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

by Lisa Blackwood

  “Thank you, Marsolwyn, for letting me know I’m not shy…just odd. I’m sure Ashayna found that fascinating.”

  While he might not be back to his normal lilting tones, he sounded less fragile. She was about to thank Marsolwyn when the smell of food reached her nose. They rounded a corner and the Great Hall’s doors stood open and welcoming. As far as Ashayna was concerned, they’d arrived just in time. She didn’t want the conversation to dive into her own lack of relationships.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Some scout I am.” Ashayna stopped at another branch in the tunnel and frowned down first one corridor and then the other. After six damn days, including two with Sorntar acting as guide, she’d felt confident enough to venture around on her own. Everything had been going well enough, until now, when she’d somehow gotten turned around in these older tunnels. They all looked identical.

  She could have done without the embarrassment of needing rescuing. With a sigh, Ashayna squinted down another length of corridor as she debated whether or not to swallow her pride and just send out the much needed mind-call to Sorntar to come and rescue her.

  There was a rustle of fabric and the rattle of a sword coming out of its scabbard just behind her. She spun around in time to see a cloaked, hooded figure step from an alcove on her left. Battle readiness flooded her body as she sized up the newcomer. “Don’t suppose you’re my rescuer?”

  In answer, the stranger saluted her with a bare sword.

  Ashayna drew her own while looking around for escape. The stranger was advancing upon her with obvious menace when the scuff of talons on stone betrayed a second opponent coming from behind. She whirled right, catching a blow from the broadside of a sword against her shoulder. Off-balance, Ashayna tumbled across the corridor to collide with the opposite wall. She turned her shoulder into the hit, but breath still exploded from her lungs, and her vision greyed out.

  She cried out, though not much more than a yelp escaped. Someone grasped her arms, wrenching them behind her back and shoved her into the shadows. A fist in her stomach earned them a grunt, but she wouldn’t give them more.

  While she was still bent over, a set of incredibly strong hands grabbed her and held her captive, effectively subduing her while her other attacker wrapped rope around her wrists. A mage cloak landed on her shoulders. Its hood was pulled over her head, and the wards activated before she could think to send Sorntar a mental warning. A third figure joined the first two and grasped her jaw, nearly breaking it as he pried it apart and shoved in a gag.

  In the struggle, her hood slipped back. The lupwyn king stood looking down at her with a deep, sorrowful expression, and next to him, Councilor Tav, was a steady, unemotional presence. A punch of dread mixed with betrayal to sour her stomach.

  A slight breeze betrayed the third one coming up beside her. Ashayna twisted to see who else had judged her to be untrustworthy. A blur of a fist, with talons curled inward to save her from serious damage, took up her field of vision. Pain exploded in her head. She knew nothing else.

  ***

  Cold stone, thick with dust, pressed against her cheek. The coolness soothed the burning ache of a bruise. Ignoring the urge to sneeze, she blinked, trying to focus but with little success. The cloak’s hood fell forward over her face, blocking her line of vision, leaving only a very small sliver of light. She moved, wincing at the stabbing pain in her skull and rolling waves of nausea in her stomach. While she lay there willing pain away, the murmur of voices drew closer. A pair of long-toed feet adorned with finger-length talons stopped a hand-span from her face.

  “She’s awake.” A woman’s voice, which sounded distorted to Ashayna’s ears, increased the throbbing agony. She knew she was in a bad way if even her ears didn’t want to function correctly.

  Points of pain burned at each shoulder as talons dug into her flesh. Ashayna was lifted to her feet. The warmth of her blood soaked into her shirt, but the pain of a few punctures was nothing compared to the agony pounding in her head. She swallowed a moan.

  “Be gentle.” The voice sound suspiciously like one she recalled from the night before. After a moment, his name came to her—Councilor Tav. “It is not for us to judge her. The Oracle will reveal what she hides.”

  Tav laid his hands on either side of Ashayna’s face. She didn’t fight him. It was all she could do to stand straight and not get sick on his feet.

