“Sorin's tribe helped the boy survive the desert, Duncan. Blackthorne slew half their numbers, personally. If he dares invade the desert, Ravenshold could be next.”
“Then, the time is upon us at last,” Duncan said.
Brennus nodded and set to drafting instructions for his captain of the guard.
“Avery Hall stands with you, as promised,” Duncan said, pulling up a chair. “Though, I must confess, overjoyed as I am that you are rid of the curse, your feathers would have proven most useful when it comes time for reconnaissance in Navvar. No spy in my service could ever match you for stealth, by day or night.”
Brennus’s jaw clenched, but he continued writing in silence.
Duncan chuckled. “When I think of how many times you saved my hide, warning me from the air of ambush or enemy attempts to outflank our forces during pitched battle…” He sighed. “Well, we shall just have to revise our strategies, eh?”
Brennus set down his quill and forced his gaze to meet Duncan’s. “I have been offered a chance to retain the disguise of feathers.” He explained every detail of Serena’s proposal.
Duncan leaned forward, eyes aflame. “You accepted at once, I daresay.”
“No.”
“You…No?” Duncan stared. “Surely you didn’t refuse such an advantage?”
“I’ve given no answer.”
Duncan expelled a breath then slapped the desk. “Think of it, man, all the impenetrable strongholds you’ll infiltrate! Blackthorne won’t know which way to turn when we find holes in defenses never before breeched.” He laughed as if their triumph were at hand. “Cursed your family with feathers, did they? Ha! They’ll never suspect a bird of bringing their downfall!”
“It may not prove as effective a disguise as you hope,” Brennus said.
Duncan shook his head. “Were you to remain a raven, sure, they might suspect you. But an eagle? They’ll have not an inkling. It’ll be akin to the battles of our youth!”
“You forget, my friend,” Brennus said, “in those days, we were untested against sorcerers.”
“What has that to do with—?”
“Venefica knew what I was from the first. What’s more, even at the height of her power, she was nothing to what I’ve heard of Blackthorne’s abilities.”
“You think magic detects magic?” Duncan asked, sobering.
“Yes.”
“But…” Duncan scratched his chin, a sign his brilliant strategist’s mind was dissecting the problem. “She couldn’t use magic to see Lyssanne, save through your eyes, correct?”
“That, or when Lyssanne was near a human under the control of the Shadow Mist.”
“What if Lyssanne were alone in the presence of the Mist?” Duncan asked.
“She…could have gone undetected,” Brennus said, “unless the Mist had a host to carry sight of her to Venefica.” He peered at his friend. “What is it you’re thinking?”
“Why do you suppose that was?”
Brennus shrugged. “I suspect, the King’s Light shielded her from view, as from influence.”
“Perhaps it will be so for you,” Duncan said. “The sorceress couldn’t see through the King’s gift to Lyssanne. This eagle disguise is such a gift, is it not?”
Brennus nodded. “Lyssanne had similar thoughts on the matter. She said the Thief’s darkness so blinds the hearts of the fallen, they can’t see the King’s Light or their need for it.”
“She advised you to accept, then?”
“She wouldn’t presume to offer counsel,” Brennus said. “She only reminded me, the King sees what lies ahead and knows our future needs.”
“Such wisdom would rival that of the most seasoned sage,” Duncan said.
A soft rap at the study door punctuated that thought.
“Enter,” Brennus said.
Serena sailed into the room. “I must take my leave,” she said. “My guardianship in this realm is at an end, and I’ve long since been needed in my own.”
Brennus rose and rounded the desk. “Have you spoken with Lyssanne?”
“She awaits me at the eastern end of the veranda.”
He offered her his most deferential bow. “Then farewell, Majesty. May the FAE never lose sight of the honor which is theirs, to have so noble a lady as their queen.”
“Farewell, fellow watcher,” she said with a regal nod. “I rejoice that our vigilance now serves the same King.”
