Shadaya: Out of Darkness (Gemstone Royals)

by Kelly A. Purcell

  Henry chuckled, drawing a curious frown from the young heiress, "what is it?" she asked.

  Hurried footfalls filled the brief silence that followed, someone was hurrying along the corridor to Henry's workshop. They both exchanged glances just before Bertrand barged through the door. The frantic look in his eyes drew Shadaya to her feet, as she took in Bertrand's frazzled demeanor, she had left him completely put together outside the theatre.

  "What is the matter?" she demanded.

  Henry had spun right around to face him and was wearing a rather incredulous frown, he did not like people barging into his work space like that. Bertrand gapped, he was still breathless yet fighting to swallow whatever fear was threatening to rob him of clear speech.

  "Mi lady," he managed finally, "you are needed back at the manor right away!"

  His expression grew even more grim, "it is about Reeva, palace guards are at the house. They’ve come for her.”

  Chapter 4

  “T

  ake your hands off of her!" Shadaya commanded as she stepped down from her carriage.

  The guard who was pulling Reeva towards the prisoner’s transport stopped and looked over at another. Clearly this must have been the man in charge.

  "Lady Quadin, I suppose?" came the buttery voice, “I was expecting someone a lot older."

  The commander stepped forward and bowed, "I am Deapol, I have been charged with the task of relieving you of your servant."

  "I am Lady Quadin," she said firmly, "and you will unhand my servant."

  "With all respect my lady, I take orders only from the king. So, should you," he sneered.

  “Haddin is not yet king!”

  The man chuckled, “He will soon be, you will do well to remember that.”

  His snake like eyes unnerved her and for a moment she thought of the abominable acts the prince had been accused of performing in the palace. It made her even more unwilling to let them take Reeva.

  "What do you want with a servant girl?" she asked.

  "She is wanted for questioning, in relation to the death of a selection guard, if you must know. Your family seems to have difficulty understanding that aiding and harboring an enemy of the throne is an offense."

  Shadaya inhaled deeply, against the wave of nausea that assailed her, so he was dead, she had truly taken a life. The rest of the man’s words jumbled about her mind, what did he mean by her family? Was that what her father had been accused of? She swallowed her panic and lifted hard eyes towards the man.

  "Let me see the order," she said.

  With a smirk, the soldier pulled out a parchment from his waist band and handed it to her. With her eyes still on him, she unrolled it, only taking her eyes off him to read the contents of the order. She sighed, and lifted sad eyes to the frightened girl, she had saved her only to have her individually targeted. It was all her fault. She shoved the order back into the commander's hands and stepped toward Reeva.

  "Let me have a word with my servant."

  The man who held her took a step back. Shadaya took Reeva's shaking hands and looked her directly in the eyes. She pushed away the raw emotions this situation was stirring up in her.

  "My dear," she said, "this will be over soon. I will go down to the royal court and speak to the prince myself. I will get you out of this."

  Reeva nodded and as she did, fresh tears tumbled down her cheeks. Shadaya's heart broke at the realization that Reeva knew how unlikely Shadaya was to get the prince to do anything. Shadaya turned to Bertrand.

  "Give the man a moment with his child," she said, taking a step back, feeling the weight of this responsibility as Reeva fell into the arms of her father.

  Bertrand and Reeva stood side by side as the prison wagon pulled away from the main gate. Bertrand seemed to have aged in the space of a few minutes, his shoulders hunched with the weight of his sadness. Shadaya lifted a hand to console him, only to have it fall to her side, she had no words of comfort for the grieving father, mostly because it was her fault.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Markus walked into the open space, the heels of his boots echoing against the shiny hardwood floor, with his hands clasped behind his back he lifted his head and perused the space. The tall glass ceiling of the ballroom let in just the right amount of light; enough to see the dust particles dancing before his eyes.

  "What do you think sire?" came the fidgety voice from beside him.

  He glanced in Cad's direction and smirked a little, "it is perfect, just as I remembered," he replied, turning to face the wiry old man.

  "You have done an excellent job of upkeeping it and the renovations are… exceptional. I thought surely this place would be in shambles by now."

  The man's eyes lit up, widening even more when Cad stepped toward him and handed him a coin sack.

  “For your service,” Cad said blandly.

  "Oh yes and it was not the easiest task, no not at all. Not in a place like this. After the duke’s death and the crown turned their attention to the duke’s lands here in Dravia, I was worried the Cort name would never be restored. But if you don’t mind me asking Master, why Arduway? Why not choose to live in your uncle’s statelier dwellings, away from this peasant village.”

  Markus smiled, “an understandable question.”

  He walked around the room once more, hands clasped behind his back as he perused the refurbished space. The truth was that when the king’s offer came to him, he had his pick of property to start with, but this one had some fond memories for him growing up. Something he did not have much of where he grew up. With the king’s death his purposes here were momentarily stalled and he could not risk remaining as a guest at court. Not with Haddin marching around in there like he was the rightful heir to the throne. He remembered the first time he had met the king in person. The man was fearsome as he expected and despite his cruelty, Markus had to admit that his intentions when they met were pure.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Markus enters Dravian court for the first time

  The prince narrowed his eyes, “and who are you?”

