A Single Spark Read online

  “What’s wrong, Rhi?” I asked, frowning a little in bewilderment. She stared down at her lute, choosing to pluck the lute strings in no particular order as she murmured miserably. “Sorry.” Her shoulders drooped as she continued. “That was mother's most beloved song...” Little tears welled up in her eyes as she smoothed her dress over her knees. “Is it terrible that I still miss her?” She asked in a small voice.

  Thoughts of Mother flooded my mind as Rhian spoke, the memories of her last days still a twinge in my heart though after three years, they were more reminiscent than painful. I hadn’t experienced the greatest sense of loss, though, as that fell to Father and Rhian. Tesni, my mother, had always been hardest on me, probably because I was the most unlike her out of her three children in temperament, though I was certainly her spitting image. While Father was kind about it, calling me independent and strong-willed, most others would simply call me stubborn and pushy, and they wouldn’t be wrong.

  “It is not strange to still miss mother, Rhian.” I came out of my thoughts to finally answer. “She died suddenly...and tragically...” I murmured to her, looking down to my hands, gently holding my goblet of wine. Mine were the hands of a noblewoman except for their color, the light brown shade of my skin more like the dark-skinned savages to the south with whom Father once growled his certainty that I also shared their warrior-like temperament. We laughed about his outburst later, but I couldn’t deny the truth of his point. I have never been one to give in easily, a trait that I would one day be grateful for though it would also bring its fair share of trouble.

  The sounds of the city floated over the railing from the streets below now that Rhian had ceased her playing. The chaos from earlier had quieted, leaving hawkers to ply their wares and trades. Children laughed and played in the street below, one little boy earning himself a scolding by his mother after a little girl let out a screech. Wagons laden with goods rumbled past on one of the lower levels, wheels grinding loudly against the paving stones. All those sounds seemed to fade as I became lost in my thoughts again.

  I looked over to Rhian, watching her as she began to play again, the flicker of determination finally finding its way to her eyes. She was only fifteen and a late bloomer, not yet having any sort of feminine form, though I was often reassuring her that she would not always look like a twig with hair. Vanity ruled her, however, and adulthood could not happen soon enough. There was no denying she was beautiful already even at this tender age. Long, shiny black hair with pale skin and light blue eyes the color of the summer skies would have suitors lining up down the street once she came of age. Her delicate features blended with her naive and gentle nature, making her lovely and loyal, and her friendly, youthful innocence endeared her to everyone she met. In truth, she was my complete opposite in almost every way.

  Rhian plucked a couple of the lute strings as she mumbled, “I only wish we could have given her a proper burial.” She sighed as an angry frown formed. “Damn pirates...Why mother? Couldn't they have taken someone else instead?” I arched my brow at her, taken aback by her language and I felt the need to admonish her.

  “Rhian, watch your tongue. That is no way for a noblewoman to speak.” I sighed then, wishing I had the answers to give her, but I was just as lost as she was. “They are just a bunch of barbarians that kill without thought.” I reminded her quietly. “They don't need any excuse to kill our people, we have been at war with the Yehketim for years and that is reason enough.” I lowered my voice to avoid having Father hear of the Yehketim. He had spent half his life in the army, engaged in conflicts with the desert folk and he tended to get irrationally angry at the mention of them or the U’sharrim, the elite residents of their capital city.

  The U’sharrim were a unique bloodline among the Yehketim, descended from the ancient Velynesians, though the purity of their blood was greatly waned. Yet some were gifted with greater strength and the larger size of their predecessors and were usually unmatched in battle. Father used to tell me of their fortitude and of their unrelenting ferocity, even when facing certain death, at which point in all of his stories, he would grow irritable. “A people should know when they are defeated…” He would then mutter under his breath as he would stalk off to drink himself into oblivion. He would have been the first to cheer as the traitor hung today.

