Shattered: An Urban Romantic Fantasy Read online

  “Anerah”—he lifted my chin—“that was the spell.”

  No. No. My heart hurt. It actually hurt. What about how I feel now?

  “No harm done. We have a beautiful daughter. A bit more premature than I had planned, but she’s nothing I regret.” He rested her in his lap and poked her nose. Trysten was sucking on her bottom lip in her sleep. Her own little milk coma.

  I smiled. His words gave me hope. “It’s a relief to hear you say that. I don’t regret our daughter either.” I brushed my palm over her hair, wishing I could brush it over Cystenian’s bare chest.

  “I should have realized you hadn’t physically bonded with anyone, because if someone had taken your virtue, without your bonding spiritually first, you could have become a Dark Emrys—”

  This Dark Emrys term again.

  “—and you wouldn’t have even been able to enter Emira.”

  I touched his hand, and he stopped. “You’re losing me.”

  “Losing you?”

  “It means I’m confused. You’ve moved on with the conversation, but I have no reference on which to base what you say.”

  “Your world has interesting phrases. I’m sorry I was losing you. I’ll explain everything, try to teach you about how our light works. Your father told you nothing?”

  “Nothing. Bronwen explained some things. I’ve seen my heart-center.”

  “That’s good.” Cystenian paused, his jaw working as his nostrils flared. “Remind me to have words with your father later. I’m already put out that he has my sister so upset.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “Not yet. She was too distraught before dinner last night to talk about it, and after dinner she disappeared with him.”

  “What?” I can’t believe this.

  “It’s okay. I’ll get it out of her sooner or later.”

  I grimaced. Bronwen had told me to wait until she talked with Dad. What had they been doing last night if not talking? Ew! Don’t think about it. Change the subject! “About this Dark Emrys thing.” My words came out as a pant. My forehead broke out in a sweat. “Would that have happened to you too?”

  Cystenian gave me the slightest chuckle.

  My being horrified, no, disgusted, is not funny!

  Gingerly, much too sensually for my erratic heart, he brushed a hair off my forehead. Then he turned serious. “Had we not been spelled, yes.”

  “Your parents must hate me.”

  “They’re relieved that our bonding wasn’t under my own volition and that I haven’t fallen.”

  The air outside suddenly felt thin. Cystenian was back to his purity thing. Images of movies and novels I had devoured flipped through me like turning pages. Fallen. The reference was usually to an angel of heaven coming to Earth, disgraced. Sometimes to follow the devil. “Fallen? Like a fallen angel? Is that how someone becomes a Dark Emrys?”

  “I’m not familiar with the term fallen angel. To be a fallen emrys would mean I’m an outcast without light. That is what a Dark Emrys is. Emira could no longer be my home.”

  “So somehow they lose their light.”

  “Yes. To lose my light, I’d have to commit a grave sin, such as breaking the law of purity. When the fae spelled us, I couldn’t act with my own agency. Under eternal law, I wasn’t held accountable.”

  “You mentioned the agency thing before.” When I arrived and you insinuated that I was a tramp. “What does it mean to be a Dark Emrys? What happens if you don’t have light?”

  “My heart-center becomes filled with darkness. My motivations and desires change. I serve the Dark Master instead of the Master of Light. Since darkness can’t be used on Emira, I couldn’t enter here.”

  “But I have darkness in me as a half-emrys. I can enter here.”

  “Your light is stronger than your darkness,” Cystenian said. “As long as that balance holds, you will always be welcome here.”

  “Who is this Dark Master?”

  “He’s the one in the prison that the prophecy foretells will open.”

  “So he’s bad?” I asked.

  “You could say that.”

  “Just because someone becomes a Dark Emrys, do they have to serve the Dark Master?”

  Cystenian settled Trysten onto the blanket beside us and closed his eyes, lost deep in thought. After about ten seconds, when he opened his eyes, he was ready to speak. “Anerah, I’m going to tell you something that’s painful for me.”

  “Okay.”

