Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1)

by Bridgett Powers

  Lord Avery led Lyssanne up more than a score of white marble steps, streaked with silver. On closer inspection, the walls of the manor shone with the same brilliance. What untold wealth must be herein, that one could build an entire mansion of so costly a stone?

  Brennus would never grow weary of the splendor of Duncan's home. The moment they breeched the entrance hall, Duncan proceeded toward the left-hand grand stairway. Recessed between the two staircases, the ornate double doors to the Great Hall stood sealed for the night.

  “My steward will have informed my lady wife of your arrival,” said Duncan. “She will greet us with some refreshment or other in my private study.” He turned to Brennus, gesturing him forward. “You remember the way, I trust?”

  “Certainly.” Brennus took the lead up the curving stairs. Doubtless, Duncan wished to give Lyssanne ample opportunity to admire the finery of his twin flaring staircases, chandeliers, and other such ornaments. “How fares Lady MeMe?”

  “Still the loveliest creature in the Seven Lands,” Duncan said. “Though, I daresay I am the most fortunate of men to have her close second as my newest guest.”

  Brennus smirked. He could all but feel Lyssanne blushing behind him. Duncan's legend as a charmer was well earned. Lyssanne made no reply. She'd said precious little since their first sighting of Avery Hall. Well, the place should awe one such as she.

  Then again, perhaps she feared making some backward comment that would give away her true station. This was how she repaid his kindness? Bad enough, she persisted in claiming no knowledge of sorcery when he’d caught her in the act, but to allow the boy to pass her off as a lady! Brennus would say nothing of it, yet. She would expose herself as a fraud soon enough.

  They reached the second-level landing in moments. Brennus ate up the distance to Duncan's favored room. He was weary of travel and idle vigilance. A respite in a proper hall would do much to restore his spirits.

  At the door, a servant garbed in the pale green livery of Avery Hall met them. Bowing, she informed Duncan that Lady Avery awaited them within.

  Brennus pushed open the heavy, oak door and inhaled. Leather, smoke, and sandalwood—ah, a place where he could truly breathe. A generous fire and strategically placed lamps set the room’s dark paneling aglow.

  With a practiced grace Brennus had long admired, Lady MeMe rose to greet them. “Welcome,” she said, offering an elegant curtsey and dazzling smile. “It has been too long since you honored us with your company.”

  “Agreed, fair lady,” Brennus said, bowing over MeMe's hand. “But the honor is mine.” On impulse, he embraced this woman who had become like a sister. She’d certainly done Duncan a service in marrying him.

  “Had we known you were coming,” she said, “we would have made all ready before you arrived.” She flipped her long, auburn braid over one shoulder and pinned him with that saucy look which once had so vexed Duncan. Then her genteel manner slipped back into place. “I’ve ordered a feast, but it will take time to prepare. Tomorrow, we shall dine in the style befitting you. I'm afraid all I can offer tonight is lighter fare.” She waved to indicate a sideboard, laden with warm tea, cheese, bread, and a selection of fruits.

  “We dined in Edgemond,” he said. “This will more than meet our needs.”

  She glanced at Lyssanne then tilted her chin at her husband. Duncan cleared his throat and made introductions.

  Lyssanne curtseyed in her simple manner and said, with eyes downcast, “My lady.”

  “I am most pleased to share your company, Lady Lyssanne,” MeMe said, gazing down at her guest with a raised brow. “The moment your chamber is ready, I shall conduct you thither personally. Until then, do make yourself comfortable.”

  “You are most kind. Thank you.”

  Brennus crossed his arms. An odd way to show gratitude, lying to one's hosts.

  They passed the next hour nibbling on fruit and enjoying Duncan's fire. Brennus endured Duncan's good-natured teasing about their various past adventures, while the women smiled and nodded in the appropriate places. Ah, to be in civilized company again.

  At length, Lyssanne turned to Lady MeMe and said, “If I might ask, where is Jarad to pass the night?”

  “Your boy?” Duncan asked from across the room. “Not to worry, the stable lads will find him a bed. We’ve plenty to spare.” With a wave, he dismissed the matter.

