Shadowed

by Tara Jadestone

  It felt cold against my bare skin.

  “I did it!” Dillon said in triumph.

  I smiled and thanked him, patting his cheek. Dillon, still standing on the chair, began playing with the necklace, moving the bird to and fro on the chain. I gently laid a hand on Dillon’s back just in case his footing slipped.

  I turned back to Tiran. “Why did she give this?” I asked.

  “She simply said she wanted you to have it.”

  “When did she come? Was she hurt?”

  “She came to us just now, but she did not come in person,” Tiran began, implying that Selenah had used her magic to project her presence. But he frowned at his own words. “I could not tell whether or not she was hurt. She gave the pendant to Dillon and left.”

  I sat silent, dumbfounded. Owen was dying, yet she decided to only give me a trinket?

  I shook my head. “Can you tell me what happened? What happened when Selenah kill– defeated the Shadow Reaper?”

  Tiran hesitated before answering.

  “After the King’s Guard took her away, we did not know what to do with the Shadow Reaper. His chest was severely…wounded,” he said, taking my hint about word choice with Dillon was still in the room. “He was saying something, but none of us dared to listen should it be a death curse or some other spell. We left him where he fell.”

  “You assumed he was dead?” I asked, wide-eyed.

  “It was all your sister kept saying. ‘I killed him.’”

  Dillon had stopped playing with my necklace and yawned loudly. Tiran shook his head and slowly rose to his feet.

  “We should be going back,” Tiran said.

  “Are you sure that is where you should be?” I asked.

  Tiran nodded. “I have been doing better than most of the wounded and I would rather have the physician spend his time caring for them, rather than me. Come, Dillon.”

  “I don’t wanna go,” Dillon complained. “I wanna stay with Duchess Mel! You always said she would be my friend!” He then hugged me tightly as if trying to show he meant it.

  I chuckled, putting my arms around him and pressing him close.

  “As your friend, Dillon, I think you should go back home with your father,” I said. Dillon pulled back, frowning. “Do you not have a story to tell your big brothers about your adventures at the King’s Castle? Surely, they will be impressed by how you helped your father!”

  “That’s true!” he said, jumping off the chair to run out of the room. “Papa come on!”

  “Come visit sometime, will you Mel?” Tiran said as he limped towards the door. “I would like to treat you properly next time.”

  I smiled. “Of course.”

  Tiran nodded and closed the door after him. I turned back to face Owen, who I realized was watching me the entire time. A blush crept up my cheeks as he smiled at me.

  “I can see how much Dillon adores you.”

  “I suppose he does,” I said, looking away.

  A nurse came in, holding a tray of food in her hands. She bowed to both of us and left it on the desk by the bed before leaving. Owen winced as he moved his left leg to sit upright.

  We ate our supper silently. As usual, it was nothing fancy, just bread and some warm soup. But the food brought color to Owen’s cheeks, which I took as a good sign for his recovery.

  The physician stopped by a bit later to check on him and re-bandaged his leg, this time placing wooden splints to secure it in place. I nearly lost my supper at the sight of the dark, open wounds that carved into his leg, looking none better than before. I glanced at the books I had brought with me before, disheartened that nothing in them proved useful to tell the physician.

  While there, the physician called the nurses for his medical supplies and questioned Owen about his leg.

  “Has it been paining you?” the physician asked.

  “Yes, but not all the time.”

  “Does it bleed when moved?”

  “No.”

  The physician frowned. “All right then,” he said, tying the end of the bandage. “I would be of more use had not all the others been poisoned, too,” the physician shook his head as he went on. “I have done what I could for your leg with what little I have left of an antidote. The best you can do now is rest and wait until supplies come in. Until then, do not strain it in any way.” From there, he picked up his supplies and left, the nurses following.

  I yawned and looked out the curtained window to see the violet-colored sky blinking with hundreds of stars. I turned away, thankful for the empty, bird-less sky.