  He took a deep breath. “I had a secret love once.”

  I curled back, as if to give him space, as I thought of what this must mean to him. “You mean other than me?”

  “This wasn’t someone I physically bonded with. This was decades ago. I’d gone with Bronwen once to Bryn. I met the most enchanting half-emrys, Lareth, and I fell in love. I knew I shouldn’t have, because she was a half-emrys and because I had been promised to Aria.”

  “You couldn’t help yourself. That’s how love is.” Take the hint, Cystenian.

  He grinned. “No, I couldn’t. I stayed on Bryn for seven weeks, wooing her, positively love-struck.”

  I couldn’t understand where he was going with this. It hurt to think of yet another woman in his life.

  “This was a time of an uprising in the south. Lareth sided with the Dark Emrys, those who supported the rise of the Vessel, the Dark Master’s servant. To turn, she had to…” He swallowed. “She killed someone.” Cystenian froze, his eyes reddening. He stared straight ahead as if he were seeing something, reliving a horror.

  I touched his thigh. “I’m really sorry.”

  Cystenian continued, without blinking, without acknowledging my touch. “She had no more light. Her beautiful amethyst-colored heart-center had become coal black. When she approached me the first time afterward and asked me to join her, Lareth’s eyes were dead. Anerah, it was as if her soul had died.”

  “Was she happy with what she did?”

  “Happiness is not an emotion they understand. Nor love. It was over between us.”

  “Oh, Cystenian.” I held his hand with both of mine. “That’s heartbreaking.”

  “You can see why we guard our virtue so carefully.”

  Now I understand. “I am so glad we were under a spell, then.” I would never hurt you in that way.

  “As am I.”

  “So Aria. She’s safe. She’s all light. It makes sense why you would choose her.” I looked right into Cystenian’s green eyes, daring him to see into my soul. “But I’m not turning dark, Cystenian. I’ll always be in the light.”

  He didn’t blink. I’d hooked him with my baby blues. “I know, Anerah. I believe you will.”

  My heart almost broke from his words.

  Then choose me.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Two weeks had passed since my arrival in Brynmor. Because of my dad’s constantly annoying hovering—he made no effort to leave—Tomos and Eiluned called a family council one evening.

  A fire crackled in what they called a council room. I’d pictured something more like a courtroom, with a seat placed at the head and the rest of us positioned below like minions. But it was an airy space, with pillars and opened windows, ornamented with florals and vines like the halls in a woodland elven kingdom. Several chairs upholstered in silken fabric were spread in a wide circle. “Servants” brought in trays of cheeses and dainty cakes and set them on side tables before excusing themselves. After all, this was a family affair.

  And we were cozy.

  I wondered if I should have been flattered that we were all considered family for this counsel. I guessed I actually was, as Trysten’s mom. They had promised she would be a part of Cystenian’s life.

  Trysten was with Aelwen. I didn’t fret leaving my daughter anymore.

  “We have a lot of things to discuss.” Eiluned settled back in her chair, with a sigh, after taking a sip of wine. “Before Aria’s arrival, we have to solidify the reasons for Anerah’s presence. We have to make a plan
.”

  Ah, so that was the purpose. I was a nuisance to be dealt with, one that she had to relax herself with wine before facing.

  Tomos eyed me and then my father in turn. “Since we made modifications to the betrothal, we didn’t have to worry about Aria learning Trysten’s parentage, but once Aria and Cystenian are married, she will find out unless we have a plausible story.”

  My father cocked his head. “You mean a lie.”

  “Yes. A story, Vaughan.” Eiluned waved her hand, appearing weary of the whole thing. “Everyone must agree and be in on the story.”

  “What modifications were there to the betrothal?” I asked.

  Bronwen turned toward me. She seemed exasperated by her mother’s behavior. “In a betrothal ceremony, it’s customary for the couple to bond emotionally and mentally, linking themselves together before the marriage so they can enrich their relationship before the final union.”

