Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1)

by Bridgett Powers

  “A position of high honor, to be sure,” Lyssanne said.

  “He taught me to ride, too.” Noel swiveled back to him. “You must see me ride Honeybee, I—” Coughs seized her again, and she doubled over, struggling for breath.

  “You’ll not be riding tonight, Noel,” MeMe said. “Nor until you are well. It’s off to bed with you, and no protesting your medicine.”

  Just then, the herald entered, announcing dinner. MeMe ushered Noel off in the care of her nurse. Brennus followed them to the door to bid Noel a pleasant night.

  Once the child was out of earshot, he said, “She’s radiating more warmth than is normal. I thought the healers claimed she would outgrow that malady.”

  “It’s been a difficult year,” MeMe said. “She’s battled this fever off and on for a month.”

  As guests filed into the great hall through a doorway farther along the wall, MeMe rested her elegant hand atop Brennus’s arm. Together, they wove through the crowd to stand behind Duncan and Lyssanne.

  When all others had left the receiving chamber, the herald cleared his throat and addressed the lesser knights and ladies assembled in the hall. “Our noble host, Duncan, Lord Avery. And presenting Lyssanne, Lady of Rowanhill.” He ran the two words together as though Rowan Hill were a great hall or titled holding. “Her Grace, MeMe, Lady Avery, escorted by our guest of honor, His Highness, Sir Brennus Xavier, Prince of Ravenshold.”

  Brennus led MeMe down the center of a hall ablaze with color. In conspicuous absence, though, was any hue resembling scarlet. He rounded the head table and passed behind Lyssanne’s chair to seat his hostess.

  Just then, Lyssanne whispered to Duncan, “I thought he was Prince of Navvar.”

  “He is, by birth,” Duncan said, “but does not hold the office. By rights, he should be addressed as His Royal Highness, but cannot be introduced as such while another rules the land.”

  As Brennus settled in the chair at Duncan’s right hand, Jarad took up a protective stance behind Lyssanne’s chair, having made it plain he considered himself her personal servant. A wise move, and his only means of remaining close to her. He might admire Brennus, but trusted even him only so far with her welfare. Wise, indeed.

  The easy smiles and light conversation between Lyssanne and MeMe set Brennus’s teeth on edge. With a word, he could expose Lyssanne for the fraud she was, but doing so would endanger the boy as well.

  With Lyrya’s severe penalties for perpetrating a deception upon one’s host, especially a lord, and Duncan’s strict adherence to the law, Jarad could lose his tongue or end up locked away. Brennus had no wish to land him even in Duncan’s relatively civilized dungeon. If, however, he ever thought Lyssanne meant his friends harm, he would put a swift end to this. Until then, he would watch—as usual.

  “I must say, Your Highness,” said Sir Fenard, seated to his right, “you have excellent taste. Though, I suppose that is to be expected.”

  Brennus sighed. If he must endure this nuisance throughout dinner, he may as well respond as propriety demanded. “To what do I owe the compliment?”

  “Your lady, of course,” said Sir Fenard. “Where is this Rowanhill? No manor in Lyrya bears the name. Lastarra, perhaps?”

  “It is in Lastarra, yes.”

  “A fine hall, I daresay. I should exert myself to visit. Perchance, has your lady a sister?”

  “She isn’t my lady,” Brennus said between his teeth.

  “No? She arrived with you, did she not? I just assumed.” He popped a fig into his mouth with almost feminine delicacy. “Then, you won’t mind if I…acquaint myself with the fair lady?”

  Brennus went cold, recalling rumors of Sir Fenard leaving the ladies he wooed with crushed emotions and shattered reputations. “I doubt, sir,” he said, “that you are of the sort to invite the lady’s attentions.” He set down his forkful of herbed mutton, no longer interested. “Your…sophistication…is of an entirely different class from hers.”

  “She can hardly object to my acquaintance,” said Fenard. “Why, so fine a lady must have a taste as superb as your own.”

  Precisely what Brennus was counting on, her taste. Though, why should he care? Perhaps whatever was left of his chivalry simply didn’t wish to see heartbreak added to her sufferings.

  “How goes your quest?” Duncan asked, putting the matter to rest. “I’d hoped your presence here meant you’d found what you seek, but…Are you any closer to your goal?”

