Light and Darkness: The Complete Series: Epic Fantasy Romance

by Jayne Castel

“And he blamed you?”

  “Naturally.” Elias reached up and scratched his chin. “He’d have preferred that you threw me to the shadow creatures rather than let me go home empty-handed.” The truth of those words soured Elias’s mouth. They were a bitter reminder of why he was here. “However, after some reflection he has now turned his mind to peace.”

  Ninia huffed. “That’s a relief to hear.”

  Elias’s mouth curved. “It was … decent of you … to let us go.”

  For the first time since approaching him, the young woman smiled, although Elias glimpsed the wariness in her eyes. Like the others Ninia didn’t trust him—and she was right not to. “Like I said back in the Dim Hold … you were following orders. I didn’t want to punish you for it.”

  Ninia’s words made a chill feather across Elias’s skin. His fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet.

  That, princess, is your biggest mistake.

  4

  Gael’s Chance

  Veldoras

  The Kingdom of Thûn

  GAEL’S CHANCE CAME near midnight. He’d been lurking in the shadows for hours waiting for this moment.

  The day had been long, grey, and tedious in this stinking sewer of a city. Night fell later too this time of year, as summer took hold. It had meant he’d had to wait a while before taking up position in the deep shadows of the pillars either side of the East Bridge.

  Finally, a carriage rumbled over the bridge, drawn by two grey horses, their shod hooves clattering over the cobbles.

  “It’s time,” he whispered, patting the collar of his leather tunic. He’d unlaced it at the throat, allowing a small, furry body to squeeze in against his heart.

  At last, the voice of his familiar whispered back. Let’s go.

  Gael pushed himself off the cool stone pillar, gathering the Dark as he went, and slipped in behind the carriage. He jogged after it, the soft pad of his boots drowned out by the clamor of the wheels and hooves. After hours of stillness, his limbs felt stiff. The scars to his left calf, right shoulder, and left ribcage—all from a year earlier—ached dully. However, he ignored the discomfort, his attention focused ahead.

  Before him, the oak and iron gates to The Swallow Keep drew open. Guards dressed in black leather with flowing red cloaks nodded to the driver. Shrouded by shadows, Gael smiled. He’d chosen the right carriage to follow; there would be no delays.

  The shadowed bulk of the great keep rose before him—a massive crenelated castle flanked by two turreted towers. The blue-grey stone appeared gilded tonight, illuminated by the braziers burning in the bailey below.

  Gael followed the carriage into the inner bailey. He took care to hug its shadow, for although he’d cloaked himself in the Dark, making it difficult for the casual observer to pick him out, he wanted to save his enchantment for later—for when he would truly need it.

  As the carriage pulled up, and the driver got down to assist its occupants, Gael slipped away. Once again, he gathered the Dark. The shadows around him slithered across the cobbles at his command, shielding him from view.

  Confidently, he strode up the steps and into the keep. The two men guarding the entrance, dressed in the black and scarlet livery of Anthor, didn’t glance his way.

  Gael walked into the great entrance hall and drew up short.

  Few things left him breathless these days, yet the sight of the interior of The Swallow Keep momentarily gave him pause. Candlelight illuminated the vaulted space, rows of candles lighting the wide spiral staircase that led upstairs. Pale, gleaming marble covered the floor. Bands of friezes wrapped around the walls, depicting the many victories of Thûn in years gone by.

  Keep moving.

  His familiar was right, Gael wasn’t here to admire the friezes. His attention swiveled to the foot of the sweeping staircase, where two more Anthor soldiers were stationed. They stood in silence, hard gazes trained on the entrance.

  Gael’s skin prickled. He knew they couldn’t see him, although their stares put him on edge nonetheless.

  He crept across the floor toward the stairs, glad of his soft-soled hunting boots. They barely made a whisper on the marble floor.

  And all the while he kept his gaze trained upon the guards, readying himself to strike should his shadow cloak slip.

  Neither man moved.

  Gingerly, Gael placed a foot on the stairs, and then another. He breathed slowly as he made his way up past guttering banks of candles.

