“Yes, it was necessary,” the FAE captain said. “Knowledge, as you well know, knight, is a warrior’s greatest weapon.”
“Olivia,” Lyssanne said in a small voice, “what do you think she’ll do to Serena?”
“That,” Olivia said, “is a question for your princely friend. One Jada and I intended to pose when last we saw you.”
“I once overheard Venefica telling her maidservant about a potion she wished to brew, which could increase her power tenfold,” Brennus said. “The key ingredient is faerie wings.”
Lyssanne paled further. “Is there any way to know if she has done this thing?”
“The potion can only be brewed at the dark of the moon, beneath a cloudless sky,” Brennus said. “And the…ingredients, must be freshly severed.”
Lyssanne closed her eyes, shuddering. He tightened his hold.
“We have perhaps a fortnight’s grace, then,” Olivia said.
Lyssanne stood on the terrace overlooking the garden of yet another inn. After passing an hour in prayer, she gave herself over to the King’s leading as never before. Whatever cost His path required, she pledged obedience. She trembled, spent after this, her greatest act of surrender.
Wiping away the remnants of worshipful tears, she whispered the last of her prayer.
“I was right about you.” Brennus’s murmur flowed over her like a cloak of black silk.
She tensed. How long had he been there? So silent was his approach, she might have thought him a shadow. “R-right about what?”
“You are a sorceress.”
She gripped the railing before her. “I assure you, I am not.”
“But you must be,” he said, his breath stirring the back of her hair. “Else, how is it, I have fallen beneath your spell?” He cupped her shoulder. “You’ve bewitched me, and I have not the will to object.”
She laughed. “I think, sir, it is you who are the enchanter, seeking to ensorcel me with pretty words. But you forget, I am a storyteller. A weaver of tales will not be so easily ensnared.”
“Would that I had such protection. I have no shield against the magic you wield.”
“Truly,” she said, facing him. “You must know by now, I have no magic.”
“Lyssanne.” Her name was a caress, foretelling his fingertips’ feathered trail from her cheek to her throat. “Your every deed is magic. I see the light in you. You turn tragedy into hope, weakness into friendship, sorrow into resolve, betrayal into faith. You are light.”
“Brennus—”
“Your courage shines like the sun.”
“Courage?” She had to laugh at that.
“You shimmer with it, even now,” he said. “I’ve watched battle-scarred knights endure less pain without half your strength, seasoned warriors flee when facing far better chances against an enemy. You are the soul of light, and I, a mere shadow in this darkened world.”
“What light is in me,” she said, longing to shatter the self-loathing in his voice, “is but a reflection of the King’s goodness. Like the moon, without Him I’d be cold and devoid of life.”
“Even stone may reflect light and heat,” he said. “A shadow can only consume.”
“I’ve seen light in you as well. Why, every shadow is evidence of light’s presence.”
Brennus stared into the empty hearth, his thoughts black as the feathers he’d just shed. One town yet to pass through, then they would reach Merchant’s Bridge. The sound of Lyssanne’s footfalls entering the room sent ice through his blood.
“Leave me,” he said, keeping his back to her.
“Brennus? What’s—?”
“Lyssanne, please.” Her name was a cry for mercy, an agony to speak.
Her footsteps drew nearer.
“The Shadow Mist,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It reached for me the moment we entered this inn. 'Tis drawn to my thoughts. If I fall to it, Venefica will sense your presence. And I surely shall fall.”
“Oh, Brennus,” she whispered. “I shan’t leave you to such a fate. What so troubles you as to draw the Mist? Perhaps I may help.”
“Help? I’ve failed my family. You can’t undo that.”
Her nearness spread warmth along his side. “Why are you so certain you’ve failed?”
“I am the last of my line,” he said. “I shall do what I must to stop Venefica, but in so doing, I condemn my homeland to a tyrant’s rule.”
“Surely there’s another way to break your curse. Is it even a certainty she could have done so? Darkness cannot undo darkness.”