  Sounds of laughter from the doorway was the only introduction Iolyn and Brynmor needed, the two coming through the doors with a fresh bottle of wine. My brother flashed a grin as he slid into a chair at the nearby table, “I see you finally decided to join us, Carys. I brought more wine, just for you.” He teased.

  Brynmor casually took up a place nearer to Rhian where he could watch the doors as well as the scene in the streets below, winking to my sister as she looked up to him, blushing as her tears and Mother were quickly forgotten. I watched her more intently, realizing only then that she had developed a crush on Brynmor. He served as our guard, but had lived with my family in one capacity or another since his childhood. Opposites attract, apparently. I sighed.

  Brynmor was everything Rhian was not, worldly, outgoing, and charming to a fault. It helped tremendously that he was tall and good-looking as well, dark brown hair cropped short and green eyes that always had a twinkle of merriment. There were very few on this earth who had the mental fortitude to deny him his wish and so he usually got his way in the end. But there was also some need to outdo everyone else around him, and it made him brash, bordering on obnoxious, though had enough sense in his head to act like a dutiful guard when he needed to. Despite his flaws, his care for our family was very real and so we entrusted our lives to him.

  I poured myself a little more wine, the crimson vintage being one of my favorites, though admittedly, it was usually consumed out of boredom or to have something to hold in my hands while I sat around. I gave my brother a quick smirk, the difference in our ages no longer seeming like the gap that it once was. There were five years between him and I, and then another five between Rhian and myself. I often wondered if we would have been closer as siblings if we had been closer in age, but I think our vastly different personalities would have kept us like we currently were.

  Brynmor’s attentions were fixed on Rhian who had begun playing a different song, one that she knew very well and would not make any mistakes. This was likely with the intent of impressing Bryn, and I nearly teased her, but out of the desire to not embarrass her in her already emotional state, I bit my tongue. Instead, I looked to Iolyn, who was grinning like a fool at me. My brow arched at him as my lips twisted into a smirk. “You look like you have something thrilling to tell us, so out with it.” I laughed.

  Iolyn shook his head and chuckled. “Not really, just happy to see my beautiful sisters.” He gave me one of his usual charming winks before casually adding, “Brynmor and I were trying to guess what Father’s grand announcement will be.” He poured some wine for himself before leaning back in the chair, eying me with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Maybe he found you a husband, Carys.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me, teasing, and I couldn’t help but snort.

  I am aware that snorting was far from ladylike, but out of the three of us, I was the last one he would worry about marrying off. Iolyn would be first as the heir, despite his great reluctance in answering to that particular duty. Rhian would find no trouble in landing a well-off suitor and would likely be wedded the moment it was socially acceptable, but I would be last, being the difficult match that I was.

  Iolyn was tall, and if the ladies among the city were polled, would likely vote him to be the most attractive among the noble men of the city. Unlike my sister and I, he had lighter brown hair, kept short though the slight wave to his hair gave it a permanently tousled look. His blue eyes were like my sister’s, his skin as fair as hers. He was a gentleman, though rumored to have an eye for the ladies but thankfully, was far more discreet than Brynmor who preferred to brag to the other men of his conquests.

  I could only shake my head at him, rejecting the idea
outright. “I seriously doubt that, because if it were true, the tailor would already be up here, tying me to the chair, taking measurements for a dress, and finally lining up color swatches to find the perfect flowers to match my eyes.” I batted my eyelashes as though punctuating the statement before sipping from my newly filled glass of wine.

  Brynmor finally looked to Iolyn and I, arms folding casually against his chest. “You don't suppose it has anything to do with those rumors, do you?” He had tried to sound casual, though the question itself led us to frown deeply at the man.

  I shot Brynmor a dark look. “Everyone knows those are not true.” My pensive mood shifted, body stiffening with resentment. ”And don't think I haven't heard people start talking about it all over again lately.” I frowned defensively at him. The only way Father would announce anything about the rumors would be to inform us of their truth and that he would face the consequences. A knot of dread began to form in my stomach at that thought, but I refused to acknowledge even the slight possibility those rumors could ever be fact.