  Heat from his magic engulfed her, taking away all pain and soothing her churning stomach. “There,” he said. “That will help.”

  The lupwyn king nodded his head. “Good. At least she’ll be in decent condition to face the Oracle. Still, I don’t like it. The council has never been divided.”

  “You agreed to this—we all did,” Tav said, his voice softer as if he was moving farther away. “Bring her.”

  A door pushed open with a scraping hiss, and Ashayna was dragged forward into another room by the unknown female. Her captor dumped her on the floor. Before Ashayna could straighten fully, the door closed with a leaden thud. The sound of a lock sliding home caused a shiver of worry to crawl up her spine.

  The hood was pulled down and Ashayna jerked in surprise, for she thought she was alone, but both Tav and Ryanth were present. There was no sign of the woman in the dimly lit room. The only illumination came from a single mage globe hanging at Tav’s shoulder. Its light chased the shadows back a ways, just far enough so she could see the wooden bones of an ancient stairwell spiraling up into darkness above her head. Dust, cobwebs, and the damp stench of mildew and rotted wood spoke of long abandonment. Any hope of someone stumbling upon them vanished. Sorntar might not find her body for years. The thought of Sorntar spurred her Stonemantle stubbornness into action. Straightening her shoulders, she tilted her chin up. She would not bring shame to Sorntar. Let them see a human could be equally fearless as any elemental.

  The lupwyn removed her gag and tossed it away with a dark look. “I’m sorry for what we must do next. As you can guess, we have reason to believe you are something other than you appear. Talnarra is normally an excellent judge of character, but in this she has been compromised by her wish to have her son bond to one who is an equal in power to him. You are exactly what she has hoped for. I fear she is too willing to trust Halnora’s word in this.”

  “Are we talking about the same Talnarra?” Ashayna’s voice was rough. She wondered how long she had been unconscious. Hopefully long enough for Sorntar to realize she was missing. “And you don’t trust the priestess?”

  “Let me say I trust Priestess Halnora to see to the Mother’s concerns first and all other mortal concerns much later.”

  “So you don’t trust your Goddess, is that not sacrilege?”

  “I serve the Gods to the best of my ability. While I would sacrifice myself for the greater good, I will not allow danger to come to my family if I can prevent it. And you have fast become one my mate views like a daughter.”

  Ashayna only grunted in answer, and then glowered at Tav. “What is your noble reason for dragging me here?” As she waited for his answer, she took in her surroundings, looking for a route of escape or any places the other woman could hide.

  “Tav’s reasons are the same as mine. The Dead King advised the council to test both you and Sorntar.”

  “The who?”

  “The Rulers of the Dead wield a power both older and greater than any council member. They guard the gateway between life and the afterlife. Only rarely do they involve themselves in the living world. Yet they’ve shown an interest in you…” He let the sentence die.

  Ashayna wished she hadn’t asked.

  Tav cleared his throat and took up where King Ryanth left off. “Some councilors wished for you and Sorntar to undergo the trial of the Oracle Stone from the start.”

  Ashayna would bet her favorite dagger that Tav was the opposition’s voice.

  “Halnora and the queen persuaded the rest against it, saying the risk of using the Oracle is too great. However, it is the only way to find o
ut, with absolute certainty, if you are untainted by darkness.”

  Ashayna leveled her glare at Tav. “Because I’m human, you assume I must be the tainted one?”

  The lupwyn laughed, answering her when Tav remained silent. “No. You’re simply easier to capture. Had Lylantra been successful in seducing Sorntar, we would’ve used him, but Sorntar’s instincts and training make him too difficult to capture when he has his wits about him. We can’t hide this from Queen Talnarra, but once it’s done…”

  “Yes, it can’t be undone—I figured that out on my own. So, I have Lylantra to thank for that mother of all headaches.”

  King Ryanth’s ears flicked forward. “She had nothing to do with your capture. She’s presently away from Grey Spires, running an errand for the council.”

  “Fine, I get it. You have loads of underlings to do your work. What do you expect to learn?” She glanced between them. “Or do you already have me marked as unclean, and this way you can prove your superiority over such a weak species. Be done with it then; I’ve no desire to give you sport.”