The men followed Serena from the room, discussing plans for their own departure. Once Brennus had given Lyssanne ample time for her farewells, he slipped outside to join her. They’d spent not a moment alone since crossing Merchant’s bridge, and he had much to say. Silent as shadow, he moved to the corner of the house.
She stood, small and alone, facing the unobstructed view of the River Esten. How often he had seen her thus, gazing out upon a world too large and fraught with peril for one so fragile to face alone. Yet face it, she had.
How had he ever thought watching her a chore? If time and the obligations of his birth would permit, he could have lived out his days doing just that.
Lyssanne turned to Serena. “How I shall miss the constancy of your presence.”
“This battle may be at an end,” Serena said, “but for the FAE, and for mankind, the war continues. Venefica Mortifer was but one pawn of the Thief of Souls. I must return to regroup my warriors and dispense justice among my people.”
“Is it like this for you always?” Lyssanne asked. “So much loss and death?”
Serena chuckled. “No, we see far more good than bad.” She took Lyssanne’s hand, while shrinking to her true size and extending her wings. “Such as the privilege of your friendship. Lyssanne, you have done well. You had the courage to carry the King’s Light into the very seat of Darkness in this land. Your parents’ hearts would swell with pride, as does mine.”
“I could have done none of this without you,” Lyssanne whispered.
“You have come to the end of this path,” Serena said, “but not the end of your journey. Your task, now, is to discover the first markers of your new road and follow it.”
“Have you any counsel on where to look?”
“Your heart already knows.”
Brennus’s face filled Lyssanne’s mind. She shook her head, but Serena spoke first.
“Don’t pretend to daftness, daughter of the King. You know his heart as well as your own. Only one thing could turn a man who never breaks his word from avowed assassin to a champion willing to die for his intended victim. A love beyond the scope of legend.”
Pearlescent sparks surrounded Serena, and her voice echoed as if she were already slipping into another realm.
“The need for my watchfulness is past,” she said. “Others shall now take up that call. Farewell.”
Lyssanne turned again to the view, until a sudden warmth suffused her back.
“How does the story end?” Brennus asked, his approach so silent, ’twas as if he’d been conjured from her thoughts. “When the villain is vanquished and the village saved, what does the brave knight do then?”
“I don’t know,” she said, glancing back at him. “I suppose he—”
“She.”
Lyssanne smiled. “She…goes on to other adventures.”
“And your next adventure, brave warrior of Light?”
She laughed. “It hasn’t yet been written. Or, well, I suppose it has, but the Author hasn’t shown me that page.”
“I feel my own story began when first I saw you,” Brennus murmured. “My life before was nothing but a shadow fallen across empty parchment.”
“Had you not entered my book,” she said, “it would have closed long ago, darkness blotting out its words.” She smiled up at him, longing to bring back the playfulness of a moment before. “What is your next chapter to hold, oh slayer of shadows?”
“With my family’s curse lifted and you safe,” he said, “I must resume my first duty…that to my people.” He spoke as if he must drag each word
forth. “My battles have only just begun.”
“Navvar,” she whispered.
“Too long, has the land of my fathers suffered under tyranny.”
“Then, you do intend to reclaim the throne?”
“Yes.”
Lyssanne had to turn away, swept adrift on the current of images his words conjured. The heat of his nearness couldn’t dispel the frost settling over her heart. He was leaving.
She’d known, hadn’t she, that this must come? Certainly, he couldn’t be expected to remain in this isolated village. She drew a tremulous breath, ready to give voice to all that she’d locked away in the secret parts of her soul. But now, when the storyteller must share the tale of her heart with the most important audience of all, words deserted her.
“Lyssanne,” Brennus whispered, as if pained. His gentle hands turned her to face him. “Love, could I but rip that page from my story and never be parted from you, I would fling it into the fire, as though it had never been written. Alas, such is not in my power. To do so would dishonor the One who wields the pen.”
“I wouldn’t ask—”
“Please.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “Allow me this chance to speak what I must.”
