This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, either living or deceased, is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Copyright © 2019 Sonya M. Black
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7337393-1-3
ISBN-10: 1-7337393-1-9
To all who believe that dragons are real and unicorns are evil, I love you.
Map
Prologue
Chapter 1
Ris
Chapter 2
Michel
Chapter 3
Ris
Chapter 4
Aeron
Chapter 5
Bran
Chapter 6
Ris
Chapter 7
Michel
Chapter 8
Ris
Chapter 9
Aeron
Chapter 10
Bran
Chapter 11
Ris
Chapter 12
Michel
Chapter 13
Ris
Chapter 14
Aeron
Chapter 15
Bran
Chapter 16
Ris
Chapter 17
Michel
Chapter 18
Ris
Chapter 19
Bran
Chapter 20
Aeron
Chapter 21
Ris
Chapter 22
Michel
Chapter 23
Ris
Chapter 24
Aeron
Chapter 25
Bran
Chapter 26
Ris
Chapter 27
Michel
Chapter 28
Ris
Chapter 29
Aeron
Chapter 30
Bran
Chapter 31
Finale
Chapter 32
Ris
Acknowledgements
About the Author
More Books
Light, help us all! Why did the Lady of Light unleash such a foul curse? Everyone touched by it turns into a demon or ghoul. She is the creator of the world. Why would she destroy us?
The Lady and the Darkness walked the world hand in hand as husband and wife. We, who swore to protect the Light, did not see the danger.
Now it is too late. The Lady is lost to us. The Heart of Creation tainted.
Why did the Darkness have to follow her from the Void?
The Lady’s daughters have survived. They are the last of her vessels, but even they cannot save us. Should the Lady attempt to fill a vessel it would turn into something worse than the demons that pour from the Bonelands.
There is no hope left to us. No way to restore the balance. Why did they have to come to the world? Gods were not meant to walk among men. They should have stayed in the Void.
~From the journal of Llyr d’Idris, Lord of Light
01
I am betrayed. I have given all to my love and my creation. But, I will have my revenge. It is all that I have left. I clutch it like a cold, dead thing and hold it tightly in my heart. I cast my curse into the Void so he will feel my wrath.
~Excerpt from “The Lady and the Darkness” as translated by Sir Gwilam Cavanaugh
“Mistress Marissa LaRoche, you have been found guilty of the crime of witchery and are hereby sentenced to death. May you find mercy in the Void.” The gavel thundered like a gunshot through the silence of the packed courtroom.
Time stood still as my vision tunneled and the verdict settled over me like a shroud. My breath froze and my heart knocked a frenzied rhythm in my chest. Dread at what would come warred with burning anger as I held onto my composure by a tenuous thread. Fear and panic lodged in my throat. Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Refused to let anyone see the terror that threatened to swallow me whole.
Light help me, the Inquisitor won.
Whispers interrupted the silence following my verdict. They buzzed like flies on a corpse as they rolled from the back of the courtroom toward me. I stared at a spot on the wall, willing myself not to flinch or acknowledge the people who’d known me since I was a babe. It seemed as though everyone had turned against me. I wanted to be anywhere else, but instead I sat in the accused’s box, sentenced to death for a crime I hadn’t committed.
Townsfolk packed the benches to watch the spectacle, and the stuffy room reeked of stale sweat and overly sweet perfume. Women huddled like gossiping hens in their bustles and lace trimmed dresses. All starch and feathers with no substance. Men in their finest suits, their faces shiny and clean, the buttons on their waistcoats polished. They stared at me with eyes that said they were glad for the verdict. It felt like a festival and I was the main attraction. The mayor could have sold tickets and made a hundred ara.
“A waste. She’s food for the fishes now.” This from the miller who had begged me for a fertility charm to help his wife conceive.
Twenty-eight years of living beside them and they believed the lies. Betrayal bubbled beneath the surface of my detached facade, and I pressed my lips together to keep myself from screaming. It wasn’t fair. How could they believe the Inquisitor?
“Our sweet Ris convicted of witchery?” The blacksmith whispered loudly to his wife. “As if she’d cast a curse to make Count Allard fall in love with her.”
Maybe I had misjudged some of them. Maybe a few were still on my side.
The injustice of the situation caused my anger to bubble close to the surface, but I pushed it down. I was no witch, dealing in death magic and curses. I was a healer and my payment for helping the good folk of Greendale was a death sentence. The verdict was no surprise to me. I’d expected it. The Inquisitor had the town and the judge firmly in his grip.