  A knock sounded. At Duncan’s command, a maid entered, carrying a silver tray, which bore a book. She strode to MeMe.

  “Milady.” She curtseyed and awaited MeMe's nod to continue. “I was unpacking the young lady’s things while Lily changed the linens, and I found these books. I thought Her Ladyship might like some recreation while awaitin' her room?” She paused for breath. “I hope I done right, milady. I don't know nothin' about books, so I brought the smaller one.”

  “Most considerate, Emma,” MeMe said. “I am certain my husband’s ramblings bore our guest. Your forethought is a boon.” She inclined her head toward Lyssanne.

  Emma held the tray out and curtseyed. “Your book, my lady.”

  “A thick one, that,” said Duncan. “And it’s the smallest, you say? Impressive.”

  Brennus peered over Lyssanne’s shoulder. “Ar Popinpopii?” He spoke the title of the collection of Navvarish legends in a tone as hard as his fists were clenched. “You read Navvarish?” The thought of her perpetrating another deception turned his very being to stone.

  “Only a few words,” she said. “This translation is in Lyryan.”

  “Where did you learn to read Lyryan?” Brennus lifted the book from her lap without warning and leafed through its pages. “I was under the impression your home lies as far from the Lyryan border as one can get in Lastarra.” It was astounding Lyssanne could read at all. Cloistervale was so backward, women traipsed about with unbound hair like overage children.

  “Our scribe, Mr. DeLivre, taught me,” she said. “’Tis his native tongue. This was a childhood gift from him.”

  "How delightful!” said MeMe. “You must browse our library while here.”

  Lyssanne gasped. “A library? I would be honored. Thank you.”

  “Do you speak it as well?” Duncan asked.

  “Fii,” she said, then continued in Lyryan. “Though, I fear my accent is quite terrible.” She laughed. “I understand it more fluently.”

  “Duncan is half Lastarran, you know,” MeMe said in Starransi.

  “Raised on the border of two lands,” Duncan said, “one can expect to be a man of both.”

  If that were true, Brennus was a man of every land but his own.

  Moments later, Lady Avery escorted Lyssanne back down the corridor. Perhaps this would afford Lyssanne an opportunity to confess her true station. Lady Avery seemed kind and might understand Jarad’s wish to protect Lyssanne, given her latest bout with illness. She could only hope her hostess would know how to set things right without endangering Jarad.

  “Lyssanne…” Lady Avery said, interrupting her reverie.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “I was just trying to place the origin of your unusual name, but alas, I’m at a loss.”

  “I believe I was named after my father, Lysander. Though, I’m not certain,” she said. “If I might ask, yours is a rather unusual name as well, is it not?”

  “In truth, my given name is Melanie Marie.” Lady Avery laughed. “My younger brother couldn't pronounce it properly when he was small, and his version stuck.”

  Lyssanne followed her hostess up another flight of stairs, one hand gliding along the lace-like banister.

  "This wing's tower holds my chambers and private solar,” said Lady Avery. “The other wing boasts the library tower. The Great Hall is set between them. Once you know that, the manor's size is less daunting.” The staircase narrowed and curved as they continued upward. “Your chambers are on the third level.”

  Even in the faint light of ensconced torches, the walls of the corridor shone bright against the dark hardwood floorin
g. At intervals between doorways, stood vases of various sizes, some on stands, others so large they sat upon the floor. On occasion, a sculpture stood sentry instead.

  Near the end of the corridor, Lady MeMe stopped at a set of double doors with shining golden fittings. She flung them wide and ushered Lyssanne inside.

  The first thing to catch Lyssanne's eye was the change in flooring. The chamber stretched out upon glossy tiles of marbled rose. She followed Lady Avery into a sitting room populated with a settee and several chairs, each cushioned in the loveliest shade of blue she’d ever beheld, a hue befitting the chamber of a king.

  A writing desk stood in one corner. Sapphire vases stuffed with white flowers sat atop small tables made of the same pale, silvery wood. Oh, how Flora Whitfield would have longed to capture the sweet perfume of those blossoms for her candles and soaps! That, combined with the fresh-scrubbed scent wafting in from the corridors, bathed the room in an aroma of contentment.