  On the first floor landing he found more guards. Moving carefully, he inched past them. Gael had done his research since arriving in Veldoras. He knew that Reoul’s apartments sat upon the fifth floor of the keep.

  Reaching the landing before the king’s quarters, Gael slowed his pace and caught his breath. He moved past the guards stationed here and made his way down a wide hallway. As he walked, he flexed his right hand, rallying the shadows.

  Drop the shadow cloak, a soft voice urged him. The time for hiding is over.

  Gael flicked his fingers, and the mantle of darkness that had obscured him from view fell away.

  Two more guards flanked the entrance to the king’s apartments. Flaming sconces on the wall illuminated their faces. Both men scowled, and their tall muscular frames tensed as Gael drew near.

  One of the guards stepped forward and thrust out a spear to block the newcomer’s path. “State your business with the king.”

  Gael slowed and came to a stop. “Reoul and I have a meeting,” he said with a smile. “Let me pass.”

  The guard’s swarthy features tightened. “The king has no appointments at this hour.” He cast a look at his companion. “Take hold of him.”

  The second guard stepped forward, one gauntleted hand moving to grab Gael’s arm.

  Shifting out of his way, Gael swung his right hand out in an arc—gathering the Dark in a brutal sweep. The shadows drew around him and reared up to do his bidding. Two dark coils spiraled up, fastening around the guards’ necks.

  The guards dropped their spears and collapsed against the wall, eyes bulging, choking, as they tried to pull the strangling, dark fingers from around their necks.

  Gael flexed his fingers, and the men’s struggles grew more frantic. Leaving his servants to finish their task, Gael let himself in to the king’s apartments.

  He stepped into the solar, a sparsely decorated, masculine space dominated by a huge hearth at one end. The fire burned low now, nothing more than glowing embers. A single sconce flickered upon the wall.

  Gael crossed the floor, walking upon a thick rug toward the door on the far side of the room.

  The king’s bed chamber awaited.

  Gael yanked open the door, stepped inside—and abruptly halted.

  The king had company.

  A lean, sharp-featured man with long dark hair streaked with grey lay naked on his back, while a woman energetically rode him, her pert breasts bouncing.

  The woman, golden skinned and lithe with a mane of dark curls spilling down her back, was distractingly lovely—an Anthor beauty if ever Gael saw one.

  For a moment Gael stood there, taken aback by the scene he’d interrupted.

  Then Reoul of Anthor saw him.

  The king’s face, which had been slack with pleasure, twisted. He gave a yell and lunged for the dagger that lay upon the table next to his bed. His lover twisted, her dark eyes growing huge when she saw the intruder.

  The woman let out a hiss, and not bothering to cover her nakedness, swung her right arm in an arc.

  Gael caught a glimpse of the glowing eight-pointed star on her palm.

  An Enchanter of the Light.

  He gathered the Dark once more and flung it at the woman. It lifted her off the king, flung her across the room, and pinned her against the wall. Meanwhile, the king had rolled into a crouch. He glared at Gael, the dagger clutched in his fist.

  Although the man must have been nearing sixty winters, he held himself with the grace and strength of a man half his age. Even naked and caugh
t off-guard, Reoul was dangerous.

  Gael beckoned the Dark closer, letting it boil around him. Against the wall the naked woman continued to struggle, her gaze wild. She let out a string of Anthor gutter curses, which Gael ignored.

  His gaze was on the king, and he smiled. “Greetings, Your Highness … sorry for the poor timing.”

  The king snarled, his own gaze feral. “What’s this … a smiling assassin?” Reoul’s lean body curled, ready to spring.

  Gael’s smile widened. The man before him was utterly fearless. “My name’s Gael,” he replied. “I too hail from Anthor.”

  “I don’t care what you’re called or where you’re from, shit-weasel,” Reoul growled.

  Gael swallowed a laugh. He gave a bow, ignoring the murderous look on the king’s face. “I’m not here to kill you, sire … but to serve.”

  Dressed in a crimson silk robe, Reoul of Anthor leaned up against the stone window sill and toyed with the blade he’d drawn earlier.