“This is wrong.” A woman in the front row shook her head and the peacock feathers on her large hat bobbed up and down. “Master d’Idris will be furious when he finds out. Shame he’s not here.”
“Aye,” her companion said. “He might’ve stopped this nonsense.”
The murmurs washed over me until they were nothing but a dull hiss in the background. My defiance lodged in my throat as unshed tears pressed against my eyes. I wanted to fling my anger at the people of Greendale; they were so easily misled by the Inquisitor.
Not that the truth would save me.
How had Bran let it go this far? Where was he? Where was Aeron? The Bastion had called my Shield and Cloak, leaving me vulnerable. Was this planned? Did the Bastion know my secret? Were they using the Inquisitor as a tool to get to me?
I swallowed the bitter taste of betrayal, knowing it hadn’t been Bran or Aeron’s fault, and held tight to the slim hope they would still come for me, though it was likely they’d arrive too late.
The Inquisitor’s chilling black eyes met mine from across the courtroom, and his charming smile made me shiver. He tipped his head slightly.
Fear swallowed my anger whole and left me cold. My body tensed as I held his gaze. I may have been sentenced to death, but that didn’t mean I had given up. I would find a way to kill him for what he’d done to me. I forced myself to breathe and bow my head in return, an acknowledgment of his victory.
A thr
oat cleared, and I looked up into the scowling face of Guardsman Prachett. His broad shoulders looked broader in the formal black wool great coat. I stared at the polished brass buttons that ran in twin lines from collar to waist. I didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. It’s all I’d seen for the last eight weeks. I couldn’t face more of it. Pity was the last thing I needed.
He held out a set of manacles, and I offered my wrists. His gentle touch provided little comfort as he closed the metal bracelets with an audible click. I glanced up and noticed that he avoided looking at my hands.
No surprise there. I avoided looking at my mangled digits as well.
Greendale Guardsmen were not familiar with torture. That was solely the province of the Inquisitor. He had broken my fingers one by one the second night of my arrest. He claimed it was to prevent me from hexing another poor soul. I hadn’t believed him since he’d done it after I’d picked the lock on my cell and made it halfway out of the jail.
Weeks later and without being properly set, my fingers had healed so I couldn’t use them, but they were the least of my problems. The silver collar that circled my throat prevented me from accessing magic. All part of the Inquisitor’s attempt to break me. It had nearly worked. It still might if I couldn’t find a way to escape.
“Are you ready, Mistress LaRoche?” Guardsman Prachett held the swinging gate to my box open as I stepped off the raised platform onto the parquet floor. He offered his arm, a gentlemanly gesture that touched me. He had no cause to treat me like a lady after the sentencing, but he had a good heart.
I took a deep breath and steeled myself before I set my hand on his arm. He led me through the crowded courtroom past the townsfolk. Their eyes followed me. The poisonous touch of their rabid gazes caused my skin to crawl. I kept my eyes locked on the face of the Lady carved above the exit. My secrets were linked to her, and I refused to go to my death cowering. I would find a way out of this.
The crowd pushed toward me, but a handful of Guardsmen kept them at bay, and the frustrated growl of their voices died as the door swung shut.
My boot heels clicked on the marble floor of the empty foyer. “Where is everyone?”
“Inside the courtroom,” Prachett replied. “Inquisitor’s orders.”
“Ah, no timely escape into the crowd then.” I offered him a weak smile, trying to keep the bitter edge out of my voice.
“No, Mistress, I’m sorry.”
“Have no fear, Guardsman, this isn’t your fault.”
“Maybe not, but I did nothing to prevent him….” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You’re no witch, Mistress. No matter what the Inquisitor says.”
I stared at the heavy wooden doors that led outside. His words were kind, but they couldn’t stop what was coming. “Thank you.”
Two Guardsmen pushed the outside doors open as we approached, but when we were three steps from the exit, the courtroom doors flew open behind us.
“Ris!” My father’s voice bounced off the vaulted ceiling and threatened to cut my knees out from under me.
My stomach lurched. I couldn’t speak with him. Couldn’t handle the pain in his eyes.
He hurried to me and pulled me into a tight embrace. I flinched. Memories from the last eight weeks tried to surface, but I pushed them away.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” my father murmured into my ear. “I didn’t protect you well enough. I am so sorry.”
A lump formed in my throat. I buried my face in the soft silk of his waistcoat, taking in the familiar scent of pipe tobacco as I wished the entire fiasco undone. Wished I could ease his fears along with my own.
“It’s all right, Papa.” I tried to tug at one side of his grey mustache, but my fingers refused to behave.
