In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3

by Lisa Blackwood

  “You abase yourself prettily. However, it’s not necessary.” The lupwyn’s voice was deep, full of rich tones, musical in quality. “Given the strength of your magic, you must be the one we seek.” She tilted her head to the side at Ashayna’s gasp. “Don’t fear. Your secret’s still safe. The guards are no longer aware.”

  Ashayna froze in disbelief. With a sickening clarity, she realized the silence was enough of a warning. She glanced behind. Her heart leapt into her throat.

  Of the six guards who had accompanied her, four still remained upright. They stared off into shadowed corners of the tent, their faces still as statues. Two other guards lay where they’d collapsed. A profound sense of dread settled in Ashayna’s stomach.

  “Hmm, they had a little more resistance to magic than the others.” Marsolwyn gestured to the two prone guards. “It was easier just to command them to sleep.”

  Ashayna released the breath she’d been holding. The guards’ chests still rose and fell.

  “Lady Ashayna, take a seat.” Queen Marsolwyn gestured again at a chair where it sat tucked up against a low table.

  Ashayna debated the command. She’d prefer to stand, but to refuse a queen would be a blunder she couldn’t afford. She bowed, retrieved the chair, and sat down.

  “We have come to speak with you about your magic.” Marsolwyn flicked her pointed ears forward, towards where other guards waited outside. Satisfied with what she’d learned, she continued. “What your Priests of the Revealing Light falsely name demons, we call Larnkins. They are creatures of spirit—an ancient race, not physical in nature, with no flesh, blood, or bones such as we have. We serve them as hosts. In return they grant us vast stores of power and knowledge.”

  “Spirit creatures? Only a fool would take you at your word. I would know if I was possessed by one of your Larnkins.” Ashayna felt a chill, as though someone with winter frosted hands caressed her. Do they know something of my secret, or is it pure speculation on their part?

  “One day, when your Larnkin awakens, she’ll convince you of your mistake.”

  ‘Awakens’ didn’t sound good. Ashayna narrowed her eyes. What the woman said sounded all too familiar, yet distrust and old bias threaded doubt through her mind. To believe the falsehoods could prove deadly. Though, who would deal the deathblow was something she didn’t like to ponder.

  “These two are dear friends of mine. Kandarra and Vinarah are daughters of the phoenix queen.” Marsolwyn tipped her muzzle to the taller phoenix. “Vinarah shall speak of the rest.”

  Ashayna’s mind crowded with questions, yet she held her tongue. She would gather what she could before passing along the information to her father’s men.

  The taller phoenix stepped forward, her hand—with its long, talon-tipped fingers—rested on the table directly in front of Ashayna. Trapped in her chair, Ashayna had nowhere to go as Vinarah leaned closer, tilting her head one way and then another. Under the intense scrutiny, Ashayna dug her fingernails into the chair’s arms.

  Vinarah took a half-step back, her expression settling into a pensive, unhappy look. “My mother named me Vinarah, which means ‘The Far Sighted,’ for my ability to see fragments of what is or what may be. One vision is more persistent than all others. In it, I see a young, human woman, taller than many of her race, with hair of night and bearing a Larnkin of unparalleled power. I have seen this meeting come to pass, in this tent.” Vinarah paused, perhaps studying Ashayna for reaction. “It was you I saw. You are one of us. A mage—host to a Larnkin. You belong with us, not these other humans.”

  “You came all this way because you think I am one of you?” Fear ripped through Ashayna’s chest. Her heart lurched into a steady pound, as sweat trickled down her back. She bolted upright, tipping her chair over when its back legs caught on a rug. “I’m not anything like you. I’ll never betray my people.”

  “We are not asking you to harm your own kind.” The shorter phoenix’s words were accompanied by a slight curving of her lips. “There can be peace between our races. We offer to train you, to help protect your people as well as ours. Why would we come all this way to lie to you?”

  “I don’t know.” Ashayna choked. “But I can’t be who you seek.”

  Her magic stirred fitfully and Ashayna knew her own words were false. She had power. What they said explained the strange magic living within her. A shiver crawled down her spine. At the motion, the feather shifted underneath her vest. Its spicy scent wafted up, reminding her of alarming events from earlier. What lived within her seemed more sinister than the beings they described.