  “At times, I despair of ever reaching it,” Brennus said. “Lady Effie persists in altering the terms of my service.” He smirked, taking secret pleasure in calling Venefica by the name she detested.

  “A fickle liege lady can be a trial. Some would say a trial not worth enduring.”

  “You’ve no idea, friend. I begin to wonder if she ever intends to call an end to it.”

  So, Duncan assume Brennus still pursued the vain notion of a noble quest, to end his curse in the manner proscribed. Good. What Duncan would think of his consorting with a sorceress instead…Well, he’d never have to know.

  The evening progressed as such occasions always did, with inane chatter, gossip, and favor mongering. Brennus exhaled as, at last, Duncan led the occupants of the high table back into the drawing room, where they would partake of sumptuous desserts, while servants cleared supper dishes and rearranged the hall for the remainder of the festivities.

  A few servants attended the gathering, Jarad insinuating himself among them. He stood ready behind Lyssanne’s chair, making certain he alone handed her whatever refreshment she took. Brennus wouldn’t have been surprised had the boy insisted on tasting her food.

  “What talents have you, Lady Lyssanne?” Duncan asked, seating himself in the chair with the best view of all his guests. “Do you play the harp? Sing?”

  Lyssanne shook her head, flushed.

  “Ah, perhaps you prefer the pianoforte? Fynnette has entertained us for the past fortnight, but I thought, as our newest guest, you should have first choice to grace us with your gifts. The hired musicians have only just arrived, you see, and must prepare.”

  “Thank you for the honor, milord,” Lyssanne said, “but I shall defer to your cousin. She would know best the songs you enjoy and is doubtless more skilled than I in the musical arts.”

  She covered it well with her eloquent words, but pretty speech couldn’t hide her agitation from Brennus. Here, was where her deception would fall apart. What could she have learned of the arts expected from a noble lady as entertainment in a manor hall?

  “Surely the lady is too modest,” Sir Fenard said, slapping Duncan on the shoulder as he rounded his chair. “My sister’s talents notwithstanding, we’re fair drowning in every form of art Lyrya can boast.” He skirted around Jarad then executed a bow, a blatant excuse to lean closer to Lyssanne. “I, for one,” he murmured, “would prefer to discover what Lastarra has to offer.”

  Lyssanne darted a wide-eyed glance at Jarad, then toward Brennus.

  Brennus pinned her with his gaze, a silent reminder. Neither of them could save her from the jaws of this deception, a monster of her own making. “Perhaps,” he said, “the lady would favor us with a tale. She is, after all, so fond of telling stories.”

  Lyssanne flinched.

  “We’re no gaggle of children at some peasant fair, flocking to the voice of a tale-spinner,” a man said.

  “On the contrary,” Duncan said. “A storyteller’s gift would be most welcome. It’s long since a decent bard graced my hall. What wonder will you weave for us, Lady Lyssanne?”

  “What tales I know,” said Lyssanne, folding and unfolding her hands, “I share with children. Surely those are too familiar to interest this fine company.”

  “Doubtless the tales of Navvar are not so familiar,” Brennus said in a sudden flash of inspiration. “So little is heard from that region. You might share a story from Ar Popinpopii.”

  Lyssanne stared at him, her eyes wide. Had he indeed caught her in another lie? Was her abi
lity to read a foreign tongue a mere pretense to gain favor, as he’d suspected?

  “Never have I heard any of their legends,” MeMe said. “Have you, Duncan?”

  “Long ago, when Brennus and I were boys, but I’ve forgotten most of his grandmother’s stories. Remind me, won’t you, Lady Lyssanne?”

  Perhaps emboldened by their encouragement, she began the tale of the Great Faerie War, shattering yet another of Brennus’s perceptions of her.

  She spoke of a time long passed, when there awoke a terrible uprising among the faeries. An enemy of all life persuaded some of the winged warriors to rebel against their ruling house and the benevolent human kings they protected. Before the end, one third of the faeries were deceived. Ultimately defeated, they were banished to the Land of Lightless Fire.

  Lyssanne recited the long but lyrical tale as if translating word for word from the original Navvarish. The warm, expressive way she told it drew even Brennus into the legend.

