“No, Taryn,” he said in a gentle but firm voice. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Brandt was taken from you much too soon. You cannot be expected to get over that loss in less than a day.”
It wasn’t just Brandt’s death, but she couldn’t explain to Rhoane the mixture of emotions that churned through her—sorrow for the loss of her best friend, distress for what she left behind, and fear of the unknown. Beneath it all, guilt at the excitement Aelinae presented.
“Thank you.” She pulled away from him and ran her fingers through the tangled mass of hair that fell over her shoulders. “You wouldn’t happen to have a brush, would you?”
A silver hairbrush with white bristles appeared on his palm. “Will this do?”
“How did you do that? Is it magic?”
“ShantiMari is a power far beyond magic. It exists in everything around us. Is there no ShantiMari where you came from?” She shook her head, and his expression grew distant, as if he were listening to something far away. A flicker of doubt crossed his face. “You should rest while I finish dinner.”
She stared at the brush in her hands, half afraid to use it. The only thing special about it was the etching on the silver. At least when she touched the designs, they didn’t move. With more than a little apprehension, she pulled the brush through her hair. When nothing happened, she continued until her hair hung down her back tangle-free. She tucked the brush in the leather satchel beside the disk and then twined her hair into a thick braid.
The aroma of Rhoane’s cooking made her stomach growl. She wasn’t certain how long she’d been on Aelinae, but it had been a long time since breakfast. Rhoane set a plate of fish and vegetables in front of her, and she looked at him in surprise. “Did you magically make these appear, too?”
“Not at all. The fish are from the river. The roots I brought with me.”
“But you never left the ledge. How did the fish get here?”
He studied her a long moment and then sighed as if he’d made some sort of decision. One he wasn’t happy with. “Those lights you see, they are a part of ShantiMari, a power found in all living things. Just as there is no light without dark, there can be no Shanti without Mari. They are the male and female opposites of the same power.”
Taryn chewed slowly, letting his words sink in. She took a few more bites of the delicious meal before asking, “This ShantiMari, it allowed you to make our camp gear appear here and get fish from the river?” The awful fight with Zakael bubbled to the forefront of her thoughts. “And other things.”
“Yes, and other things.” Sadness hung from his words.
“When you say Shanti and Mari are the male and female opposites of the same power, does that mean everyone has Shanti and Mari?”
“Not everyone has the power. Of those that do, men have Shanti, women have Mari. There are three strains to the power: Light for Mari, Dark for Shanti, and Eleri.”
“Eleri?”
“The Eleri are Aelinae’s oldest race. They were here before most of the world and helped nurture the planet to what it is today. They are caretakers, of a sort.”
“So, Eleri men and women have both Shanti and Mari?” Her head swam with the information he was giving her.
“No, they have Shanti or Mari, but it is different from Light and Dark. More tied to nature, or the terrarae, if you will.”
“Terrarae.” She knew the word. Brandt had used it on several occasions to refer to the earth.
“Mari pulls energy from the night sky. The moon, specifically. Shanti, from the sun.”
“That makes no sense. If Mari is Light, why doesn’t it get energy from the sun and vice versa?”
“Because there can be no Light without Dark and no darkness without light.”
Icy pricks started at her crown and cascaded down her back. She knew those words. Had heard them before, but she couldn’t recall when or where.
“How does this power work?”
“The key is to understand what it is you want from your ShantiMari.” He stretched his arms and showed her his empty hands. With a flick of his wrist, he held within them a small pig. Another flick and the piglet disappeared.
“It is easier to produce something that already exists, but if you understand what it is you want, you can create it from your mind. ShantiMari can create and destroy in the same breath; one must be careful with one’s ability. ShantiMari is first and foremost always to be respected.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he put a finger to her lips. “No more questions for tonight. You have had a long day and will need your rest for tomorrow.”
