by Shea Godfrey
Cecelia sat in the grass close by and Jessa said, “This is a very peaceful place. It seems to know you.”
“It should. I’ve been coming here for many years.”
“What is it called?”
“The Queen’s Grove.”
Jessa glanced up into the leaves. “Yes, of course.”
“When I’m feeling lost, it always seems to find me.”
Jessa said nothing, thinking that perhaps Cecelia wanted to talk and wondering if she had been summoned for that very purpose.
“I used to come here every day, after my daughter died.”
Jessa hid her surprise at the unexpected revelation and pulled slowly at a long blade of grass.
“Her name was Jacey Rose.” Cecelia paused. “She was four years old when she was taken by the marsh fever. She had dark eyes like yours and hair as black as pitch. Very much like yours as well, actually.”
“I had a sister once, or so I’m told,” Jessa replied, thinking that she could share in kind if only a little. This was Darry’s mother, after all, whether they saw eye to eye at the moment or not. “But she was killed when I was very young. Radha says I was but one or two when she was born.”
“She became ill?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jessa considered the blade of grass she held. “Sometimes I wonder what she might’ve been like. If we might have been friends.”
“I’m most certain you would have. You would have made a fine older sister.”
“Like Emmalyn.”
“For certain. But you have other siblings as well. Twelve brothers, Jessa. It is a large family.”
“They are many, this is true. My father had four, no, five wives before my mother. They are but half blood to me.”
“But not a one to be your friend?”
Jessa did not answer.
“And Joaquin?”
“Joaquin is closest to me in age.” Jessa tossed the blade of grass aside and chose another. “He is my keeper.”
Cecelia frowned at the word. There’s no love between you, that I can see.
“When my father saw I had a sort of value, for men found me to be beautiful, he appointed Joaquin to be my guardian until he could find a suitable use for me. This has never pleased Joaquin. He sees no opportunity to advance in our father’s eyes with such a weight about his neck.”
Jessa’s graceful fingers folded the delicate stem of grass. She was indeed stunning, and the thought that Bharjah considered her as nothing more than chattel pricked hard at Cecelia’s temper.
“How old was Darry, when your Jacey died?”
“I became pregnant within the same year, actually, and it was too soon, perhaps. I’m afraid that a burden was placed upon my Cat that no one should have to endure.” Cecelia found it sinfully easy to talk to Jessa. And you should know these things, if you will love my daughter. “Owen took his grief strangely. When Darry was born it was very difficult for him to leave her. He was extremely protective, which I understood, but he found it difficult to show his affection as well. Even though he loved her desperately from the start.”
“He was afraid?”
“Perhaps. He was nearly broken when we lost Jacey Rose. He had doted on her so. Jacey looked so much like him and he would take her everywhere, even to his council meetings. She would sit quietly in his lap while he discussed land contracts and Gamar knows what else. When she eventually started talking, discussing nonsense most times, he would listen very intently. He would let a room full of Blooded men wait until she and he finished their conversation of dresses and dolls and pretty flowers.”
Jessa smiled at the picture she described.
“She was such a gentle child, always very ladylike. She didn’t like her hands to be dirty and would hold them up if they were, until someone would help her. She liked Emmalyn to do it, actually. She worshipped Emma.”
Jessa could hear the stark sadness and her throat tightened. It was perplexing yet lovely to see a mother’s love so on display.
“Darry was very different from the first. She was a complete mystery to Owen. Her will has always been so bloody strong, and she chafed at being held back in any way. He would try to protect her, and she would look at him as if she were seeing something that no one else could. She would say then, ‘I will love you, Pappa, even if you say no.’ And he would relent and say, ‘Fine, then, do as you wish.’ She was always so fearless.”
“It is her nature,” Jessa replied. “She cannot be otherwise.”
“I know. And I would have her no other way.”
“Her fire, I think, is much like yours.”
Cecelia took the compliment with a smile. “Perhaps. The Lewellyn blood can be somewhat wild at times.”
“Like your Nina,” Jessa said. She is much like my love, I think.
Cecelia chuckled. “Yes, like Nina.”
“And when Darry began to fight?”
“Yes.” Cecelia sighed. “When she first took up the blade Owen was furious. And he was quite angry with me as well for I’d given her my permission. He allowed her to do it, though, for he thought it a passing fancy. Her brother Wyatt and Darry are thick in their blood, and he became her champion. When Jacob found his passion in learning and Wyatt in the ways of the sword, they stopped being boys together. Darry had followed them about like a ghost for many years, and though they adored her completely, she was but a girl to them.”
“And when did they see her differently?”
“When she bested Wyatt during practice. It was a heated battle of wooden swords, and Owen and I watched from the fence. Cat moved so beautifully, and after a time she began to fight within the steps of Honshi. Do you know this?”
“The Dance, yes,” Jessa replied. “My brothers have all trained in its ways, though only Kaliq and Sylban follow the discipline. It is very difficult to master, Radha says. You must let go of yourself and take on the will of your weapon.”
“Yes, well, it was then that things changed.”
“She had proved her skill.” Jessa remembered Darry’s deadly beauty in the practice yard.
