by Meg Anne
MOTHER OF SHADOWS
By Meg Anne
MOTHER OF SHADOWS
©2017 by Meg Anne
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2017©Meg Anne
All rights reserved.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the author.
Permission requests can be sent to Meg Anne via email: [email protected]
Cover Design: Lori Follett of www.WickedDesignStudio.com
Editing: Hanleigh Bradley
Formatting: Airicka’s Mystical Creations
Dedication
For every girl that still carries a dream in her heart, this one is for you.
Acknowledgement
First, let me start off with the most important one: To anyone reading this, you are literally making my dream come true. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my words, I’ll never be able to adequately express how much it means to me.
Ser: If not for your insistence on reading a silly little word doc entitled “ReMastered” this story would never be finished. Your belief in me is overwhelming. Thank you for the countless late nights staying up with me to discuss things like practical limitations of magic and flying cat dragons. There are really no words to convey what you mean to me other than: What’s brown and sticky? Well, perhaps these: Sweet dreams my prince; good night my love; I love you all of the muches.
To my tribe: Maggie, Paula, Stacy, Marie. They say it takes a village. You women have been role models since before I can remember. Thank you for the hugs, tissues, huge glasses of wine, and every single bad habit (the good ones are alright too) – they make me a better person. Your support is everything and I would not be where I am today without you.
J. Mill: You are my hero. More than that, you are my friend. Thank you for the love and support, and all the words of encouragement. There is forever a place with your name on it in my heart. This book would not exist without you.
Fran: You know what you did, and I love you for it. Please don’t ever cut me off, I need your smart-mouth in my life.
For my girls at AFWB: Heather and Hanleigh, your messages & massive amounts of !!!!! as you read my draft brought tears to my eyes. I have them copied and pasted into a folder so that I can pull them out and read them over and over. Thank you for helping me create the best version of this book, and for helping me believe in myself. I am so proud of what we created.
For my original beta readers: Steph, Sarah, LeAnn, Gabby. Some of you have been reading my stories since I wrote them inside notebooks alternating colored pens between lines, others are newer to the worlds that come to life in my mind. In either case, you are freaking awesome. Your support and excitement about this adventure give me hope that it may not be completely foolish. Love you!
MOTHER OF SHADOWS
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Chapter One
Helena stretched a final time before sitting up in the behemoth wooden bed. Have I already gotten used to this? She ran her fingers along one of the glossy pillars before smoothing back the luxurious purple satin sheet and throwing her legs over the side. Bare feet met plush carpet, and she padded her way softly to the window; draping a silk robe over creamy shoulders and belting it loosely around her hips.
Peering out the large window she saw crowds of people already beginning to gather for today’s festivities. A shiver of anxiety danced down her spine as a quiet knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” she called out distractedly, still taking in the gardens below.
“Good morning, Damaskiri,” her maid, Alina greeted cheerfully. Turning from the window, Helena offered Alina a nervous smile: the title still sounding strange to her ears. “Did you sleep well?”
Helena shook her head as she replied softly, “I was too nervous.”
“Well, that’s to be expected. I’d be nervous too if it were my life that was about to change so completely,” Alina stated matter-of-factly as she opened the wardrobe and began to pull out the number of garments that comprised Helena’s festival outfit.
“You’d think I would be used to that by now,” Helena muttered with a wry smile.
Alina laughed as she moved efficiently around the room; stopping briefly to ask over her shoulder, “Would you like a bath drawn up, Damaskiri?”
Helena nodded in gratitude, “Yes, please Alina. Thank you.” With a wink, Alina smiled and sashayed into the bathing room. The weak smile Helena had tried so desperately to keep in place began to falter as soon as the maid had left the room. Worry and doubt, Helena’s constant companions in the last few weeks, were starting to creep into Helena’s mind yet again. Numbly she folded herself into the soft velvet armchair and looked back towards the window. How am I ever going to get through this? I can’t possibly be who they say I am, she thought desperately.
Apprehension had her stomach twisting in knots, and her back was stiff with tension. She ran trembling fingers through her chestnut locks while her mind raced through the events that had brought her to this moment. Had it really only been a matter of weeks?
Helena sat back on her heels, placing dirty hands on her knees and eyeing the flowers in front of her. After ensuring no weeds remained, she pushed herself to her feet as clumps of dirt fell softly from her simple blue work dress. She wiped the sweat from her brow and lifted her head to the warm kiss of the afternoon sun. A soft breeze stirred the strands of chestnut hair that had slipped from the knot at her neck. Smiling in contentment, her eyes roamed gently sloping green hills and the wide blue sky that surrounded her garden. Gardening was not easy work, but it was satisfying. It also was a far superior task to staying inside and washing dishes.
