by JK Ensley
“Yes, Father. Those were his very words.” She nodded as she spoke. “He bade me repeat it precisely… thrice, no less. Finnean wanted to make sure there was no misunderstanding. He claimed me, Father. And he was adamant about you believing him in this.”
Brodder released a long breath. He tenderly kissed her temple and silently rested his forehead there.
Jenevier reveled in the feel of his healing warmth, of his healing love
“I can see what you say is true, wee moon.” He sighed resignedly into her hair. “He was the rarest creature to walk this land from his birth. None were as angelic nor as handsome as that fair-haired warrior sitting over there. Well, not until you fell here and stole his thunder.” He chuckled softly. “Perhaps you were made for each other. Perhaps you didn’t fall, Gealach. Perhaps you were sent. Alas, it is as it should be, my wee darling.” He wrapped his arm across her shoulders. “Go in peace, precious daughter. You have my noble blessing in anything your heart so desires.”
Finnean watched closely their touching exchange. His heart swelled when her eyes met his, a radiant smile on her pale face. Relief swept over him. Only now could he breathe without pain. Only now did the wild coursing within his veins slow to a rhythmic hum.
*****
Yet Finnean’s weren’t the only curious eyes to behold their tender exchange. He wasn’t the only witness to this morning’s strange events. Two more sets of prying eyes remained in the distance, drinking in all these extraordinary happenings.
The gray-eyed man hadn’t simply found her here, he had followed her. When he saw her color drain from her body, watched it slowly sucked away and into the mouth of that jealous Elven girl, he raced to her side. No longer did he care if she discovered him. His very soul rocked as he felt the unspeakable violation happening within her. He made it to her side just as she entered those clouds, that heavenly Door to Anywhere. He heard her hit the ground. It resonated, strangely, throughout his being. He didn’t go to her. He knew she lived. He decided to keep the comfortable distance that had always separated them. He hadn’t moved from this spot since the older giant of a man she now lived with, had carried her inside the solitary old house, far removed from anyone and everything.
But the other creature, the woman sitting amongst the sparse treetops, she was new. This was the first time the silent gray-eyed man had seen her here.
*****
She took flight, gliding from her perched hiding spot, leaving the little home behind.
How is this even possible? the woman thought. A bond stronger than blood, forged in but an instant, deep enough to weave as precious a tie as father and daughter? Fascinating… I must claim this rare magic for myself.
Her mind was still racing with possibilities as she neared the large stone castle on Val Hal.
Chapter 11
Valencia
(vah-LIN-cee-ah)
The Silver Witch flew back to her stolen home, rage and jealousy coursing wildly throughout her quaking cells, clouding her anxious mind.
Drostan felt the wind from her wings as it blew across his desk, causing his unbound hair to fly wildly about his face. He may not be able to see his master unless she permits it, but he always knew when she entered. And he always knew when she was angry. He hurriedly tried to smooth back his ruffled locks as he picked up the many papers now blowing about the room. Yes, he could always tell when she was angry. This time… she was livid.
He entered the great hall with his head bowed, eyes lowered. Drostan had learned a long time ago not to question her. He still bore the scars to remind him, lest he forget. He would wait until she spoke. He always waited for her words to come first. He would offer no advisement whatsoever, and immediately obey all she commanded him.
Her enraged breathing, as it hissed in and out over her sharp teeth, was the only sound to be heard within the whole of the massive room. Minutes passed. His heart rate rose in correlation with her emotions, slowing only as her breathing returned to normal.
“Drostan.”
“My Queen.”
“I am vexed.”
He didn’t speak.
“As you know, I followed that simpering piece of trash. I was right not to trust Gráda. His loyalty ran too deep.” She revealed her presence as she wearily collapsed onto the giant stolen throne. “He is no longer mine. He has returned his heart to his King.”
