Grandmother Ava had once told her being different—being a spiritmaster—was a gift. On days like today, though, Lark wasn’t so sure about that. What Grandmother Ava called spirit magic could be as much a curse as a gift.
Lark chuckled and the rain slowed to a drizzle. A streak of sunlight shone through the thick, black clouds.
Grandmother Ava was the one constant light in Lark’s life. Her true age was a mystery, but rumor had it she was close to a century old, if not older. Bent over and as frail as a raven’s bone, no one would guess the strength hidden beneath the folds of long, silk robes, or the gentleness of her arms as they held and rocked her grandchildren, let alone the wisdom and knowledge tucked away in the recesses of her still lightning-quick mind. Grandmother Ava was security, she was home, she was love.
It was on Grandmother’s knee as a small child where Lark had come to terms with the fact she’d never be like everyone else. For hours on end, she’d listened avidly to the stories of her maternal ancestry. Stories of the spiritmasters—a human, nomadic group of people who were strong in the ways of mind-over-mind and mind-over-matter. Spirit magic was old magic, almost as old as the dragons themselves who had gifted only a handful of humans with the power.
Not well-respected and, more often than not, feared and hunted because of their ability to control the minds of others, the spiritmasters had become all but extinct, and scattered to the winds of Albrath. Those who were left lived in seclusion, fearful of being discovered.
Lark had been taught at a young age to hide her particular talent, or shame, as her parents referred to it. And not just hide her abilities, but never practice them, and even deny their existence. If she tried harder to repress them, she hoped, perhaps her curse would fade away in time.
The rain slowed to a drizzle, and the sun broke through the clouds. A rainbow of pastels streaked across the sky. Lark glanced over at Aryanna and smiled. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me credit for the good weather along with the bad, would you, Ary?”
Her sister grinned and playfully poked Lark in the ribs. “Well then, I’m putting in an order for rainbows and sunshine the rest of the way to the portal and home. It hurts me to see you unhappy, Lark.”
Lark nodded. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”
Ary leaned back against the seat of the coach and closed her eyes to nap.
Lark studied her sister. How could anyone be so beautiful and so thoughtful? Not that she wasn’t a prissy, prima donna princess all the way to the tips of her manicured toes, but Ary had a spirit that naturally made people smile and wish to do her bidding. She was regal yet fair, conceited yet accepting, spoiled yet giving. She would make Sarco Sunwalker a fine wife.
Pain laced with guilt stabbed Lark’s heart and thunder crashed overhead. She forced the vision of Sarco as he had looked last night, with passion smoldering in his eyes, from her mind.
Ary opened her eyes, leaned over, and patted her hand. “I wish you would tell me what’s wrong,” she sighed. “Though I know you won’t. At least all will be well when we get home. You just wait and see. It’ll be different this time.”
Lark cringed and the clouds opened up in a deluge.
Home. She was barely tolerated at the dinner table let alone in the castle on a daily basis. It had gotten to the point over the years that weeks could go by without Lark seeing either of her parents. She didn’t mind. Being in the presence of King Alfred and Queen Allanna usually meant she’d once again displeased them in some manner.
Lightning flashed across the sky and thunder rolled over the carriage as it swayed in the fierce wind, while Lark relived the only time she had purposely sought her mother out.
It was on her sixteenth birthday and curiosity finally got the better of her. She found Queen Allanna alone in her private solar.
“Mother, may I have an audience, please?”
The queen turned toward her and, at first, didn’t seem to recognize her. “Lark? Oh, it is you. Don’t stand there slouching, girl. Get on with it. What is it?”
Lark curtsied. “May I ask a question?”
The queen twisted so as not to look directly at her but nodded.
“Why did you name me Larksong? I mean, not that I don’t think it’s a perfectly lovely name. It’s just that it isn’t like the others. I mean, it doesn’t start with an A like Aryanna, Adan, Ally, and Audrey. And…and there isn’t even a middle…” Lark’s voice trailed away until the last of her words were no more than a sigh.