  I knew what mentally meant, but emotionally? That was a new one. I looked at Cystenian. He was looking at the floor, picking at the seam in the chair’s arm. “So Aria would have been able to hear all your thoughts and know everything about you?”

  He didn’t look up.

  “Yes, well, since Cystenian has secrets to keep,” Eiluned said, “we asked for a modification to the ceremony.”

  “They didn’t question why?” If I were his betrothed, I would demand an explanation.

  “Aria’s family has known us for over a millennium. They trust our judgment. We simply asked that Cystenian be given more time before he gave himself in those ways.”

  Her reasons made him sound immature. How had Aria felt about that?

  Cystenian looked awful. His skin was waxy, as if the topic of his betrothal was eating away at him. He didn’t have a glimmer of light in his eyes.

  I missed that about him. I wanted to see that determination, the strength he possessed when he was resisting the fae.

  That felt ages ago.

  Instead, over the past two weeks, he’d become a shell. A person dictated to by his parents.

  I wondered how much crap they gave him when I wasn’t around.

  Even though I couldn’t help loathing them, I tried to soften my disgust since these darn emrys could sense everything, and since they were Trysten’s grandparents.

  “That brings us to our next problem.” Eiluned took another sip of wine, forcing us to wait on her. “Other than fabricating a story, Anerah dear, you must learn to mask your emotions. We can’t have Aria sensing you mooning about after Cystenian.”

  All the blood must have drained from my face, because I felt faint.

  “She’s not mooning about,” Bronwen said. “She has feelings for him.”

  I gasped. “Bron—”

  “Which is precisely why you are going to teach her to block her emotions,” Eiluned said to Bronwen.

  “It’s fine, Anerah. We all knew,” Bronwen said. “Remember, we sense everything.”

  Cystenian was as red as a beet. I was mortified, but I didn’t have cause to have been. Cystenian knew from day one that I’d had nine months to obsess over him, but what were his feelings? Wouldn’t he have to block them? Even if he didn’t have feelings for me, he had feelings for Trysten, as his daughter.

  Aside from his flirting, I didn’t have much of a clue as to how Cystenian felt about me. And no one was blurting out his feelings as they had mine. Thanks a lot, Bronwen.

  He’s blocking his feelings for you, Dad said.

  I jolted, not expecting a comment from him. What? That’s so not fair.

  I believe it’s because he does have feelings for you, but he believes he shouldn’t, because of his betrothal. The guilt is most likely troubling him.

  Cystenian was still looking at the tile on the floor.

  Well, as long as he feels bad because of it.

  How could I get Cystenian to confess his feelings for me?

  You’ll have to corner him, Dad said.

  Hey, I was not thinking that for you to hear.

  Sorry. I’ll teach you how to block me from listening in.

  I can do that? I asked. You would do that?

  For you, yes. I know you don’t like me eavesdropping in your head. I want you to trust me.

  You don’t want me to even be with Cystenian.

  But I want you to know the truth, Dad said.

  After all these years, now he does.

  The rest of the room had been droning on while I was talking with Dad. I cut Tomos off. “All right. Do we have a story?” I asked. “I want my daughter to have a father. Trysten will be in Cystenian’s life. Not just as an occasional visitor. She will live wherever he lives.”

  Cystenian finally came to life, which was a relief. I was tired of his family telling him what to do. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “I agree. That’s settled, then,” Tomos said. “Trysten will live with Cystenian and Aria in Rhamantis after they are wed.”

  “Rhamantis?” I asked.

  “The fourth vale.” Bronwen had tucked her feet up beside herself in the chair.

  “That just leaves the matter of their relationship.” Eiluned traced her finger around the edge of her wine glass.

  “Cousins?” Bronwen suggested.

  “Our family does not bond with half-emrys, Bronwen, dear. Aria’s family would know this. Trysten can’t be an actual relation.”

  “Tell Aria you’ve adopted her,” Dad said. “Her parents died in the war on Bryn, and Bronwen brought her back. She will be your ward. It would work.”