The silent man took care not to expose the trace of joy leaping about within his heart at her words. The deep lines creasing his brow, caused by Gráda’s deceit, slowly relaxed, smoothing out, melting away.
“The old King has acquired a strange ally,” she continued.
Drostan’s ears perked up. His years of painful conditioning had taught him well how to hide his emotions. That same training now paid off, his face revealing nothing of his heart.
She leapt from the throne… movements so fast he could barely register them, bright ethereal eyes stopping only inches from the wordless, bowing man.
“Look upon me. Tell me what you see.”
It took great effort from him just to raise his head. He hadn’t the strength to meet her piercing gaze.
“My Queen?”
“Describe me, Drostan. Tell me what it is you see when you look upon me.”
His heart began to shudder within his chest, his throat closing painfully tight. His mind was filled with the remembrance of his own bitter screams bouncing off these stone walls, echoing through his tortured mind. The clacking sound of her cat o’ nine tails as the claws came together just before the whip snapped. Her favorite metal tipped cat had bitten through the scarred flesh of his back only a few short months ago. She’d sworn that would be the last time… he knew better.
Impatiently drawing air in over her razor sharp canines, she glared at him. That familiar hissing sound pulled his thoughts back to the present, forcing him to focus on her lethal beauty. He faltered.
“Tell me what you see,” she demanded.
“Y-your skin glows…” He swallowed hard. “…pulsing like a faceted gem, priceless and spellbinding. Your hair is rare spun silver, my Queen. And your enchanting eyes rival the very heavens.” His trembling voice softened. “Bluer than the skies after the summer rains, they are. Your age is a mystery, eternal youth kisses your cheeks, blesses your lovely throat. Your radiant smile is as glorious as it is lethal. I crave it more than air. You own an angelic beauty, Milady, one that’s beyond compare, beyond description.”
Her flawless shoulders slumped forward. She turned from him, wearily resuming her throne.
“Have you ever beheld a creature within this realm…” Her words were muffled, head resting in her hands. “…any creature, completely absent color?”
“My Liege?”
She blew out an exasperated sigh. “Have… you… ever… seen… such… a… creature?”
He cowered, flinching back from the accompanying hiss of her deliberate words. “I know not of the creature you speak, Your Grace. I have never heard a story of one such as this, nor read of their likeness in the accords.”
She closed her flaming eyes, letting her head fall back against the intricate Celtic carvings of ancient wars and forgotten legends.
“Nor have I,” she whispered.
Drostan remained silent, closely following her gliding movements to the nearby window.
She stared blindly out at her kingdom. “There was a woman…” She didn’t turn to look at him as she spoke. “…a woman such as this was with the old King. I saw her today. She was completely absent color except for some strange black markings covering her left hand and a single curl in front, here.” She absently touched the same spot on her head. “It was black as well. Yet… still… it was minus color. I can’t explain it properly. The black had no sheen, no life to it. Her skin, all of it, even her lips, was as fresh snow—absent glow entirely. Much like a corpse, yet not. Her hair was silver, but not as mine. It lacked the sparkle, the glow. It was silver, yet… muted. It was like, gray or white… bu
t neither.” She turned then to her silent servant. “She didn’t boast a single spark of life. She was walking and talking and smiling. Yet she was absent any trace of… life. It was like… she was hewn from marble, no blood pumping within to color her lips or flush her cheeks.” She paused a moment, her eyes focusing on nothing. “She was completely void all things—color, light, heart, fire, even soul. And worse still… she knew she was empty, knew she was a void. It was eerie, Drostan. She expertly walked through the pretext of being unique but normal. But it’s a lie, a fragile façade. This strangely made woman… she was as blank as a new canvas. Drawn, yet… not finished.”
He could only stare at her, hesitant. Never had he seen a look upon her face as the one she now wore.
What churns within her mind? Is it confusion? Curiosity? Or, perhaps… it’s fear.
“Drostan. Drostan, I am speaking to you.”
