Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul)

  Drake of Tanith, by Heather Killough-Walden

  Acknowledgements

  With my never-ending gratitude, this one is for my incredible husband –

  my best friend, my rock, my eternal muse.

  Of course I also have to thank my editors: Katheryn Lewis and Kelly Johnson. Two extra sets of eyes I’m incredibly grateful for.

  Drake of Tanith

  By Heather Killough-Walden

  Prologue

  Drake’s powerful sword sliced through the man’s body like a ship’s hull cutting through the sea. But instead of bleeding and falling to his knees, as he had all those years ago, the mercenary simply glanced down at the groove across his chest and then looked back up to smile at Drake.

  The man dissipated and was gone. In his place, mist swirled. A thick fog re-formed, coalescing until Drake was once more surrounded by the soup of it, dense and barely breathable.

  This had happened a thousand times. Maybe a million. He knew it was the way of the land. He knew, deep down, that none of it was real. But this place, this nightmare of a realm, was a double-edged sword. If you believed its dreams, the Witherlands slowly broke you down, exhausted you, and made you go mad. If you didn’t believe however, those dreams became more and more real. Soon, you would have little choice but to believe, as swords began to draw real blood and fires began to burn.

  Either way led to misery.

  Drake slowly turned in place, his hand flexing and un-flexing around the ruby-hilted sword his father had given him so long ago. His silver eyes looked somewhat duller than they had all of those years ago, when he had first stepped through the portal into this realm. Years…. Or so, it seemed.

  There were no mirrors here. He did not know that his black hair curled, damp in the cloying mists and that it framed a face now pale and a touch gaunt. He was cold. He’d always been susceptible to cold, but here in the Witherlands, was the kind of cold that slid its sharp, icy fingers along your soul and set your spirit to shivering. It was the kind of cold that accompanied despair.

  And Drake was almost there.

  But then she laughed. He turned to find himself in an elegant ballroom. Men and women in evening dress and masks twirled across the floor in each other’s arms. They danced to the music of a small orchestra that played on a stage against one ornately decorated wall. Chandeliers of delicate crystal graced the tall arched ceiling, as did paintings of angels and demons in full, bright color.

  Drake followed the sound of her laughter, his footsteps carrying him further into the massive dance hall. Men and women moved around him, dancing just outside of his reach, as if he was not even there.

  And he saw her. At the top of the stairs. A vision of other-worldly beauty in pure, snow-white. Her hair was braided and curled in a complicated fashion and poured over her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall of blue black silk. Crystalline snowflakes sparkled where they were twined, here and there, with iridescent, sheer silk ribbons in her long, thick raven locks.

  Her dress was constructed of the finest white satins and silks. Her neck and collarbone were bare; the sleeves of the gown long, but off the shoulders. She stood alone, a blushing, mesmerizing angel, her dark blue eyes sparkling beneath the light of the chandeliers.

  Drake’s breath caught in his throat. His chest ached. He longed to touch her. And then someone separated from the crowd and began to climb the steps. He was dressed in black, a stark contrast to her purity. His long white hair was instantly recognizable, and Drake’s blood burned in his veins.

  The bounty hunter’s gray eyes lightened and began to glow as he watched the elf prince climb the steps to stand directly before Raven. He whispered something that Drake could not hear. Raven smiled again, a pure and perfect smile of genuine joy. Astriel said something else, and Raven laughed.

  Her laughter echoed off of the walls, seeping into Drake’s body like liquid magic.

  Magic…

  Drake knew it was not real. He knew! He was aware that he was losing focus, but he didn’t care. This wicked dream held him in thrall, despite its obvious game of painful envy. There was nothing he could do; he was lost in it.

  Drake moved forward until he stood at the foot of the stairs.

  And then he stopped, unable to go any further as Astriel cupped Raven’s face in his hands and leaned in for a kiss. His lips descended upon hers gently, lovingly, and Drake began to growl.

  The growl emanated from deep within his throat, grew and echoed just as her laughter had. The world turned red around him, the sword clutched so tightly in his right hand that he thought he might crush its hilt between his fingers. He snarled, baring fully elongated fangs, sharp and white, and then lunged toward his target with full intent to kill.

  And the image disappeared.

  The staircase disintegrated, the castle walls turned to swirling motes of vapor, and Raven’s form was gone.

  Again.

  Chapter One

  I’m lost again.

  Raven stopped at what appeared to be the half-way point in yet another long corridor and turned a slow circle. It was quiet in the elven castle. Candles lit with softly sparkling flames gave off a fairy-light up and down the hall, soft and pleasant. There was no sign of the elven court or the multitude of elves that served them. Raven supposed the royalty and their servants were asleep, for the most part.

  Which meant that there was no one around to give her directions back to her wing of the castle.

  She ran a hand through her long black hair and then rubbed the corners of her eyes. She was tired. She hadn’t been sleeping well. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw a swirling vortex and the dense, gray mists that made up the Witherlands behind it. She watched Drake of Tanith step through and disappear into the fog.

  Over and over again.

