Blackstone Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  About the Author

  Other Shea Godfrey titles available via Amazon

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  When Captain Darrius Durand and Princess Jessa of Lyoness announce their love, they know it will be an end to many things. What they do not expect is that it will be the beginning of so much more. For good or ill, in the wake of their declaration, the tide of events that sweep through the corridors of Blackstone Keep will change the course of history. While one kingdom awakens to the drums of war, another finds itself entangled within the dark legacy of an aging tyrant. And when an age-old prophecy is reborn beneath the light of their new love, Darry and Jessa must forge their own path through the turmoil, a treacherous path that leads them to a truth that no one expects, a path that binds their fate to an ancient love still caught within the threads of time.

  Blackstone

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  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

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  By the Author

  Nightshade

  Blackstone

  Blackstone

  © 2014 By Shea Godfrey. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-123-9

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: August 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Shea Godfrey ([email protected])

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to the fans of Nightshade. Thank you for all of your support and encouragement over the past few years, and thank you most of all, for your patience. To the Facebook fans—you’re the best. Every thumbs up and comment of support, each one had a part in fostering the energy needed for the sequel. I hope you like it. I appear to be the DMV of writing, but you have held to your tickets faithfully, and I appreciate all of you. This one’s for you.

  The toil which stole from thee so many an hour,

  is ended,—and the fruit is at thy feet!

  —Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Chapter One

  The deep colors of the fire moved within the breeze that snaked up the chimney, and the embers beneath the cedar wood spoke softly. There was an odd harmony to their song, the hiss and the crack, and like spirits lost upon a dark Solstice Eve, the reds became entwined with the oranges and the yellows melded with gold as if they sought the company of someone familiar.

  The Princess Jessa-Sirrah, only daughter to King Bharjah of Lyoness, was soothed by the interplay, her feet tucked beneath her as she sat upon a deeply cushioned chair she had pulled close to the hearth. The chamber within the royal family’s guest wing in Blackstone Keep was quite lovely, and it was well furnished and had welcomed her and her lover as if they had been its expected residents, although nothing could be further from the truth. She missed the intimacy of her own rooms, but it was a small matter when she considered the pivotal events of the past few months.

  Jessa’s right hand turned as her arm stretched forth along the chair and her finger beckoned a small flame. A spark of bloodred fire floated upward and twisted along the wall of stones in response to her gesture.

  The room was filled with a plush warmth that had very little to do with the fire, and the emotions that were stirred within her by its rich presence were new and strangely ancient all at once.

  Darrius Durand, the warrior daughter of Arravan’s High King, slept in silence upon the bed as the presence of her majik expanded within the confines of the chamber like the heat of a summer’s day. Bold and yet ethereal, safe and yet wonderfully dangerous, her lover’s life force was a thing to be reckoned with even as Darry lay dreaming.

  Before the spring moon, Jessa could not have imagined such a wondrous thing.

  She had imagined love, of course, within the sterile heat of her home, the Jade Palace, which had offered little warmth and even less enchantment. Her home had been a prison, and though she had moved freely within the shadows, they were just that, shadows. A darkness cast by immovable stone that, no matter how much force she exerted against their weight, could not be moved or banished in order to gain true freedom.

  Neither could her majik dissolve the invisible chains that had bound her, for duty was not a thing one could escape. Unless she was willing to abandon those around her to the consequences of her actions.

  Her true family was one of choice and she had chosen the Lady Radha, and Radha had always been her responsibility. Their fates were bound not only by time and love, but by their faith, as well. The Vhaelin gods had long ago chosen them to be teacher and student. Radha had served Jessa’s mother before her mother’s death, and though Jessa cherished the link to her parent, Radha was more precious to her than any ghost. If Jessa had tried to escape the Jade Palace, there was no telling what her father, Bharjah, would have done to the old woman, despite Radha’s more than considerable powers. Her father had many weapons at his disposal, and Radha had forever been old, too old for a prolonged pursuit with no allies who might have helped them.

  Jessa knew she had not possessed the courage, anyway, and she felt shame as she looked down at the arm of the chair. She pulled absently at a loose thread. Distance from the Jade Palace had given her an interesting perspective on things, and many of those insights were not what she had expected.

  Jessa had not seen their journey east as an opportunity, though Radha had. That they traveled to Arravan so that Jessa might be given in marriage to the Crown Prince, should he find her fit to be his bride, had never been a happy truth for Jessa. Radha had seen something else. “The world is wide, my child,” Radha had said. “When the moon rises and we leave upon the road east, it shall be a road that you know nothing of and the world shall open to you…”

  Radha had been right. Radha usually was.