Queen Allanna walked to the window and stared off into the distance. “You were never like the rest of the children. Not even the day you were born. You were so difficult. Eighteen hours I labored with you, and for what? I expected more, I expected a son. Another son would have been prudent. After all, I had already given your father three daughters. There certainly was no need for a fourth.
“It would’ve made the king happy if you’d been a male. But you weren’t. And then you opened your eyes and I knew God Draka had punished me for wanting another son so badly. You were marked. Those cold, soulless, gray eyes. Eyes of the cursed spiritmasters.”
The queen twisted toward Lark and pointed a perfectly manicured nail toward her. Lark felt the sting of it to the core of her soul.
“I could no more name you as I did the others than I could throw myself from this window. Can’t you understand? It would’ve tainted our name, it would’ve been sacrilege. Even someone like yourself must realize that.
“The entire time I labored with you, an irritating bird screeched outside this very window. Your cry sounded much the same as that incessant noise, so since I had no choice but to name you something, I named you Larksong in its honor. Appropriate, don’t you think?”
That had been the last time Lark had sought out her mother for any reason.
And now, after traveling this last season as Aryanna’s companion, she was headed back to a home where she wasn’t wanted.
At least Grandmother Ava would be there to greet her, and her brother Adan and her twin sisters Ally and Audrey. Did it really matter if her parents found her an embarrassment, a disappointment, a disgrace?
What would they think if they knew she’d bedded her sister’s future husband? Casual sex for pleasure certainly wasn’t considered taboo. It was completely normal. Sex with your sister’s intended was another matter entirely. Once a man or woman was spoken for, they were off-limits, especially to other family members.
What would Ary think if she knew? She probably wouldn’t be offering comfort or patting her hand. The thought of her sister’s face contorting with pain and betrayal was more than Lark could take. She’d rather hurl herself from the highest peak of the Alarian Mountain Range than cause a moment’s suffering for Ary.
Lark wondered how she was ever going to live the rest of her life knowing the man she’d already begun to fall in love with belonged to someone else. And not just anyone else, but her very own sister.
Glancing at Ary’s kind, trusting face, the dam of tears Lark had been valiantly holding back all morning burst wide open.
Aryanna wrapped her arms around Lark’s shoulders, hugging her close as she whispered, “Oh, Lark, sweetie, someone really has broken your heart, hasn’t he? Tell me who it is, and I’ll have Adan hunt him down and pummel him. You go on and cry all you want, honey. It’s all right. If it floods, we’ll just turn this old coach into a boat and row our way home.”
Lark cried harder.
Chapter Four
If ever a man should pack his bags and run as quickly as he could this very moment, Sarco Sunwalker was that man, and he didn’t even know it. The fate awaiting him, if he stayed where he now was, made Lark shudder. She believed with all her heart, when her sister’s coach rolled through the entry to the Academy of Magical Arts next week, Sarco wouldn’t have a clue what was about to hit him.
Not that his eventual marriage to beautiful Princess Aryanna could be considered a horrible existence. For Lark genuinely believed any man would b
e lucky to call Ary his wife. It was the fact he would be getting the king and queen as in-laws in the bargain that made Lark ill. If these last days at home had taught her anything, it was the farther from her parents she, or anyone else, could get, the better.
Her parents, King Alfred Zavier Caden and his wife Queen Allanna Zanlynn Calista Hammerstrike, were a sight to behold. Songs attesting to the perfection of their union had been composed and sung by minstrels from one end of Albrath to the other for as long as Lark could remember.
The dark and brooding King Alfred, a hulking barbarian warrior, was a handsome man used to getting his way in all things. That is, as long as his way coincided with the wishes of the queen. She was the true ruler, and everyone knew it.
The beauty of Queen Allanna, a petite human, was renowned throughout the land. Her golden tendrils and deep-sea-blue eyes were the subject of poet, minstrel, and artist alike. But then, the poets, minstrels, and artists were not privy to the coldness of the queen’s heart.