She nodded.
“For weeks, I’ve struggled with all I need to say. I was prevented, first, by my own stubbornness, then events robbed me of opportunity. I dared not add to the burdens set upon your heart. Now, I find I have no more time.”
“What has put this agony in your voice? Please, Brennus, let me help.”
“’Tis only that I cannot possibly show you, in a few stolen moments, the wonder that you are, the truth I would spend the rest of my days proving to you.” He rested his palm against her cheek and spoke as if in torment. “Lyssanne, I love you.”
They were the most beautiful words in spoken or written language, holding the power to recreate life from cold ash. She drew breath to return them. “Brennus, I—”
“You promised to let me speak,” he said. “Unlike you, I have no gift of weaving words, so I ask for your patience, as I blunder through this.”
She nodded again.
“I thought I understood the meaning of love—duty, desire, affection.” He sighed. “I was a fool. I knew nothing…Until you.”
He turned to grip the veranda railing, as if it were the side of a storm-tossed ship. Lyssanne waited, keeping her promise with difficulty.
“I was born under not just one curse. The plague of self-interest was my birthright,” he said. “Like Fescue’s tower, I stood alone—cold, immovable. That, I thought, was strength. I needed no one, wanted no one.” He sighed. “The disease was killing me, and I didn’t even know it. You were its diagnosis and its cure.”
He swung back to face her, then clasped her hands.
“When I thought you forever lost,” he said, “I learned the meaning of fear. When the King gave you back to me, I learned a man can weep from joy.” He lifted both her hands to his lips. “And when you look at me as you are now, I begin to understand I need no wings to soar.” He bowed over her hands, saying, “my lady,” and kissed each in turn. “To a soul once black with failed hopes, you are light. To a heart once cold as dead stone, you are life. To eyes gorged upon bleak despair, you are luminescent beauty. To this, the most unlovable of men, you are love.”
Tears bathed Lyssanne’s cheeks. “I…” She swallowed, certain she would drown in this well of emotion which had no simple name. “I love you.”
A breath shuddered out from him, its waves trembling through their joined hands.
“Oh, Brennus,” she whispered. “Words abandon me. They leave me desolate, with no way to tell you…” Her voice broke. “How can I tell you…?”
“Shh, love,” he whispered. “There is no need.”
“But I wish you to know my heart, what you are to me.”
“I can see it, my lady,” he said, his voice raspy. “The words are written in your eyes.” Clearing his throat, he lifted her chin. “If I had anything to offer but a dangerous road and more battles at its end, I would ask, here and now, for the honor of your hand.”
She gasped, then parted her lips to give him answer.
“No,” he said. “Do not bind yourself with words. I will not condemn you to such a life, wife to a fugitive seeking to overthrow a tyrant.”
“Must you do this?” she whispered. “You’ve saved your family line from the curse. Surely that is victory enough, without risking such danger.”
“If this were for myself or the honor of my house,” he said, “I would leave Navvar to its current rulers and gladly never depart from your side. But our borders are threatened. To abandon my people or those who stand in the Brotherhood’s way, would dishonor everything I have so lately learned from the King…and from you.”
“Me?” She shook her head.
He laughed. “Yes, teacher, you’ve taught even this reluctant student well. Evil’s sway must be vanquished, wherever it is found.”
“But why must it be you who overthrows this tyranny?”
“Because,” he said, “I know what anyone who attempts it will face. The hereditary leaders of the Blackthorne Brotherhood are not mere warlords, Lyssanne. They are sorcerers. If my contacts can be believed, they are more ruthless and powerful even than Venefica.”
Lyssanne shuddered and drew close to him. His arms wound around her.
“If I could see Venefica’s power—can see the King’s in you—perhaps I shall be given sight of what darkness Blackthorne wields.” His arms tightened. “The Navvarish people are little more than slaves,” he said. “I must free them if I can.”
“When will you leave?”