  “This has nothing to do with your human blood. The Oracle Stone shows truth to those who look upon it. It is used to judge the worthiness of a candidate for the throne or as punishment for a crime. If they hold a dark secret, the revealing of that truth is plain for others to see.” When Ashayna arched a brow at him, he clarified. “The Stone carves out clear warning on the flesh of any who carries even a hint of darkness. It also reveals a person’s greater qualities if they are qualified to rule.” As he spoke, he tilted his wrist so she could see a small, furless area where a knotted symbol had been branded into his skin. “Should you, for some reason unknown to us, be able to hide the Mark of the Twelve, it too will be revealed. Then the Rulers of the Dead shall deal with you.”

  He cut the rope binding her wrists, then turned her until she faced a dark stairwell. The sound of a sword being drawn echoed loud in her ears.

  Dark, narrow, and dank, those stairs did not inspire her to climb, but she took the first step anyway. The deep groan of old wood stopped her from taking another. Undecided, she looked over her shoulder at them and took a half-step back. A burning agony seared her feet. Gasping in pain, she jumped up two steps. Thinking some weaving had been triggered and the steps would burn, she quickly glanced over her shoulder. Her hunch proved wrong. The stairs were as they had been before, no signs of flame or scorching sullied the ancient grain.

  “Wonderful. How do I get myself into these situations?”

  The stairs had held when she’d thrown her weight against them, so she supposed they would hold the rest of the way up. She took the stairs two at a time, hoping to increase her chances of missing any more nasty surprises. She climbed another couple dozen steps and nothing happened.

  Perhaps the weavings only activated if one tried to retreat?

  The narrow stairwell grew darker, but not completely black. Some light filtered down from an immeasurable distance above, and the grey walls glowed faintly. Running a cautious fingertip against the surface, she felt a gentle wave of power wafting through the air, like a predator taking her scent. Thoughts of the tower as a living creature did nothing to ease her nervousness. She continued climbing until her thigh muscles knotted and sweat ran along her back. She didn’t slow her pace. Every few steps, she would bark out an oath concerning overly obsessed councilors.

  “I hate magic…I hate Larnkins…I hate…” She was going to say bondmates, but admitted to herself she didn’t hate Sorntar.

  She leaned against one wall to rest. Power hummed along her back and she jerked away from it. Another swirl of power, stronger than the last, drew her attention to the wall opposite. A shadow began to coalesce in the stone. She bolted up the stairs, trying to outrun it. The shadow kept pace with her for another dozen steps, and she finally looked at it. It was a falcon.

  “Failure. Betrayal.” Words echoed softly against the surrounding walls, a haunted sound sufficient to chill the sweat on her back.

  “I think failure would be bad.” She choked out her reply.

  “Failure. You failed us, all of us.”

  Before Ashayna could reply to the accusation, she glimpsed an object on the next step. She tripped, nearly falling back down the stairs. “Thrice-cursed place!”

  Two daggers, their blood-stained blades crossed, rested on the next step. She made to kick both daggers down the stairs, only to have the blood pooled underneath them vanish into the grain of the wood. The daggers misted away moments later.

  She took the next few steps at a run, leaping up stairs until she left that area well behind. The visions didn’t allow her peace for long. Another shadow formed on the wall next to her. She didn’t run this time, instead waiting with taut nerves to see what shape it would take.

  A figure similar in build and height to Ashayna materialized at arm’s reach. She could have been looking into a mirror. Ashayna stared at her other self. “What do you want?”

  The figure cradled a sword in her arms as if it were a child, but paid Ashayna’s question no mind, instead whispering in a broken voice. “Failure. Betrayal. Death.”

  No. I don’t care. This isn’t real. Anger stirred in her again, but fear proved stronger, driving her into motion once more. If she failed the Tower’s test, so be it. She ran—other shadowy figures never more than a handful of steps behind.

  “Your hands will be wet with blood again.”