  Ashayna stared at the oil lamps, their flickering light dancing along tent walls and furniture alike. Soft breathing was the only sound for many moments, and it occurred to her the others communicated in a silent language beyond her hearing. Before she realized what she did, the magic obeyed her unformed wish and she heard the murmuring undertones of the prisoners. Fragments sharpened into true speech.

  “She is the one.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Yes, however I fear our brother will be less than pleased.”

  “On the contrary, I think he’ll be delighted. What male wouldn’t, seeing his bondmate wearing his—”

  “Kandarra, what have you done now?”

  “Made this sordid mess a little more interesting. It’ll be fun watching them struggle with their pride.”

  “This is no time for games.”

  “She is aware!”

  As a foreign power reached out to Ashayna’s mind, she instinctively slammed her shields back in place. From behind her dubious protection, she could feel where their power brushed up against her mental barrier. For one moment, their startled thoughts reached her.

  She’d surprised them. Should she feel elation or dread? Probably dread. Even though Ashayna hadn’t understood half of what they’d said, it sounded like they’d come a long way to find her.

  “So you say I’m to become a mage.” While Ashayna admitted to herself her magic problem might be linked to a Larnkin, she wasn’t ready to confide in total strangers. “Vinarah, you have seen it, but have you ever been wrong or perhaps mistaken the meaning?”

  Vinarah looked peevish. “The vision is clear. It is exceedingly rare for a human to possess enough natural magic to be host to a Larnkin. What part of my vision do you think I have misinterpreted?”

  None. Their words made sense. She did, without a doubt, possess some kind of magic, and it had a mind of its own. Yet, for all she knew, they had some hand in her emerging magic—a magic hazardous to her family if an acolyte of the Revealing Light found out. At the moment, she feared the priesthood more than the prisoners. “Can you take this Larnkin and place it in another host?”

  Kandarra snorted and shook her head. “If it was such a simple thing, do you think we’d be here? No, a Larnkin’s choice of host is permanent. We cannot order around such beings on a whim. They choose us and we honor them with the use of our bodies.”

  “You want me to come willingly.” Ashayna’s cool statement gained no response, so instead a new tactic was in order. “What is it worth to you?” A thin shift of muscles along Kandarra’s jaw told Ashayna she’d hit upon the right trail.

  “Isn’t it clear?” Kandarra was quickly hushed by Queen Marsolwyn before she could reveal more.

  Marsolwyn tilted her head to one side, gaze fixed. She remained motionless for ten heartbeats, then her eyes snapped into focus. “Go tell your commanding officer a delegation will arrive shortly to negotiate for our release. Pray they get here before my mate does. I hear his warsong carried on the wind. It will not go well for your people if Ryanth gets here first.”

  “Your mate leads the army of lupwyns? The ones my father was trying to slow?”

  “Yes. Perhaps I should have discussed this with Ryanth, but time was short and I was visiting in Grey Spires, the phoenix city. While I was there, Vinarah had a vision of danger to you—from a priest. I didn’t have time to inform Ryanth. Unfortunatel
y, he’s reacted faster than I anticipated.”

  “If your oversight leads to my father’s death, you’ll never have me or my magic at your command.” Ashayna couldn’t stand the tent’s confines any longer. Their magic threatened to steal her breath. She backed away, heading towards the entrance when she remembered the six guards. “Undo whatever you did to them and don’t use magic upon a human again. I might come with you peacefully, if my father still lives.”

  “Far be it of us to control you, Ashayna, but know this. Magic will never be denied—and your father will join you before this night is over.”

  After the guards awoke, Ashayna fled the tent to seek out Captain Nurrowford.

  Chapter Three

  A stiff, mountain breeze ruffled Sorntar’s feathers as it blew through a courtyard in Grey Spires. Even a playful wind couldn’t distract him this day. He whirled, ignoring the slap of both scabbards against his thighs. He paced about the courtyard, cursing his sisters’ stupidity for getting captured. Fear had been replaced by chaotic waves of anger when his mother first told him his sisters were safe. They had gone with Queen Marsolwyn, seeking the humans for some purpose. His cooling anger left a yawning pit of uncertainty in its wake. Vinarah had seen something so intense it sent her running off to Marsolwyn. But what?