The familiar crunch of wheels on gravel had her spinning her head and shielding her eyes to see who was making their way to the little cottage. Recognizing the carriage that bounced and swayed down the path, her smile widened with joy. Helena began sprinting towards it. The carriage came to a stop seconds before it would have crashed into her. With breathless laughter, she waved in greeting, “Darrin! You’ve come back!”
A golden blonde head preceded the tall, masculine body that unfolded itself from the confines of the carriage. Laughing green eyes took in the sight before him, and he walked towards his longtime friend with a smile. Helena drank in the sight of him. She had not seen Darrin since he left to join the elite ranks of the Rasmirin, personal guards of the Damaskiri and her Circle. His sun-kissed skin still held its golden glow, and his emerald eyes had the same mischievous twinkle. He looked larger and more imposing than she remembered though.
“Hellion,” he murmured with affection, using the childhood nickname he’d bestowed upon her years ago. She squinted her eyes in mock annoyance. “Been playing in the dirt again?” He continued in his lazy drawl.
She looked down at her dress and saw the smears of dirt in the soft blue fabric. With a helpless shrug, she responded, “What gave it away?” He reached out a long finger and gently brushed the smudge of dirt her hand must have left across her face. She laughed, slapping his hand away.
“You’ve grown at least a foot since I saw you last.”
She rolled her eyes at the exaggeration, “I was not a wee babe when you left Darrin, it’s only been a few years.”
; “Things have a way of changing,” he said softly, his voice warm and deep.
“Will you tell me about everything? The Palace? The Chosen? The Circle?” she asked with excitement. Helena had always been curious about Tigaera’s capital, Elysia, and its inhabitants. She felt worlds away from such wealth and luxury, not to mention the magic – since she was not one of the Chosen and therefore had no magical abilities herself.
He nodded, the warm glow in his eyes fading softly. “Yes, there is much to tell. But first, how is your mother, is she home?”
Helena’s smile dimmed and wavered slightly. She tried to look down to hide the pain that lanced through her at the mention of her mother. “Helena?” he questioned softly, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.
“Mother passed last winter,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion.
“Oh, Helena,” he murmured in sympathy, strong arms reaching to pull her to him, “Why didn’t you write to me? I would have come.”
“I didn’t want to interfere with such important work. And there was nothing you could have done, besides.” She held him tightly for a moment, accepting the comfort and strength he offered before stepping back, in control of her emotions again.
Darrin studied her a moment longer, “So it’s just you then?”
She nodded, “Me and the horses. Anderson comes a few times a week to help fix things around here, and in return, I provide him with whatever extra food I can spare.”
Darrin smiled at the mention of his grandfather. “I’m glad he has had you to look after him.”
“Of course!” she murmured in surprise, “He’s family.”
He shook his head with a chuckle, “Well, are you going to invite me in or make me stand out here in this blasted heat all day?”
“By all means,” she said solemnly, gesturing that he should make his way into the cottage ahead of her.
“After you, Damaskiri,” he said softly, earnest green eyes studying her.
She laughed at his game, “So I’m the ‘Daughter of Spirit’ now?” She shook her head in amusement, “You’re setting your aim a little high for me, aren’t you Darrin? I can hardly be the Damaskiri, especially seeing as how I don’t have an ounce of magic in me.”
The Damaskiri was the ruler of the Chosen, in very rare cases a Kiri or ‘Mother of Spirit’ might come into power, but it had been centuries since the last Kiri ruled. Helena’s understanding of the Chosen was spotty at best, but even she knew that only a Damaskiri could call forth Spirit magic and only a Kiri could access all five branches of the Mother’s magic equally.
He did not return her smile, nor did he make his way towards the door.
“A Rasmiri soldier never leaves his charge unprotected.”
She raised an eyebrow at him and slapped him on the chest. “Maybe you have been in the sun too long, old friend. I believe you might be touched.”
He scowled at her, “Just get inside, Hellion.”
Confused, but still convinced he was playing one of their old games, she made her way into the cottage.
He followed closely behind her, and into the homey warmth of the cottage. It was too early for a fire to blaze in the hearth, but remnants of her meager lunch were still spread on the table.
“You never were one to pick up after yourself.”
She shoved at him and threatened without heat, “If you are insinuating that my home is less than pleasant, I will skin you!”
He held up his hands with a laugh, “Not at all, merely appreciating that some things may never change.”
She tossed one of her biscuits at him, aiming for his blonde head. He plucked it from the air and devoured it in two bites. Smacking his lips in satisfaction, he asked for another. “Get them yourself, Rasmiri,” she gestured to the basket on the table with her head. While he stuffed himself, she walked around the small room picking up discarded oddities in an attempt to tidy for her guest.
With a satisfied sigh, he sat back in the armchair his grandfather had gifted her mother when she first moved into the cottage. He ran his hands over the well-worn wood. She sat across from him on the similarly worn and faded couch, her fingers plucking unconsciously at the fabric. “So how long are you visiting?”