“Owen realized it was not just a passing thing,” Cecelia replied. “We argued terribly and I lost. He could not be swayed or convinced to allow her such a dangerous thing. Later that day he called them both into the throne room and forbade her the sword. It was a horrible fight between him and our son, and he charged Wyatt with seeing that his wishes were obeyed.
“They were both yelling so fiercely, but Darry merely stood there and watched her father. When Owen demanded in his rage if she understood that she was to fight no more, she simply said no. Twelve years old and she stood before the King in all his fury and calmly defied him. ‘I’m sorry that I’m not Jacey Rose,’ she said, ‘but I will never be her. You must let me go my own way now.’”
“What did he say?”
“Her words threw him because of their hard truth. He lost his temper and reacted badly. He asked her to repeat herself and Darry said quite clearly, ‘Jacey Rose is dead.’” Cecelia closed her eyes. “He advanced on her and I yelled, stopping him, but Darry held up her hands and said, ‘Do you see, Pappa? My hands are dirty and I’m happy that they are. I’m not her and you can’t make me so.’” Cecelia opened her eyes, an expression of regret on her features. “He struck her and she fell to the stones.”
Jessa looked down at her hands, hoping to hide her emotions.
“He had never hit one of his children before. I was rooted to the floor with shock, though when I spoke his name he turned…and he was so pale, so horrified by what he’d done. He went to help her up, but Darry hurried away before he could. Her nose and mouth were bleeding badly. He had struck a true blow, as a man sometimes strikes another man.
“She didn’t cry, though. She just let the blood run down her face. Wyatt was there and put his arm around her, and I will never forget how he looked at Owen, never…
“I ran to her and she let me lead her away. She was shaking
and I wanted desperately to hold her, but she wouldn’t let me. Wyatt was there and she took his hand. I cleaned her up and Wyatt took her to her rooms.
“After about an hour I went to her, whether she wanted me there or not. She was sitting near the hearth amidst complete destruction. She had destroyed everything that could be destroyed and her hands were bleeding from the shards of one of the broken lamps. Then she began to cry and reached out to me. I held her until she stilled and I saw that she had passed out. Her face was terribly bruised and her lips cut and swollen.
“I rushed her to my own chambers and the healer came. Owen sat beyond the door as she was washed and given a draught to calm her emotions. Her wounds were tended and she seemed to sleep.
“I went to Owen and we stood in the corridor as he struggled against his regret. ‘We should not have had another child,’ he said. ‘If this is how I am, if I can cause such pain it was a mistake to have her. Another child was a mistake.’ He walked away before I could respond. When I turned back to our chamber, Darry was standing near the door.”
Jessa closed her eyes. Akasha.
“I tried to explain to her what he meant, that he was frightened and didn’t mean it as it sounded. But Darry just stared at me.” Cecelia looked puzzled, even after all this time. “And to this day, I still cannot decipher her expression.”
Jessa’s thoughts filled quietly with Darry’s voice. I was twelve, and I wanted to go with Hinsa and live with her.
“The damage caused that afternoon still lingers between them. Owen has never forgiven himself, and Darry cannot forget the words he spoke. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his fear and shame at what he’d done, not knowing how he might undo it.”
They sat in silence as the leaves spoke above them, a dance of movement within the breeze.
Jessa formed the words within her head, debating her tone for an instant and preparing her tongue for the innocence she wanted to convey. Joaquin would pursue them, she had no doubt, but she wanted desperately to have some idea of Cecelia and Owen’s reaction when she and Darry broke from Arravan and Lyoness. Darry was set in her mind and was protecting her honor, but perhaps she was not thinking clearly enough about the consequences of their actions. This would fall to Jessa, and she was more than willing to shoulder that responsibility. She never lost at Kings and Jackals either, which resembled the long game she and Darry were soon to engage in. She asked her question. “Why did he break her from Aidan?”
For many reasons, none of which were good enough, and he knows it. “In the end?” Cecelia was impressed that Jessa would ask the question. Well played, my girl. “I believe it was for the same reason he tried to deny her the sword.”
Jessa was shocked. “He thought her being backwards was a passing thing?”
“I’m not certain, Jessa, but this is what I believe. It’s not something we talk of, though that will change now.”
“But it’s love, my Lady, and love is…” Jessa stopped before she spoke her mind on the subject. “Perhaps he has yet to learn his lesson then.”
“Perhaps. And what do think he should learn, Jessa?”
“That is not my place to say, my Lady.”
“Owen is not a hard man, Jessa. If I’ve given you that impression, it was unintended.”
“Not a hard man? Yet his actions thus far concerning his daughter might say otherwise.”
“He’s but a man, Jessa, and men make mistakes. That he is the King does not change that fact.”
“And yet Darry is the only child that he has struck, according to your own words. And it was Darry’s lover that he threatened and their affair that he destroyed, denying her love that is the birthright of all men. It is Darry’s heart that he has wounded, perhaps beyond repair now that she knows the truth. I wonder what else he might do to her that you would consider but a simple mistake.”
