Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three
Read Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three Online
Authors: K. L. Schwengel
K. L. Schwengel
Copyright © 2016 K. L. Schwengel
Cover art © 2016 K. L. Schwengel
Acknowledgements
To my Alphas & Betas, Bob Dusek, Keri Lake, Kate Sparkes, ReGi McClain, and Krista Walsh. Without you, this story would never be what it is. Without you, this book may never have seen the light of day. It soundly kicked my ass. Even when it thoroughly trounced me, you helped my find my way.
To my readers, thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoy the story.
The Darkness & Light Series
First of Her Kind
Emergence
Edge of Darkness
Contributing author to Krista Walsh's dystopian serial collaboration
Greylands
Blood Tells All
Paranormal romance novella included in Devin O'Branagan's
Witch Hunt: Of the Blood
Grumnlin snuffled, and dragged his sleeve across his nose as he picked his way through the tall grass surrounding Barrowdown. The waving sea of green rose far above his head. There were no toadies to snack on, no mushrooms, no moss-covered trees or rocks, only league after league of scratchy grass. He wrinkled his nose and tried to stifle yet another sneeze. It came anyway, and Grumnlin wiped his beard clean with grubby fingers.
Something besides the wind rustled the grass ahead of him. He dropped his hand to the worn grip of the small knife at his hip and sniffed the air, trying to catch a scent, but his plugged nose made the task impossible.
Grumnlin cocked his head to listen. The grass never stilled or grew quiet. It rubbed against itself, whispering in a steady hiss he couldn't interpret. His beloved swamp had always made sense when it talked. Grumnlin knew each insect's hum, each creak of cedar, or groan of roots soon to lose purchase in the soft ground. Here, he knew nothing. The language of the plains escaped him, as did the reason why anything would choose to live there.
He edged forward, his hand still on his knife. Pretty Witch wouldn't have sent him here if she meant him harm. She saved him from Lor-del-ing after the fight in the swamp. His beloved swamp. Grumnlin had lived his entire life in the swamp with Lady. He never liked when Lady sent him outside its borders to do her bidding, but she couldn't go herself and so she had made Grumnlin.
Lady should never have trusted Lor-del-ing. Grumnlin's nose wrinkled at the thought of him. Grumnlin hated Lor-del-ing. Always so cold and cruel. Always reeking of malice. After the great battle, when Pretty Witch found them all and tried to save them, Lor-del-ing made her kill Lady. Grumnlin turned his head and spat. He would kill Lor-del-ing some day.
"Feed him to the creatures," Grumnlin said with a curled lip. "Watch them pull him under the soft dirt, and gnaw his bones."
"Gnaw bones. Yes." A voice slithered through the night, soft and dangerous.
Grumnlin stopped in his tracks.
"Bones," it whispered. "Gnaw your bones?"
"Not my bones." Grumnlin's voice squeaked. He pulled his knife and thrust at the grass around him. "Not gnaw my bones. Mebbe I gnaw yours."
"Maybe."
The wind swirled, lashing Grumnlin's face with slender reeds.
"Who are you, small one?"
Grumnlin thumped his chest with a fist. "Lady make me."
"Lady?" The grass parted, and Grumnlin jumped as a shrouded figure stepped through to tower above him. "What lady?"
"Lady," Grumnlin said, fear making his voice sharp. "Only one."
"There are many ladies," another voice said behind him, identical in every way to the first, and then a second shape emerged from the darkness. "We are ladies."
Laughter followed that, and Grumnlin scowled. He flicked his arm forward, hand and knife passing through the shroud as though through smoke.
"You are wraiths," he said. "I know you."
"Not so, small one," said the one before him.
Then from behind, "Wraiths are less than us."
"We are nightshades." A third joined in. This one crouched down on level with Grumnlin but he could see nothing beneath the drawn up cowl. "What are you?"
Grumnlin puffed his chest out. "Lady make me."
The nightshade jutted an arm upwards, pointing at the sky. The wispy sleeve tumbled down to reveal a strong, slender arm of smooth, black skin. "That lady? The one who dances silver among the stars?"
Grumnlin spat. "Not her."
"A lady of the shadows, then?"
"A sister of the nightshades."
"A mistress of the wraiths."
"Pah!" Grumnlin waved his knife to dispel their chatter and marched forward, passing through the figure before him just as his arm had. His skin prickled with cold and he shivered but kept trudging onward.