  Sorntar concentrated on reining in his apprehension, only to realize he was still on edge from earlier in the day when his wings had twitched with the sensation of being watched. He’d even thought he’d detected a faint essence of someone else’s power.

  His Larnkin hadn’t roused, so he’d put it out of his mind. Now the nagging sensation was back, worming its way into his mind, setting his teeth on edge.

  He wanted to blame his unease on his newly waking power. But whatever it was, it wasn’t the same restlessness that had been hampering his concentration for days now as his Larnkin gathered power. Soon it would wake fully. When it did, it would turn his well-organized life into a muddle of raw emotions and chaotic magic surges.

  When he reached a waist-high stone wall, he peered down. In the stone-tiled courtyard below, the wind tugged at the manes and tails of a small herd of santhyrians who waited with their riders for word from his mother. To their left, a mixed species group of nervous-eyed apprentices prepared to summon a Gate. Off to one side, his father conversed with Elder Cymael.

  Tension built, vibrating along his feathers while something tightened in his stomach. He hesitated to name it dread, although it was close kin. In his arrogance, he had craved responsibility, had nearly pleaded for it. But now, doubts assaulted him.

  He shook out his wings to dispel the nervousness before he descended the stairs in two bounds, his wings and tail spreading to ease his landing. His talons barely touched the bottom step before he stalked to where Summer Flame awaited him.

  With a sigh, he scratched the stallion’s neck, working loose a few hairs from his winter coat while they waited for the others to be ready. The routine gesture was more for his own reassurance than performing any function the santhyrian required. Summer Flame gently nibbled his shoulder in a less-than-subtle reminder.

  “Yes, I know, time for us to be off.” Sorntar edged around his santhyrian friend in time to see apprentices summoning a Gate. Born of twin columns of fire, the newly emerging Gate stretched across the courtyard. Its two ends curved and joined at their uppermost peaks until it blanketed the entire east wall in liquid power, forming a flaming archway big enough for six santhyrians to walk abreast.

  Sorntar was about to congratulate the apprentices when the Gate flared. A cold, silver energy arced across its surface. He’d never seen such a sight. A chill radiated off it in waves, penetrating his shields and sinking below his skin.

  Thunder ripped through the courtyard. A stronger flow of power poured forth from the Gate, hammering everyone within reach. A young lupwyn apprentice standing too close yelped and collapsed in the boneless manner of the unconscious.

  Sorntar rushed to her side and arched his wings, trying to absorb more of the magic to prevent permanent damage to the youngling. In less than ten heartbeats, the Gate morphed into a seething monster of brilliance and rage. Pale tendrils flailed out from its center. One brushed the feathers of his crest, narrowly missing hitting him in the head. He scooped up the fallen lupwyn and leapt into motion. He’d barely made it three paces when a burning cold tendril coiled around his ankle. A strong tug, a sickening blur of motion, and he was moving. A breath later he slammed into the ground with bone-jarring force.

  Dazed, he blinked and looked up to see his bodyguards surrounding him. One guard took the lupwyn from him, while another fought to pull him free of the tendril’s grip. The Gate pulsed again, then lashed out. It slapped guards and delegation members aside like hapless dolls. As fast as it had come, the maelstrom of power ground to a halt. Silence, broken only by soft panting, echoed across the courtyard.

  Sorntar blinked up at a purpling night sky. Lifting his head, he winced. Pain flashed through his brain. Almost in the same moment, the Gate tightened its grip on his ankle and heaved. A renewed surge of panic flooded Sorntar’s body. Then he felt it—the slow spread of heat through his blood as his Larnkin came to full awareness. It didn’t fight the Gate, instead surveyed the scene, calming and stabilizing the rogue Gate’s chaotic magic. With a sickening clarity, the Larnkin gathered itself, power flowing through him like a tidal wave…every ounce of it focused on the Gate.