He heard her words as his mind slowly returned from his hope-filled thoughts. “My Queen?”
She sighed. “I said, have you ever heard tell of such a creature? Did the old-ones here never tell stories of a woman such as this?”
“No, my Queen. As I have said, never.” He straightened his back, giving her his full attention. “Never have I heard a legend or even a fairytale containing a woman such as her.”
The Silver Witch turned back to the window. “Nor have I,” she whispered.
He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before he spoke. “Was it perhaps… a demon? Did one remain behind after the wretched war, after the apocalypse?”
“That was not the apocalypse, Drostan. And no. She is no demon.” Her voice was icy. “I know demons… I know Angels as well. Neither one can claim this maiden.” She turned to face him. “I have told you very little about the unknown, my friend. But know this. There’s a vast universe out there, many other realms besides yours. I’ve been to them all. Never have I seen a creature minus color completely. My race would probably come the closest. Yet… she is not of us.”
He spoke before he realized it. “Angels and demons are a race?”
“Demons are not. A person of any race can become a demon if they are vile enough in life, that is.” She narrowed her eyes as an angry fire smoldered within the lovely blue. “Angels? I wouldn’t define them as a race, no. At least, not in the way you’re thinking. As vastly different as Angels and demons can appear to the eye, none look as she does. No, Drostan. Neither group, race or no, can claim this maid.”
“What is it about this particular woman that troubles you so, Your Highness?”
She sighed loudly. The exasperated noise made him blanch. He’d lowered his guard, had spoken freely with her. If he didn’t squelch his tongue, this day would end with his tormented screams. He quickly bowed his head again.
“I cannot describe it, Drostan,” she said, turning back to the window.
The man’s shoulders visibly tensed when she said his name. He waited for the coming blow.
She continued, “I suppose what troubled me the most was her lack of smell. All creatures, all races, every single thing that draws breath has a scent. She does not. She smells of nothing. I didn’t get close enough to taste her. Yet I’m certain no hint of her would be left upon my tongue. Still, she holds some form of great magic—of that I am certain. Brodder and his trusted brothers hold her precious in their hearts.”
Drostan remembered her scent. When first they’d met, his lovely Silver Queen, her enticing aroma invoked his inner beast. He unwillingly smiled at the delicious thought. Then he recalled how Brian and Eògan had sworn he was mad, saying she had no scent at all.
Perhaps the colorless maid gives off such an aroma, one meant for only a chosen few, he thought.
She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him back to the present, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“Are you even listening to me?” she growled. “I saw them, Drostan. I spied upon them only a couple weeks ago, three at the most. She wasn’t among them. She cannot possibly have been here very long. How is it they love her already?”
“She charmed them?” His question wavered within his hearing.
She released him, giving his shoulders a little shove when she did. “Perhaps. They are only men, after all. It’s easy for a woman to trick men into love.”
He didn’t miss the vicious glint in her eye, and she didn’t want him to. She was speaking of him, and made certain he knew it.
The broken man dropped his head in defeat. He remembered well the power she had claimed over him with but a glance. One single glance, one tiny smile, one touch of her tongue, and he eagerly betrayed his King and his country. The guilt of his actions weighed heavily upon his once noble heart. Yet, if that black day were to repeat itself, he knew, painfully did he know, not a single thing about it would be changed. It would always and forever play out the same. He was powerless in her regard. And he had accepted his painfully dark fate a long time ago.
“Why so glum, old friend?” she whispered mockingly.
Cupping his cheek in her hand, the beautiful silver woman tenderly stroked his face with her thumb. He shuddered with desire.
“Do you regret meeting me, Drostan? Do you regret the time we’ve spent together? Hmm? Tell me. Do you wish you’d never tasted my lips? Never ran your fingers over my celestial body? Never known the pleasures of my flesh?”
With the conjured memories pulsing within him, he pulled her to him, breathing in her alluring scent. “No, my Queen,” he whispered. “I will never regret a single day I have been blessed to know you.” He lightly kissed her neck. “You are my world, sweet Valencia.”