  The dagger’s name was Reaper, and he’d had it since he was sixteen. He wasn’t about to sheath it, not with an intruder standing a few feet away.

  In the corner of the room, Reoul’s consort perched uncomfortably upon a chaise longue. A silk robe belted tightly at the waist now hid Saskia’s nakedness, although her dark hair spilled over her shoulders in wild curls.

  Reoul shifted his attention from his lover to the enchanter who had just broken into his chamber. Dark haired and clad head to foot in black leather, Gael exuded barely-contained power. He leaned up against the hearth, his expression urbane, although his dark-brown eyes gleamed.

  Reoul clenched his jaw. He hated being put at a disadvantage. He wanted this intruder dead, not lounging in his solar. “I’m waiting,” he growled, flipping his dagger with deliberate menace. “How is it you wish to serve me?”

  “Through enchantment,” Gael replied. To his credit, the man had balls. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the blade just a few feet away, one that Reoul could easily let fly at his heart.

  “The king already has enchanters,” Saskia snapped.

  Gael’s mouth curved. “None like me.”

  Reoul frowned as he flipped the dagger once more. This man’s insolence grated on him.

  Seemingly oblivious to Reoul’s growing impatience, Gael reached into his collar and withdrew something furry and grey.

  Reoul’s fingers fumbled, and the knife clattered to the stone pavers.

  The king’s legs suddenly went weak under him. He sank back against the window ledge, glad that it was behind him.

  The shadows strike me down.

  That was a large rat the enchanter had just placed on his shoulder.

  Gael smiled at Reoul, his eyes gleaming. “Meet Shade.”

  Reoul bent down and scooped up Reaper. He’d gotten such a shock he’d nearly sliced his hand on the blade. The king then glanced over at Saskia. His lover was staring at the intruder, surprise suffusing her features. “You have a familiar?”

  “Aye,” Gael replied, his smile widening. “Only the strongest of us attract them, do we not?”

  Saskia’s mouth thinned, yet she didn’t reply.

  Smirking, Gael shifted his attention back to Reoul and met the king’s gaze once more. “How many enchanters did you bring with you from Anthor?”

  Reoul held Gael’s gaze, forcing himself not to look at that sleek grey rat with its naked pink tail and glowing red eyes. No one, not even members of his own family, knew he hated rodents. Dropping the dagger, however, had just exposed his fear to the room. He’d not let either of his companions see it again—even if the rat’s proximity made his heart race and sweat slide down his spine. “Around twenty,” he replied finally.

  “That’s not enough.”

  Reoul scowled. “It was enough to help take Thûn.”

  “But not enough to invade Rithmar.”

  “Rithmar can wait,” Reoul replied, his voice dropping dangerously. “I’ll march north when I’m ready.”

  “You might find that Rithmar moves before you do,” Gael countered, not remotely intimidated. “I’ve just traveled down from The Royal City … and the word there is that Nathan intends to liberate Veldoras. He’s called in troops from every corner of the kingdom.”

  Reoul leaned back against the sill and started to toy with Reaper once more. The long slender blade made of folded Anthor steel gleamed in the firelight. “They’re rumors … nothing more,” he said after a lengthy pause. “Nathan wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t he?” Gael answered. The man used a glib tone that made Reoul’s hackles rise once more. “Rithmar’s House of Light and Darkness is already the strongest in all The Four Kingdoms. With Ninia of Thûn, they’ll be unbeatable. How long before Nathan rallies his troops and marches south? How long before that girl blasts you off her throne?”

  Reoul went still, his pulse now thudding hard against his breastbone. Not from fear of the rat, but from anger. So news of the princess had spread. This wasn’t good—but with any luck Elias would soon kill Ninia, as he should have done weeks ago.

  Gael pushed himself off the hearth and went over to the sideboard, helping himself to a goblet of wine. “To face Ninia, you need a host of enchanters that together rival her strength.”

  Silence fell. Reoul’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger. He’d had enough of this enchanter’s arrogance. “And how do I achieve that?”

  “Thûn has a House of Light and Darkness, does it not?”

  Saskia snorted. “King Aron has ensured they are little more than slum dwellers these days,” she said, her voice cutting. “They’re useless.”