Frustrated and a little annoyed he was babying her, she stalked to the farthest blankets, not caring if they were hers or not, scuttled beneath and pulled them to her chin, her back to Rhoane. For a long time, she lay quiet, welcoming sleep, but it didn’t come. Too many unanswered questions raced through her mind.
A rustling to her left startled her and she stiffened, hoping it wasn’t Zakael with his terrible fireball. She craned her neck to see Rhoane shuffling around the edges of their small campsite, muttering beneath his breath. An intricate network of lights spread over and around the camp, enclosing it in a fine web of protective ShantiMari.
When finished, he stood outside the lights, staring into the distance. Giving up on sleep, she went to the barrier. With a tentative finger, she reached out to touch it, but Rhoane’s low voice stopped her.
“You may cross through. You will not be harmed.”
His power caressed her skin when she stepped gingerly into the lights. She stood beside him on the ledge, listening to the comforting sounds of the night.
“Tell me, Darennsai, how is it you can see my ShantiMari?” Rhoane kept still, his focus on the mountains in the distance.
“I thought you said no more questions,” she joked. Her marked hand itched, and she flexed her fingers. “I don’t know. I just can. Can’t you see it, too?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “I have never heard of anyone who can. What is it you see?”
“Just strands of light. Brandt’s were amber, Zakael’s grey, and yours are green. What do you think it means that I can see them?”
“I am not certain.” Dim moonlight turned the top of his brown hair silver. It highlighted his cheekbones, giving him an angelic, ethereal look. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “It might be best if you do not mention this to anyone else just yet. It is a feeling I have, nothing more, but something tells me this information should be kept between us.”
“Is it bad I can see your ShantiMari?”
“No, just different.”
“What’s it like? To have that power?”
His jaw tightened and then relaxed. “I have nothing to compare it with, so I could not say.”
The underlying tension in his tone unnerved her, and she shifted nervously, looking at her hands. The silver and amber threads danced in the moonlight. When she moved her wrist, the tiny pictures reappeared. Fascinated, she turned her hand back to front, front to back, watching the images fluctuate with her movements. “Do yours do that?”
He held his hand out for her to see. His markings caught the light, moving in the same way as hers. She placed her arm just under his, mesmerized by the shimmering figures. “What are they?”
“Ancient runes.” Rhoane indicated the image of a mountain on her wrist, and then his. “This is Mount Nadrene, where we are right now, and this,” he pointed to a picture of a large tree, “represents the Weirren of the Narthvier.”
“Oh. What’s a Narthvier?”
“The great forest to the north. It is where the Eleri live and the Weirren is a vast city in the trees where the king resides.”
The runes shifted until she could clearly make out their shapes.
“Why are only some of yours the same as mine?” Taryn held his hand, comparing the images. Mount Nadrene and the tree were there, as well as a star superimposed on a circle. She traced another image, and it came into sharp focus. A laurel wreath with two ge
ms, one above, the other within its embrace. The threads glittered in the moonlight as if the diamonds were real. She dropped his hand. “That’s my pendant.” Her fingers went to her throat as if to protect her necklace.
“Cynfar is the proper name.” He reached toward her neck and hesitated.
A flutter of insecurity passed and she released her grip on the charm, giving him a nod.
He took the cynfar between two fingers, rubbing his thumb over the delicate leaves and then tapping the middle stone. “This represents Aelinae. And this,” he brushed his finger over the smaller stone, “is the place from which you came.”
“And the wreath?”
“That is the world between worlds.”
“How do you know so much about it?” She looked at the pendant in the moonlight, as if seeing it for the first time. The leaves rustled in the breeze, and she drew in a sharp breath.
Rhoane’s gaze returned to the valley where night creatures hunted and dark shapes ghosted through the sky. The mountain peaks were nothing more than silhouettes against the starlit night. “Do you know how you came to have this pendant?”
“Of course. Brandt gave it to me.”
“Did he ever tell you where it came from?”