Everyone in the kingdom looked upon King Alfred and Queen Allanna as the perfect couple, ruling over their perfect kingdom, with their perfect life and their perfect children. All their children, that is, except for Lark. She’d always been a disappointment, a freak of nature, a mistake. Unlike her siblings, Lark didn’t fit into the vision her parents had of the perfect family.
Lark grimaced. Getting away from her parents tonight wasn’t going to be an option. The entire family was in attendance for Princess Aryanna’s farewell dinner, with King Alfred holding court at one end of an enormous oaken table while Queen Allanna sat in all her regal splendor at the other end.
Lark sat to the left of her father, sandwiched between Ally and Audrey, the twins. Her brother, Adan, was on their father’s right, with Grandmother Ava beside him and Ary beside Mother.
The conversation all evening had revolved around Sarco this and Princess Aryanna that, the fulfillment of a prophecy, the wedding of the century, and the joining of two dynasties. It was nauseating.
Lark tried to block out the voices and concentrate only on the food she kept shoving around her plate, but the sound of Ary’s voice and what she was saying snapped her back to attention.
“Lark’s going to accompany me to the Academy. As a matter of fact, I insist she does. Who knows, she might find her very own wizard to marry while there. Wouldn’t that just be the sweetest thing? We could have a double wedding.”
Her sister’s smile was open and genuine, and guilt about her jealousy toward Ary filled Lark. After all, it wasn’t Ary’s fault she was destined to marry the only man Lark wanted for herself.
The screech of humorless laughter coming from the far end of the table stopped all conversation in the room. Lark’s mother glared at Ary, as if Lark wasn’t even in the room. “Lark, marry a wizard? There’ll be no marriage between your youngest sibling and a wizard or anyone else for that matter. I can guarantee you that.
“Why, it would be almost criminal. Could you imagine the talk if she actually produced offspring? I won’t hear of it. This royal household has a standard to uphold. Just because we endure Lark, doesn’t mean we have the right to pawn her off on some poor, unsuspecting soul. Perhaps she should stay home where an eye can be kept on her.”
The room became silent as a tomb. Heat wicked up Lark’s neck, her face burned, and a lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t swallow.
Grandmother Ava stood, tossed her napkin upon the tabletop, and faced the queen. “There are days I’m embarrassed to admit you are even my daughter, Allanna.”
Tears pricked Lark’s lashes as her grandmother’s kind old eyes filled to overflowing. “She is your daughter, too, and Lark will go with her sister to the Academy. Do you hear me?”
Grandmother Ava pointed a bony finger toward Lark’s mother. “I have put up with much over the years to keep peace with you, but this, I’ll not abide. For the very last time, there is nothing wrong with what Lark is. She will go, or else!”
Queen Allanna glared at her mother but didn’t utter another word.
Lark was grateful her grandmother defended her, but at the same time, she wanted to find a place to crawl inside and hide. Being the center of her mother’s attention was never a pleasant experience.
King Alfred wasn’t any better when he interjected a moment later. “Don’t worry yourself about it, Allanna dear. Your mother is right. Let the girl go. What can it hurt?” He waved his fork in Lark’s direction. “And don’t forget, the crops aren’t quite ready to harvest. No sense running the chance she’ll get upset again and ruin them.”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I don’t see what you’re so concerned about anyway. No man, wizard or not, will give Lark a second glance with our lovely Aryanna in the vicinity. Nothing to worry about, I say.”
The king turned his smile on Lark, and the lump in her throat tripled to boulder size. “And as for you. You’re a daughter of my loins too and, though plain and undoubtedly different, when the time does come, I’ll find some man willing to bind himself to you. I don’t even care if it costs me a fortune to convince him to do so. And if by chance there are children from the union and they’re, umm, different like you, I’ll simply instruct the lad to build above flood level.”
Lark rose from the table and fled the room as clouds opened outside, thunder crashed, and rain poured.
****
Sarco waited patiently near the front of the receiving line and took what he hoped would be calming breaths. He tugged at the stiff collar of his scarlet-colored wizard’s robe.