  ***

  Ashayna rubbed at her eyes, but the night-shrouded landscape didn’t come into any better focus as she led her gelding towards the prisoners. Fear tangled her thoughts. Did her father still live? How would she cope without him? She needed a plan but her chaotic thoughts kept distracting her. Silently, she cursed the sentience in her blood. A Larnkin they called it. The power stirring with newfound intent in her blood could only be one of those creatures.

  Once she had reported back to Captain Nurrowford with the news that a delegation was on its way, he had ordered her to ride with their prisoners. Her return route took her along the river. Wind rustled in last year’s bulrushes and caressed trees, shivering their leaves. The tranquil beauty of this place would be something she’d miss, if she lived to miss anything.

  She scanned the area between the river and camp, noting everything seemed ready. Horses were saddled, riders gathered the few remaining things they would carry with them. Both foot soldiers and horse archers were already breaking camp. Ashayna would follow with the prisoners, leaving the heavy cavalry to protect the flanks and rear.

  Her thoughts were interrupted with the sudden explosion of terror from her gelding. His eyes rolled in his head, muzzle tightening, teeth bared. Screaming a warning into the night, her horse reared, hooves pawing at the air. Again and again the gelding reared, his hooves tearing into the ground as he danced beside her. Ears flattened, he tossed his head, ripping the reins from Ashayna’s grasp. With a final snort he turned, thundering along the trail toward the safety of the paddock and the other horses who picked up on his distress and shifted and nickered in restless discontent.

  The hilt of her sword bit into her hand, Ashayna studied a distant line of trees, expecting to see glints of silver against shadowy trunks as armored lupwyns flooded out of the darkness. The sound of the men’s voices raised in alarm was the only indication of danger, of something moving beyond them. Yet her eyes could see nothing. No army of beasts, no weapons, nothing but the darkness of the night.

  Prickles of power washed over her like rain. Now she knew what had spooked her gelding. Foreign power sunk below Ashayna’s skin, past blood vessels and muscle, seeping into her bones. Her own magic flared, eagerly examining this new power.

  Barely a hand’s span above the ground—in a swath wider than several horses riding abreast—the air rippled, making her queasy. Then, as though a torch had been applied to pitch, the air exploded into twin columns of fire, each burning with a white, unnatural light. The force of their creation blew Ashayna’s hair back; wind w
histled through the tents, kicking up a smattering of dust. Two columns of light bathed the entire camp in a strange illumination, brighter than the full moons.

  Officers bellowed orders to soldiers, and the dull, metallic sound of weapons being drawn echoed throughout the camp. Distantly, she heard Captain Nurrowford shout her name, ordering her to fall back, but Ashayna couldn’t take her eyes off the wall of magic. Ashayna stood enthralled by the spectacle as her Larnkin merged power with the columns. She gasped at the rush of magic flooding outward. A small, quiet part of her mind was grateful her magic remained invisible. The columns’ strange white fire intensified, leaping across empty space, taking the shape of an arch. Towering over them, it continued to grow, to gather power—until, with a great, resounding clap of thunder, it shuddered, the flames dancing through the night. Her Larnkin trembled, but continued to feed power to the arch, wanting, needing something Ashayna did not understand. Falling back a pace, she shook her head to clear it of the echoing noise and eyed the arch with greater concern. It looked stronger but less stable, and it continued to hemorrhage power.

  Men shouted, horses screamed. The air was heavy and thick with the stench of fear, of blind panic, and of magic. Queen Marsolwyn’s urgent calls rose above the storm. “Run. The Gate’s gone rogue. Run, now!”

  A deep, rending sound issued from the archway, like the creaking of a falling tree that twisted and groaned as it broke and began to fall. Ashayna shook free of her Larnkin’s peculiar desires. Instinct gored her. She turned and ran. A clap of thunder rumbled across the camp, shaking the ground and heaving her off her feet.

  Flashes of magic, like forked lightning, bombarded the camp. One hit a poplar at the edge of the paddocks. The tree exploded in a burst of leaves and wood fragments. Horses screamed and bucked. A few horse archers pursued their mounts, while others simply tried to keep themselves and their mounts out of harm’s way. Closer at hand, a group of heavily armored men-at-arms were making their way to her position.