Sudden, spiky tingles ran along his skin, as if the quills of his every feather were driving into his flesh. He snapped his gaze to the red glow seeping through the dirty windowpanes.
Sunset! He had been a fool to lose track of time.
As fire and ice warred for possession of his innards, he clamped his beak tight to keep from uttering a sound. His talons shortened and softened into fleshy toes. Feathers all over his body drove themselves inward, leaving behind pale skin. His wing joints contorted. The bones remolded themselves into long arms. His vision wavered, then cleared, less sharp than before. He blinked, feeling half blind for the few seconds it always took to adjust to the change.
Far worse than the shadow transformation Venefica’s botched spell had forced upon him, this metamorphosis left his body solid and capable of feeling—everything. His arms ached from prolonged flight, as had his wings. Though he’d endured this change at every sunset and sunrise for more years than he cared to count, he would never grow accustomed to it. Worse still, he’d just shifted in another’s presence.
He sat atop the piano, sweating, his legs dangling, hands on knees. Before Venefica could glance up, he straightened, adopting a casual pose. He had his pride, after all.
At length, she ended her song, acknowledging his presence with a look.
“My lady.” He inclined his head. “Such a melody should grace the halls of a palace. A Navvarish palace.”
“The great Brennus approves of my music?” Venefica said. “I must celebrate.”
“I’ve not heard that waltz since childhood,” he said, “but for whom do you play it?” He snatched up the portrait miniature in front of her, catching a fleeting glimpse of a golden-haired man of perhaps sixteen winters with startling silver eyes, before she jerked it from his hand.
“For myself.” She placed the portrait facedown with a slow deliberation that didn’t deceive him. “I often play when angry. And why do you think I had need to play tonight, pet?”
“Were you so impatient to see me?” he said with a half smile.
The sorceress glared at him.
“It isn’t as if I can whisk myself here on a puff of wind the instant you wish.” He slid from the piano and strode to a corner. He ran a finger along the dust-laden bones of a harp. “Flying over miles of forest takes time.” He turned to her. “And even I require sleep.”
Venefica waved that away. “A minor inconvenience. Your delay was probably wise. It gave my rage time to cool. Had you arrived instantly, as you say, you would doubtless now be nothing but a caw echoing through my chambers, and no longer of use to me.”
“If my absence hasn’t caused your…distress,” he said, “what then could have driven you to such desperate straits as to make music?”
“You dare address me in that flippant tone after you’ve slain one of my creations?”
The smirk melted from his lips, leaving his expression as flat as his voice. “That creature in Westerfield, you sent it?”
“Hardly.” She stood and paced the length of the room. “I abandoned that failed experiment years ago in the land of its birth. The stupid beast has searched for me ever since, but that is far from the point.” She spun to face him. “The perfect opportunity arose, and you spoiled it! Even Diornian sensed what my bidding would be should it happen upon an enemy of mine.”
His brows drew together at a sudden thought. “How did you know I killed this…Diornian? It was night. You claimed you can see through my eyes only when I take the form of the raven. Or was that a lie?”
“Do you think you are my only spy?” she said. “The Shadow Mist played a part in the beast’s creation. Through it, I’ve been tracking Diornian’s movements. When I realized it had smelled my curse on that girl, well, I could hardly resist the show.”
“You used the water mirror?”
She nodded. “No one, ever, has survived an encounter with Diornian. Its stare alone causes such fear, it stops the heart.”
“How is it, then, that Lyssanne didn’t perish, as the innkeeper did?”
“Her eyes—the entire time Diornian’s gaze was upon the girl, her eyes moved about in rapid, random patterns. Not once did she focus on the creature’s stare.”
“A symptom of fear?” Brennus asked, recalling similar behavior in Lyssanne’s eyes when she’d stood near him in his true form.
“I think it rather a side effect of her poor vision. Ironic, that her limited sight should save her from a lethal gaze.” She leveled her own deadly stare on him, eyes flashing with black fire.