  The logs of the fire shifted smoothly as their essence changed, and a gust of displaced air pushed ash and embers upward into the flue.

  Jessa looked to the bed and caught sight of Darry’s face, cast in the faint light that had managed to reach across the room. The rich golden curls of her hair seemed alive as they tumbled this way and that upon the pillow.

  Thank you, my go
ds, for showing me joy. Thank you for smiling upon me. Thank you for letting me move upon the Great Loom.

  She had spent many weeks within the walls of Blackstone Keep and had come to know the royal family of Arravan quite well. She had watched them all with a keen eye, as Radha had taught her, and what they allowed her to see, she had taken in with skill and care. She had played the part of the shy, foreign princess, and it had not been so much an act as it had been a slow awakening from a very long sleep.

  She had been presented before the court, and she had met and dined with Prince Malcolm. They had shared tea, and walks in the gardens. He was handsome and tall and his blue eyes were rich in color, though they were in want of something essential. In want of a spirit that sent fire through her veins. In want of so many things that Darry possessed without even trying. His casual cruelty did not beckon her, nor did a vision that narrowed the farther away he looked.

  Jessa had made friendships here that had been completely unexpected, and she had opened her eyes to the truth when it was revealed to her. She remembered the Queen’s Garden and how the moonlight had poured down like silver upon Darry’s skin, and then standing within the safety of her arms as they waited for their chance to escape detection. That first touch of Darry’s lips beneath her fingers, and how the contact had made her ache with the want for more.

  That she desired a daughter of the House of Durand and not the son she had been sent to please had been a startling truth. It had also been the most natural of things for her to experience and accept, for it was the truth of her heart.

  Each moment she and Darry had spent together had been stolen, as if they were thieves, each shared heartbeat taken from beneath the eyes of those around them. They had lifted their intimacy from the purse of the gods as if each moment was a golden coin. Coins that paid for each glance and every touch, until what grew between them could not be denied, no matter the cost.

  Radha had been right about that, as well. There was a price to be paid for such things.

  The Durand family relationship was still something new for her, and at first, she had thought that all was idyllic, that their love and their bonds were unshakable and true. For the most part, that first impression remained accurate, though beneath the surface they had their own machinations and their own troubles.

  Perhaps the Jade Palace, for all of its blood and darkness, was an easier place to maneuver. At least there, she knew where she stood. At least there, she knew her enemies and what they were willing to do in order to get what they wanted.

  Jessa’s gaze traveled along the stones beneath the mantelpiece, anchoring herself in the present as she considered the past.

  At least there, she recognized her father’s webs like those of the Masis spider, its threads invisible until you were caught within them. At least there, one could understand the advantage of retreat, despite the apparent lack of imminent danger.

  That she was backwards and wanted only the love of a woman would mean death in Lyoness. Here in Arravan, one who loved the same sex did not walk such a dire path, but it was unknown what would become of them now that their love had been declared to the High King. Acceptance was often a long journey from the heart of intolerance, and not everyone was capable of surviving the distance.

  Our love is not without its price in either place, Jessa thought as she looked to the bed once more. I have been exiled from my people and the land I know, and you have exiled yourself from your beloved family in response to their betrayal. What further price we might pay when the truth is known to all, I have no idea.

  Darry had relinquished her title and her rank, and as soon as it could be managed they would set out on a new journey. Into the world, away from the safety of the capital and the protection of Blackstone Keep, they would make their way into the unknown. She would not marry Prince Malcolm, and their two countries would never find peace through such a union. She knew peace had not been Bharjah’s endgame, though her father’s plans—as yet unknown—did, in fact, hinge upon her presence in Arravan. To her consternation, she had yet to figure out this crux.

  Jessa rose from her chair and moved quietly across the room, unable to stop the rush of love as she slid onto the bed. Darry turned as Jessa lay along the warmth of her body and tucked her face against Darry’s neck. Jessa breathed in the scent and closed her eyes as she draped her right leg over her lover’s.

  The not knowing what would happen was a freedom, as well. Jessa slid her hand beneath the waist of Darry’s tunic. Her body lay against Darry’s as it was always meant to, and the reassurance and heat of Darry’s flesh eased her thoughts. A strange surprise, such knowledge. Radha would laugh at her, no doubt, when she told her.