“It’s not all right. This,” —he carefully took my hands in his— “will never be all right.”
Guardsman Prachett cleared his throat. “Mistress, we must go before the—”
The doors to the courtroom opened again, and townsfolk spilled out.
“Ris,” my father said, loud enough that people quieted to hear his words. “The Inquisitor bribed the judge. I have proof. I’m going to the Bastion to appeal.”
The hope on my father’s face brought my tears dangerously close to the surface. He didn’t understand. He was going to get himself killed. My kind-hearted father would never be able to stand up to the Inquisitor, and the Bastion would never allow an appeal.
“Oh, Papa, you shouldn’t do that.”
“Hush, my girl. Help is on the way.”
“Please, Papa. Don’t do this. He’ll—”
“It’s too late, Ris. I will not let this stand.”
“Did you hear? She’s innocent,” someone cried out.
“The Inquisitor bribed the judge,” another person yelled.
Their words froze my blood as they spread like fire amongst summer-dried woods. They knew I was innocent. My knees trembled. I had misjudged the townspeople. Somehow, they knew it was all a lie.
“Bran will set things right,” my father whispered in my ear. He kissed my forehead and disappeared into the outraged crowd.
The Inquisitor would burn Greendale from the map. No one would survive his wrath.
Light keep my father and the townsfolk safe! I closed my eyes and whispered the prayer, my stomach twisting in knots.
Guardsman Prachett hurried me out the doors and down the steps into a beautiful spring afternoon where cherry blossoms covered the street in pink snow.
The bell at the station platform chimed the arrival of a train. A bright sound in the otherwise oppressive silence of the town. The prison wagon, parked in front of the courthouse, waited like a fine carriage to take me back to the jail.
“Let me help you, Mistress,” Guardsman Prachett said. “It’s best we go before it gets ugly.”
He boosted me into the back of the wagon, careful not to touch my hands and slammed the door shut. The lock clicked into place with a ring of finality that made my heart lurch.
A scream built in my chest. It had been building since the day the Inquisitor made his accusation. But seeing my father, hearing the hope in his voice, drew that scream up into my throat. I pressed my hands over my mouth, trying to hold it back. A soft whimper squeezed its way past my fingers as tears leaked from my eyes. How was I going to get out of this mess?
***
I woke with a start. The darkness pressed against me like a living thing. It brushed against my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I pulled my scratchy blanket to my chin, its musty smell a reminder that I wasn’t safe in my own bed. Sibilant whispers caressed my ears, and I shivered. They promised freedom at the expense of my soul.
After I’d arrived back at the jail, I’d been escorted to my cell, given a meal, and promptly forgotten. The Inquisitor had left me be.
Thank the Light.
Sleep had drawn me into its dark embrace, but something menacing hovered in the shadows. Something wanted to claim me. Nothing good came from listening to the Darkness. That’s what Aeron always said.
I stared into the shadows of my cell and tried to make out shapes in the faint moonlight that spilled in through the barred window. A puff of air caressed my cheek, bringing with it the soft scent of dew. An owl hooted, a lonely sound in the stillness. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The sound of fabric brushing against stone sounded loud in the quiet of my cell.
I wasn’t alone.
I fumbled with the oil lamp dropping the striker three times before my injured hands cooperated.
“Ris,” a gravelly voice said from the darkness. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
The wick bloomed with flame and caused shadows to dance on the stone walls.
Relief washed through me at the sight of my Shield. Dark circles lined his grey eyes, and his blond hair hung limply around his face. Stubble covered his jaw and his normally tidy clothes were rumpled.
“How did you get in here?” I asked
. “Where have you been? Why did you leave me alone?”
Bran’s steely eyes glittered in the lamplight. “I don’t have much time. The Inquisitor set wards, and I barely got through them.”
“What—?”
Bran touched a finger to my lips. “For once in your life, little lark, listen and don’t ask questions.”
His admonishment rankled.
“But—”
“I’ll get you out of here. I promise.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the door.
“Bran—”
“The Inquisitor is as good as dead when I get my hands on him,” he growled.
“Only after I get a shot at him.”
“I can’t stand to see you like this.” Bran carefully took my hands, and I shuddered with memory. A melody filled the air, unheard by the ear, more feeling than sound. It tickled my mind. Magic flowed into me, a hot knife of pain that ran from the tips of my fingers up my wrists. My twisted fingers slowly straightened and the dull ache that had settled in my hands faded. They weren’t fully healed, but it was enough for me to use them.
“I can’t do more than that. Does Tolbert know your secret?” The urgency in his voice frightened me.
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