  Why do I care? She asked herself callously as she began to pace back and forth across the rich red rug that lined the center of the corridor. I don’t even know the man. We shared one kiss! But even as she thought the words, she knew they weren’t true. They’d shared a hell of a lot more than a kiss. She’d taken his blood… she knew who he was, inside and out.

  Raven sighed softly and looked up and down the hall. It was a hall she didn’t recognize, but that was nothing new. Castle Eidolon was a confounding building, born of magic and fairy architecture. Its halls switched back upon one another, its staircases sometimes led nowhere, and every time that Raven ventured out into castle grounds, it was to find a new garden or hedge maze that she was certain had not been there the day before.

  It had been a month since she’d come to stay at the castle at Astriel’s behest and under his protection. When she had agreed to stay at Eidolon, she had been exhausted and confused. She had needed rest and a safe place to regain her strength.

  However, a week into her stay, she’d realized that something was off. She still didn’t feel fully restored. She felt empty inside, she was still tired – and her powers were lacking. The incredible might she had displayed during the battle with Cruor now evaded her. Often, she would begin chanting only to find that she couldn’t finish. She’d forgotten the words or trailed off. She’d lost focus.

  Another week passed and there was no change. In the meantime, the elves were nothing but outwardly kind to her.

  On the surface, Raven appeared to have been given everything she longed for. Peace and quiet, a glorious castle in which to live, and freedom – to go where she wished and do as she wished.

  However, she had her misgivings. She felt strangely at odds with her surroundings. It was as if the castle itself were alive and watching her. Every time she decided to leave its walls and enter Trimontium, she would unwittingly find somethi
ng so very interesting, she became distracted and remained within the castle’s walls for yet another day.

  It had happened so many times, it would have been short sighted to think it mere coincidence. First, she happened upon the butterfly garden. She’d slipped through a gap in one of the hedges to enter what appeared to be a pavilion. There were several fountains dotting the small field, various large, healthy trees, and a small cottage at its center.

  At first, the cottage bewildered Raven. It was so very colorful, it appeared to have been painted with miniscule, sparkling and iridescent swirls of paint. But then that paint began to move and Raven stood back in awe as the millions of butterflies which made up the cottage’s walls and roof suddenly took to flight. They formed a cloud of rainbow hues above the pavilion, re-grouped, and landed once more, this time in a slightly different formation.

  The cottage in the butterfly garden “changed” in this manner once every five or ten minutes. As did the thick foliage of blue, orange and pink leaves upon the massive trees. Everything in the magical space was composed in one way or another of butterflies.

  Once in a while, a single butterfly would separate itself from its companions and alight beside Raven where she sat on the thick, cool grass. All she had to do was place her finger upon the ground, and the insect crawled onto it.

  That was the butterfly garden. A few minutes in the enchanted area and all thoughts of leaving Eidolon had slipped from Raven’s mind.

  The second time she had attempted to leave the castle, she had inadvertently happened upon a door that stood alone at the end of an otherwise door-less hall. It was constructed of four different types of stone: white marble, green jade, tiger’s eye and a pastel yellow crystal that Raven had never before seen.

  Of course, she opened the door. It wasn’t locked, after all.

  On the other side was a room with no windows and no doors. However, when Raven stepped through the multi-hued door, it gently closed behind her and when it did, four other doors appeared, one on each wall. One door was white, one was green, one was orange-brown, and the last was yellow.

  Raven tried the white door first, as it somehow appealed to her more than the others. She touched the knob, noticed it was very cold, and turned it. When the door swung open, Raven was greeted with a winter wonderland. Beyond the doorway waited a frozen garden of immense beauty and design. Its many hedges and trees were carved of pure, clear ice and the ground was covered in pristine, untouched snow. Delicate flurries fell from a blue-white sky. At the center of the garden stood a massive fountain, but what poured from the open containers of the seraphs of white marble was not water. It was snow, shimmering and glistening. The snow disappeared before hitting the ground. More elven magic.

  Raven spent a good while in the winter land. She followed the ice-strewn hedges of the meandering maze and came upon open fields of fresh-fallen snow, dense forests of ice-trees with rainbow-prism crystals dangling from them like fruit, and a crystal-clear stream that steamed through the frozen landscape, warm and inviting.

  Then she followed her snowy footprints back to the garden and the door through which she had come.

  The green door led to what was clearly a summer land. It was prevalently and abundantly green and to many, it would have been beautiful, but it was too hot for Raven’s tastes. She had never been fond of late afternoon sun midsummer.

  The yellow door led to a world of spring and its eruption of blooms. There were blue flowers, purple flowers, orange flowers; there were flowers taller than she was and wider than trees. Flowers covered the ground like a blanket of multi-colored clover and a rainbow remained directly overhead everywhere she went in the springtime world. It defied logic and reality and, again bespoke of elven magic.

  The door the color of tiger’s eye was perhaps Raven’s favorite. She had always adored harvest time. The leaves on the trees dressed up in their finest gowns of red and gold, as if coming to a party. The air smelled of firewood, pies and cinnamon. There seemed to be an awakening throughout the villages as townspeople moved quickly, bustling from the fields to the orchards and, finally to the bakeries.