“There was only one other option,” he said, the words bitter on his tongue. “An impossible option. The nonexistent noble quest.”
He turned to her and gestured to a chair. If she wouldn’t be persuaded to leave his side, he’d share with her the entire sordid tale.
“The last King Xavier was riddled with greed and vice. The disease of self-interest had long run in the veins of my family line, but he was consumed by it. This led him to provoke the sorcerer Blackthorne, though how, precisely, is lost to memory.”
“Blackthorne,” Lyssanne whispered. “Like the people who now rule Navvar?”
Brennus nodded. “Blackthorne was a warlord, merciless to any who crossed him. He stormed into the throne room and cast a curse upon the royal line, consigning us to take the fitting form of the carrion bird that represented our house, until the line should cease or one of its heirs fulfill a noble quest. He left a raven squawking upon the throne with the king’s chain of office shattered on the floor at its feet. A sign, they say, the reign of Xavier was forever broken.”
Lyssanne gazed at him, her eyes brimming with a compassion that seared his soul.
“Blackthorne’s stipulations were clear,” Brennus said. “The heir’s quest must be a truly selfless act—a feat he believed no Xavier heir capable of performing. He was right. However honorable a quest may be, if undertaken to break the curse, it results in personal gain. ’Tis a circular riddle with no solution.”
“But…you’ve done that,” Lyssanne said. “You saved my life, several times. You had nothing to gain by rescuing me from those creatures.”
“Yes I did,” he said. “Reina would have skewered me if I’d let the amphisbaena strangle you. And Diornian, the monster in Westerfield?” he said. “I was protecting my honor as a knight, as much as Jarad or anyone else.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “How old were you when the curse struck?”
“Nine winters,” he said. “Shortly after my birth, my father was slain. A farmer claimed to mistake him for a common crow. My uncle inherited the curse. When he died, it passed to me.”
“You were just a boy,” Lyssanne whispered, tears glittering in her eyes.
“There’s more,” he said. He may as well tell her all. “Once the curse strikes, we become unable to sire children.” He sighed. “And no heir has lived to old age. I likely do not have long.”
“Oh, Brennus,” Lyssanne reached across the small dining table for his hand. “Put your trust in the King. Surely, He can provide the answer.”
“I dare not presume to ask,” he said. “I’ve aided the enemy of His chosen.”
“You’ve also aided me,” she said. “The King sent you to save me.”
“How can you say such? It was Venefica who sent me.”
“The King can guide even a tool of the enemy to bring about good.”
“Would that I could see it as you do,” he said, staring at their hands, “but you weren’t privy to her intentions, or to mine.”
“Brennus, I wouldn’t have survived if you hadn’t been there,” she said, ‘and I do not speak only of the times you battled creatures.”
“I’ve caused you only fear and pain, Lyssanne. I mocked you, I threatened you—”
“You sheltered me, offered comfort,” she said, “the benefit of your wisdom. You gave me strength, yours and…my own. You helped me find, within myself, that which I believed I could never possess.”
Brennus’s
breathing grew difficult. A faint shimmer had settled around his hands as Lyssanne’s words worked their magic within his heart. It wasn’t what she’d said, but the depth of feeling in her voice. She cared for him.
“Have faith, Brennus,” she pleaded, aglow with her gift. “The King will provide a way.”
Almost, he could have wept.
Lyssanne sidled closer to the fire. Darkness lay so thick this near Cloistervale, she could taste its dank misery. The village was so bloated with the Shadow Mist, some of the foul fog had seeped into the forest. Thank the King, it couldn’t long retain substance without a human host.
And Brennus remained free of its sway.
She hugged her knees, her icy fingers chilling her even through thick homespun skirts. Her gaze fell upon the trees to the north, toward Cloistervale. She sighed. At least they’d made it to this side of the river unharmed.
“Are you ill, Lady Lyssanne?” Jarad asked, settling beside her. “You’ve been pale since we crossed Merchant’s Bridge. Was it the memories of last time?”
“I am well. How could I not feel safe with you and Brennus at my sides?”