“I never asked.” Unconsciously, she stroked the gemstone, trying to recall whether they ever discussed its origins. “Do you know?”
Even as she said the words, a memory drifted in her thoughts. She saw Rhoane as he was, young and handsome, with brown curls falling over his face as if he were bending over something. Fear edged his eyes. He whispered words in his mystical language and then kissed the pendant before placing it around her neck.
“You! You gave it to me.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to recall the details. Excitement thrummed in her belly. “It was here, I think. In the cavern? Brandt was there.” She paused, letting the memory unfold. “And Nadra. We were in a hurry. You,” she met his eyes and saw in them the same lingering fear, “you were worried about us. About me.” It was as if the fragments of memory that haunted her as a child coalesced into coherence at last. “I remember you.”
Rhoane raised a hand toward her, but stopped midair before dropping it to his side. “Darennsai.” The word was nothing more than a whisper. “You were so young.”
“All these years, I assumed I was half mad for having an enchanted pendant. It sings to me, you know.”
By the look on his face, he hadn’t known. “It was made to be your companion and, if need be, to keep you from harm.”
“I have so many memories—strange ones—that I never understood.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she brushed them off with her fist. “God, you must think I’m such an idiot.”
Rhoane didn’t move as he studied her with the same moss green eyes that plagued her memories. Finally, he put a hand over hers, saying, “In time, all of this will make sense. Nyath minas, ninyeh, Darennsai.”
Taryn swallowed hard and stared at him, disbelieving what she’d heard. “What did you just say?”
“You need to give it time.”
“No, not that part—the other thing you said.”
“Nyath minas, ninyeh?”
“Yes, that. What does it mean? I’ve heard it before.”
His look was questioning. “It is an ancient saying of my people. It means, ‘You are one with this world.’”
She thought for a moment, absently nodding her head. “There’s more to it. Taen das laerl. Dinyath allundrel kneesh awl hap teergartn. What does that mean?”
“It is a blessing. Again, a very old saying from my people.”
She smiled at him through her tears. “You said that to me, didn’t you? When you gave me this.” She tapped her cynfar.
“You were just a few days old. How is it you remember?”
She laughed, but it came out more like a sob. “I don’t know. In my dream, or memory, you look the same as you do now, but you can’t be more than a few years older than me and it’s been almost twenty-three years since we left.”
“I am much older than I look. And you have been gone nearly thirty-five seasons. Time in the other world and here must move at a different pace.”
“Brilliant. Now I’m middle-aged. This world of yours isn’t looking too good right now.”
“Thirty-five is still considered very young. You are just maturing into an adult. Tomorrow, I can explain it all, but I think we should try to sleep now.” His gaze scanned the dark landscape. “Myrddin will have gotten my message by now and be on his way.”
The name tugged at her memory, another hazy image lost to time. Taryn made her way back to the pile of blankets and snuggled deep in the soft fabric, suppressing a yawn. “Thank you for trying to save Brandt from that man.”
Rhoane’s silence stretched into the night. Taryn was about to roll over for sleep when his words came to her on the breeze. “I am only sorry I could not do more. Brandt will be missed.”
“I would like to hear about your friendship with my grandfather.”
“And I would like to know of your life beyond the cavern.”
Taryn propped her head up with one hand. “Really? I thought you didn’t want me to talk about it.”
Rhoane lay on his back, his profile stark against the light of the fire. His skin held a slight sheen, as if the glittering crystals of the cavern left an indelible mark on him. “I said I would prefer you not mention names and places, but of your experiences, that I am curious.”
Taryn yawned and stretched, rolling to her back. “Sure, but tomorrow, okay? I’m exhausted.” She stared into the blackness above them, trying to follow the threads of light. Several creatures—owls or bats, she wasn’t sure—drifted close to the barrier and she shuddered. Their silent wings reminded her of Zakael’s black cloak. She was used to men making rude or suggestive comments—it came with the territory of her job—but Zakael’s scrutiny was like that of a predator to his prey. He possessed a power she didn’t understand. Not only that, he showed he could kill with little to no consideration.
