Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1)

by Bridgett Powers

  She laughed. “I do remember, though I thought it a swooning dream. You have my consent, sir, be it after the fact.” Suddenly shy, she lowered her eyes. “Should you desire a future occurrence, you have my leave for that, as well.”

  “No knight could refuse so sweet a favor,” he said, then claimed his prize.

  A moment later, footfalls broke into the blissful haze of their embrace. With more presence of mind than Lyssanne could muster, Brennus released her, save for one hand.

  “Lyss! There you are!” Aderyn cried from the murky void of the world outside Brennus’s arms. “Madam Sewell thought you’d returned to the cottage.”

  “No,” Lyssanne said. “No, I’ve been here. We had…things to discuss.”

  “Ah, well…yes,” Aderyn said, sounding puzzled. “Sure and I shan’t keep you, then. I merely wished to bid you a good night. Kelyssa and I are for home.”

  “Doubtless, you are weary as well,” said Brennus, squeezing Lyssanne’s hand, “and I have matters to discuss with Duncan.”

  “A good eve to you, Your Highness,” Aderyn said, curtseying. “Lord Avery and a few others are sipping flyl in the parlor.”

  “I thank you, madam,” Brennus said. “For this and for opening your parents’ home to us.” He turned back to Lyssanne. “Rest well, and think on what I said.”

  “I shall think on nothing else.”

  As he backed away, his fingertips slid down the length of hers. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” she whispered, the word holding all the light and shadow of the future.

  33

  The Watcher

  Brennus drove Duncan’s war stallion toward Merchant’s Bridge, allowing the other men to pull well ahead. He trained his mind on the impending battles and a strategy for seeing them won. It was the only way to maintain a hold on his slipping composure. He must keep as tight a rein on his thoughts as on his borrowed horse, lest either turn back to Cloistervale.

  A sudden pounding of hooves beat a rhythm of impossible swiftness through the forest beside Trader’s Road. The next instant, a flash of white streaked through the trees at his right. Without warning, that luminous shape darted onto the road in front of him.

  Brennus jerked at his reins, and his mount reared. Once he could again see anything but sky, he gasped out an oath. “Reina!” he said, then swallowed, hard. If he hadn’t stopped in time…“Shining One, what could possibly…?”

  Words failed him, and his hammering heart sped up tenfold at the sight of what Reina carried, or rather, whom.

  Waves of coppery hair lifted from the shelter of Reina’s mane. Lyssanne shook the strands from her pallid face, her wide eyes searching. Her knuckles were as white as the mane they gripped.

  Reina’s panting breaths drew Brennus’s attention, though his eyes would not be pried from Lyssanne’s face. The unicorn was winded? She must have flown through that wood faster, even, than her magical nature would allow—with his purpose for life on her back!

  “Shining One,” Brennus fair growled, “I could have killed you. Both of you.”

  “Do you know me so little, still, Prince, as to think I would let you?” Reina asked. “I am not hampered, even at the speed of wind, by mere human perceptions.”

  Brennus dismounted and rushed to Reina’s side. He lowered his love into his arms, his tunic replacing Reina’s mane in her clasping fingers. When he set her on her feet, she was unsteady, so he held her a bit longer.

  “What’s amiss, love,” he asked, “that you should risk such harm?”

  Lyssanne parted her lips, her breaths coming in short bursts.

  “I found her running through the wood behind her cottage,” Reina said.

  “Running?” Brennus asked, all senses in sharpest focus. He held Lyssanne apart to peer into her face. “Is there danger? Were you harmed?”

  She shook her head.

  “Fear not, Knight of the King,” Reina said, chuckling. “All is as it should be. When I asked her reason for haste, Lyssanne gasped out your name. I understood at once.” She whinnied. “It took all the considerable speed I could muster to catch you before you crossed that river.”

  “You’ve ridden to shame the wind, my lady,” he murmured, smoothing Lyssanne’s hair. “Why?”

  “I…I had to…” Lyssanne said, still winded.

  “Catch your breath, love. There is time.” For her, he would create time, itself, if need be.

  The faint thud of more hooves drifted to Brennus’s hearing. He glanced back along Trader’s Road. A lone figure galloped toward them.

  “Jarad?” he called.

  “Jarad?” Lyssanne said. “How? I left word…with Mr. DeLivre…not an hour ago.”

  “Followed you,” Jarad said, reining in. “Figured you’d be sad today, so I started for the cottage. You rushed past me in the square but didn’t see me. I heard you tell Mr. DeLivre you were going with Prince Brennus, so I ran to get my horse.”

  “Is he right, Lyssanne?” Brennus asked, hardly daring to hope. “Have you decided to accompany me to Avery Hall?”

  “There and beyond,” she said. “You’ve been with me through all my battles, how can I do less?”

  “Beyond?” The word dropped upon his heart like the landslide in Stupasce. “No, I will not take you into harm’s way. A battlefield is no place for you.”

  She lifted her fingers to his lips, stretching her arm to its fullest length to reach them. “I wouldn't presume to venture so far. I should only get in your way or endanger you and your men.”

  “Then, what—?”