"Don't be angry, small one."
The nightshades moved around him as he walked. Sometimes a handful, sometimes only one, all talking with the same voice. Grumnlin tried to ignore them. He grumbled to himself. He hummed. He made nonsensical noises to drown out their voice, but still it sounded in his head.
"Talk with us, small one. We don't often get visitors here."
Laughter rippled through the grass. "No one
visits
the nightshades."
"Where are you going? Who do you seek?"
"Go away," Grumnlin said, his voice as hoarse as theirs was smooth.
"This is our place."
"No." Grumnlin stopped walking and planted his fists on his hips. "Pretty Witch live here. Pretty Witch tell me come to this place when the silver one is dark and wait. You go away or Pretty Witch kill you."
"Pretty witch?"
One of the nightshades darted down in front of him. Two more flanked him, and one flitted behind to hem him in. Fingers gripped his face and held it, turning the flesh below their touch icy cold.
"Show me."
Grumnlin struggled but other hands gripped him. The night carried his mournful howl as he fought to break free. The cowled face drew closer, nearly touching his own.
"Show me."
Grumnlin stared into the emptiness within the hood. Images flickered behind his eyes in a chaotic tumble that made his stomach lurch.
"Ah. She who calls us. She who walks among us."
The hands released their hold, and Grumnlin lurched to his knees and vomited.
"Where is she?"
"Don't know." Grumnlin shook his head, and threw up again. "Lor-del-ing take her away. She send me here. Tell me wait for her."
"Then you will wait with us, small one. You will dance with the nightshades."
"We will wait for her together."
"And when she comes all will be hers."
The first blush of dawn began to claim the stars, and a hush fell over the land in that moment when night grudgingly gave way to day. The chill breeze whispered of autumn, carrying with it the scent of the river and fading leaves. Ciara stood on the balcony outside the bedchamber, her light shift brushing against her legs. She would have been cold if not for the warmth of Bolin standing behind her, his arms wrapped about her waist to hold her close against him.
He dipped his head to nuzzle her neck and Ciara closed her eyes, willing the moment to last forever as she tried to cling to the feeling of serenity coursing through her. The memory of it would be all she had for at least a month. By mid-day, Bolin would be leaving to return Nialyne's body to her home in the Greensward.
"And what thoughts just claimed you?" Bolin's breath caressed her skin, and teased tendrils of hair across her cheek. His voice, low and murmuring, sent a delicious quiver down her spine.
Ciara nestled deeper into his embrace. "Nothing."
"Which means 'something'." He turned her to face him, and she shivered as the breeze trailed across her back to replace the warmth his body had provided.
It seemed like ages since they faced Donovan on the walls of Nisair, yet not even a week had passed since Nialyne had given her life to save Bolin's. The dark smudge of a bruise still colored his left temple and the arc of his cheek, but in the gentle light of the new day, the lines of grief and pain etched across his face over the past days were barely visible. Unlike the deep sorrow beneath the contentment glowing in his light eyes. All the power Ciara held, yet she could do nothing to ease his anguish.
Bolin's chest rose and fell in a slow, deep, breath, and he reached up to trace the side of Ciara's face with his fingertips, butterfly light.
"You have helped me more than you know," he said, as though reading her thoughts.
Perhaps he had. Ciara would never be as accomplished as him at preventing people from reading her. Donovan had taught her much in that regard, though she honestly couldn't say she appreciated his lessons. They tended to come without Ciara's consent, and were meant more to shape her into something that suited his plans, rather than benefit her.
Not knowing what those plans might be, or even if Donovan still lived, were why Ciara would remain in Nisair. Still, it felt wrong, somehow, not going with Bolin. "If you ask me to come, I will."
Bolin studied her, perhaps debating the sincerity of her offer, then shook his head. "As much as I want you by my side, I know you'd rather not." He looked past her and the first sliver of sunlight glistened in his eyes. "Goddess's blood, I wouldn't have thought it possible to ever dread returning to Galys Auld."
Ciara cupped his face, bringing it to hers, and rose up on her toes to take his mouth in a gentle kiss. Bolin's right hand slid along the nape of her neck, the left remained on the small of her back to keep them close. He broke the kiss before Ciara would have liked, and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, his body shaking in silent sobs. Ciara's chest tightened. She fought the emotional riptide, sought the calm and quiet strength of her earth magic, and allowed it to flow through her to wrap Bolin in gentle waves.
