Page 8 of Darkness Births the Stars #1
Portia’s eyes narrowed, her lips thinning into a tight line.
“No,” she spat back. “You are only the woman they always run to whenever a military question comes up. The perks of having fought valiantly in the war, I guess.” Her derogatory snort showed what she thought of that.
“Mayor Brim has not given up on his attempts to convince you to join the Council, has he?”
“Perhaps I should agree this time.” My smile showed even more teeth now.
“I get the feeling my opinion is needed.”As I had hoped, the words silenced her, her curt nod not hiding her disgruntled animosity.
Her grumbling words reached my ears as Khendrik turned the wagon in the yard, the powerful hooves of the farm horses sinking into the muddy ground: “Next we will offer the position to every wayward Aerieth and Elf turning up in the village. But then, she came here with them, didn’t she?
No family, no friends, just two women, a wounded Aerieth, an orphaned Drakuul, and a half-blood babe.
And enough gold in her pockets to buy some of the finest acres of land on this side of the river. ”
Tristan guided his horse beside the wagon. “Mother,” he hissed, clearly at the end of his patience. “Rada has been living here for nearly ten years. I believe it’s high time you laid your unfounded suspicions to rest.”
“Aye,” Portia answered unapologetically, not bothering to lower her voice.
“And she never tried to find herself a husband in all those years.” Rejecting her son’s marriage proposal had clearly not endeared me to her.
“No sense of propriety—and that pretty face won’t last forever, mark my words, son.
Can’t be long until she is too old to bear children. ”
As if the fate of most Human women working this land—birthing a child every year and losing half of them to hunger or sickness—held much allure. On any other day, I would have given the woman a piece of my mind, but today I only wanted them to leave as fast as possible.
I hurried to the barn the moment the Sommerhalts were out of view.
My unexpected guest greeted me with a suspicious snort.
He was magnificent. All gleaming black coat and mane, powerful muscles rippling as his hooves tossed up chunks of dirt.
Thank the stars I had gotten rid of my neighbors so effortlessly.
The presence of a saddled war horse would have been difficult to explain.
“Shh,” I murmured, trying to grab hold of the reins being tossed around by the stallion’s agitated movements. “I mean you no harm.”
My fingers only narrowly escaped the menacing snap of large teeth thanks to my swift reflexes.
“I guess I don’t have to ask whose horse you are,” I growled.
Not letting the stallion’s hostility daunt me, I swiftly clapped my hand on his soft nostrils, unflinchingly meeting his gaze.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” I told him fiercely, standing my ground as he tried to rear up. “Your choice.”
Frozen in place, the horse seemed to ponder his next move.
“There’s hay inside the stable,” I added. “And it’s warm.”
When I attempted to grab the reins this time, he reacted with a begrudging snort, but showed no signs of biting.
With surprising obedience, he allowed me to guide him toward the two stalls at the far end of the barn, reserved for horses.
Poppy let out an alarmed whinny as I led the black stallion into the stall opposite hers, my older mare clearly unhappy to receive company.
The stallion’s good behavior thankfully held until I had removed his bridle and saddle, although I received a mouthful of black horse tail when I didn’t fill his trough quickly enough.
“Right,” I grumbled, closing the stall door. “You are definitely his horse.”
I carried Noctis’s belongings into the house and placed them on the kitchen table.
Without a hint of remorse, I began to sift through them.
The conversation with the Sommerhalts had made it painfully clear that I needed to find out as quickly as possible what had brought Noctis here.
I would not let one of his schemes threaten the peace of this place I had made my home—nor the safety of its people.
I set aside the unadorned yet finely forged broadsword that had been fastened to the saddle.
No blood on the blade. Either he had cleaned it, or he hadn’t had a chance to use it before he was attacked.
The left saddlebag contained nothing unexpected—just the belongings of a man living a life on the road, surviving from one day to the next: a water skin, dried meat, and a hard loaf of bread.
Two additional sets of breeches and a few shirts and tunics.
All black. I scoffed at the predictability.
His purse held three gold coins and a few silver pieces—far from a fortune.
The other saddlebag did not yield more, the heavy, nondescript chain mail inside it all but confirming that he had worked as some sort of mercenary in the last few years, and that his injury was not a result of a direct confrontation in an open battle.
My frown deepened as my fingers encountered something smooth and warm buried deep within the bag.
As I pulled it out, the object flashed with a burst of light.
A lyr -stone, the white swirls moving underneath its surface indicating that it was blessed with Air magic.
The wild pulse emanating from it was unmistakable, a sure sign that it was being used to power a tracking spell.
So, that was how Noctis had found me. I wondered how he had centered the spell, as it usually required a drop of the target’s blood, a strand of hair, or a cherished possession.
Another mystery that would have to wait until he awakened.
I deactivated the stone and rose to my feet.
My tasks on the farm couldn’t wait. For the next few hours, I lost myself in my work, pausing occasionally to check on Noctis.
Each time I entered the room, I carefully moistened his parched lips with water, eliciting a faint groan from him, though he remained unconscious.
As the sky took on the reddish glow of the setting sun, I knew I could no longer postpone caring for my patient.
I wasn’t sure if I felt relieved or disappointed when Noctis didn’t wake as I rolled him to the side of the bed to change the soiled sheet beneath him.
I needed to change the dressing on his wound as well.
The injury had improved considerably—it was completely free of infection. He would survive this.
His fever had broken, and his sleep was deep and restful, the proud lines of his face so much softer than I remembered.
He had always been pale, especially compared to my golden-brown skin tone, but now his skin looked nearly translucent.
The visible blue veins made him appear strangely fragile, as did the fact that he had become painfully thin, his body all bones and sharp angles underneath lean muscles.
The past ten years had not been kind to him.
As vulnerable as he looked, it seemed nearly impossible that he could be a threat to everything I held dear. Yet I knew better.
My touch lingered on the faded silvery scars that adorned his left shoulder blade.
I spread my fingers, matching them to the marks.
How often had I done this? Fighting the pull of my memories, I frowned as I noticed something black just below his rib cage.
Markings. No—words. In the sharp, distinctive lines of Aurean script.
I hadn’t inspected them last night, too focused on his injury.
As I traced each bold line with my fingertips, I felt a slight hum, confirming they were the source of the Light magic I had sensed earlier.
My mind came to a painful, disbelieving halt as I deciphered their meaning, taking in the finely detailed constellation of stars inked into his skin above the words. Just over his heart.
I never knew I could feel so much in a single moment. So much pain, so much anger, so much lo—
No, not that. Never that.
I quivered, fighting the urge to shake him awake and scream at him. Curse him to the deepest pit of the Abyss for doing this to me. He had no right.
Somehow, I managed to rein in my raging emotions. Like I always managed.
I finished bandaging him, tucked the blankets around him without looking at his face, tidied up the medical supplies, and washed my hands and face in the bathroom basin, every movement decisive and quick .
I was numb. So overwhelmed and exhausted that part of my mind had disconnected. Tomorrow. I would deal with all of this tomorrow.
Bane wound around my ankles with a worried mew as I returned to the main room.
I picked him up, his small body warm in my arms as I collapsed into one of the comfy armchairs in front of the fireplace.
Night had fallen once more, but I doubted I would find much sleep.
As I sat there, stirring the fire back to life with the poker, I realized my cheeks were wet with tears.
Another saying flashed through my mind: The gods do not cry. But then, I had not been Baradaz, the Lady of Light, the Star Queen, for a very long time.
I buried my face in my hands and wept.