by Shea Godfrey
War is coming on several fronts.
Darrius Durand and Princess Jessa, her lover, wait for their moment in the northern territories of Arravan, both determined to make a difference in the coming war. While eager to champion the truth against her brother’s treachery, Darry finds the unexpected respite from a life spent trying to prove herself, a seduction unlike anything she has yet encountered. And as Jessa’s homeland slides into the throes of a civil war, the lure of an ancient majik may be her people’s only hope for survival. Meanwhile, the call of the Great Loom weaves a powerful shadow over the land, and a mysterious spell will send one lover spinning back along the threads of time.
A Bird of Sorrow
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A Bird of Sorrow
© 2019 By Shea Godfrey. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-010-8
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: May 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Shea Godfrey
By the Author
The Arravan Series
Nightshade
Blackstone
A Bird of Sorrow
King of Thieves
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my ever patient editor, Ruth Sternglantz. I appreciate all that you do.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my mother, Joanie.
Thank you for gifting me with my first library card.
Thank you for every Saturday morning trip to the bookstore.
Thank you for always letting me get “just one more…”
Thank you for our long lunches, and Sunday mornings, sitting on my bed and talking.
Thank you for always believing.
For your kindness and your strength.
For your generosity and your fierceness.
Thank you for being you.
Thank you for your friendship.
I love you as big as the sky.
The Panther and the Lark
Lilith Bellaq
From the land of burning sands as black as night,
Grow the Dark Ridge Mountains from the bones of the earth.
A Lark whispers of love and lifts high in flight,
For no less than a throne her heart will prove its worth.
Hooded, she soars beneath a guise of peace,
Her heart tethered in bells and heavy sorrow’s shade.
In a land of rivers and green a Prince offers release,
But dreams of riches and gold upon a throne of jade.
A royal daughter who stands within the shadow of a crown,
The Golden Panther in name is the woman who waits.
Beneath the moonlight, with a kiss, a thread is unbound,
The Lark speaks of love amidst the Loom of fate.
For lost lovers who dream, a thousand years was too long,
For the Golden Panther alone, the Lark sings out her song.
Callous princes and kings begin their deadly dance,
When no price is paid for the promise of a throne.
Two women shall stand and seize their chance,
The heart wages its war for the kiss of love alone.
One bloodline is broken, while yet another revealed,
The first battle is fought where deception abounds.
The Panther’s sword, for her love, becomes Arravan’s shield,
The Lark’s majik, for honor, once lost is thus found.
A duel to the death as rumors of war take wing,
A vile prince is laid low as another ascends.
A love declared is challenged despite the oath of a king,
With a treasonous arrow their dream of peace ends.
A jilted groom breaks all faith with a murderous gaze,
Chasing the Panther and the Lark into the heart of a maze.
…to be continued
Chapter One
Autumn 1032, the Year of Attia’s Spear
The Lanark River Estate
North of Ballentrae, Arravan
It was the celebration of the autumn moon and Jessa, the Princess of Lyoness and lover of Darrius Durand, had never before encountered such a good-natured and straightforward event. The main barn of the Lanark River Estate had been transformed in a rather spectacular manner, the wood floor swept clean, the boards smooth and polished with not a wayward nail or peg. The doors and windows had been thrown open for days, and the air was heavy with the scent of pine and roasted meats, the odor of spices and baked apples layered beneath the heartier aroma of mustard seeds crushed with wine and onion.
Small bronze lanterns hung throughout the barn, and their golden light filled the structure with a welcomed warmth. One of Darry’s Boys, Lucien Martins, played the fiddle upon a small dais, accompanied by the daughter of Raymon Kenna. The Seneschal of the estate stood beside a table laden with sweets and sugared fruits as the delicate sound of his daughter’s flute moved beneath the strings. He had been speaking with Theroux Cain for days about the horses Darry wished to purchase, and no doubt their conversation continued. Emmalyn’s first husband, Lanark’s former owner, had long dreamt of running a stable of prized steeds, and that dream was now shared by many at Lanark.
Jessa’s gaze found Darrius with little trouble, and her emotions intensified as Darry stepped about Bentley and Etienne in search of a goblet. The former Princess of Arravan, and the now unofficial captain of Darry’s Boys, always seemed at home no matter the circumstances. The soldiers who followed her without question were not only Darry’s brothers in arms, but her brothers in spirit, as well. A family that had accepted Jessa into their ranks without hesitation.