As the light grew, Bolin sucked in a stuttering breath and straightened. He backed out of Ciara's embrace, scrubbed a hand across his face, and took another deep breath. When his eyes once again met hers, Ciara could see the beginnings of the wall he built to keep others out.
"I've asked Ariadne to help you get settled in while I’m gone," he said.
"Keep an eye on me you mean?"
"No." He flashed a quick smile. "That task falls to Garek."
"Oh. I thought he'd be going with you."
Bolin shook his head and led Ciara back inside their room. "Ariadne will need him here. Despite my suggestions to the contrary, the Emperor insists on accompanying me. He feels Nialyne deserves full honors. I'm flattered, of course, but I'd still rather he stay behind."
"For my sake, I'm glad he's not. I'll worry enough. It would be worse if I knew you were alone."
"I'll hardly be alone," Bolin said. "Not with a score of Imperial Guardsmen playing escort."
"Are you worried something will happen on the road?"
"I'm more concerned over what will happen here in Dain's absence. The Council of Mages is in upheaval with Arnok's death. I still can't believe the fool turned against Dain. Either way, he faced execution for his betrayal, and the Council would still be faced with choosing a new leader. Thadeus is the most sensible choice, but he's never wanted the position. They'll need Dain's guidance. I honestly don't trust them left to their own devices. There's too much politicking and courtly maneuvering that takes place." A scowl twisted his features, but it softened again when he looked Ciara's way. "None of which is anything that need worry you."
He turned away and began gathering his things, and Ciara settled on the bed, legs tucked beneath her to warm her bare toes. Bolin moved through the task with a crease to his forehead and a slight frown crinkling the corners of his eyes. Every so often he'd pause, the frown deepening, then give a shake of his head or a quick glance up before continuing. He lifted a knife from where it hung on the wall with an assortment of other weapons, tested the sharpness against his thumb, then slipped it back into the sheath and left it where he'd found it.
"Are you all right?" Ciara asked after he stopped in the center of the room, his attention locked on the painting above the fireplace.
He swiped a hand through his hair but didn't look her way. "Aye."
Ciara went to stand beside him, linking her arm through his. She followed his gaze to the pastoral scene depicting a gentle swale of grass, the long rays of sunset spreading across it in waves of gold to light the trees beyond. She knew of only one place with such beauty. "That's the Greensward, isn't it?"
Bolin nodded. "Fallon's Vale, to the south of Galys Auld. I commissioned it from one of the art masters when I first left the Greensward to come to Nisair."
"It's beautiful. Will you take me there some day?"
"If you'd like."
A knock sounded at the door, and Bolin left her to answer it. Voices rose up from the study, too soft for Ciara to decipher. When Bolin returned, an irritated scowl took the place of the pensive frown.
"Thadeus has requested to see me before I leave," he said. He dropped into a chair to yank his boots on, his moves quick and angry.
"Maybe he's convinced the Emperor to remain behind."
Bolin snorted, commentary enough on what he thought the chances of that were. He paused at the top of the stairs on his way out and looked back at Ciara. "We'll be leaving by mid-day. You'll come down to see us off?"
Ciara went to steal a kiss from him. "Of course."
He rumbled low in his throat as he pulled away from her. "You're making it very hard to leave."
"No harder than it is for me to stay."
"Rely on Ariadne and Garek," he said, giving her hand a squeeze. "They'll see you've all you need."
***
Bolin found Thadeus in his private library. The mage had his nose buried deep in some ancient tome. His robes were wrinkled, and an untouched plate of food sat half-buried beneath a cluster of scrolls.
"Is that breakfast or dinner?" Bolin asked.
Thadeus waved a distracted gesture at the food in question without looking up. "That? Hmm? Dinner, I believe. Unless Henner swapped it out for something fresher."
"I believe the whole point of having food delivered, is to eat it before it turns into a viscous goo."
"Yes, yes, quite."
"Thadeus?"
"What's that?" The mage pulled his attention from the pages and looked up, sharp green eyes widening in surprise as though suddenly realizing who was talking to him. "Ah! Bolin." He snapped the tome shut. "I'm glad I caught you."
"You have, but just barely. The escort is already assembling in the yard. What is it you want?"
"What I want, is for you to remain in Nisair."
"We've had this discussion," Bolin said, trying to keep the edge of impatience from his voice and failing. "Perhaps you should try convincing the Emperor to remain instead."