  “They won’t be when I’m finished with them,” Gael replied with a smile. He then lifted the goblet to his lips and took a deep draft. “Delicious … how I’ve missed southern wine.”

  “Enough,” Reoul snapped. “Speak plainly.”

  Gael shifted his attention back to him, his smile fading. “I’ve spent the last year exploring the lower levels of Dûn Maras,” he said softly, before he reached up and caressed the spine of the rat upon his shoulder. “It’s where Shade found me.”

  Reoul suppressed a shudder. The man’s obvious affection for this … vermin … made his belly churn.

  “I know what Valgarth used to make himself strong,” Gael pressed on, oblivious of Reoul’s reaction, “and I’ve mastered the same arts.”

  Reoul inclined his head. Finally, this enchanter had revealed something of interest. The ruins of Dûn Maras were a forbidding place, where the living feared to enter. Only a madman would voluntarily spend time there.

  “You’re lying,” Saskia snarled. “The Shadow King wielded both the Light and the Dark … he didn’t need anything else.”

  Reoul glanced his consort’s way once more to see that her face was pale. Her eyes burned as she glared at Gael. She clearly thought him an imposter.

  “What of these arts you speak of?” Reoul asked. He too was skeptical, but he had to know.

  “Ones that Valgarth used to enhance the powers of the enchanters who followed him,” Gael countered with a slow smile. “It’s all written down on parchments in the old tongue, parchments I found deep under Dûn Maras.”

  5

  We Want the Same Thing

  The Royal City

  The Kingdom of Rithmar

  RYANA WATCHED ELIAS smile and lean back in his carven mahogany chair. He looked pleased with himself, too pleased.

  “So, Reoul is willing to tear down the border fortifications and every leaguefort?” Nathan’s voice rumbled across the Council Chamber. The king’s tone was controlled, although his face told a different story. His eyes blazed, and his jaw clenched. He’d agreed to these peace negotiations, yet Ryana could see it was costing him.

  “Aye,” Elias replied smoothly, “the leagueforts are a Thûn legacy after all.”

  In contrast, the Anthor prince seemed to be enjoying himself. His body relaxed in his chair, and he drummed his fingers on the polished tab
letop before him.

  Silence fell in the Council Chamber.

  Ryana glanced over at Asher. Like her, the High Enchanter was observing Elias, his gaze narrowed. Around the table, no one was smiling. Wray, an older man with a careworn face who had recently taken the position of Head of the Light, was scowling, as were members of the King’s Guard who flanked Nathan.

  “The leagueforts were abandoned and falling to pieces before you invaded Thûn,” Asher pointed out, his tone accusatory. “But you’ve repaired them and posted garrisons.”

  “And as a gesture of peace, we’re willing to tear them down,” Elias replied, meeting Asher’s eye.

  “I want the leagueforts destroyed.” Nathan’s voice was rough. “They have no part in the relationship between our kingdoms now.”

  “Of course.” Elias inclined his head. “Does this mean that you recognize my father as the rightful ruler of Thûn?”

  King Nathan bent forward, absently twisting the signet ring he wore upon his right hand. Despite the warm morning, he had donned fighting leathers and his thick fur mantle. He was dressed for combat. A muscle in his strong jaw clenched as he met Elias’s eye. “I might eventually consider doing so. However, that depends on many things. The destruction of the leagueforts is only a start. If we are to have peace, there are a number of matters I wish to address.”

  Across the table Elias nodded. “Very well.” He picked up his goblet of wine and took a measured sip. “Name them.”

  “I hear the people of Veldoras aren’t happy with their new king,” Nathan said. “Word has reached me that he rules them with an iron fist.”

  Elias smiled once more. “A heavy hand is always required at first … but my father will ensure that the people of Thûn thrive under his rule in the long term.”

  Silence fell. Nathan twisted the signet ring once more, hard. Even under his fur mantle, Ryana could see his broad shoulders were rigid. “You seem very eager to compromise,” he growled.

  “Indeed,” Asher spoke up. “I was about to make the same observation myself, Your Highness.”