Unsettled by the thought, she adjusted herself to where she could see Rhoane without being obvious. For a long time, she watched him. Watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. Watched him as surely as he’d always watched for her. The day she left Aelinae with Brandt, he’d been there in the cavern, and he’d been there again the day she returned. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Her bonds burned beneath her flesh—not an unpleasant feeling, but a constant reminder she and Rhoane were connected. Connected by more than just an oath.
Chapter Five
The crown princess perched on the thick banister built to keep dimwitted fools from tumbling off the empress’s balcony to the sea far below. Marissa heard neither the crash of waves behind her nor the cry of seagulls above her. Her focus was on the two writhing figures on the bed in the next room.
They thrashed atop the silken sheets, unaware of the small petrel that watched from a short distance away. She hopped from one claw to the other, impatient for her mother to be done with the gorgeous stud. Marissa chose the tiny bird over her usual feiche for just that purpose. Spying on the empress was not an easy task, even for her daughter.
The young Geigan groaned his pleasure, arching away from the empress. Lliandra trilled a reply and raked her nails down his back, leaving streaks of blood in their wake. Marissa fought off the surge of jealousy that pumped through the bird’s heart. Another growl from the bed, a cacophony of moans and whimpers. Then it was finished. The stud collapsed beside the empress as Lliandra adjusted herself on the pillows, her hair fanning around her.
It was something Marissa had watched her mother do a hundred times, and with every fluff of Lliandra’s shimmering golden hair, Marissa wanted to hack it off.
When snores came from the man beside her mother, Marissa flew to the empress’s sitting room and transformed back into her womanly form. A startled servant scuttled from the room, and a moment later, her mother arrived, eyeing her with suspicion.
/> “Is there a reason you’re interrupting my afternoon?”
Marissa gave the briefest of nods toward the servant. When they were alone, she shared the reason for her visit. “I’ve not heard from Zakael. When I try to reach him, there is only silence.”
A frown creased her mother’s marbled features. “You assured me we could trust him, that the timing was right. What if he took the girl to Valterys instead of killing her?”
“To her father? He wouldn’t do that.” Marissa desperately hoped he hadn’t done exactly that. Her orders had been clear: intercept Brandt with the girl and kill them both. No one could know of her involvement in the scheme, or that Brandt tried to return to Aelinae with the Eirielle. “Something must have happened.”
“I’ll send Myrddin to the cavern. He’s near enough. It will only be a day out of his way.”
Marissa kept her face calm. Either her mother or Myrddin had lied to her. “I thought he was in Paderau. Why is he near Mount Nadrene?”
Lliandra waved her hand to dismiss the ridiculous notion. “Duke Anje needed him at Ravenwood for the gods know what. His note was cryptic, to say the least. Keep trying to reach Zakael. If you hear from him before dinner, alert me.” Lliandra traced a finger around the edge of Marissa’s dark curls. “Did you enjoy watching, my feathered beauty?”
Marissa swallowed hard, willed her heartbeat to slow, and stayed silent.
“His ShantiMari is weak, but his bloodline is worth it.” Lliandra pressed her fingers tight over Marissa’s face, scrunching her cheeks together, hurting her. “I might be carrying his child right this moment. Another heir to solidify my rule.” Lliandra released Marissa with a hostile push. “Find Zakael and the Eirielle. Kill them both.”
“Of course, Mother. But wouldn’t you rather the Eirielle survive and be aligned with the Light Throne? Why destroy a thing of such power and beauty when you have the opportunity to cultivate and harness that power for yourself?”
Lliandra’s eyes narrowed in thought. Marissa could imagine the argument being played out in her mother’s mind. She’d do anything for the empress, except kill Zakael. That, she could never do.
The Stones of Resurrection Page 4
