Shattered: An Urban Romantic Fantasy Read online

  I wouldn’t disagree with her.

  Bronwen shuffled into her seat in the front row next to her parents, my dad nowhere to be seen. Her face was beaming though. There was no other way to put it. I tried to sneak a peek at her feelings, but she must have thrown a barrier over them because she wasn’t giving off what her countenance was declaring.

  “She is smitten,” Aelwen said as she leaned in. “How will she keep this from her parents for much longer?”

  “Does she have to?” I wanted to keep my voice quiet but with the raucous crowds, I had to practically shout.

  “She turned down a betrothal last year. Her parents won’t give her much more leeway.”

  I frowned. Poor Bronwen. To have her parents dictate her happiness. Ridiculous.

  The crowds hushed as Tomos stood and lifted his arms. As he addressed the group, somehow his voice projected over the arena. More magic, I mean, the power of light.

  Two dozen men marched into the arena as Tomos announced the competitors. They were stunning, dressed in knight-worthy costumes in a range of colors. I spotted Cystenian at the front of the two lines as they curved together and formed a circle. He was dressed in dark teal. They carried no weapons, no heavy armor. Cystenian wore a tunic cut into a deep V over a crisp, white, collared undershirt. A wide sash defined his waist and long ornamented sleeves draped to his wrists.

  Aelwen squealed and squeezed my forearm as the audience cheered.

  Tomos announced the lineup. Cystenian was not among the first to compete. It was a typical process of elimination, with the winners competing against other winners until there was one champion, of which would be Cystenian.

  The point was that it would be a good show.

  Cystenian would compete at least four times, I was told. I had no doubt that the other competitors were actually competing for second place and so on.

  I was still so nervous, because of the lack of weapons. They were fighting with their light, a feat I was most excited to see for the first time. In front of me, Aria scooted to the edge of her seat, keen to see the opening match.

  The arena had cleared, except for two contestants, who bowed and dropped into offensive stances. A gong rang out, and the arena brightened, not from some overhead lights, but from the fighters, from their hands.

  I imagined two wizards in a duel. Light sparked from them, from both their hands, and connected. It was a push and pull thing at first as one light stream edged closer to the opponent in red and then back again, but then the black opponent struck with his other hand, brave enough to remove it from the strain of the first attack. His stream of light raced beneath the first attack, right for the red emrys, and just as I was anticipating a blow, the red guy released his losing stream of light and dove out of the way.

  Then they were all over the arena. Streams and bolts of light and shields of energy, which changed in form occasionally to fireballs and blasts like cannon fire.

  Aelwen gasped more than once. Aria clapped and shouted. The arena was on edge.

  How? How were they dodging this? When the black opponent finally got a blow in, slamming the red emrys onto his back, the crowd erupted and jumped to their feet. Apparently, one incapacitating blow signaled the match’s end. The fight had lasted about four grueling minutes.

  Four minutes in which I had never felt so tense.

  How would I survive Cystenian in the arena?

  I rose to my feet and clapped, in a daze. Trying to come out of my fearful stupor, I craned my neck between Aria and her older brother. I was so concerned for the red emrys. He hadn’t risen to his feet yet.

  “Is he hurt?” I asked.

  Aelwen turned to me. “He’ll be fine. Look.” She pointed with her chin as she continued to clap. Two emrys knelt over him, resting their hands on his chest and forehead. “He’s being healed.”

  I felt lightheaded. “He needs healers? How? Isn’t this a show? Why would they fight to the point of injury?”

  “It’s all right.”

  I shook my head as I blindly rubbed Trysten. She was ready to eat. The cheering had startled her, but I couldn’t make myself take any action.

  Aelwen took my hands. “Look at me.”

  Her green eyes were not filled with worry. That was somewhat of a comfort. “I forget that you’re not used to this. We heal. A battle with the light wouldn’t strike a fatal wound, not in a match here. Emrys are trained to take a hit. We expect to be a little banged up, but it’s nothing that an experienced healer can’t fix.”

  “You make it sound so trivial.”