  As her voice rose and fell, weaving the images of betrayal, love, and intense battle, the knights and ladies left their fine desserts untouched. Even the servants abandoned their duties to listen, but only Brennus paid this any heed.

  Lyssanne ended her story, sharing in the bittersweet triumph of the fabled faerie court. She’d survived the test. The room erupted in pleased chatter, but Prince Brennus, whose gaze had weighed upon her throughout her tale, rose without a word and strode to the fireplace.

  “Lastarran cider all around!” Lord Duncan said to his chief servant. “Let us toast Lady Lyssanne and the gifts of my wife’s homeland with the fruits of their orchards!”

  “Here, here!” said Sir Fenard, leaning on the arm of the settee facing Lyssanne.

  “Yer lady’s tale was right innerestin,’” said the maid Jarad was assisting to fill glasses at a sideboard behind Lyssanne’s chair. “I could listen to ‘er fer hours.”

  “Yeah,” Jarad said. “That one’s even better than those I’ve read about King Aleric.”

  “You can read?” the maid squealed, and conversations nearest them ceased.

  “Lady Lyssanne taught me,” Jarad said in a near whisper.

  “You taught your servant to read?” Countess Fynnette asked. “What in the Seven Lands for? Do you teach all your servants, or just this one?”

  “Jarad isn’t my servant,” Lyssanne said, her entire body revolting at the assumption. “He’s a friend.” By rights, she should be serving refreshment alongside him.

  “Milady honors me too highly,” Jarad said, nudging her arm as he handed her a glass.

  Lyssanne glanced at the prince, his gaze again prickling her skin. He seemed at perfect ease, leaning against the mantelpiece, arms crossed over his deep blue velvet doublet, one foot propped on the hearthstone. Would this be the moment he revealed her secret?

  His continued silence frightened her almost more than the condemning words she expected him to utter at any moment.

  “I can understand employing a lettered servant,” grated the deep voice of a portly man seated across from Lord Duncan. “If it’s a highly trusted steward or the head of your household.”

  Lyssanne nearly spilled her cider at the man’s abrupt words, reminding her she and Prince Brennus weren't the chamber’s sole inhabitants.

  “Still,” the gentleman said, “any other servant who can read is dangerous. Yes, dangerous to the peace and privacy of any decent house.”

  “But, sir,” Lyssanne said, “should your people be denied the joys or knowledge found in books, simply because they were not born to noble parents?”

  “Such modern ideas,” Countess Fynnette’s mother said with a hiss.

  “You’ve obviously not been to court for some time, Mother,” Sir Fenard said, laughing. “I’ve heard far more scandalous notions than that.”

  “You would,” the dowager baroness said.

  “Besides,” Sir Fenard said, “I find ladies with modern ideas most…interesting.”

  Lord Duncan raised his glass. “To interesting ladies and their enchanting tales.”

  Just how interesting might Sir Fenard find Lyssanne after their dance? The guests hadn’t long returned to the great hall when, with courtly grace rivaling anything she’d read in books, Lord Duncan’s charming cousin asked for the favor of her company upon the dance floor.

  As they approached the other dancers, the music turned from a simple folk ballad common throughout the Seven Lands to a fast, intricate reel. Ladies’ skirts whirled by as Lyssanne tugged at the baron’s arm. “Perhaps we should postpone. I do not know this dance.”

  “All the better!” Sir Fenard said. “Then, you’ll learn it properly. I’ve astounded King Luteson’s court with my mastery of this dance a dozen times.”

  Grasping her hands, he whirled her into the fray. He executed a complex set of steps and swung her first one way, then the other. Lyssanne nearly tripped over her hem trying to keep up.

  “Just watch my feet,” he yelled above the raucous music.

  Even if she could have distinguished anything about his feet, all her attention was consumed with simply staying on hers.

  As the music rose to a crescendo, Sir Fenard spun her faster and faster to match it. Breathless, her knees wobbly, Lyssanne feared she might twirl to pieces.

  The sudden force of the next spin flung her damp palms free of the baron’s. Reeling, she stumbled into the grasp of strong hands. Those hands twirled her, in one seamless motion steadying her and making the move appear part of the dance. The twist ended with the hands’ owner behind her, Lyssanne encircled in his arms.