  “I propose,” she said, “to travel as far as you deem safe, to remain close to you for however long I may. Brennus, ’tis my desire to be at hand when you’ve gained your victory, as you were for me.”

  “Such courage,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms. “What of your home?”

  “Home is the King’s presence,” she said. “Home is Jarad and Reina, and home is you.” She rested her head against him. “You, who have watched me and watched over me far longer than I knew. I cannot imagine a life without your eyes upon me.”

  They stood locked in that embrace until Brennus could again find voice. “Have you come for Lyssanne,” he asked Jarad, “or is it your intent to accept my offer?”

  Jarad shook his head, fighting to steady his frisking mount. “I thought, since I said no…”

  “Your reasons for refusal only prove you worthy. The position is yours, if you wish it.”

  “I—I do.”

  “Then,” Brennus said. “You shall, henceforth, be named Jarad Stalwart, squire of Ravenshold.”

  “I’ve never had a proper surname,” Jarad said, fidgeting nearly as much as his horse. “Didn’t know being a squire made you worthy of one.”

  Lyssanne looked up at Brennus as if he’d just given her a palace. “That is a wondrous gift,” she said, then turned to Jarad. “A name most fitting, but Jarad, our worth is not defined by what we do; rather, how we live.”

  Jarad ducked his head. “I know.”

  “You shall both accompany me as far as Ravenshold,” Brennus said. “I must stop at my family’s holding to gather additional troops and supplies before crossing into Navvar, and to inform my grandmother that her dearest wish has come to pass.” He cupped Lyssanne’s cheek. “You will be safe there until Jarad and I return.”

  “I shall be honored to meet your lady grandmother,” Lyssanne said.

  “She will adore you.” He smiled down at her. “Once she discovers your role in removing the curse from Xavier blood, she’ll doubtless loose all her formidable ire upon me, should I bring so much as a frown to your lips.”

  The corners of Lyssanne’s mouth twitched.

  “I shouldn’t allow you to do this,” he said. “There will be dangers, even along the way to Ravenshold.”

  “Things more dangerous than that Diornian? Or Lady Mortifer?” Lyssanne said. She rested a hand against his forearm. “More dangerous than you?”

  A
shaky laugh forced its way up through his chest. “I don’t know.”

  “Well,” Lyssanne said, “I shall have you to look after me. And this time, we are both armed with the certainty that you will be only my protector, not my peril.”

  “Never doubt it,” Brennus said, tightening his hold.

  “Two truths are forever unshakable in my mind,” she said. “The love of the King and the goodness of your heart.”

  In a thousand lifetimes, were he to free a hundred lands, Brennus could never merit the favor of this woman. Light’s Grace, indeed. He would gladly spend every moment left to him in the attempt to become worthy of her.

  “One thing remains before we set out,” he said, stepping back a pace. He drew his sword and let its tip hover just above her left shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” Jarad shouted.

  Lyssanne merely stared up at him with wide, trusting eyes.

  Smiling, Brennus tapped her shoulder twice with the flat of his blade then repeated the gesture on the other side. “I, rightful Crown Prince of Navvar and knight of Lyrya,” he said, “hereby declare you, Lyssanne, Lady of Ravenshold.” He sheathed his sword. “All lands and property assigned to the title of Ravenshold are now yours in perpetuity, along with the standing of Lady of the Realm, both in Lyrya and Navvar. Such standing is recognized throughout the Seven Lands.”

  Lyssanne’s eyes widened further, and her lips parted in a silent o.

  He swept her a low bow. When he straightened, a shrug and self-mocking smile replaced the formality of the previous moment.

  “In truth, Ravenshold isn’t much more than a rock-strewn bit of land, bordering Lyrya and Navvar,” he said, “but this will give you proper standing in both realms, regardless of my battle’s outcome. Either way the war falls, you’ll need it.”

  “Y-you cannot, surely, be offering me your lands, your birthright?” she said.

  “My birthright is Navvar,” he said. “Lyssanne, I offer what must fall to another, regardless this war’s conclusion. If I survive, I shall make my home in the palace of Navvar, not Ravenshold.” He took her hand. “If I do not—”

  “Don’t speak of it,” she said.

  “If I do not,” he insisted, “my people will be left without a family to serve. If the title isn’t passed on, the lands will be forfeit to whichever realm manages to take them first. My people will have no home, no livelihood.”

  Compassion filled her eyes, cementing his resolve. That she could experience such empathy for a people she’d never known, made his choice all the clearer.

  “Lyssanne,” he said, sensing her protest before she could utter it. “I can think of no other in whose hands I would entrust their welfare. My steward is an honest man and can assist you in the running of the household and lands.” He lifted her hand by the fingertips in a courtly gesture of request. “Will you accept my gift? My people need you.” He sighed. “I need you.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “All I ask,” he said, compelled to dispense with this one remaining formality, “is that my lady grandmother be permitted to live out her days at the estate.”

  “Of course,” she said, one brow raised as if to question why he needed ask. “’Tis her home, not mine. Though, if it were otherwise, I would answer the same.”