  “I’m sorry this has you so upset.” She smiled so sweetly that I wanted to trust her. “It really is all right.”

  The red emrys rose onto his elbows and waved to the crowd. Their cheers went up louder even though he hadn’t been the victor.

  “I’m going to nurse Trysten,” I said to Aelwen. I rushed off the dais before she could say anything else.

  Away from the noise of the arena, I hid in a cozy alcove, near where several emrys were sipping beverages and chatting quietly. I relaxed into a chair behind a potted plant and took care of Trysten’s needs. I wasn’t far enough from the fighting that the noises had vanished but far enough that my nerves could reset until Cystenian fought.

  After Trysten drank her fill, I cleaned her up and changed her. She cooed adoringly at me. Did she understand how much I loved her? Could she feel it from me every time we touched? She reached toward me with her chubby hand, and I kissed it. I blew raspberries on her cheek and made her squirm. Had my dad done these same things with me? What about my mother? I wished I could remember things from my real mother.

  Dad?

  As I waited for a response, I played with Trysten’s hair and stroked her forehead. Every time I stroked her nose, she closed her eyes, and then blinked them expectantly at me when I stopped.

  Yes, Anerah?

  I inhaled. Dad, can you give me any of my memories back? Like early ones from when I was with my real mother? Did she love me as much as I love Trysten?

  Your mother loved you in the only way she knew how. She would have never hurt you, but she had planned to use you. And I didn’t trust my sister Yasbail around you. She has always been unstable…

  Which was why you took me away.

  Yes, Dad said.

  How old was I?

  Dad sighed deeply, and it reached me. When you were one day old.

  I gasped. You knew something was up before I was even born.

  Yes. Everything that I did was to protect you… and to keep the prophecy from being fulfilled.

  I gathered Trysten up and bundled her against myself. I wasn’t sure what else to say to Dad, so I left our conversation open-ended. Trysten and I walked along a quiet stream that ran through a field beyond the arena. There were no shops out here, no people. Just the dull clamor of the crowds that barely reached me.

  After about ten minutes, Dad intruded in my head. Cystenian’s up after this match. Bronwen wanted me to let you know.

  I grimaced but turned to head back. Thanks. I’m coming.

  The crowd was gleefully chanting Cystenian’s name as I dropped into my seat beside Aelwen. Trysten had fallen asleep, so I tried not to jostle her, but I didn’t know how she could sleep with my heartbeat right at her ear, ready to explode.

  Dad slid into the empty seat on my left. I thought he would have been sitting with Bronwen, so how had he given me a message from her?

  “I was hanging around the champions’ tents and heard Cystenian telling Iwan not to be easy on him,” Dad said. “He wants the match to be real.”

  I groaned and glared at Dad. “Why’d you go and tell me that?”

  He looked at me with all seriousness. “Just thought you should know.”

  “Just thought I should know,” I mocked. “How thoughtful of you.”

  Cystenian and an emrys dressed in bright yellow entered the arena. Their costumes were slightly different. Same long tunics, but without the fancy dangling sleeves from
earlier.

  After their bows, they were off, like lightning. Iwan was fierce. He immediately launched an onslaught of fireballs, no connecting stream of light like the first match I’d seen. Cystenian was forced to dance around and dodge. He dove under a blast and launched his own attack. His light fired like quick photon blasts that I’d seen in science fiction movies, but Iwan was nimble despite his broad body and was able to throw some counterblasts while dodging.

  Their light connected at one point, but they didn’t stay linked for long.

  “Holding it would be a good way to drain their energy,” Dad said.

  I nodded as I gripped the seat with one hand and braced Trysten with the other. I was trying not to jump to my feet.

  Aria had jumped out of her seat. She was leaning against the railing, clutching the post to the canopy as if she would faint. Cystenian barely escaped a blast, and Aria gasped, along with the crowd, and hid her face dramatically in her hand.

  Cystenian swirled his hand above his head and a blue coil of energy surged outward around him like a dancer’s ribbon and expanded across the arena. Iwan jumped over one pass and dove under another, and as he came up, he sent a blast right into Cystenian’s side.