This was the moment he’d been dreading since the day the first part of the prophecy had been fulfilled.
The procession of snow-white carriages drawn by sleek, matching horses moved through the gates of the Academy with all the pomp appropriate to the arrival of a princess. A flash of lightning streaked across what, moments before, had been a cloudless blue sky, and thunder roared overhead. Fat drops of rain pelted the long line of awaiting dignitaries.
Sarco smiled to himself. At least the weather knew sunshine wouldn’t be appropriate today.
The first carriage stopped directly in front of the long red carpet and a doorman came forward to open the coach door. Sarco held his breath.
A vision of female perfection stepped out. She was lovely, there was no denying it. Long, cascading curls of spun gold flowed across petite shoulders and swung gracefully against a tiny waist. Her form-fitting gown accentuated her high, full breasts and was the exact shade of her deep violet eyes. Full, pink lips smiled easily and Sarco caught himself smiling back in response to her open friendliness.
Princess Aryanna was beautiful, graceful, and everything any man should ever hope for. Why, then, did Sarco feel only a passing appreciation for her beauty? The memory of silver eyes and soft sighs haunted him.
As if the mere thought could conjure the woman he would never forget, Sarco felt her presence as clearly as if she’d touched him. He glanced up quickly and watched as Wonderful stepped from the carriage. Her gaze locked with his, searching for him, expecting him, knowing he would be here. It was her, really her, and she looked…guilty.
God Draka, she knew who he was.
Anger warred with confusion. Had she known all along? Had she known that night at Carnalval? Had it just been a game of take-the-princess’s-future-husband-to-bed? Who was Wonderful to the princess? A friend? A relative? More than likely, she was naught but a servant.
He heard…no, he felt her voice in his mind as clearly as if she stood right beside him, whispering in his ear, “Please don’t let on we know each other. Act like we’ve never met. It’s not what you think. Give me a chance to explain. I beg of you.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d imagined her voice inside his head because he didn’t wish to believe her capable of deception or if she really had such a remarkable ability. Right now, though, there was no time to dwell upon it. The procession had begun.
The princess moved down the reception line, and Sarco waited tensel
y as she was presented to Headmistress Seychelle. He had to give Princess Aryanna credit for poise. She didn’t even blink as she took in the strange pair standing before her.
Headmistress Seychelle was an entity unto herself. Coldly beautiful and well-known as a powerful enchantress, she certainly looked the part. Dressed in black leather that kissed and caressed sleek curves, she was a sight to behold. Tall, even for a high-elf, her skin was so pale it almost appeared translucent, and crisp, pointed ears peeked from a mass of black curls. In her hand, she held the end of a silver chain. The other end of that chain was linked to Ray.
Sarco sighed. Why had the woman insisted on bringing her mangy-looking human pet with her today of all days? Couldn’t she have left him behind just this once?
Ray choose that moment to punctuate Sarco’s point. He grinned up at Princess Aryanna and said the only three words Sarco, or anyone else for that matter, had ever heard him utter.
“Ray loves cock!”
Princess Aryanna jumped so quickly she almost tripped over the hem of her gown. She would’ve if Wonderful and the female gnome tagging along behind hadn’t caught her.
Headmistress Seychelle shook her finger toward the skinny, almost hairless, little man. “Not right now, Ray. We’re busy. Mistress will give you cock later, sweetums. Now, be a good boy and sit still.”
“Ray loves cock. Ray loves cock. Ray loves cock.”
Headmistress Seychelle sighed and jerked lightly on the leash. “Behave this moment, or I’ll call for Briar.” Immediately, Ray sat at his mistress’s feet and whimpered. “That’s a good boy.”
Sarco glanced toward his silver-eyed beauty to see her reaction to Ray. Wonderful’s eyes shone with laughter, so much so, Sarco couldn’t help but smile himself. The dark clouds overhead parted and streaks of sunshine lit her head and shoulders. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. She looked ethereal, radiant, and beyond lovely.
The Academy Volume One Page 34