  “Are you the king of Dravia?” Markus asked boldly.

  The young man looked at him quizzically, sweeping his gaze from Markus’ head to his sandaled feet. He was dressed in full Ilksvard travelling clothing. A light brown robe, tied at the waist with a white, silver tipped rope.

  “I am his son, Prince Haddin Demeris, descendant of the house of Rad.”

  “I did not come here to see you. I requested a meeting with the king.”

  He saw anger flash across his flawless face but then it was gone. Replaced with something more sinister. Haddin shrugged and walked towards the throne but dared not take his display of power further by ascending the steps or sitting on his father’s throne. The Dravian king was known to be a hard man, cruel enough to cut down his own son if he crossed him. Markus knew that by coming here he was risking his very life and going against the precedent set by his ancestors.

  “The king is indisposed at the moment. You can speak to me and I will ensure that your message is relayed. Who are you?”

  Markus folded his arms behind his back, summoning some restraint. The prince was aggravating him. He had urgent news that concerned them all and he would be very upset if Haddin kept him from doing what he came here to do in an attempt to prove something.

  He had made the day and a half long journey from Ilksvard to Dravia after a troubling discovery. No Ilk was ever truly relaxed until they had checked the signs in the heavens. His routine activity had yielded some very interesting information and as a result he had rushed here against his father’s wishes to confront the king. Not his spoiled self-important son.

  “You don’t understand Prince Haddin.”

  “Then help me. Start with who you are?”

  Markus sighed, he knew that the prince would keep blocking his attempts to see the king. Looking around him at the guards and officials, he could tell that they all disliked the prince in some way but feared him more.r />
  “My name is Markus, I am from Ilksvard and I come bearing news that is of great importance to both us at Ilksvard and the king of Dravia.”

  Haddin arched a brow, “Ilksvard you say, interesting.”

  He could see him looking at his features with curiosity, like most people tended to.

  “You sure don’t look the part.”

  Markus was growing impatient, “Look there is a dark storm coming! You have to let me see the king.”

  Haddin arched a brow, then snorted, then exploded in laughter. He laughed so hard his face reddened, looking about the room. Hesitantly, the officials joined him.

  Markus grew rigid with annoyance. He despised such childish behavior.

  “What is the meaning of this?” a voice bellowed.

  Instantly the room became quiet. Markus froze, he had never met the king before, nor had he ever heard his voice. But he knew that the voice belonged to the Dravian king, that he was standing right behind him and that he was the kind of man who commanded even more fear and respect than his son.

  Haddin straightened up and smoothed his tunic nervously, “father,” he greeted.

  Markus dared to turn around now, as Haddin walked by him towards his father.

  The king was smaller than Markus had expected, he had a frailty about him that spoke of ill health, but the hardness in his eyes told of a man with great authority. He was thin and slightly hunched, his robes hanging on him like it didn’t belong. Markus immediately noticed the black beads wrapped around his wrist and attached to the dull power stone ring. He knew that with the flick of his wrist the king could incinerate him where he stood. Power stones were rare and came at a high cost, but a cost that an ancestor of the king had willingly made many generations ago, leaving a legacy of power that almost rivaled the Aldorian king’s scepter. Deep set icy blue eyes, resting beneath greying bushy brows, found Marcus.

  “Who is this?”

  “I…”

  “This is an Ilksvard scholar,” Haddin interjected, “he has some news for us, about a dark storm. I was just about to come get you.”

  “An Ilk you say? We haven’t had an Ilk grace our courts since the late Lord Cort’s wife died.”

  The king looked at Markus with open disgust, “your mother’s cursed Riboni blood is ripe on you. Who let you into my court?”

  Markus held the man’s cruel gaze coolly, even while his blood boiled.

  “I am the nephew of the late Lord Cort,” Markus said, “I come from Ilksvard. My name there is Markus Du-quenistiamonius.”

  The king suddenly looked intrigued, Markus knew that look too well. It was the look Ilks had grown to despise, it was why they kept to themselves and made no alliances with power hungry kings like King Demeris.

  The king stepped towards his throne, his gait was a shaky one, but once he was seated all signs of weakness was gone. He leaned to the side, perched his elbow on the arm rest of his throne, and lifted a finger to tap his bare chin. Dravians were not fond of beards, most were not genetically able to grow them anyway. And There was a time when that was considered a mark of superiority, simply because the royal blood line was marked by bare faced men. Markus’ gaze briefly lingered on the man’s chained hand resting on the other arm of the throne.

  Markus took a step forward, “Look I understand that you have your qualms about my heritage, but this is a matter of the safety and security of your people. As an Ilksvard Scholar I have a duty to warn you of what is upon you.”

  “A dark storm, you say. We have not had one of those in a while.”

  “They are very rare, they come when they will,” Markus replied.

  “We have kept them at bay,” the king corrected.

  Markus bit his tongue, he knew the king really believed that their blood sacrifices had been keeping them safe from a natural occurrence like a dark storm. Their superstition was one of the reason’s Ilks found them to be pathetic.