Brennus fought the urge to step back.
“Imagine my surprise when, instead of letting Diornian feast on my enemy, my best agent saves her from the beast!”
“I saved the lives of the inn’s patrons,” he said, “including my own. Your pet beast didn’t limit its appetite to the girl. She would have perished, despite my actions, if not for the unicorn.” Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall. “Besides, I took certain oaths as a knight.”
“What of your oath to me?”
“I have not broken it,” he said through his teeth. “And I would remind you, Lady, you made an oath to me as well.”
“I’ve told you, I will fulfill our bargain when I regain my full power. The girl—”
“Yes, yes. The girl is still too near Cloistervale.”
“Mock me if you wish, knight, but should that girl discover the strength dormant within her, she will be a danger to us both.”
Hard to believe, that. Still, besides wanting free of it, what did he know of magic?
Venefica walked to the dirty window and stood as if peering at the landscape. “Twice,” she murmured. “Twice now, that unicorn has saved Lyssanne's life.” At her chill words, ice crackled on the windowpane. “That nag prevented you destroying the girl when you first showed yourself to her. Now this.” She spun and flung out a hand. The string-less harp beside him exploded, its fragments bursting into flame in midair then raining down as ash.
Brennus blinked the sting of charred wood from his eyes. Good thing he hadn't told her about the amphisbaena.
“You were wise to hide your true form while my enemy was in Cloistervale,” she said. “Your appearing only at night would have raised suspicions that could have ruined my plans, but your role in this game has changed. No longer will gathering information suffice.” She stepped close and prodded his chest with a blood-red nail. “I want that girl destroyed!”
“You wish me to slay her?”
“I prefer to do that myself,” she said. “At your hand, her death would be too swift.”
His shoulders relaxed. Though, why should he care how the girl perished?
“You will eliminate the obstacles that prevent her demise.” Venefica said, kicking the harp’s ashes. “I will be thwarted no longer!”
“I won't kill the boy, if that is your meaning,” he said. “I am no coward to raise a hand against a child, and to slay a unicorn…” He barely suppressed a shudder. “That would bring upon my head a curse not even you, in all your fabled power, could lift.”
“Fabled? You doubt my power?” Her eyes flashed as wind beat against the windows.
“I've seen precious little of what you promised in these two some years.”
Deceptive softness overtook her voice. “Then, why do you stay?”
“Believe me, I've asked myself that question often enough.”
“Because, I am your last chance, the only hope you have left.”
“And a poor chance at that,” he mumbled.
“Shall I show you, pet?” Darkness pooled around her midsection. Her hair tore loose of its pins and flew in all directions, as if the screaming wind had come inside with them.
“Don't threaten me, witch,” he said through gritted teeth. “You need me.”
Her hair settled back around her shoulders, and the howling wind subsided, but that thick darkness remained. “Perhaps. For now…perhaps we need each other.”
10
The
Weapons of Our Warfare
Reina’s soft whinny broke through the pain-induced haze shrouding Lyssanne’s mind. She blinked to ward off the sting of sunlight glaring greenish through the thatch of leaves and branches close overhead. Was it morning? Afternoon?
How many days had she lain beneath this shelter Jarad had constructed? Wispy memories flitted through her mind—a half-day’s hasty ride from Westerfield, sudden pain leaving her draped like a sack of flour over Reina’s back, the unicorn calling upon all the magic she possessed to keep Lyssanne’s limp body from slipping to the ground.
Reina whinnied again, a single word, “Danger.”
Lyssanne tensed. The searchers must be near. Blood pounded in her ears, intensifying the already unbearable pressure within her skull. She struggled to slow her racing heart. If she lay still, they wouldn’t see her. Thank the King, Sir Brennus had described this method of concealment to Jarad. In her current state, she would have found no other escape.
Sudden nausea burned her throat. Jarad and Reina were…no, they would be safe. If they’d followed the plan, Jarad had shimmied up a tree at Reina’s first whiff of humans, and the unicorn insisted her magic could render her all but invisible to the untrained eye.