  “What about Anerah?” Bronwen looked at me with pity. “She can’t give up her daughter.”

  “Anerah should return to Earth,” Dad said. He didn’t give the reason. No one else knew any of the details about the prophecy.

  Really, Dad? I don’t think there’s any way Cystenian and I are getting together.

  We can’t take that chance.

  I deflated inside. I hated the worry over this prophecy when I didn’t even understand all that this world entailed. Why should I care? If it wasn’t for Trysten, I would go home. Now Trysten’s world was my world.

  I brightened with an idea. “I could come with Cystenian and Trysten. Tell everyone I’m her wet nurse. I’ll be nursing her for a good while anyway.”

  “You’re too close to Trysten,” Tomos said. “Aria would know you’re her mother. Then she would eventually make the connection to Cystenian.”

  This is ridiculous. Why are we going along with these lies?

  I’m with you in this, Anerah, Dad said. The truth would hurt far less than the lies once they came out.

  “We have to put some time and distance between them until Anerah’s feelings fade,” Tomos said.

  Why did they assume my feelings would fade? “Can I think about everything before we write it in stone?”

  “Of course, dear,” Eiluned said. “Until then, and until we know what to do about Anerah”—Eiluned turned to her daughter—“Bronwen, her training.”

  “Yes, Mum,” Bronwen said.

  Everyone seemed satisfied that our subterfuge would work. If anything, I hoped only for Trysten’s sake. I couldn’t care less about ruining Cystenian’s marriage if the truth got out.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Dad followed me out of the meeting. His hair was longer, touching the tips of his ears. I’d never seen him with his hair unkempt. It had always been business neat. Now he was looking a little rebellious.

  Please don’t tell me Bronwen likes guys with long hair.

  Come to think of it, most of the emrys I saw about the estate, whether men or women, had long hair, like super long, like elven-majestic long. Bronwen’s was waist length, as was Eiluned’s. Bronwen’s father’s hair fell just past his shoulders. Cystenian’s had been cut to his chin, but he was the exception. Maybe that was because he had wildly sexy curls that longer hair would flatten.

  Dad must have been making an effort to conform. It wouldn’t surprise me.

  As it w
as, he was close on my heels, with a stupid grin on his face. I bet he heard my comment about Bronwen liking guys with long hair.

  “I have to get back to Trysten,” I said. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “I understand. I’ll be quick.” Whether I wanted him to or not, he kept pace with me as I strode to my chambers.

  “I know what you are thinking, but I’m going to make this work with Trysten and Cystenian.”

  “I don’t doubt that you will,” he said. “You are my daughter. You’re quick-witted, and you always get your way.”

  “Are you saying you always get your way?”

  “I’m rather good at working things to my advantage.”

  I huffed. “Of course you are.”

  Dad grabbed my arm, and we stopped in front of a mural of a glowing metropolis in a sweeping valley. One of the other vales? “I support Trysten staying here, but I must insist you return to Earth.”

  “Couldn’t I at least stay in Brynmor while Cystenian is in Rhamantis? That’s keeping my distance. There’s no chance that I could bond with him, then.”

  “Anerah, I need to make you understand the gravity of the situation. If the prison is unsealed, the way is open for a Dark Emrys to enter and become the Vessel.”

  “I understand that.” Cystenian had mentioned the Vessel when he was talking about Lareth.

  “No, you don’t. The last time the prison was opened, the Vessel controlled the seven regions of Morvith with death and slaughter. Her powers were unparalleled. She had no conscience. No remorse. While she united the regions, it wasn’t without much suffering. The humans hated her, and the half-emrys were forced to follow her.”

  This all hinges on me. Make Cystenian go somewhere else. Why do I have to sacrifice? “I don’t plan on bonding with any pure emrys any time soon. Why can’t you understand that? No bond, no risk for the prison opening. Besides, no one, and I mean no one else, seems to know the prophecy. I asked Cystenian—”

  “You what?”

  “I asked him to verify if there was a prophecy.”