“I’m here on business,” he corrected, leaning back in the chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him. She admired the bunch of muscles well displayed by, and encased in, the brown leather of his pants.
“What could the Circle possibly need to send you here for?” She asked, tilting her head inquisitively to the side.
The most recent Damaskiri had died suddenly only a few weeks ago without a new one being selected. The rituals and ceremony surrounding the rise of a new Damaskiri were mysteries to Helena, but she did know that when one came into their power, they would undergo a trial to test their magic. If they passed the trial, they would inherit the realm and claim the title. It was unheard of for a Damaskiri to die before her replacement had been found, which explains how that bit of gossip had managed to find its way to even her small cottage.
Reclining as he was, Darrin’s face was covered in shadow. She felt a shiver of unease at the realization. “That’s not an easy story to tell, Hellion.”
“Perhaps you should start at the beginning then, Darrin.” She snapped. She couldn’t explain where the change in her emotion was stemming from, but she felt distinctly on edge.
He let out a long breath and seemed to weigh his words carefully before beginning. “Do you remember the stories we heard when we were children, Helena? About how the old masters had re-translated a prophecy?”
“The prophecy about the Mother of Shadows?” Helena was very familiar with the story, if not the actual words of prophecy. It was foretold that a Kiri would rise, one whose magic would rival that of the First Born, the first of the Chosen. With her acceptance of the throne, the dawn of the Shadow Years would begin. A time when the Chosen would be tested, and those deemed unworthy destroyed.
He nodded, “The masters had discovered that their understanding of the prophecy was flawed. When the Kiri rose, like would call to like, and all of those found wanting would be destroyed.”
Helena nodded, “Yes, the purity of her magic would destroy those that chose to corrupt it. The Shadow Years are to give rise to the rebirth of the Chosen, the promise of a new era. How is that flawed?”
“What do you suppose would happen, if the Kiri was corrupted?” he asked the question gently.
She scrunched up her face in thought, “Well, I suppose she would be destroyed too?”
He shook his head as he leaned forward, “Therein lies the flaw. ‘Like calls to like,’ remember? If she is corrupted, all those who remain pure will be destroyed.”
Eyes wide, Helena’s mouth turned into a small O of surprise as Darrin continued his tale. “The Circle and the remaining masters gathered that night and declared that when born, the prophesized girl would be taken away from Elysia. She would remain hidden, so as to be uncorrupted by the influence of those that would use her for their own purposes, until she came of age and it was time for her to inherit her throne.”
“Imagine if we had known that growing up, Darrin! We would have spent many more afternoons pretending that we were searching for her instead of hidden treasure!” Helena snorted with laughter.
“Helena,” he whispered, his voice serious, “It’s not a story.”
She shivered, suddenly cold; the chill that had found her earlier was now wrapping itself around her heart. “What are you saying?”
He shrugged, “She was hidden, her secret known only to those that sent her away. No one else knew where she was, until now.”
The finality of his words stripped her of speech. A few of his earlier comments that she had dismissed as teasing came back to her. After you, Damaskiri. I am here on business. “No,” she whispered.
“I see you understand.”
“But I have no magic, Darrin. How could I possibly be…” her voice faded.
He moved quickly to kneel in front of her, “I know that you are scared, Helena, but you needn’t worry. Events were set into motion from the moment of your birth, and there are those that have planned for this. Your magic was bound so that you may lead a normal life so that it would be guaranteed to be pure. The binding will fade on your twenty-first name day when you come into both the throne and your power. There are people that have made it their life’s purpose to protect you. I will protect you,” he promised fiercely.
She felt as though he was speaking from a world away. “You’re teasing me, surely?”
His warm hands wrapped around hers, “Be strong, Helena. Your people need you now, more than ever. We’re entering a dark time, Mira, and they will need you to lead them. You were born for this.”
The term of endearment made her eyes water. “I—I don’t want this, Darrin. I’m happy here.”
His lips flattened in disappointment, “Don’t be a child, Helena.”
Her body had begun to tremble. With each word that he said she could hear the faint hammer of a nail slamming the door closed on the life she knew. The ring of truth to what he was saying was too real to ignore, and she had never been one to abide lying. She refused to lie to herself.
“So, what happens now?”
He squeezed her hands in approval, “Now it’s time to go home, Damaskiri. It’s time to learn about your people and what you will need to do in the days to come.”
Memories of stories she had heard as a child came back to her, “Isn’t there a festival that’s held when the Damaskiri comes into power?”
He nodded.
“Isn’t she supposed to undergo some sort of trial of magic, to prove her worthiness before she can claim the title?”
“One of the things you will be prepared for and face upon your return,” he assured her.