He stared at her. “So safe you shivered the entire time we made the crossing?”
She nudged his arm with an elbow. “Not the sort of thing a gentleman should voice.”
He snorted.
“You may be approaching a scant thirteen years,” she said, “but I can no longer consider you a boy.”
Jarad glanced about, doubtless eager for the others’ return. Though, he would heed Brennus’ orders that Lyssanne never be left alone. She offered silent thanks for that. When each moment could be the final step of one’s journey, ’twas best to spend it with those most dear.
Much rustling and snapping of twigs preceded Clark’s lumbering into their clearing.
“Since you’re back,” said Jarad, “I’m off to the river. If I don’t wash out these clothes, you’ll be able to use them as hammers in your forge.”
“Indeed,” Clark said, laughing, “that, I might. Only wait a bit. Prince Brennus is down there. I think it best you give the man some time alone with the King.”
“The King?” Lyssanne asked, her breath grown shallow.
“He seeks an audience.”
“At the river? How do you know?”
“I was lookin’ for wood and came upon him patrolling the perimeter,” Clark said. “Never seen him fidget like that. He asked how he might approach the King.” Clark flopped onto the ground beside Jarad. “Said he felt…well, too rank to enter His presence. I suggested he wash.”
“Wash?” Jarad asked.
“Yeah, well,” Clark said, “he looked at me as if I’d gone mad. Told ’im the King’d take care of the stench for him, so he can make his pledge in peace.”
Lyssanne turned away, a river flowing from her eyes.
Beside the River Esten, Brennus dropped to one knee, prepared to make the greatest vow of his life, a vow more binding than any other…a binding that freed.
“King of all who live,” he whispered. “I, most unworthy to be your vassal, beseech you. Take from me that part of my will which keeps me from you.”
A sudden burst lit his closed eyelids. Blue-white heat seared him, burning painlessly through to the center of his soul. Drawn as if by unseen hands, he eased into the river. The ash of his former darkness floated away upon its chill waters.
A half-hour later, still damp and silent, he stood in shadow just beyond the camp.
“Speak not of it, Jarad,” Lyssanne was saying. “His business with the King is his alone.”
Brennus stepped up beside her to reposition a fallen log on the fire. Heat licked at the blackened wood, as Light had eaten away at the weight petrifying his soul—that burden, too, now freely laid at the heart of the Flame, to be consumed in Light’s embrace. He expelled a breath; so long it might have stirred the flags over Avery Hall.
“Are you well?” Lyssanne asked, her voice tremulous.
“Yes.” He glanced her way. “Oh, yes, I am well.” That final word crackled as if it, too, were aflame. Indeed, never had he known he could be so well.
26
Sanctuary
Lyssanne pulled the blanket over her eyes to block out the firelight, struggling to force her way into slumber. Weary as she was, her mind and emotions flitted about like birds before a storm. So much had happened…was yet to happen.
“Dear King,” she whispered. “Give me strength. Let not my spirit grow faint.”
The ghost of a sound vibrated the ground beneath her ear. It grew louder, pounding. Then a swish of leaves and crunch of twigs followed.
She peeked out from her blanket. Something shone white against the trees.
Brennus rose from his crouch by the campfire. “Shining One.”
Lyssanne flung off the blanket. “Reina!” She rushed to the unicorn and embraced her about the neck. “How I’ve missed you!”
“Should you not be sleeping, child?” Reina said.
“I chase it, but slumber flies from me.”
“Weighty thoughts, no doubt.” Reina nuzzled her hair. “I see our night bird is keeping his vigilance. Ever the soldier.”
“Were you successful?” Brennus asked.
“Yes and no. Many forest folk have fled the darkness that has seeped into these wild places. Those who remain have pledged to aid you. Though, I fear I shall be able to carry Lyssanne no nearer the village than the wood behind her cottage.”
“Are you certain you can do that much?” he asked. “Already, your eyes show signs of pain. We cannot have you incapacitated, in case Lyssanne should need to flee.”