Branches popped, and heavy footfalls crunched through dry leaves. Lyssanne’s skull had become a drum, vibrating with each sound, amplifying the slightest snap of twig into a sharp hammer-blow. Lightning bolts of pain stabbed at her temples and streaked across her brow. She held her breath until the worst of the pain subsided. She mustn’t so much as whimper.
At last, the heavy footsteps faded into the distance. Lyssanne lay unmoving until Reina’s “all clear” brought to her ears the sounds of falling leaves and the thump of Jarad’s feet hitting the ground. She exhaled a gust that stirred the roof of her hiding place. They were safe.
Noire shifted into shadow just beyond the sun-dappled clearing in which Lyssanne’s party had stopped to rest. He’d wearied of sitting in branches, forever flicking bugs from his feathers. At least this transformation was painless…with the exception of the ill-fated day Venefica had cast the spell that should have ended his curse. Such was the price of magic.
Even the name he used while in this form was evidence of sorcery’s stain.
“I shall call you Noire,” Venefica had said when they’d first met. “It suits you better.”
Doubtless, she’d thought it a cruel jest, this reminder that only in darkness could he take his true form. Ah, but nothing could be crueler than the transformation each dawn had forced upon his body since his ninth year. Still, thinking of himself by that name during daylight hours helped him maintain focus on his true quest while in the guise of the raven.
The obstacle to that quest’s fulfillment sat in a pool of sunlight, tucking her copper-streaked hair behind one shoulder. Lyssanne crossed her legs beneath her skirts and rested her chin in cupped hands. Doubtless, had she known she was being observed, she would never adopt so unladylike a pose. Even when Jarad was near, she maintained a constant air of quiet dignity.
“What’s amiss, child?” Reina asked.
“I’m just weary,” Lyssanne murmured, her eyes shadowed with evidence of the recent toll her curse had taken, an ongoing affliction as devastating as the havoc shapeshifting had wrought upon Noire’s life.
Ironic, the one person in all the Seven Lands who might have understood him was the person he was sworn to destroy.
“I’ve seen you tire often enough,” Reina said, “but this…” She shook her mane. “You’ve hardly spoken in two days, and the sun has gone out in your eyes.”
It was true. Noire leaned forward. How could he have failed to notice—until now, when it was all but gone—that her strange Light had always shone in her eyes? Not even when the curse was at its worst, or when her people had betrayed her, had she looked this forlorn.
“I'm sinking, Reina.” Lyssanne’s words dropped into the silence, heavy as millstones. “I dare not say this with Jarad present, but I, I must talk to someone. Else, I fear he will see.”
“See what?”
She rubbed at the scar Reina’s horn had left on her upper arm. “’Tis as if I’m back in the mud by Merchant's Bridge, clawing for solid ground. Only this time, the darkness is closing over my head.” She covered her face then let her hands fall. “I can't breathe and I—Much as it shames me, I feel like letting go.” She turned away, sniffling. “Oh, Reina, I almost long to let go.”
“Dear child, what has changed? You never lose hope, no matter the circumstance.”
Lyssanne leaned against Reina's side. “I’m so tired.” Breath whooshed out between her lips. “And weary of being forever tired…and always afraid.”
“Afraid of what, child?”
“Everything—that we won't find enough to eat, that some calamity will befall Jarad because he followed me, that I’ll fall from your back when we travel.” She drew in a slow breath. “But mostly, afraid they were right.”
“Who?”
“The Council, my friends, even some in Westerfield. They think I’m—that there’s something wrong in me, here.” She covered her heart with both hands. “If they are right, then I truly have disappointed the King, and that is my worst fear of all.”
She shivered, despite the heat of high summer. Even Noire, in this parody of a body, could almost have sweated. Yet there, in the direct gaze of the sun’s burning eye, Lyssanne rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trembling.
“They weren't right, you know,” Reina said.