  Chapter Two

  The Lady Radha was certain of her way as she moved through the darkness of Lokey, her knowledge of the Arravan city a rare thing for a citizen of Karballa. Her agenda had always been very specific in nature, and despite the demands of others, she had satisfied her own needs first and foremost in order to achieve her goals. She had explored the city at every opportunity, familiar now with its rhythms and respectful of its diverse energies. She knew what to expect when the sun was high, and she understood the dangers that the night would bring. She enjoyed the former, for the city of Lokey was a gracious place for the most part; and she did not fear the latter, for she was a High Priestess of the Vhaelin.

  When the crowded markets of Lokey ruled the day, the open bazaar of Bayside Square was a constant hum of activity beneath a pungent deluge of smells. Bayside Avenue, Lokey’s most traveled thoroughfare, rolled in a smooth decline from the square to the sea, where it sprawled to an end before the planked boulevard of the wharf district.

  The wharf, which serviced Arravan’s largest port, moved along the shoreline from one end of Alirra Bay to the other. Warehouses clung to the last of the cobblestones from east to west, long, low storage buildings interspersed among a seemingly infinite number of inns, pubs, and stables.

  The east end of the wharf, while questionable in its safety and reputation, underwent a blatant change in attitude as it moved westward. The old brick lodging houses and worn boards of the shops and pubs eventually gave way to the painted planks and smooth sandstone bricks of more established businesses. The seasoned character of the east blossomed as it sidestepped into the west, younger and cleaner as it catered to the Bloods of Arravan society and the more reputable businesses of the Guilds and Master Crafters. The east was brutish and often deadly after the sun went down, while the west was unsullied and quiet, the two wed somewhere in the middle in an oft times precarious union.

  This lively center of the city was known as the Circle, crowded with tenement flats, markets, and local shops. Populated by the working-class people of the city, its beat of life was strong and fierce, for the people there took pride in what was theirs no matter how poor they might be. Radha had learned quickly, however, that the temptations of both borders were always present in the Circle. The flip of an Arravan gold might determine whether you would be taken advantage of or find an honest deal.

  It was deep within this neighborhood that Radha approached her destination, as she avoided the holes in the cobblestones as if she had walked the same dark streets for many years.

  The back door of the planked, two-story house hid within the shadows of the alley with but a single lamp as a guide, the darkness made to tremble and turn beneath its small bit of flame. Radha climbed the weathered stairs and knocked twice upon the door, followed by a pause and then three more raps upon the wood.

  The door opened onto an inky blackness that the night air of Lokey could not match, and Radha was quick as she stepped within. The latch clicked hard into place behind her as she threw back the hood of her cloak.

  A flint was struck, a lamp was lit, the room revealed. Three men stood about a small, round table as one of them replaced the glass flue of the lamp in order to shield its flame.

  They were warriors of the Red-Tail Clan, and they had shadowed Jessa’s cara
van from the moment the princess had crossed the border into Arravan. They and Radha stood for the blood of Jessa’s mother and her people. Their leader was Mesa White, and he had brought with him the most dangerous men of the Ibarris Plains in order to carry out Radha’s wishes, no matter what they might be.

  “Lady Radha,” Mesa said, relief in his expression. He was dressed in the homespun of Lokey, the earthen colors he had chosen plain but clean. There was a sword against his left hip, the weapon held close by a green sash that was doubled about his waist, the tasseled ends left to hang along the outside of his left leg. He was lean and tall, his thick black hair pulled back in a long tail that fell to the small of his back. “We were beginning to wonder, Hava.”

  Radha’s chuckle was as soft as it would ever be, which she knew was not soft at all. “Greetings, Mesa. It is good to see you.”

  He bowed his head to her. “And you, Lady Radha.”

  “She was followed.” A fourth man spoke up as he entered from a darkened hallway on the opposite side of the room. His name was Durasha, and he was known for his deadly bow and the quickness of his many daggers.

  “Yes,” Radha acknowledged. “Just as I planned. Three men. Three of Serabee’s dogs.”

  Lord Serabee El-Khan was known to them all, and the High Priest of the Fakir was their greatest enemy. He was Radha’s opposite on the wheel of power and they had danced about their hatred for many years. The gods of the plains, the Vhaelin, had always been at war with the nameless gods of the Fakir.

  “Durasha, take Enders and find the—”

  “No,” Radha said. “I have other plans for them. I will need one of them alive.”

  “What are your wishes then, my Lady?” Mesa asked.