Their flight from Blackstone Keep, the official seat of power in Arravan and home to the Durand royal family, was still fresh in her mind, though four months had passed since that dark night. That the Crown Prince of Arravan had sought to murder his own sister was still a shock to her. She was not unwise to the ways of a royal son, for her own brothers represented the worst in men, at least from what she had seen thus far. The sons of Durand were of a different sort, however, and it continued to haunt her thoughts. Prince Malcolm had murdered his own advisor that night, and implicated both Bentley Greeves and Etienne Blue, two of Darry’s most trusted friends, in the bargain. It was an unholy mess of power and greed, with pieces moved upon a board that stretched beyond the borders of two countries. And we are right in the thick of it, Jessa thought as she watched the lamplight catch upon her wine.
King Bharjah, Jessa’s own father, had been assassinated, which had left her brothers entangled in a civil war that was destined to pull her country apart at the seams. Arravan was on the brink of war, not only with Lyoness, but the Fakir of the Kistanbal Mountains. Her grandmother and teacher in all things, Lady Radha, had left her for the journey home, and Jessa’s own majik had blossomed beneath the weight of her need for it. The world had opened to her in all its unexpected glor
y and darkness, just as Radha had promised it would. Not so long ago, actually, beneath a spring moon. And we will have to face it all, at some point.
Jessa turned her left hand over and moved her fingers, rubbing her thumb against them. She could still remember her panic when Etienne had stumbled through the door of Sebastian’s Tower with Darry in his arms. Her hands had been bathed in blood, and at times, Jessa could still feel its heat upon her skin.
“Stop.”
Jessa smiled but did not look up.
“How am I to woo my lady on this fine autumn eve, if she is caught within memories that darken her heart against my words?” Darry asked in a sultry voice.
Jessa felt the heat of her lover’s body as Darry stepped closer.
“There is no poem, nor song sweet enough, that might charm your clever thoughts from the endless tide of strategies and countermoves that wash ashore. I cannot compete.”
Jessa lifted her face at that, wanting to laugh.
Darry’s eyes were bright with both humor and love. She was lean and powerful in her dark coat and red silk tunic, her black trousers tucked in her polished boots. Her hair fell about her shoulders and down her back, the main weight of her golden curls tied with a scarlet ribbon between her shoulder blades. Jessa understood that, as a warrior, Darry no longer needed a weapon—she was the weapon. And yet, there was an undeniable softness and warmth to her steel, and a taste unlike any other enticement in the world. It was a taste that Jessa ached for at any given moment.
“You have no competition and you know this, Akasha.”
Darry surveyed the room. “I would not dare entertain such an arrogant idea, my love,” she said beneath the music. “I am not worthy of so fine a woman as you. That is what I know.”
Jessa’s thoughts caught upon the words, surprised.
“Though I will say, now that I have you?” The quiet nature of Darry’s expression softened with the arrival of a smooth playfulness Jessa recognized. It made her heart quicken. “You shall not be going anywhere without me, anytime soon.”
Jessa’s smile returned as Darry set her goblet on the table beside them. She took Jessa’s, as well, and then held out her hand. “I would dance with you, my sweet Jess. As we should have danced in the Great Hall, not so long ago upon Solstice Eve.”
Jessa slipped her hand in Darry’s and the warmth of her lover’s touch spread beneath her skin and pushed its way along her arm. She could feel her blood rise and a blush heat the skin of her neck.
Jessa followed her onto the center of the floor and Darry spun upon the toes of her boots. Jessa caught her breath as she was pulled close, and she let her gaze drift along the curve of Darry’s mouth and the shape of her nose. Darry’s eyes were filled with fire, the deep blue of the sea beside the intense green of the forest.
The music faded into silence and Jessa’s knees were oddly weak. She felt as she had the night of her welcoming fete at Blackstone Keep, at the mercy of her heart and not knowing what to do about it. The Mohn-Drom had been danced and she had fallen in love.
Darry’s expression was filled with mischief. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m saving the Mohn-Drom for later.”
Jessa’s heart thrummed in her chest and then she laughed happily as the odd spell was broken. She stepped close, took Darry’s face in her hands, and kissed her soundly. She tasted of Darry’s tongue for a brief instant and then Darry took her hand. Darry found Lucien, who waited for his cue upon the small dais. “The Amandeese, Master Martins, if you would, please.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Lucien responded with a grin.
Jessa remembered all too vividly their first dance as she stepped close and turned her head to the side. Her left hand was raised high in Darry’s right, and just as before, the touch at Jessa’s waist burned through her dress as if it was not even there, and then the music played.
They stepped into the opening turn and Jessa found Darry’s eyes. Their thighs pressed close as they moved, so much closer than before, with Darry’s left arm against the side of her breast. It was wonderfully intimate and familiar, so different than that afternoon in the solar all those months ago. Darry led with a sleek confidence that had been lacking in their first dance, and Jessa understood this time the true majik of Darry’s attention.