  Lyssanne followed Lady Avery to a door set in the left-hand wall of the chamber. As she neared it, she reached out to the wall, not marble as she’d thought. The lower half was paneled in the same silvery wood as the furniture. Above this, stretched a blue as pale as frosted lake water. Lyssanne traced the tiny silver flowers patterning the wall. The pale blue was silk!

  Voices drew Lyssanne to the door through which her hostess had gone. A maid finished fluffing a pillow on the bed dominating the next room, then curtseyed to Lady Avery and moved toward the door. Lyssanne stepped aside to let her pass.

  “I hope these rooms are to your liking,” said Lady Avery. “Should you need anything, pull this bell chord. Our chief housekeeper, Madam Bedford, will ensure someone attends you. Your things have been placed in the wardrobe and trunk.” She glanced about. “Ah, yes, and a warm bath has been prepared in the alcove.”

  Lyssanne’s throat constricted. How was she to tell this generous lady her household had gone to such bother for a peasant? To receive such kindness from strangers, after the coldness she'd endured from her own people…

  “Ah, you are weary from your travels,” Lady Avery said. “I'll leave you to your rest.”

  “'All this…’tis too much, too fine for me. You've gone to such pains, but I—”

  Lady Avery laughed. “A few changed linens and heated water are no trouble, I assure you. Especially for a guest of our dear Brennus. Why, I’d begun to despair of his ever finding—”

  A knock interrupted her. Lyssanne followed her into the sitting room. The maid who had fluffed the pillows stood in the corridor.

  “I beg your pardon, milady,” the maid said, “but Madam Bedford bade me inform you, His Highness has retired and is pleased with his accommodations. Prince Brennus sends his complements to Your Ladyship.”

  “Thank you, Lily.”

  Lyssanne stood frozen until Lily’s footsteps faded. “Prince Brennus?” she whispered.

  “You didn't know?” Lady Avery stared so long, Lyssanne dropped her gaze. “You don't know, do you?”

  “Know what, my lady?”

  “Come, let us sit a moment. And, call me MeMe.” They settled into chairs comfortable enough to sleep in. “Brennus’s tale is a long and sad one. In short, he is indeed a prince, the rightful crown prince of Navvar.”

  Lyssanne gasped. She ran a hand over the book of Navvarish legends she still held. “I thought a band of warlords ruled Navvar, the Blackthorne Brotherhood.”

  “Indeed. For many generations, Brennus’s family has lived in exile. The Brotherhood deposed them long ago. It is Duncan's hope to someday see the Xavier throne restored.”

  Lyssanne could only shake her head like a simpleton.

  “Surely you knew,” said Lady MeMe. “’Tis obvious you’ve traveled with him for some time. Are you not the lady he wrote of to Duncan, the one for whom he’s undertaken a quest?”

  “Not I,” Lyssanne said. “Though he has shown me great kindness.”

  “I am glad of it.”

  ’Twas more inconceivable than ever, that kindness. He, a prince, had held her while plying healer's craft to ease her pain. He'd ridden with her, seen she had shelter, and twice had saved her life—the life of a peasant not even from his homeland.

  Then, another thought struck her. “I do not wish to pry,” she said, choosing her words with caution, “but why does your husband call Sir, er, Prince Brennus the raven prince? Lord Avery addressed him thus when we arrived and later referred to him as prince of carrion.” She took a steadying breath. “It seems almost a cruel jest, as if Lord Avery mocks him for ruling over only common or base things.”

  “I see my husband's oldest friend has found a champion as fierce as he is.”

  Lyssanne shook her head. “I didn't mean to imply—”

  “I'm pleased to see it,” Lady MeMe said, resting a hand atop Lyssanne's. “Be assured, Duncan means no ill by his teasing. Though, I think it unkind to remind Brennus so often of…” She sprang to her feet. “Well, but I've said too much already. If I'd known he hadn’t told you this much…No matter. Surely there is no harm done.”

  Lyssanne rose and followed her to the door.

  “Rest well,” said Lady MeMe. “If your bath has cooled, ring the bell. On the morrow, would you consent to join me in my solar for a late brunch?”

  “I would be honored.”