  “Goodnight, Owen,” I said. I hesitated but walked over to kiss his forehead and turned to leave. He caught my arm.

  “Please do not leave,” he whispered.

  “I am just going to be in the chamber next to yours,”

  I said, trying to calm the wild, almost frightened, look in his eyes. He refused to let go of my arm. “Then where would I sleep?” I asked, giving in. “I cannot sleep on a chair, nor is there another bed for me to sleep in.”

  “We can sleep like we did the night the bandits kidnapped us,” he ventured. I felt my jaw drop. But he was tied up against a tree then, and now...I could not finish the thought.

  “Owen,” I started.

  “Please,” he whispered. “I cannot bear to part from you.” I stared at him, trying to rationalize why he was so desperate for me to stay. But neither could I think of any reason I should not stay with him.

  “The bed is far too narrow for us to sleep in without injuring your leg,” I told him, “So, I will sleep on the floor if you are sure you do not want me to leave.” Owen looked away, silent. I smiled a little. “you do not have to feel guilty about it, Owen, sleeping on floors is not something new for me.” I briefly laid my hand on his before exiting to ask one of the nurses for a makeshift bed.

  The bedding was from one of the collapsed sleeping chambers, but it was not too difficult to sleep on. When I had finished laying it down, Owen spoke.

  “Melanie, when have you ever needed to sleep on the floor? And why would you need to? Was your home in Brassion that impoverished? Your sister never mentioned anything of the sort.”

  I frowned a bit, trying to form the right words to explain it to him. I stared up at the gray ceiling, my elbows propped on the covers to keep my head up.

  “Whenever I mistreated Selenah, my parents would have me sleep on the floor that night. It was my punishment.”

  “Mistreat her how?”

  I shrugged. “Selenah and I fought all the time. Mostly about her having magic.”

  “Why do you value magic so much?”

  I looked over at Owen, caught off guard by his asking.

  “What do you mean?”

  Owen’s face remained solemn, and he gazed at me with an almost angry stare.

  “The Royal Family lost its magic bloodlines centuries ago. While I am sure there are benefits to possessing magic, not having any is just as normal and fine to live by.”

  I pushed myself off my elbows and settled down on my pillow. Owen bent over, watching me.

  I sighed. “Maybe it was because Selenah was always there to show me what I did not have, that I yearned for it so badly,” I said, looking up at him.

  “I see.” He nodded in understanding. “Then remember that the Melanie I love has no magic,” he added, shifting back to his original position. I could no longer see him now, but I did not mind.

  I smiled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ANGEL OF SORROW

  When I awoke, my mind was sharp from a full night of rest. For some moments, I lied there, unable to bring myself to move. I had no nightmare, but it was fair to say I had already lived through one. I stared up at the ceiling before I took a deep breath and pushed myself up.

  I looked over at Owen; he seemed at ease, and his breathing was steady. I leaned over the bed and felt his brow to check for a fever. Thankfully, there was none.

  After a minute or two since waking, a nurse I h
ad not met slowly opened the door, peering inside. When she saw me up, she gave me a small nod and entered. In her hands was a gown for me to change into– a silk dress the color of smoke, lightly decorated with assorted jewels. I was confused as to why she would want me to wear it but did not complain.

  She left and returned with breakfast. After taking it away, she sat me down on a chair and began brushing my hair thoroughly. This time, I spoke up about her odd behavior.

  “Is there some reason you had me change into this dress and now doing this?” I asked.

  “His Majesty and his brother, Lord of Herington, are coming by to visit,” she told me. I inquired her for more information, glad that they had been safe from harm. “They want to meet with the physician tending to the Archduke. ’Tis a meeting that none but the royals are allowed to be at, but I was told you have been keeping the Archduke company so I thought you should be ready for their visit anyway.”

  “When are they to come?” I asked.

  “They are on their way as we speak, my lady.”