“Very astute, but I am certain,” Reina said. “I, too, see something new in your watcher’s eyes, a light which never before shone there, like the star seldom found in black sapphire.”
Lyssanne gazed up at him. If only she could see his eyes thus. Ah, but that light pulsed in his voice, in the air around him. His gaze weighed upon her, then he ducked his head.
“What’s changed, children?” Reina asked.
“I’ve…pledged my sword, my service, my life, to the King of All Lands,” he said.
“Then, you are free, at last,” Reina swung her head about and whinnied, her horn glittering like faerie sparks. “Still, I smell the raven within you, but you are free of a curse far worse than man’s magic can conjure. Knight of true honor, I salute you.”
“It is you who honor me, Shining One,” he said, offering a bow worthy of the highest courts. “I've done nothing deserving of such praise.”
“To break the chains of darkness requires courage,” she said. “I suspect you’ve broken other bonds as well. In severing the bargain you made with Venefica Mortifer, surely you’ve closed her eyes to your sight.”
“Would that your words speak true,” he whispered. “Still, we dare not take the risk. By day, I must continue shielding Lyssanne from my eyes and ears.”
“A wise plan,” Clark said, sitting up in his blankets. “I could carry you off and approach the village by some other route. The road, perhaps?”
“And leave Lyssanne vulnerable? No,” Brennus said. “She may need you…and Jarad.”
“You can’t simply fly off someplace,” Lyssanne said. “If the bond is still intact, Lady Mortifer will know you are near.” She rubbed at the gooseflesh peppering her arms. “Tomorrow, while you rest beneath the hood, I shall just refrain from speech.”
“Lyssanne…”
“It is the only way. Besides, I daresay I shall find conversation difficult, as it is.”
Late the following afternoon, Lyssanne signaled for a halt. Reina had been sagging for some time, her head drooping in obvious discomfort. They all needed a brief repast. Clark handed out provisions, and Lyssanne ate to maintain strength, but tasted little.
Sizzles and sparks heralded the faeries’ arrival. Reina set to whinnying, drawing Olivia and Jada to her side. The faeries hovered about her head, as if in wordless conference. How often had Re
ina spoken with Serena in like manner?
The faeries eyed the hooded raven then beckoned the group to follow them. Olivia led the little band onward, conversing with Clark and Reina in gestures impossible for Lyssanne’s eyes to follow. Near dusk, they reached a point beyond which Reina could not venture.
Lyssanne dismounted and hugged her dear friend, perhaps for the last time.
Olivia took Lyssanne’s hand and led her toward Cloistervale, leaving behind Clark and the raven he carried. She and Jada brandished their wands, creating a dome of silence around themselves, Lyssanne, and Jarad.
Olivia wasted no time on pleasantries. “You cannot go directly into the village,” she said. “Dark creatures and humans under the influence of the Shadow Mist patrol the streets and wander the perimeter. They swarm even the outlying fields.”
“Beware,” said Jada, “Venefica has pressed a number of citizens into service, not all unwilling.” She fluttered nearer. “However you might long to, you must trust none of them.”
A shiver ran through Lyssanne. “What of Aderyn? Mr. DeLivre?”
“We know not where any one person’s allegiance lies,” Olivia said.
“I must know,” Lyssanne said. “We’re near my cottage. I recognize that gnarled tree.” She moved toward the edge of the dome, uncertain she could pass through it. The green lines of the barrier shimmered into view then faded, returning sound to the forest around her.
“Captain,” Jada said, “you can’t let her—”
“She needs to see,” Olivia said. “Lyssanne, don’t leave the cover of trees.”
Lyssanne tiptoed toward the edge of the wood. Trees thinned as she climbed the back of Rowan Hill. She peered around a large trunk and froze.
Overgrown grass feathered the rear lawn of her old cottage. Here and there, objects littered the ground. A faint light shone through the kitchen window.
’Twas passing strange, standing in the shadows, gazing upon the place she’d spent all but ten months of her life. The image of her cottage in her memories had seemed more real than this.
Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 39