Darry stepped away and Jessa lifted her arm high, Darry’s touch like a flame across the skin of her palm as she spun beneath Jessa’s outstretched arm, once, twice, and then she was close once more.
Darry’s right leg was deep between her own as they turned and then twirled through the last sequence of steps. She fell into her lover’s strength quite willingly, and without the shyness that had once been her closest companion. The last steps were upon them before she knew it and the quick step turning passed away as they spun as one through the finish.
They stood before all of their friends, their new family, and it did nothing to temper Jessa’s passion in the sudden silence. Darry’s lips were so close, and the scent of her skin overwhelmed Jessa’s senses, musk and the sea impossibly entwined.
“Are you going to kiss me?” Darry asked in a whisper.
“I might,” Jessa responded, her desire awake and alive in her belly.
Darry’s full lips curled with a smile and Jessa lifted her eyes. “I think you should.”
“So do I,” Jessa agreed as her left hand found the back of Darry’s neck and drew her down. She opened Darry’s mouth and kissed her with passion, her hand fisting within Darry’s hair. Darry bent her back in response, and she gave Jessa the kiss she so desperately wanted, passionate and hot-blooded with promise.
A riotous cheer went up and the fiddle burst forth with sound, a reel that sang out bold and fast beneath the high roof of the barn.
Jessa felt the lack of Darry’s lips as Darry released her in a swirl of movement, and Tobe Giovanni, Matthias Brave, and Matty the Younger crowded close. Orlando Davignon reached out and took her hand. “Dance, my Lady?”
Jessa’s eyes found Darry as Matthias said with conviction that he’d been promised the reel that very morning.
Darry returned her gaze, her eyes intense as she smiled in a most beautiful, open manner.
Jessa licked her lips for any last taste of her lover. “I love you,” she said in a soft push of words.
Darry’s expression deepened and her eyes flared, and then Bentley took hold of his dearest friend and danced her away before Jessa could speak against it.
“My Lady?” Matthias demanded. “Tell him.”
Jessa laughed. “I believe I promised Matty.”
The younger man laughed happily and let out a whoop as Orlando grabbed Matthias by the collar. “Dance with me, you handsome fool.”
Matthias slid in close as he took Orlando by the waist. “You’re such a tart.”
“I have a nice ass, too.”
Matthias flashed a subtle and yet somehow wicked smile. “You do, actually, it’s true.”
“What about me?” Tobe called as they spun away from him.
Jessa found Matty the Younger, suddenly quiet and still as he considered his unexpected victory. “Do you know the reel, Matty?”
The young man stared at her offered hand and his face was red as he looked up.
Jessa stepped closer and took his elbow. “Then I will teach you. They’ll never know.”
“I didn’t expect to be chosen,” Matty replied, startled.
Jessa pulled the young man with her as she stepped onto the open floor. She caught sight of Darry as Bentley and her lover spun smoothly near the dais. Jessa smiled as Matty took her by the waist with an uncertain touch. “Neither did I,” she admitted.
Chapter Two
Autumn 1032, the Year of Attia’s Spear
Lokey, Arravan
“Do you think it will work?” Emmalyn, the eldest daughter of the Durand family, studied each of her younger brothers in turn.
Jacob’s expression was uncertain. “I don’t—”
“I don’t give a whore’s c
ock whether it will work or not,” Wyatt Durand said as he moved from the shadows and into the firelight. He was nearly six and a half feet tall, with the broadest shoulders Emmalyn had seen upon any Durand, even her uncle Sullidan. His formal uniform was cut close about his chest, and his white tunic was bright beneath it. His sword belt caught the light from the fire, as did his blue eyes beneath his tightly cut curls of black hair. He had shaved that afternoon, but the light caught upon a fresh dusting of beard growth and turned it gold. “I will fucking beat it out of him in front of the entire rotting court.” He glared at Jacob, frustrated. “These bloody games will get us nowhere!”
“Please, Wyatt.” Emmalyn’s voice was quiet and calm. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” he demanded, leaning back at the waist. “Because of his spies?”
Jacob sighed and sank farther into his chair. “Yes.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be the bloody Prince of Spies?”
The silence was thick within the room and then Jacob rose up, his chair shoved back with such violence that it tipped over with a clatter.
“Listen, you bloody oaf.” Jacob’s right hand stabbed against Wyatt’s chest, but Wyatt’s feet did not move. “If this is the truth, and Gamar help me, I know that it is, then Malcolm has done murder…aside from trying to kill his own sister, a daughter of the blood. Do you think he will confess that information just because you knock his nose to the side in front of the ladies? He is playing a game deeper than any I have seen, and if Jessa was right, his assassin has killed a king. And that assassin was my man, an honorable man who sacrificed his life for his family.”