  I nodded at her in understanding, but I feared that Owen would wake up to that I had left him, but there was nothing I could do.

  Sometime after we had sat down with other men, women, and children seeking refuge in the castle walls, the King’s Guard entered, followed by His Majesty and his brother.

  King Randin swept into the Throne Room, his voice strong and unwavering as he honored his wounded men, shaking their hands and thanking them for their bravery. He even went so far to promise royal burials for the few casualties and swift restoration of Akron. His words instantly brightened the dark atmosphere. The Royal Guards, who were struggling to cope with their comrades’ passing, finally smiled hearing his praise and recognition. I watched the King, feeling indebted to him for simply making these men happy again.

  Beside him, King Randin’s brother surveyed the men with an anxious look on his face– no doubt looking for his son. Like Owen, he was blue-eyed, tall, broad-shouldered, had an angular chin, and possessed the same air of nobility; all except that his blond hair had turned a steel gray and he kept a well-trimmed mustache that matched his aged hair.

  The physician bowed to the two and motioned them towards the chamber where Owen slept. The nurse and I watched silently as they entered the chamber, somber and quiet. To pass the time, the nurse told me of the current status of the kingdom that she had overheard from the King’s Guard.

  “The Dark Mages and their dragons burned whole villages down to the ground,” she started. I inhaled sharply. Brassion was not the only one? Her lips pursed as she continued. “I learned that half the city in the far North, in the valleys by the cold mountains where my father’s family lives, were lost. But his Majesty hardly acknowledges the damage outside the King’s City.”

  I gaped at her. “How could the King have left that unattended?”

  “Those dragons had them occupied. But I saw Akron; only lit a-fire a few homes and scared the townsfolk, they did. ’Tis nothing compared to what other places were dealt with.”

  I sighed.

  “The town I grew up in was also destroyed by one of those dragons,” I told her, “And it was not long before the Shadow Reaper attacked the Castle. As King, I cannot imagine how one would manage all that.”

  The nurse lifted her chin a little higher and scorned. “All the nobles think they have it tough, losing their precious King’s Castle and unable to see the next heir born, but it will be those farmers and laborers who have truly suffered.”

  “Unable to see the next heir?” I echoed.

  “Oh yes.” Her eyes filled with sudden malice. “Tis quite the talk among the physicians. That Dark Mage leader, he struck Her Ladyship in her lower abdomen and the poison took her capability to have a child.” I frowned. Surely, she was jesting out of ill humor. But the more I saw the look on her face, the more I believed her words. “Of course,” she continued. “Tis why the King must have come to visit his nephew…” Seeing the open displeasure in my face, she quickly went on to say, “I mean you no disrespect when I mentioned–”

  “It is all right,” I assured her, but I was unnerved by what she had said. “I can understand why you feel this way.”

  “The boy was daft to think he could go to battle,” a voice said, cutting through our conversation. We both turned to look at who had spoken. It was the King. “I had ordered him well enough not to.”

  “He has always been a good swordsman,” the Lord of Herington said with instinctive defense. “But I truly thought he had chosen a bride and run off with her to escape all this.”

  The two chuckled, walking out of earshot. I bit my bottom lip thinking, he did choose a bride and run off with her, except she is right here, in the midst of it all.

  I shook away the thought to hurry back into Owen’s chamber. When I opened the door, Owen’s eyes immediately went to me, and he gave a small grin. I saw the doubt in his smile; perhaps he thought I had left willingly as if I had forgotten my promise to him. He was sitting upright, pillows fluffed together to support his back. I felt guilty, although I knew I had no reason to be.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked. He shook his head. I sat down beside him. “Did the physician say how long it would take for your leg to get better?”

  “No,” he said.

  Silence followed.

  “Owen are you upset with me?” I whispered, feeling hurt by his silence. He must have seen my forlorn expression, for he quickly shook his head.