Lyssanne shook her head. “Wh-what if the chief councilman’s words were true? Perhaps I should have tried harder. There must have been something more I—”
“Tried harder?” Reina said, snorting. “Never have I seen anyone push themselves as you do. Even now, you can hardly stand, yet you insist upon preparing meals and washing and such. Why, were you to make any more effort, you'd have to be part horse.”
“But the King is surely vexed with me,” said Lyssanne. “The serpent in the wood, that monster at the inn…why would they single me out, if not because I’ve displeased Him?”
Reina craned her equine neck, her multifaceted azure eyes flashing a stern glance at Lyssanne. “The King of All Lands does not punish His children that way. He would never send deadly creatures to harm you.”
Lyssanne hung her head. “I know, but if I’ve fallen out of favor…” She sighed. “I’ve opened the door to those things by failing Him.” Her head snapped up, a hand flying to her mouth. “’Tis true! What they said the night they banished me—That I’d opened the door to that…that mist.” Tears poured from her eyes. “I put them all in danger.”
“Do not forget, child,” Reina said, “there are other forces at work. Forces that have no love for those who honor the King.” Her gaze drifted toward the trees. “The King has protected you. There is a reason for that as well.”
“I cannot imagine why.”
“He still has need of you.”
Lyssanne let out a sound as bitter as stinkweed. Reina’s head whipped back around, and Lyssanne lifted her hands in surrender.
“I know, I know. The King has given us each a purpose. Only, I can't fathom what mine could be now. Once, I thought I knew, but…” She swiped at her eyes. “What purpose could I serve, l-like this?” Her voice grew strangled. “For you, I am a burden to carry. And Jarad…No child should have to look after his teacher.”
“You are not a burden to me,” Reina said. “You are a calling. The King orchestrated our meeting for my good as much as for yours. You have given me purpose. As for Jarad—Well, you give him something he’s never had, a cause, someone to think on besides himself. A family.”
“I do believe the King arranged our meeting, as He led Jarad to me,” Lyssanne said. “How often He has preserved my life, but why go to such lengths? Once, I was guardian of a sacred trust, and through the children, I was useful.” Her sigh trembled through the air. “What am I now, that He should let me live?”
“You are Lyssanne, His creation.”
“Oh, yes, breathing air and using up resources best left to those who still make a difference.” A tiny whimper escaped her throat, and she pressed a fist to her mouth for a moment. “What use can there be in a life that does nothing but suffer pain and consume the efforts of others?”
Noire stared. Perhaps the girl was not as strong as Venefica feared.
“Oh, child, don’t you know?” Reina said, her voice nearly as strained as Lyssanne’s. “As long as you can love even one other soul, as long as you have mind and heart enough to pray, your life has purpose.”
“A lovely thought, if only…” Lyssanne’s eyes closed, her chest heaving a silent sigh. Though her tears had ceased, tiny gems sparkled at the ends of her lashes.
Reina turned to face the dove who pecked at the ground several paces away, seeming to take in their every word. The unicorn’s soft whinny drew the dove’s eye. The little pest bent her head—nodding? In a sudden unfurling of wings, the dove took to the air, sailing in the opposite direction from Noire’s hiding place.
“’Tis all I ever wanted,” Lyssanne whispered, “a home, a purposeful life. Is it reaching too high—wishing to belong, to be useful?”
Noire slipped deeper into the shadows. Whatever his mission, ’twas unseemly to intrude on such private pain. Had Venefica been nearer, her Shadow Mist would have filled the clearing.
Reina’s soft words arrested his thoughts…and his exit.
“The King doesn’t create trades, Lyssanne. He creates people.”
A current of heated air stirred the platter-sized leaves overhead, casting a wing-like shadow across Reina’s mane. Lyssanne’s entire body tensed. Ridiculous reaction. Two weeks should have been sufficient time to banish thoughts of the horrid monster’s attack at the inn.
Reina’s ears twitched. She raised her head and sniffed. “Let us stop here for a rest.”
Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 15