The slap was sharp and painful, unexpected. It spun his head, nearly claimed his balance.
Valencia grabbed him by his long tresses, hissing her warning in his ear. “Never call me by that name, ever again. To do so will forfeit your very life.”
Chapter 12
Jenevier
(ZHEN-ah-veer)
Luag landed on his back with a jarring thud, the dusty ground puffing up in wisps around him.
Jenevier saw his face twist with pain before he rolled onto his side.
“Dammit, Brodder,” he said, strained. “Why didn’t you warn me, you old goat?”
His King chuckled. “Luag, Brother, you bore witness to her might yourself. Upon your arrival, no less. You saw with what ease she dispatched good Gráda, here. And yet you would blame your carelessness on me?”
The surrounding men didn’t try to hide their chuckles as Luag groaned with the effort of returning upright.
“You’ve not earned the right to laugh until you’ve stood where I now do,” Luag hissed, tossing the training sword to Brian. “Your turn, Brother.” He glanced toward the maiden, holding up his hands. “I yield.”
Brian looked first at the dulled blade and then to his King. “I cannot strike her, Milord. I will not raise a blade, even one such as this, to my wee moon. I have told you true, Sire. She owns my heart. How can you ask this of me? And how could I ever strike the woman I love?”
Jenevier stood before the handsome young warrior in but a blink, her hand wrapping over his holding the battered old hilt.
“I’m not your wee moon, Brian. And you do not love me.” She hissed out the words through gritted teeth. “How long will you deny what you know to be truth? Will you always ignore my warnings? Must I be forced to teach you daily, fair brother? Then, so be it.”
Her forehead slammed into the delicate bridge of his perfect nose. Blood exploded, covering both their faces.
Brian’s pain-filled howls automatically triggered Eògan’s internal defenses. Unbidden reflexes responded to his trained mind’s screaming warning. His noble little brother was in danger. The massive, fiery-haired general drew his giant blade and was upon her in but a breath.
She yanked the practice sword, still clenched in the grasp of the bleeding Brian, up to defend against the mighty blow intended to slice her from head to heel.
Jenevier released her hold upon the handsome yo
ung warrior, his dull blade clattering to the ground.
Facing the flaming giant, she raised a single silver brow, and then leveled her glare. His enraged eyes and heaving chest amused her. She circled him tauntingly. Her deliberate movements agonizingly slow to all who watched, the wickedness of her intent displayed purposefully upon her angelic face.
When at last she spoke, her cold smile seemed born in the pits of hell, dark and lethal. “I thought you vowed to protect me with your life, Brother. All here were present to witness your promised words,” she said, waving her hand out to encompass the King and his valiant knights. “Have you changed your mind in this?” She half chuckled. “Am I no longer your fair wee sis?”
Her words, coupled with the taunting smirk upon her lips, were meant to produce the very reaction Eògan blessed her with. He attacked without regard to defense, maddened with an almost uncontrollable rage.
Jenevier used this massive warrior’s strength to her advantage. He was too strong to take on full frontal. She decided to let him do all the work by sidestepping his powerful blow, letting the enormous blade find its way deep into the hardened ground. Effortlessly, she scaled his large form and sat lightly upon his broad shoulders. Straddling his neck, she pressed the back of his head firmly against her belly, holding his own dagger to his throat.
There were no jeering laughs this time. The remaining men took an uneasy step back. She no longer held a practice blade. The strange colorless woman was now armed with the razor sharp knife this red warrior kept hidden within the leather of his boot. No one saw her filch it. They knew not what she held until her inhumanly fast movements had ceased. That bit of sharp steel she now claimed had easily sliced through the throat of many a large stag.
Eògan ceased the vain tugging on his trapped sword, carefully raising his shaking hands in the air, praying she would accept his peaceful surrender.