  Glancing down, she noticed her hands looked normal enough, no blood marked them. When she finally stopped running, she came to a landing. A large, heavy door, its dark wood the color of old blood and its hinges coated in layers of rust, blocked her path. Rust lay in a thick coating on the otherwise stout latch. Gritty bits crumbled off into her hand while she worked at loosening the bolt. She grunted and bared her teeth and finally it gave with a shower of debris and a deep grating sound. She pushed on the door.

  “You’re not going to have the bad form to be as stubborn as the lock, are you?”

  Grumbling, she slammed her shoulder into the door. It gave slightly with a deep groan. She slammed her body against the door again, opening a small fissure big enough to fit her fingers in between the door and its frame. Stale air puffed out the narrow opening. Whirling away, she spun and delivered a solid kick to the old wood. The door grated open enough so she could squeeze through.

  Inside, a small chamber—no more than a dozen paces wide—was bathed in a bluish light. Much of its limited space was consumed by a tall, milky-crystal pillar. Within the pillar, power pulsed with a firm rhythm. The sound matched the beat of her heart. She paced the perimeter of the small, eerie chamber until her heartbeat began to slow and she breathed less harshly.

  “I am here, tell me your judgment. Though, if the ones on the stair are a reflection of what you think, I am doomed.”

  “Not my thoughts. Yours.”

  She snapped to attention at the half-formed sound—ghostly, like a voice at the edge of dream. But this one was all too horribly real.

  “Shattered one, the King will aid you, but beware the wardlen’s masters.”

  “The king, which one?”

  The neutral voice continued as if it hadn’t heard.

  “Shadows gather across the waters, darkness rests in hidden hearts. Not all that is dark is evil, not everything Light will aid the Balance.”

  “What rubbish is that?”

  The pillar flared once, a random flash of power as if offended by her tone.

  She gasped, but the pillar continued.

  “Serve always the Divinity above your own desires. Beware the awakening.”

  Another flash of power made Ashayna’s eyes tear. She shielded them with one arm, while she continued to squint at the pillar.

  “Remember your duty, remember your past.”

  Sorntar was suddenly before her, his countenance one of rage changing to shock. He coughed and blood cascaded down his chin. Shuddering, the last of his rage vanished, his expression softened. He looked
at her with such gratitude she couldn’t understand the horror of what she was seeing.

  “Beloved…” He choked and retched more blood. There was so much blood. It coated his chest and her hands where they were wrapped around the hilts of two daggers.

  She pulled the daggers from his chest. They fell from her frozen hands as Sorntar slumped against her, dead.

  A fissure formed in her soul, a ragged wound not even the gods could heal.

  Ashayna screamed. Twin stabs of agony burned along her palms, freeing her from her nightmare. She fell backward with a cry and came to rest with one shoulder braced against the door’s frame. There was no blood. No Sorntar dying by her hand. It wasn’t real. She began to sob uncontrollably.

  The pain of a rusty hinge digging into the soft flesh behind her shoulder blades finally brought her back to herself. With a last sniff, she stopped weeping. With a pained grunt, she straightened to stand on shaking legs. Everything shook—her heart, her mind, even her insides. She continued to quiver until pain gave way to a numbing void.

  The numbness spreading from her heart had reached those two smoldering embers. She hesitated. For a dozen beats of her heart, she stood staring at the pale skin on the backs of her hands. With a deep breath, she turned them over. Two symbols were branded there. One was an intricate knot-design, in pale golden and bronze tones, akin to King Ryanth’s brand. The other held a fading shadow, similar to the brighter one in design, though this one made her eyes hurt to focus upon it.

  With a slow, deliberate stride—she feared if she moved faster she would fall and never get up again—she walked to the stairwell and took the first cautious step down. Nothing happened. No fire. She dragged her weary body back down, uncaring if her captors waited below.

  At the bottom the door was still shut, but from behind the heavy wood surface, she could hear angry shouting. It was silenced by a lupwyn’s short growl. By the sounds, she judged a brief scuffle had ensued. Not waiting to hear more, she pushed the door open.