I promise that my shadows will be her throne, my lies her veil, and my silence her shield. I, not her, will be burned by the truth I hold. And let the world turn to ash if I have to betray it in order to save her soul." * —Eryndor, Keeper of Shadows, Oath
Under the red moon, the palace slept restlessly. Tapestries stirred faintly in the draft, stone corridors lay quiet, and torches guttered low as though they, too, were afraid of burning too brightly. But whispers came from the shadows in the silence. Among them, Eryndor walked. Eryndor moved like smoke, while Kaelen strode like a storm, unflinching, feared, and seen. When he passed them, the guards hardly paid any attention, though they might have glanced at the slight shimmer of his signet ring, which identified him as one of the queen's chosen, or the ripple of his cloak. In the torchlight, he left no trace, no sound on the marble floors. His labyrinth was the palace, and he was its undisputed phantom.
He was already aware of the attempt on Serenya's life. Every whisper eventually found its way to him, and the corridors carried secrets as easily as drafts of wind. In her bedroom, the queen almost died. In the dark, the Blade strikes down the assassin. Before the crown had even cooled, blood was on the royal stone. Eryndor had anticipated it. Plots were like long-sown seeds; the first one to sprout had just broken the soil before most others did. It was the plainest language he had ever used to warn the council. He concealed his knowledge without showing his hand by speaking in clues, half-truths, and riddles. That was both his blessing and his bane.
Power came from knowledge, but too much power in public invited disaster. He now headed for the library vaults in the center of the palace rather than the queen's quarters, where Kaelen was already stationed, and Eryndor had no desire to clash with the Blade's stern, watchful gaze. Eryndor protected Serenya's soul, whereas Kaelen protected her body. And he knew that secrets she had not yet started to understand were interwoven with her soul. The iron-bound vault doors loomed tall. With the guards' torches shining palely on his face, he whispered the passphrase to them. They didn't question him and let him go. The Keeper of Shadows was rarely questioned.
The smell of parchment and dust enveloped him inside. With shelves that rose into the darkness like pillars and books and scrolls laden with centuries' worth of wisdom, the vault was a tomb of knowledge. It contained the heart of the dynasty, its sins, its victories, and its lies disguised as truths. Eryndor made deliberate movements. His fingers scanned the spines until they came across the one he was looking for: a ledger with a sigil burned into its cover and bound in cracked leather. A moon symbol, surrounded by thorns. The Oath Book. Here was a record of every vow ever made to the dynasty, including the Guardians' oaths.
Though it hurt to see it written, to see his own words etched into eternity, he had read his own entry a long time ago. Even now, he was bound by words. But he didn't look for his own tonight. Eyes darting over names both remembered and admired, he turned the fragile pages until he came to the latest entries. Veynar Kaelen. The Blade. The harsh, clipped lines of the war priests who had overseen his induction were used to write the oath. Eryndor read it quietly:
"I pledge to act as a barrier between the Queen and her adversaries. I am her wrath, her wall, and her weapon. She can rule my life. She can claim my death. Until the blood runs dry and the steel breaks. Eryndor's mouth curled slightly. Blunt. Predictable. Words are iron cast. Kaelen was just what he looked like: a sword breather. Eryndor, however, went on to the next page. He took his own oath. And there, inscribed by the priest's careful hand, were the words he had said so long ago—words that, despite their ashy taste, he still meant today.
"I promise that my lies will be her veil, my silence her shield, and my shadows her throne." I, not her, will be burned by the truth I hold. And let the world turn to ash if I have to betray it in order to save her soul. As if the words themselves were still alive and still shackling him, the page seemed to pulsate beneath his fingers. His cloak swirled like smoke as he quickly closed the book and put it back where it belonged. As he emerged from the vault, the shadows closed in on him. Because he felt the weight of that oath more tonight than ever before. Serenya must never learn the truths that have already stirred in the darkness. Not just yet. --- The smell of blood roused Serenya.
Even after the body had been removed and the floor had been cleaned, it continued to cling to her chamber. Silent and unwavering, Kaelen had kept watch until dawn, his gaze focused on each moving shadow. After the assassin fell, he hadn't spoken to her or given her the time he needed. Even though he was no longer with her, she could still feel him. Like anxious doves, her ladies flitted about her, putting on her clothes, plaiting her hair, and securing the crown of thorns on her forehead once more. She listened to their chitchat in silence, her mind elsewhere. When they finally departed, she turned to see another figure standing in the chamber's corner. "Gods!" She almost tripped. "How long have you been there?"
Eryndor emerged from the shadows, his dark cloak gathering around him as he bowed low. His hair cascaded over his pallid face, and his eyes glinted with secrets like midnight. "It's been long enough to see that you're not feeling well," he said quietly. Her heart pounded, but she concealed it with the poise of a queen. "You should announce yourself." Eryndor whispered, "The Blade announces himself." "I don't." She felt more uneasy about him than she did about the assassin's blade. With a sword by her side, Kaelen's danger was evident and palpable. However, Eryndor's threat was more subtle and subtle. She couldn't tell if the shadows in his voice surrounded her or protected her.
She said, "You are aware of the attempt." "Everyone is aware," he said. "However, not everybody gets it." She knitted her brow. "You do, too?" He had a faint, unreadable smile. "I make it my responsibility to." Slowly and deliberately, he moved closer until she could smell the subtle smoke and ink that clung to him. His dark, unblinking eyes searched hers. Silently, he remarked, "This was no ordinary assassin." He was carrying a knife that was laced with venom that could only be found outside of the Eastern Wastes. Not many people in this city could have gotten it. Even fewer would dare. She gasped. "You mean—?"
"I mean," he interrupted smoothly, "that a hand much higher than some gutter-thief was guiding this blade." Someone in the palace. Someone nearby. Her chest grew constricted. "Are you aware of whom?" His silence spoke louder than words as he examined her. "I know enough to suspect," he finally said. However, suspicion can be used against innocent people far too easily. Until I am positive, I will not identify the hand. Serenya tightened her fingers on the arm of her chair and swallowed forcefully. She detested the veils, the shadows he cast, and the half-truths. And yet—she would be blind without them. "So, what should I do?" She muttered.
With a low, almost gentle voice, Eryndor bowed once more. "Believe me. I will see where your eyes cannot, hear where your ears cannot, and conceal from you the things that would contaminate your soul. My queen, let me carry the burden of shadow. Light was your birthplace. Her throat constricted. Neither Kaelen's steely voice nor the council's demands had ever addressed her in such a manner. There was another danger in Eryndor's words. They tugged at something fierce and delicate that was deep within her.
Finally, she said, "I'm not sure if I can trust you." His grin darkened. "Then have faith that you'll wish you had someday." He melted back into the chamber's corner before she could respond. And he was gone when she blinked. --- Serenya had another dream that night. But it wasn't of crowns or knives this time. It showed shadows encircling her and a voice she could almost recognize whispering her name. Of invisible hands leading her down a corridor of innumerable doors. There are doors that open to reveal fire, blood, and Kaelen standing over a field of corpses.
And then she woke up, breathless, her heart racing, certain that the Keeper of Shadows was keeping something from her, something she could not yet bear to know. And at the last door—Eryndor—he stood inside, his eyes burning with secrets, his lips parted as if to speak the truth, but when he opened his mouth—no sound came.