Page 7 of Darkness Births the Stars #1
CHAPTER
Rada
T he early-morning air was a crisp kiss to my senses when I stepped out of the farmhouse.
I stretched, weighed down by yet another sleepless night.
After leaving Noctis to rest, I had returned the healing stone to its secret spot in the kitchen.
Only a few azure lights danced beneath its smooth surface.
The radiant blue shine would take a few days to return to its full strength.
Though the storm had passed, the fresh, earthy scent of rain still lingered.
Every surface was wet, tiny droplets reflecting the morning sun in sparkling patterns.
Broken branches littered my yard, scattered between the henhouse and the barn.
I moved slowly across the muddy ground, picking them up one by one, my gaze wandering over my home.
The wooden farmhouse, with its dark, gleaming shingles, was nestled snugly between two towering chestnut trees.
The first delicate green stalks peeked out of the flower beds on either side of the front door.
On the right side of the house stood the henhouse and the well, situated near my bedroom window, where sunlight streamed in to greet me each morning.
Beside the chickens lay the barn, its massive, vibrant red doors striking against the oak walls.
Thankfully, the storm hadn’t caused any lasting damage.
I still needed to check the vegetable garden behind the house.
I was only planting enough to feed myself—mostly carrots, cabbage, and potatoes.
But there were some blueberry bushes at the garden’s edge, bordering the gurgling brook, that I hadn’t yet harvested.
A loud, indignant meow caught my attention. Bane had reluctantly joined me outside, his furry face twisted in disdain as he gingerly touched his paws to the earth. “Come here, you spoiled little thing,” I said with a laugh, scooping him up into my arms.
Lasgallen was a fertile realm, stretching from the Drakuul lands in the south to the wastes around Sharith, Noctis’s old stronghold, in the north.
My farm was located at the foot of the Western Hills, where the grassy hills turned a vibrant green during storm season and were dotted with colorful flowers in the summer.
Life here was simple and not without its challenges, but it was no wonder many had sought refuge in these parts after the war and stayed even a decade later, searching for peace. Just like me.
“Rada?”
A questioning voice pulled me from my thoughts, making me look over to the dirt road that ended opposite my front door.
“Tristan!” I exclaimed, forcing a surprised but pleased expression onto my face.
I wrapped my coat tighter around myself, suddenly aware that I was only wearing my nightdress underneath.
Hardly the attire to greet my neighbors in.
Not that Tristan Sommerhalt seemed to mind.
His warm brown eyes sparkled as he beamed down at me from his horse, a winning smile brightening his handsome features.
His brother Khendrik steered a horse-drawn wagon brimming with potatoes and zucchini into the yard. Portia Sommerhalt sat beside him, her demeanor a stark contrast to Tristan’s happiness.
In her fifties, Portia ruled not only the Sommerhalt farm but also her two sons with an iron hand.
She did not deign to grace me with a greeting, her thin lips pursed as she took in my attire with a quick, disapproving sweep of sharp blue eyes.
Her graying brown hair was neatly pulled back into a tight bun, and she sat atop the wagon with the posture of a queen on her throne.
The dark, voluminous skirts of her dress, its bodice adorned with intricate stitching, proudly proclaimed her status as a well-off widow.
“You have seen her,” she said to Tristan, not hiding her annoyance. “And she is perfectly fine, just as I assured you she would be. Can we end this foolishness now and drive on to Dalath? We are already late.”
Tristan ignored his mother and leaped off his horse. “Maybe Rada has some eggs or cheese to sell?” His eyes twinkled mischievously as he took in my outfit, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose you won’t be going to the farmer’s market today?”
“No, there’s too much to do after last night’s storm,” I replied, setting Bane down when he wriggled in my arms. The cat bounded off toward the barn. “Thank you, but I don’t have anything to sell right now. I doubt there will be many customers anyway.”
Despite the generous offer, I couldn’t risk anyone entering the house while Noctis was resting in my bedroom. I knew Tristan too well to believe he would let me carry my goods on my own; he always insisted on lending a helping hand.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his tousled brown hair, his reluctance to leave clear as he struggled to find the right words. My fault, I knew. When he had shown interest in me three years ago, I hadn’t discouraged him. He was a good man. Kind. Hard-working.