  Brennus nodded. “You must understand, this is not yet a request for your hand. Nor shall I ask such until I have something more to offer you than battles. But know this,” he vowed, “should I survive, I shall have no other as my wife.”

  “Then,” Lyssanne said, her voice tight, “my heart and hand shall await your return and your proposal. For, both are yours, now and forevermore.”

  “Does this mean you’re betrothed?” Jarad asked.

  “Nothing so binding,” Brennus said.

  “I suppose,” said Lyssanne, “it means we are engaged to become betrothed.”

  Brennus laughed, the rich depth of his joy filling the clearing and perhaps the whole wood. “Diplomacy, it seems,” he said, “is as inherent in you as the King’s Light. Should I be victorious, you will grace Navvar as a truly remarkable queen.”

  Jarad snorted. “I wonder what Councilman Ratomer would say to that.”

  Perhaps sensing a kindred spirit, the boy’s horse imitated his snort.

  They burst into laughter, Reina’s, loudest of all.

  “And what is to be your path, Shining One?” Brennus asked. “We four have so long traveled together, it would seem amiss, were you not among us.”

  “Did you not say you’d left a carriage across yon bridge?” Reina asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “though I am not certain we shall find it awaiting our return.”

  “Then,” said Reina, “I offer Lyssanne her accustomed seat. Should your carriage not be where you left it, the offer shall stand until she has no further need. Beyond that, none but the King can know.”

  Before taking up the reins for this, the final path they were certain to travel together, the four companions turned to face Cloistervale. The village had marked the beginning and end of the shared road that had changed each of them forever.

  Rising morning light glittered off the River Esten, leaves swayed to the dance of spring air, and Reina’s horn shone silver. Yet, Brennus’s watchful eyes beheld nothing but Lyssanne. For, all other radiance, however it might dazzle, was the mere shadow of flame next to the Light of his beloved and her King.

  THE END

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  To Mom, faithful companion through all my journeys. Thanks for always helping me find my way out of the Shadow Mist.

  For Avery and Xavier, who insisted that I never stop making up stories.

  Cast of Characters

  Major Characters: (in order of appearance)

  Noire: a raven on a quest to break a family curse and free his people from tyranny

  Lyssanne Caelestis: village teacher in Cloistervale, Lastarra

  Jarad: an orphan boy from Cloistervale, one of Lyssanne’s students.

  Lady Venefica Mortifer: Keeper of the Shadow Mist, last descendant of Cloistervale’s nobility

  Sir Brennus Xavier: a disillusioned knight in service to no realm.

  Citizens of Cloistervale:

  Madam Blythe: nervous mother of six, including twins who love Lyssanne’s tales.

  Brianne & Lysander Caelestis (deceased): Lyssanne’s parents. (mentioned)

  Kevan Clayton: grain farmer/wood carver, Aderyn’s suitor.

  Mr. & Madam Colby: an older couple who look after the orphans.

  Mr. Cutler: the butcher.

  Mr. Gierre DeLivre: scribe originally from Lyrya, Lyssanne’s mentor.

  Mistress Evlia: village healer.

  The Furins: (Hugo & Teremiah): feuding father and son. (mentioned)

  Mr. Irvin: vegetable farmer whose land borders that of Mr. Riles.

  Mr. Murrough: village miller.

  Madam Murrough: sister to Mr. Whiskin.

  Elaiza Murrough: miller’s six-year- old daughter.

  Elward Murrough: miller’s son, in his early teens.

  Madam Nettleworth: sour-faced elderly farmer’s wife.

  Niklette: nearly grown orphan girl, takes over teaching during Lyssanne’s illness.

  Councilman Ratomer: second-highest ranking member of the Council of Cloistervale.

  Mr. Riles: farmer attacked by the Shadow Mist while plowing. His lands border those of M
r. Irvin.

  Madam Sewell: weaver, seamstress, and chief gossip.

  Chief Councilman Torin: Head of the ruling Council of Cloistervale.

  Madam Torin: Chief Councilman’s wife.

  Aderyn Torin: Chief Councilman’s daughter, Lyssanne’s dearest friend, the beauty of the village.

  Adalbin Torin: Chief Councilman’s son, farmer.

  Arron Torin: one of Adalbin’s teenaged sons.

  Mr. Whiskin: village baker,

  Gavan Whiskin: baker’s son, age eight.

  Mistress Flora Whitfield: chandler who specializes in scented candles and soaps. (mentioned)

  Willem: Village carpenter, and Aderyn’s suitor.

  Faeries:

  Alvar: captain of an attack forces detail in the Offensive Warfare branch of FAE Division.

  Cusith: Alvar’s giant, green faerie dog.

  Jada: warrior faerie, Olivia’s subordinate.

  Olivia: captain of Protection Detail in the Royal Elfin Army, FAE division. (Faeries Against Evil)

  Princess Tria (deceased): daughter of the queen. (mentioned)

  Miscellaneous:

  Brija Vivva-Beh: Innkeeper of Fields End, Westerfield.

  Luteson: king of Lyrya. (mentioned)

  Magda: elderly maidservant of Venefica Mortifer.