“Sunrise, two days hence.”
“So soon?”
“I wish to cross the Navvarish Desert by autumn’s first chill. Sooner, if I could, but that wasteland is death to men in high summer. Thus, I have but a handful of months to assemble an army, see it outfitted, and form a plan of invasion. This campaign will require stealth, diversion, and misinformation. No war fought on so many fronts is quickly organized.”
“I see.”
As if on impulse, he said, “Come with me. At least to Lyrya. You should be where you are accepted and loved. You know Avery Hall would welcome you.”
She looked past him, toward the square. “I don’t belong at Avery Hall,” she said. “I love its people dearly, but I am not one of them.”
“You belong less here.” He sighed and lowered his brow to the top of her head. “Had I the right, I would make it a command, simply to see you safe.”
“The danger is past.”
“To body, yes,” he said, “but not in spirit. Duncan and MeMe value your words, your wisdom, your gift. These peasants—”
“I, too, am a peasant,” Lyssanne whispered.
“Love,” he said, his voice thick, “forgive me. ’Twas not my intent to demean your birth or theirs.” He waved toward the neighboring houses. “But you are so much more than this. Those people are so dependent on their traditions, they have the sun in their midst and can’t even see it. How long until they again accuse you of witchcraft or some other foolish charge?”
“Brennus—”
“I’ve heard the whispers,” he said. “If Venefica singled you out for attack, they say you, too, must be a sorceress. The woman you healed has only added fuel to the gossip.”
“This is my home,” she said, “and at last I’ve been permitted to return. I need time.”
“I have none to give.” He took her hands in his. “At least return to Avery Hall until matters here have calmed. Let me venture forth into battle knowing you are safe.”
Oh, the possibility tugged at her heart.
“Besides,” he said, “that will allow Jarad room to ponder his decision.”
“What decision?”
“I have offered him a position as my squire.”
Her eyes flew wide as the doors of Avery Hall. “Do you mean, will he train as a knight?”
&
nbsp; “If that is his wish.”
“But he is not of noble birth. How—?”
“His standing as my squire will afford him what birth cannot. No lord in the Seven Lands would deny him spurs, once he has my endorsement.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It is all he could have dreamt, and more.”
“Perhaps, but he feels his first duty is to you. He’ll never leave you here unprotected.”
“Here, he can have no life befitting his courage and intellect.”
“No.”
“He must accept your offer.” She set her shoulders. “I shall speak with him and encourage him to do so. Strongly, if need be.”
“Would that I held such influence with you,” Brennus murmured.
Oh, but he did. He wielded more power over her choices than she dared admit.
“Will you not accept my offer?” His words hadn’t held such hollow flatness since he’d made his vow to the King. “Will you deny me the comfort of knowing you are sheltered in what manner of protection I can give? Lyssanne…” His voice faltered on her name.
“Allow me the morrow, at least, to consider it?”
“I can deny you nothing,” he said. “One thing more, I would request of you.”
“What is it?”
He leaned so near, ’twas as if he swallowed all the air. “May I ask the favor of a kiss?”
For a moment she was too stunned to speak. “Yes,” she whispered.
It began like a gentle summer rain, sweet, warming, life-renewing. Never had she known a heart could hold such joy and soul-searing sorrow intermingled. Then, as if his embrace could convey all the urgency in their hearts, the gentle rain became a storm. She forgot everything in the midst of lightning strikes of emotion, his leaving, dangers past and future, the choice she must make. A torrent of need for nothing more than his nearness swept her away.
When, at last and all too soon, he released her, Lyssanne clung to his tunic for steadiness. He pulled her close, and she rested her swimming head against him.
“I love you,” she whispered. Why was she trembling?
“And I, you,” he murmured into her hair. “I am a thief,” he said. “I’m not certain how much you remember, but this wasn’t our first kiss. Without your leave, I’ve taken another.” With his lips brushing her hair, he whispered, “Forgive me.”
Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 46