  “Lily can show you the way. I’m happy you’ve joined us, Lyssanne. Good night.”

  Warm, lavender-scented water lapped at Lyssanne’s chin, its subtle sloshing lulling her muscles into liquid languor. Soon, her cheeks grew as moist as the rest of her, from tears rather than the tub’s contents.

  The scent of her favorite flower conjured visions of Rowan Hill Cottage. Oh, she was out of her depth, here amid such opulence! Months of turbulent emotion rained into the water.

  At last, silent tears ran dry, and her body floated on a river of semi-wakefulness, her mind churning in the shallows of a single thought. A prince. Brennus…a prince.

  At length, wrapped in thick linen, Lyssanne left the shelter of the screened alcove. She stood for long moments as if lost. A clean chemise and plush bed awaited her.

  She stared at the bed, a massive four-posted affair with mattresses piled so thick, a dainty three-legged stool had been provided to give one a boost. She ran her fingertips over the silken, royal blue coverlet. How could she dare sleep beneath such finery?

  She hopped onto the cloud-soft confection and pulled the coverlet and matching curtains about her. Thus cocooned, she sank into the deepest sleep, perhaps, of her life.

  15

  Revelation

  Lyssanne rose to answer a knock at her door then hesitated, smoothing a hand down the deep blue skirts of her feast-day gown. A bit wrinkled, but stain-free. Would it be fitting attire for such company as a lady and her attendants?

  The maid Lily stood in the doorway. “I’ve come to escort you to Lady Avery’s solar,” she said, curtseying. “Oh, I would’ve come sooner had I known you required aid with your hair.”

  “There is no need to fret. I managed well enough.”

  “But you can’t go like that!” Lily said.

  Lyssanne raised a hand to her freshly washed hair. What could be amiss with it?

  “Beggin’ your pardon, milady, but only young girls wear their hair loose.”

  “Oh.” Lyssanne’s brows drew together.

  “Not to worry, miss,” Lily said, bustling into the room. “I’ll fix it up for you.” She beckoned Lyssanne into the bedchamber then gestured to the cushioned stool beneath a gilded vanity. “I s’pose, you not being from these parts, you might do things a bit different. Never heard of such, myself, but I never been outside of Averton.”

  Lily fashioned Lyssanne’s hair into a simple braid and wound it around her head in a halo. As she worked, Lyssanne’s visage in the looking glass took on a maturity and elegance she would never have attributed to herself.

  “I know this is a far simpler style than befits a lady,” Lily said, “
but we haven’t time for anything finer.”

  “How long will you favor us with your company?” Lady MeMe asked.

  Lyssanne glanced around the elegant solar. “Jarad and I shall depart this afternoon.”

  “Oh, but you must remain for the feast honoring our mutual friend, at the least.” Lady MeMe offered her a seat while servants set out dainty refreshments. “What is your destination? If you have a set time for reaching it, perhaps Duncan can suggest a swifter route.”

  Lyssanne’s palms grew moist. “I have no particular destination in view, but—”

  “Then, it is settled,” Lady MeMe said. “I insist you stay the week. My husband’s cousin and her party are set to leave on the morrow. They’ve delayed their departure to pay honor to Prince Brennus.” She took Lyssanne’s hand, a gesture so reminiscent of Aderyn, Lyssanne’s throat constricted. “I would so appreciate your company once they’ve gone.”

  How could Lyssanne refuse? Yet, she must seek Reina’s advice on the matter and determine how Jarad fared. Above all, she must tell them both what she’d learned. Jarad’s manner had become far too relaxed with Prince Brennus as it was.

  A servant admitted several women in fine silk and taffeta gowns.

  “Ah, there you are,” Lady MeMe said. “Lady Lyssanne, I present Duncan’s cousin Countess Fynnette and her mother, Dowager Baroness of Harmon. You’ll doubtless meet Fynnette’s brother tonight. His barony lies in the south of Lyrya.”

  Lord Duncan’s cousin took a seat opposite, eyeing Lyssanne. “What an adorably quaint gown,” she said. “That antique style is just charming!”

  Lyssanne traced the stitchery at her neckline, far higher than those of the other ladies.