  Sir Fenard continued to dance, seeming unaware he’d lost hold of his partner.

  Prince Brennus’s voice, behind and above Lyssanne, called his attention to the fact. “With your permission,” He said, his tone far from a request.

  “Oh…but of course.” The baron bowed, a hand outstretched as if graciously relinquishing her company. “Until later, fair lady.” He backed away, bowed again, then left the crowd.

  Prince Brennus stepped from behind Lyssanne then gestured to the musicians. The music’s tempo slowed to a soothing waltz as unfamiliar to her as the raucous tune had been.

  He extended a hand. “Shall we?”

  She stared at his strong fingers, longing for a seat and a glass of anything cool—or better still, a hole in which to hide. Instead, as courtesy demanded, she placed her hand in his. Besides, he’d just rescued her again, albeit from no greater danger than that of falling on her face.

  “I do not know the steps,” she said, perchance finding a way to bow out. “I wouldn’t wish to embarrass you as I surely did Sir Fenard.”

  “Very little embarrasses the baron.” He moved closer. “The steps are simple,” he murmured. “Fear not, I shall guide you. Place your free hand at my shoulder.”

  “Is such a posture proper?” she asked, glancing about.

  “For this waltz,” said Prince Brennus, “it is perfectly suitable.”

  She complied, though she must look foolish, one arm extended as if reaching for the ceiling. Her fingertips barely brushed his shoulder. Before having occasion to take his measure with touch, she’d sensed his great height as a mere notion. Everyone was tall to her eyes.

  “Here,” he said, a chuckle lightening his low voice. “Perhaps this will serve.” He covered her hand with his and moved it down to the middle of his upper arm. “Better?”

  She nodded, her cheeks aflame.

  “Good. Now, all you need do is move when I do. Mirror my steps.”

  How could she do thus when she knew not which way he would move next? Her limbs grew taut as Jarad’s bowstring. Prince Brennus took a step forward and to her right. She stepped back a moment too late. He retracted his boot just in time to prevent crushing her toes.

  He whispered the direction of his next step before executing it, and continued likewise until she fell into a rhythm with him. “Relax,” he whispered. “The dance will come easier.”

  No longer focused on
their feet, futile as that had been, Lyssanne found herself staring at the medallion hanging from the ornamental chain he wore across his shoulders. Gold trimmed the brilliant blue, shield-shaped emblem and slashed it diagonally in two. The lower left corner boasted a smaller version of the golden, encircled birds that made up part of his chain. A bit of fancy scrollwork in the upper right corner resembled the letter n.

  At length, she closed her eyes and let the music and Prince Brennus’s whispered directions carry her along. Now, in much the same way she could detect changes in her surroundings in the dark of night, the slight shifting of his muscles beneath her hand and the pressure of his nearness alerted her to his intent even before he whispered it. Tension melted from her limbs, and she flowed through the dance, for the first time in her life feeling graceful.

  Her entire body relaxed; and, as during their ride to Edgemond, she sank into a sense of safety in the prince’s company.

  The joy of the dance swept her away until, at last, the musicians paused. As Prince Brennus escorted her to a chair, she drew a silent breath. She’d taken two turns with him!

  While the prince escorted Lady MeMe onto the floor, Sir Fenard’s voice drifted to Lyssanne’s hearing from behind a nearby pillar. “Why does he wear the elf-heads of House Avery in his chain of office?” he asked. “Surely a man of his station hasn’t sworn fealty to a border holding, even one as vast as yours?”

  “That’s a sign of alliance, not fealty,” Lord Duncan said. “I saved his life once in battle, so he wears my signet in equal measure with his own house crest. Told him it wasn’t necessary, seeing as he’s done the same for me countless times, but he has this strict code about repaying debts. Loyalty and honor go bone-deep in that man.”

  “So, the other links in the chain, the ravens in flight surrounded by circles—?”

  “Crowns,” Lord Duncan said. “They, along with the x-shaped links that connect the crests, represent House Xavier. When the crest was first designed, it was said to represent the royal house’s duty to protect the land from all dangers. Scavengers, you know. The raven is held to the crown at wingtips, beak, and talon to signify a king’s obligation to restrain threats in any form, by word or weapon. Later, the raven came to symbolize the family.”