  “No, I would never be upset with you,” he said, absently fingering the top of my hand. I stared at it, unable to hold back a smile. “To be quite honest, I was afraid. When I awoke and did not see you, but rather, my father…I thought he–” he stopped, a hand gripping his bandaged leg. Fear welled up inside me.

  “Owen, are you all right? Shall I call the physician for you?” I asked quickly, getting up, but he pulled me back down.

  “It was nothing. Just a slight ache.”

  “Oh.” I sighed. Remembering the nurse’s words, I decided to pry more about the meeting. “What did the King speak to you about?”

  “It was only talk about my health, nothing more,” he said before looking away. I felt that he was not telling me the whole truth, but I did not want to press him.

  The room felt warm and stuffy and was becoming quite uncomfortable. I stood up and opened the window slightly, letting a breeze of cool air waft in. The smell in the air was familiar, almost nostalgic. The sky was clouded, gray masses that enveloped the morning’s light.

  “It is going to rain soon,” I murmured.

  I heard Owen gasp and I quickly turned to look at him. He was gripping his leg, pain written across his features. The bandages that covered his wound were quickly staining black.

  “Owen?” I rushed to his side. “Shall I get the physician now?”

  He made a strangled noise, perhaps in an effort to stop himself from screaming in pain. I turned away, ready to dash out and get the physician.

  “No,” he cleared his throat, grabbing my hand. “Please do not leave!”

  “Why? He can help,” I pleaded, my heart aching at the sight of him in pain.

  “I need you here, right now.” He took my hands in his, holding onto them with an iron grip. “Melanie, I know you are afraid to admit your feelings, but I have to say this now, or I never will. Ever since the King told me to wed, all I could do was think about you.” Please stop, I wanted to cry, do not speak. I could not bear to hear him say anything more about us when I knew it only pained him more. “Melanie, I imagined us…us as a family.” His eyes were closed as he spoke, but he gave me a half-smile, making my heart race. “And I thought–” He flinched at the pain in his leg but spoke on with eyes closed, “–I thought we could be together, with our son as the next king.” His chest barely rose with every labored breath. I felt my own breath leave me at his confession.

  “Owen, I–”

  His chest suddenly stopped moving and I could no longer hear his laborious b
reathing. His eyes did not open.

  “Owen?” I repeated. There was no response. I looked down at his lifeless face, now truly seeing the dark, poisoned veins below his skin and cried out in sobs. “Owen!” I screamed, grasping onto his hands that no longer held mine. “No, no, please!” I dropped his hands to hold his face, smoothing out his hair as I searched for signs of life. “Owen? I love you. I said it! Owen, I said it! Please, wake up now!”

  The patter of droplets from the window turned quickly into a thunderous waterfall, almost drowning out my own cries. I heard the sound of the door opening but did not take notice. I crumpled against him, pressing my head against his chest, willing to hear his heartbeat just one more time.

  But I did not.

  “Mel!”

  I looked up to see Selenah, her hair wet and clinging to her face just as it was when we had first run away from home to escape the Dark Mages. She walked forward, her eyes taking in the sight in front of her.

  “Oh, Mel,” she breathed.

  It finally occurred to me that Selenah was here, maybe to give the vial that had saved Owen before, but it was too late. He is dead.

  “Why did you not save him?” I shouted at her, tears streaming down my face. “Why could you not save him just as you did before?”

  This is her fault. This is all her fault. He is dead because of her.

  Selenah took a step back in shock, a hand over her mouth, eyes wide in shock. But I felt no remorse, no sorrow; all the pain I felt now had burned into anger towards her.

  “Mel…I…” she flustered, unable to find the words to tell me what I accused her of was not true.

  “This is your fault!” I screamed. “You could have saved him! With all your magic, you could have saved him!”

  She stood her ground, but swayed, as if she would fall over from fatigue any second. I did not move to help her.

  I turned back to Owen, forgetting my anger for a moment to stare into his lifeless face that had once lived, once breathed.