Cecelia wanted desperately to smile, for either she would tell Jessa the truth as she saw it or defend Owen and reveal the truth just the same. In either case, Jessa could then predict what to expect from them. So you will leave with her then, yes, Jessa? But if I tell you that Owen will most likely do anything within his power to make amends, how easy will it be for you to take my daughter and disappear into the night? Darry will never forgive him for Aidan and I’ve always known it. “You have no intention of marrying my son, do you?”
“Your son has no intention of marrying me, my Lady. None whatsoever.”
“And how do you know this?”
“Because he refuses to look me in the eyes. And when he does I see evasion, and indifference as well. He is more enamored of my brother than of the thought that I might share his bed.”
Cecelia recognized the truth within Jessa’s words. Malcolm, what are you playing at then? “Yes, I suppose that would trouble a prospective bride. Though you don’t seem very troubled.”
Jessa said nothing.
“And if he did look you in the eyes?” Cecelia challenged her openly, and either Jessa would lie or she would reveal everything. “If Malcolm wanted you in his bed? What would you do then?”
Jessa didn’t answer, for it was a trap and she knew it. But she had learned patience at Radha’s knee and was certain that Cecelia wanted something from her, though what it was she would need time to decipher.
“You would be a queen, Jessa, as your mother was.”
Jessa’s expression became fierce at the comment, the color dark within her face.
A tremor of unease moved through Cecelia but she forged ahead. “And a queen wou—”
“I was tempered within the cold fires of the Jade Palace, my Lady,” Jessa said. “When Bharjah learned that my mother had not given him a son, he took her from me and kept her prisoner until she was with child again. I was suckled upon Radha’s breast and so never knew my mother’s touch. When she bore him a second daughter, he crushed my sister’s skull on the stones and slit my mother’s throat when she tried to stop him.”
Cecelia stared in open shock.
“The prospect of being a queen holds very little appeal to me,” Jessa replied, with steel in her voice. “And at the moment, it does not appear to have done you much good either.” Jessa shifted smoothly and rose to her feet. “I would like to walk among the trees now, my Lady. When you wish to leave, if you would let me know?”
“Of course,” Cecelia answered, still stunned by the intimate revelation and the cutting observation as to her own plight.
Jessa bowed her head in respect before walking away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jessa stepped into the corridor behind the upper shelves of the Queen’s Library and closed the secret panel behind her, shutting herself within the gloom. She lowered the cowl of her cloak, whispering a spell as she did so.
The air before her reacted to the quiet words and began to move, churning slowly. The utter black of the corridor seemed to melt away as a swirling point of air began to glow, rotating smoothly at first and then picking up speed and forming a small orb of substance. The atmosphere thickened around her as the radiance of the witchlight became more dense. A white core of energy pulsed slowly from its center as Jessa dipped her fingers in it. The sphere reacted as water might and bent inward. Small veins of blue light bled away from her touch, adding depth to its light and illuminating the corridor.
Jessa spied the door, then caught her breath in surprise. The sphere pulsed and exploded outward, doubling in size in a heartbeat and then tripling within the next. The blue veins split and burst free, splintering like lightning toward the secret chamber in the distance. The air cracked like the breaking of branches as they traveled, and Jessa stumbled against the wall. The majik slammed against her as the witchlight crawled on the surface of the door. She struggled to regain her balance and slid forward, speaking the counterspell in a rush of words.
The ball of light bent strangely in response and collapsed inward with a noise not unlike the blowing of the bagpipes. The sound was low and discordant as Jessa win
ced and turned her face away, and her hair blew back as she lifted a hand to protect herself.
“Shivahsa!”
The witchlight moved upon the door as if it were a wild animal. Its blue claws scraped the wood and found the weakest point, flooding within an old crevice and pouring downward as she stared. The light broke apart near the floor and spilt to the stones in a shower of sparks and hissing streamers, filling the air with the pungent tang of a summer storm. The iron handle of the door was glowing, white light snaking about the metal with a high-pitched sound that sang along the wrought iron.
Jessa stepped forward and spoke the counterspell again, the strength of her voice filling the corridor and echoing along the stones as the witchlight gathered in a molten pool at the threshold and then disappeared, bleeding in a rush beneath the door.
“Darry.”
She ran, closing the distance, then seized the door’s handle. The metal froze against her skin as she threw the door open, and the light dripped free from her fingers as she stepped within the chamber.
Darry was crouched against the far curve of the wall beside the bed, her right arm extended before her as the witchlight swarmed about her hand. The blue light threw her features into extreme contrast against the golden glow of the lamp.
Jessa stumbled against the door as the Vhaelin within her blood surged up at the heavy scent in the room. It was torrid and filled with a potent, seductive musk of power that caused her heartbeat to stutter and then lurch within her chest.
Darry stood up slowly as the witchlight slithered up her arm. She shook her arm and the light splattered against the floor at her feet. An abrupt sound, the warning bark of a panther, echoed high into the upper expanse of the chamber.
Darry flung her arm violently and the light left her with a splash, thrown free. It clung to the wrought iron of the spiral staircase where it hissed and fell away in defeat, dropping to the stones and dissolving into nothing.