  Cystenian rolled but came up on his feet. He limped to the side away from another blast while favoring his arm.

  I bolted upright. “He’s hurt! He’s limping.” Several members of Aria’s family looked briefly at me. I felt Dad’s comforting touch on my shoulder.

  Cystenian’s left arm hung at his side. He grabbed at it with his right hand and clutched the useless appendage to his chest.

  “What will he do?” I asked. “He can’t hold his arm and fight.”

  Then Cystenian surprised me. A span of energy flew up in front of him, radiating from his chest. The shield blocked several well-aimed hits.

  “It takes skill to project light directly from the heart-center like that,” Dad said.

  “He’s very good,” Aelwen chimed in.

  My knees were going to give out. How long had this match gone on? It felt like ten minutes. Aelwen and Dad were close to me, practically supporting me. Aria was fanning her face. Her brother had come to her side, and she leaned into him.

  Was her reaction for show or was it as real as mine? I felt terribly lightheaded. “This can’t go on for much longer, can it?”

  Cystenian dropped his shield when Iwan sprang with a superhuman jump. As he rose higher, instead of blasting Cystenian into the ground, Cystenian slid under Iwan, ignoring his dangling arm, and fired upward. Iwan took the blow, with an arena full of gasps from the crowd, and tumbled ten feet away.

  His head dropped back as his body flopped limply. He was down.

  Cystenian ended his slide by coming into a crouch, ready to fire, but there was no need. He had incapacitated his opponent.

  The crowd went wild. Everyone around me had jumped to their feet, making me feel as if they were closing in around me.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I turned to Dad as my knees buckled. He grabbed my elbows and kept me upright. I felt Aelwen’s supportive hands on me as well.

  Get me out of here! I screamed at Dad. My fear for Cystenian had overcome me. I wasn’t sure if I was holding up the mental barriers I should, the ones I needed to keep my feelings for Cystenian hidden. My reaction to the fight might have given everything away anyway. I needed Dad to get me away from all this.

  He escorted me off the dais and out the arena.

  Aelwen followed. “Let me take, Trysten.”

  My feet caught on the flat ground, and Dad had to catch me.

  “No.” I shook my head. “No.”

  “Cystenian will be fine,” Dad said.

  “He was maimed. His arm was dangling grotesquely from its socket.”

  “It’s just a dislocated shoulder,” Dad said.

  Aelwen was trying to undo Trysten’s wrap while Dad was dragging me toward some chairs. Trysten had been screeching that high help-me-help-me baby wah, and I hadn’t noticed until now.

  My trauma had blocked her out. Horrible guilt swam over me, but I took a centering breath.

  Steady. For Trysten. I’d upset her.

  “No. No.” I shook them off and shushed Trysten and hugged her and rubbed her back. It’s all right. It’s all right. I paused in soothing her just long enough to mutter, “Take me to Cystenian. Right now. To his tent.”

  Dad nodded at Aelwen when she gave him a pleading look. “I’ll take her,” he said. “They’ll both be fine.”

  Trysten’s wail had subsided to a mewling hiccough. Her poor face was purple and streaked with tears. I wiped them away and kissed her head. “Sorry, little angel. I guess I’m not ready for any of this.”

  Dad smiled grimly as he helped me around behind the arena.

  It took ten minutes to weave through the crowd to the cluster of champions’ tents. Banners attached to poles waved outside each entrance. I guessed where Cystenian’s was. A teal banner with a profile silhouette of Iestyn. He was reared up on his hind legs and roaring. I knew it was Iestyn because of the tusks.

  “I guess this is it.” I patted Trysten and rubbed at my eyes. They felt crusty with dried tears.

  Dad nodded. “I sense only Cystenian and one other emrys, most likely a healer. It should be safe to enter.”

  “Can you check for me?”

  Dad stuck his head inside, and I heard a few muted words. When he emerged, he said, “Go ahead.”

  I squared my shoulders and put on a brave face. I would just check to see that he was all right. Nothing more. I parted the flap and ducked inside.