"He's not the one who worries me. You, my boy, are the one in jeopardy."
"We don't even know if Donovan is still alive."
"You are focusing on the wrong enemy. Donovan is inconsequential." The mage held up a pre-emptive hand. "Before you argue that point, allow me to explain. Firstly, our biggest concern regarding Donovan was his obsession with Ciara and the power she holds. Namely, Andrakaos. Even if he still hungers for that power, it will never be his. The two cannot be separated. It would destroy them both. I have been doing a bit of research in that regard. Combined with what Danya Nialyne shared with me, I do believe I now have a better idea of exactly what kind of bond is shared between Ciara and the young one. Quite fascinating, really, and thrilling. His kind were thought long extinct. It gives me hope we shall someday find others."
Thadeus's eyes glittered excitedly, his focus turning inward before snapping back to Bolin. "Secondly, although Donovan may want your head on a platter, dear boy, the level of threat he currently presents in that regard is roughly the equivalent of a mouse to a hawk. Danya Nialyne gifted you the power of the Greensward on her death, but you hold something else as well.
Have
held for longer than I originally suspected."
Thadeus came to stand directly before Bolin. His mouth pursed in concentration, and the brush of his power swept over Bolin head to foot in search of something. When the old mage lifted a hand toward his left arm, Bolin jerked away.
Thadeus cocked his head. "This did not come to you when you unwisely sought to locate Donovan that night at the inn."
"I'm not sure what you're referring to." Bolin took a step in retreat, his breath quickening. Something rippled beneath his skin, a tepid stroke that prompted the strong, gentle power of the Greensward to rise up beyond it, as calm and soothing as the other was violent.
"There!" Thadeus snapped the word out. "That is what I touched upon while finishing the work Ciara began that night. I need to see it. Bring it forth."
"No." The refusal fell from Bolin's lips without conscious decision.
"Why is it you feel inclined to hide this?"
"Why is it I am suddenly being made to feel as though this is an interrogation?"
"Nonsense. You're over-reacting, my boy," Thadeus said. "Some bit of magic has remained and needs to be removed. Or would you prefer to allow it to gain more influence over you than it already has?"
Bolin's chin lifted. "Nothing has gained influence over me."
"No?" The old mage's eyebrows rose. "Tell me you do not feel the city wards humming. That does not happen without reason. I daresay, with some degree of certainty, it has never happened because of you."
Bolin's objection died on his lips because, when he actually paid attention to Nisair's wards, he found Thadeus to be correct. They were definitely on alert. They whispered through him, humming along his nerves. Bolin softened his focus and traced their path. They paid no heed to the Greensward's power, passing over it without so much as a quiver. That elusive, darker bit of power Bolin could never seem to pin-point, however, caused them to waver uncertainly, and they chased after it like questing hounds after a stag.
Still…Bolin shook his head. "I don't have time for this. If it remains an issue, we can address it when I return from the Greensward."
"We need to address it now," Thadeus said, a hardness to his tone that suggested no argument would sway him. "Danya Nialyne believed the woman with Donovan to be a Dominion priestess. She told me you were injured in your first meeting with the woman, and that a portion of what I sense came through that injury. The other came from your actions at the inn. Ciara did wonders in saving your life, but she did not know enough to do anything more than gather the bits of your essence and put them back together. That allowed this other power to remain intertwined. She did not draw it out. At the time, you were far too weak for me to make the attempt. Perhaps I should have. In any case, I request to do so now, before you leave Nisair."
"You have so little faith in my ability to deal with it?"
"In this instance, it is your judgment I call into question. I have absolutely no doubt as to what you are capable of. None whatsoever. Which is why I must insist."
Thadeus looked expectantly at Bolin when he made no move to comply. There had been a time when the mage could have forced the issue, and Bolin would have had little choice but to submit. Nialyne had given the entirety of her magic to Bolin on her death, however, which meant he now carried substantial power of his own. It was a very unusual circumstance.
Just as unusual as it was for Bolin to hold magic for any extended length of time without altering it in some manner. The power of the Greensward was an exception to that rule. It lay nestled like a glowing gem Bolin refused to touch. Doing so brought far too many sharp-edged memories with it.
The witch's magic had become another exception. The fact it hadn't diminished one bit with the witch's death bothered Bolin to a much lesser degree than its elusive nature. Thadeus's desire to isolate and remove it made perfect sense. Bolin should have agreed wholeheartedly.