  Everyone was in a good mood in Autumn.

  So, once Raven had a good idea what each of the four doors represented, she purposefully left the Fall door for last.

  She was not disappointed. A pumpkin patch greeted her, its rows filled with perfect, round, orange pumpkins so large she could have curled up inside of them to sleep. Beyond that waited an apple orchard that seemed to go on forever, its floor carpeted in red, yellow and gold, its branches heavy with juicy red apples. There was a forest here, dense with brightly colored leaves that beckoned with their brilliance, leading her through winding Autumn paths that misted over with fog and bridges that spanned over deep blue lakes and ponds so placid and serene.

  Raven ran through the pumpkin patch, the orchard, and the forest. She laughed when she picked up a fallen red leaf to find that it was still absolutely perfect. No insect had marred its beauty, no frost had curled its edges. It lay soft as silk against her open palm and when she detected a faint scent, she placed her nose to it and came away with the aroma of cherries.

  There was a courtyard here, as there had been for the other lands. Its fountains poured hot chocolate and hot apple cider. It bore a table filled with all of the things she loved to eat – as if it had known she was the only one there to eat them.

  When Raven finally returned to the room with four doors, the multi-colored door that had led her there to begin with re-appeared before her eyes. She was tired and happy and slept well that night, all thoughts of Trimontium far, far away.

  It happened that way every time. The butterfly garden, the room with four doors, the vast chamber that sported a steaming pool for every color of the rainbow…. Every time Raven considered venturing back into the mortal world, Castle Eidolon tempted her tired, inexplicably drained body and mind into its core with something new.

  Now, as Raven stood in the unfamiliar corridor and pondered her situation, she could not quell her mounting sense of unease. She knew in her heart that she couldn’t trust the elves. She knew that Lord Astriel would like nothing more than for her to remain at Eidolon for the remainder of her days.

  He’d made that abundantly clear over the last month as he’d repeatedly asked for her hand in marriage.

  From the moment they’d met, the prince had pursued her. At first, she surmised that his interest in her had most likely had more to do with pride than anything else. She’d turned him down. He couldn’t have been used to that.

  However, since their battle against Cruor, his attentions seemed to have shifted. In the time that Raven had spent at Eidolon, Lord Astriel had looked at her differently… more deeply. As if really seeing her for the first time.

  He took each of her marriage proposal rejections in good stride, simply nodding and accepting them until the next time he would ask. When she questioned him – about anything at all – he answered her in tender tones and seemed to hold nothing back. When faced with her queries, for instance, about the existence of such places as the room with four doors, he had chuckled, his blue eyes glittering, and readily explained. Castle Eidolon was the seat of power for all of the fairy realms. As such, the elven royalty hosted guests from Fae worlds across time and space. Some preferred winter. Others, spring. The elves made every effort to accommodate delegates from the other fairy kingdoms, as any political leaders worth their positions would do.

  Astriel was quick to engage her in conversation, to introduce her to the other members of the elven court, and to shower her with gifts that made her mind spin, not in their exquisite expense, but in their thoughtfulness: A quill and a leather bound journal for recording her thoughts. A white ribbon that when touched to her raven hair magically braided and curled it in the most intricate and beautiful fashion. A tiny black figurine that was warm to the touch and transformed into a living, breathing puppy at the sound of a single spoken word.

  It was as if he knew
just what she needed, just what would make her more comfortable or bring a smile to her face.

  And yet…. There remained that tickling of a sensation in the back of Raven’s mind. There was something in the blue of the prince’s eyes. In the way he held her hand, gently but firmly. There was a warmth to his touch so quickly followed by a chill, she didn’t know what to make of it. It was as dichotomous and confounding as the castle he ruled from.

  And there were the dreams. Always about Tanith. Always.

  Frustration thrummed through Raven now, hard and sudden. She spun where she stood in the unfamiliar corridor and broke into a run. She sprinted down the lengthy hall, not necessarily caring where it led but only wanting to get somewhere for once in her mindless meandering.

  She turned the corner at the end of the hall, dashed out onto a landing, shot down a flight of stairs, and turned down yet another corridor.

  Raven slowed. This hall sported a thick rug of black instead of red. The sconces lining the walls contained candles of ebony wax, their flames a strange, somber indigo. The light cast eerie shadows on the walls.

  Raven watched the dancing figures of light and darkness as she came to a gradual stop. She stood in the middle of the hall and gazed down its length to the giant black doors that waited at one end.

  A chill raced down her spine. She clenched her teeth and hugged herself. She rarely got cold; it was the nature of her blood. But here, in this strange hallway, the purple-blue light flickered ominously and the air felt thick with foreboding.

  The doors loomed at the end of the corridor.

  Raven glanced nervously over her shoulder and then turned back to face the doors once more. She squared her shoulders and took a step toward them. Then another. It seemed the night pressed in on her here. The corridor begged her to turn back. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t wanted here.