And easy on the eyes .
A small, vulnerable part of me had enjoyed the attention, the simple and sweet courtship rituals between Humans.
Dancing with him during feast days in the village and taking long walks together in the lush hills surrounding my farm.
Allowing him to steal a few kisses in the moonlight when he brought me home after a dance.
One reckless night, I even invited him inside, his eyes wide with excitement as I pulled him into my bedroom.
I had been so alone, and the illusion of companionship was oh so tempting.
It was another testimony to Tristan’s character that he did not hold it against me when I declined his marriage proposal a few tendays later with a flimsy excuse. I had lived a deception for centuries; I could not bring myself to do it again.
“Have you hurt yourself?” Tristan’s warm brown eyes suddenly widened in alarm, and he reached out toward me. “There’s blood on your dress.”
Blessed lyr ! It must have splattered there when I treated Noctis’s wound, leaving a few small red stains. I gave Tristan’s hand a reassuring squeeze, keeping my face calm and unconcerned. “Oh, it’s not mine. Just one of the araks hurting itself in a panic.”
“You should still be careful,” Khendrik chimed in from his perch on the wagon. “There were sightings of Rakash in the hills. It’s not safe for a woman living alone.”
“I can look out for myself.” I gave him a polite smile.
Despite lacking his brother’s good looks and charm, he meant well.
A band of Rakash, the savage, Humanoid beasts with predatory eyes and claws that had been Noctis’s most loyal troops during the war, would be a considerable threat for a mortal woman.
“Khendrik is right,” Tristan said, his hand still on mine. “Old Willas returned from Rasga with worrying tidings. There have been attacks all along the border. Some say it’s more than just scattered war bands causing trouble this time. That there might be war again.”
Unease stirred inside me at the news. I did not believe in coincidences. The timing was too perfect, too aligned with Noctis’s sudden reappearance in my life.
Khendrik spat on the ground. “May the Lord of Chaos be condemned to the darkest depths of the Abyss for inflicting that plague upon us! And curse the Ten for not stopping him.”
His words were a chilling reminder of who exactly lay recovering in my bed, and the danger I was inviting in with my reckless decision to save Noctis’s life. Who could say if his former followers would seek to return him to power—or try to destroy him in retaliation for letting them down?
“Khendrik! May the Sky Lord forgive you,” Portia admonished her older son sharply, swiftly making the sign of the Ten, her spread hand touching her forehead and then her chest above her heart. Like most Humans in these lands, the Sommerhalts were devout worshippers of Aramaz.
I doubted Portia had ever prayed to me, though.
“Is there really nothing I can do for you?” Tristan asked. “Perhaps you need something from Dalath?”
Searching for a polite answer, I glanced around the yard.
A sudden wave of alarm washed over me as I spotted movement behind the barn.
“Please pass on my greetings to Kyree,” I said hurriedly, touching Tristan’s arm to gently lead him back to his mount.
“And Briseis if she’s there today.” Although I doubted my Elvish friend would brave the trek down from Milford Ridge to sell her furs and bows, I hoped my request would divert Tristan’s attention.
To my relief, he mounted his horse with a smile. “Of course.”
His brother gave me a quick wave in farewell, but his mother stopped him from picking up the reins, her cold gaze fixed on me.
“I am surprised you are not coming to the village today,” she said pointedly.
“The Council is discussing the efficiency of our fighting force. Wasn’t it your idea to give the task to those orphans? ”
As if she did not know that was exactly the case, given how often she and I had clashed since she took her husband’s place on the Council of Elders after his death.
I had proposed offering positions in the militia to the Sundered—children orphaned by the war.
Now young adults, they needed a reliable source of income.
My idea had sparked a passionate dispute with Portia Sommerhalt and some of the other farmers who had lived here for generations.
Mortals’ reluctance to share what they had for fear of losing it would never cease to amaze me.
Thankfully, Mayor Brim was a pragmatic man and had seen the value of my idea.
The village gained a small fighting force, and the Sundered were off the streets.
“Considering the current rumors, I think the need to strengthen the militia is more urgent than ever.” I gave Portia an overly sweet smile. “But then, I am not a member of the Council.”