  “Well I have reason to believe that there is one coming, and it may be one of the worst ones we have ever seen.”

  “We have our own people capable of knowing these things.”

  “Yes, I am aware of your preference for your magic. But you have to believe me, you must prepare yourselves.”

  The king looked thoughtful, but then turned his attention to his son.

  “Haddin, have you received any word from the tower?”

  Haddin shook his head, “no, father.”

  Instantly, Markus’s trained eyes saw the truth written all over his face, Haddin was lying.

  He turned to face the king again, “Please your majesty, you have to prepare the people. I know what I saw.”

  The king leaned forward thoughtfully, “clear the room,” he said firmly, not directing his attention to anyone in particular. Yet the people in the room dissipated like swift shadows. Haddin remained, looking upset.

  “You too Haddin,” the king said.

  Hesitantly Haddin stepped back, keeping daring eyes on Markus before he turned and exited the room. Markus’ breath caught in his throat, he was alone in the presence of the cruel and powerful king of Dravia.

  “What else do you know?”

  Markus took a deep breath, “I know that your son is lying to you.”

  The king arched a brow, “it takes courage to make such a statement to me.”

  “We Ilks value truth, and if I want you to trust me, I must not withhold information that is valuable to you.”

  “Hmm, you’re right. I don’t trust my son, he is constantly plotting against his brother, against me. But why would he lie about a dark storm.”

  “Liars do not always have to have a reason to lie your majesty.”

  “That is true. But a dark storm of all things.”

  “Have you ever heard about the element,” Markus could read on his face that he did, just as he had expected.

  “I have studied it for years, and with it all things dark magic related. I know about your power, I know how much it demands and unlike what you claim to believe. I know that you know that dark storms come when there is an imbalance in a place.”

  The king peered down at him in solemn silence for a moment, then sighed.

  “Thank you for coming all this way to warn us.”

  The king’s gratitude surprised Markus, “you are welcome.”

  He bowed, expecting a prompt dismissal.

  “You know I could use a wise man like you on my council.”

  Markus was already shaking his head, “you know I cannot go against the wishes of my people.”

  “Okay, how about this? There is a pillar name to be claimed, as the only living relative of Lord Cort, you can have that estate turned over to you.”

  Markus frowned, so he did know who he was.

  “In exchange for what?”

  “A chance to help me… restore the balance.”

  Markus frowned, “I don’t understand.”

  “I am an old man Ilk, there comes a time in a king’s life when he must be honest about his rule… about the decisions he has made. I want to right my wrongs. You were right about trust, so I will tell you this. The element you speak of, after years of being safely hidden, it has been discovered.”

  Markus’ eyes widened in intrigue, “the reason for the disruption in the balance.”

  The king nodded, “it is my duty to protect Saharia from the doings of my people. Will you help me do that?”

  “Let me think about it.”

  And so, he had taken the king up on his offer. But before the king could properly acquaint him to his plan, he had died. Leaving Markus in the prince’s crosshairs. Now he was a Lord, a member of the Pillars with a mansion overlooking the peasants’ village of Arduway.

  He turned to the old caretaker now and smiled sadly, “Growing up I was always here in Dravia, spending time with my dear aunt and learning of… your ways. This dwelling was one of my uncle’s gifts to his wife, I spent many holidays here.”

  He sighed deeply at the painful memory of h
is aunt’s tragic passing. His mother had been so broken hearted over the death of the sister she had shared a womb with that it was not long that she too left this world. She left Markus with a bitter man as a father. Ilk’s were avid students of reason and many sought their friendship because of that. However, despite their intelligence, they had few friends for it was hard for Ilks to make, emotional connections. Markus’ mother being Ribonian had managed to turn on a light in his father that was foreign to most of his kind, and with her death she had taken it with her.

  “This place feels most like home. It only makes sense that I should return here.”

  The old caretaker nodded, “aye master. It does make sense. Your aunt was a kind woman and this estate has paid me over the years for my care of this place.”

  He lifted the sack to Markus, “there is no need for further payment.”

  Markus nodded, "I understand, but it is my decision. I am afraid I am not yet in possession of your currency," he said, "but I trust you will find this a worthy compensation for all your hard work all these years. It is a currency acceptable in every kingdom."

  The man untied the sack and peered down into it, his face grew pale as he dipped a hand into the sack and lifted out a palm glittering with cut diamonds.

  "Oh my!" he exclaimed breathlessly, "if I had doubted you were the master’s heir before, I dare not now."

  "Is that a yes?"

  The old man lifted his eyes, "Oh yes, yes. I will tell no one of your presence," he sputtered, quickly tying back the mouth of the sack, before reaching into his pocket.

  He handed Cad a ring of keys with trembling fingers, "If you need anything else, do not hesitate to ask," he said and scurried away.

  Markus turned to his guard and smiled, "you were right, Dravians do love their sparkly jewels."

  Cad nodded, "we could make a fortune here Markus!" he said excitedly.

  Markus nodded, "if only that is what we were here for," his expression grew somber as his hazel eyes darkened with thought.