathing?”
“They are nothing to me.”
“You swore to help her destroy them!”
“No, I vowed to help her avenge her family. I care nothing for her grudge against those peasants, nor did I care about her war with you. Then.”
“What war?” This discussion was taking too many turns. Lyssanne vowed to have all the answers, here and now. She could unravel their meaning later. “Why would this Lady Effie, or Venefica, be at war with me? I’ve never even heard of her.”
“She believes you are the one Seianelle’s prophecy foretold.”
Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 36