  Cystenian was sitting on a bench and leaning against a table. His eyes were closed and his forehead, wrinkled. He looked in pain. The healer, a handsome emrys with silver hair, had his hands on Cystenian’s shoulder. He too had his eyes closed.

  I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, so I crept closer and stood a few feet from the table. I gnawed my lip, closed my eyes too, and sucked in a breath.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Cystenian said.

  My eyes popped open in shock. That was not the greeting I had been expecting. Cystenian had his eyes closed, and the healer continued to work. My eyes darted around the tent. It didn’t have much in the way of furnishings. Just the table, a cot, and the bench. A rug covered the grass and a few orbs lit the space. Several outfits hung on stands, waiting for their turn in the arena, I supposed.

  I fumbled for something to say. “I-I wanted to bring you Trysten, so you could kiss her for good luck, you know, for your next match.”

  Cystenian didn’t say anything.

  “I should have brought her before the last match. It was brutal. I’m sorry.”

  Cystenian looked up then. He caught my eye for a second but then lowered his to the bundle attached to me. He sat upright, and the healer backed off. “That’s enough for now. Do you mind giving us a minute?”

  “Of course, Cystenian.” The healer’s voice had been so soft, so meek, that I marveled at him as he slipped past me to the exit.

  Then we were alone. I released a breath.

  Cystenian pushed off the table, using his arms. It was back in its socket. Relief washed over me. But as Cystenian rounded the table, he limped. He sat on the edge nearest me and held his ribs.

  “You’re hurt.” I stepped toward him.

  Cystenian held up a hand as he looked at the rug. “I’m fine. Ofydd will continue healing me after you’ve gone.”

  “Ookaay.” I patted Trysten’s rump, not believing him about being fine. I wasn’t sure what I should say. “Trysten?”

  Cystenian nodded and got some stones to look at me. I stepped right up to him and leaned in for Cystenian to see her. She looked better, not shook up, no dried tear stains down her cheeks. I was comforted by that. I didn’t want Cystenian to think I was a horrible mother. Trysten had found her hand and slobbered lazily on it, leaving wet marks on my shirt.

  Cystenian stood, bearing his weight on one leg. His
golden curls bounced against my chin as he kissed Trysten on the top of her head, and I dared to breathe in. He smelled like heaven after a rainy day, or at least what I imagined heaven after a rainy day would smell like. The closeness of him and the emotion of it all stung me. As Cystenian’s lips lingered on Trysten’s head, his ear grazed my clavicle.

  He couldn’t have been any closer.

  My heartbeat was erratic, the loudest thing in the room.

  Then he whispered to her. “I love you, my little ginger mop.”

  I sucked in a silent breath. My chest tightened.

  “You have to keep your mum out of trouble,” he whispered. “All right?”

  Cystenian pulled away slightly, enough so I could breathe normally.

  Who was I kidding?

  I would never breathe normally again.

  Cystenian was much too close when he looked at me and said, “No one knows she’s my daughter, remember? They might wonder why you’re bringing her to me.”

  “Oh.” I backed up. “I’m so stupid. I forgot.”

  Cystenian settled onto the table. “It’s fine. No harm done.” He smiled weakly and braced his side.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Broken rib. Ofydd is going to work on that when he comes in.”

  “Your ankle?”

  “Sprain.”

  I quirked an eyebrow, filled with dread. “Is this really worth it?”

  “What? The festival? The match?”

  No, all the lies. “Yeah.”

  “It’s fun. I’m having a blast.” He shrugged one shoulder.

  “Bruising and breaking yourself from head to toe is a blast? You really are a boy.”

  Cystenian shifted on the table. “You are upset.”

  “Uh, yeah. More like traumatized.” I would spare him the details.

  Cystenian studied me for a moment, in which I became more and more uncomfortable, but I wasn’t going to show my apprehension. I stared right back.

  Then my insides melted. Oh, he was so divine.

  Why couldn’t he be mine?

  Be mine, Cystenian. Just be mine.

  He exhaled, with obvious frustration, or annoyance—I wasn’t sure—and brushed his curls back with a hand. “Uh, I appreciate you checking on me, but I think you should go. If Aria showed up or—”