  Brynmor's hands came up as though surrendering to whatever logic I believed I possessed. “Of course they aren't, Lady Carys, but people still talk because they have nothing better to do.” His voice softened a little and he added, “Lord Llew is a good man, and everyone knows it. It will blow over soon enough when some nobleman spills his soup on someone more important than he.” He says dismissively. He was probably right, but as it was a matter of my family’s honor, the rumors that persisted were an understandable sore spot.

  Laughter echoed in my ears, though I couldn’t join in it. My thoughts drifted as they continued making conversation, turning the topic back to something safer though I was now firmly entrenched in the past.

  It had been several years since his accuser had demanded justice, and we had thought the matter dropped at last. It would seem we were wrong, however, as once again she came forward with new claims of evidence. The truth of the matter had yet to be determined, but we tried not to worry. Those, like every other ploy, will crumble into dust and he would once again be cleared.

  But I was slowly beginning to realize that it was not just his freedom and honor that was at stake with the damage dealt by these accusations; it was the future of our family and the strength of our House. Iolyn was long past the age where he should have married, and I had reached mine. Rhian was not far from it and yet none of us have wedded or even had suitors calling. Iolyn had a few dalliances (or so the rumors claim) but never desired to settle down with any of them. While I had a few young men over the years that caught my eye, talks of marriage rarely went very far and now with the rumors resurfacing once again, there seemed little hope for such talks in the near future. Nobody would want to be tied to a family with such dishonor hanging over their heads.

  I wish I could say this upset me greatly, and I knew that it should, but I longed for the freedom to marry for love, not out of duty for wealth, family status, or political gain. My favorite tales had always been those stories of love and passion, stories that fueled my desire for a devotion that ran so deeply that it could withstand even the worst ordeals. That longing now had been burned in my heart and soul, and I knew that I could accept nothing less. But, I am an aristocrat, and I would marry whomever I was told to marry. I would birth his children and go to parties on his arm, and laugh at his jokes, and find a way to manage a loveless union. The mere thought of this possibility caused my heart to sink into the mire.

  I couldn’t quell the dismay of such complacency in what should be the most important and valued relationship of my life and so the thought of arranged marriages left a sour taste in my mouth. Of course, it is possible that I might come to love him, as I have heard of such things happening. Quiet love, I call it, and it was the exact opposite of what I wanted.

  A faint thunder echoed over the growing waves of the ocean below as the thunderclouds rolled, storm grey clouds twisting and folding over each other as they grew nearer. Lightening flickered within the approaching storm and the escalating breeze caught the hem of my silken skirt, causing it to ripple and wrap around my legs. My dark blue eyes watched with an odd fascination and foreboding as it continued its advance, goosebumps rising on my skin despite the warmth of the sun still upon me.

  An oppressive burden slowly began to squeeze my chest as all my thoughts ran through my mind, over and over again, threatening to crush me beneath the weight of them. For a moment, I found myself struggling to breathe against the weight of them and I drained the wine from my goblet just as a bell rang lightly to signal the family for dinner. My hands shook as I rose to my feet, setting my goblet down to smooth my long silken skirts over my hips, and let my brother escort me into the house as I tried to leave all thoughts of my inescapable future behind me.

  CHAPTER 3

  I couldn’t shake the sense of disquiet that had grown steadily since the execution in the Square, the storm hitting near the end of dinner only fueling the dread that lay in my heart. The unrelenting chill led me to find a warm wrap before I headed to the library where I knew Father and the rest of my family would be awaiting whatever announcement Father had.

  A gust of wind shook the house, the sound of the rain hitting the windows sending another chill down my spine which caused me to pull the wrap tighter around my slender frame. The house had grown dark with the gathering storm, now all the lanterns were lit to bring whatever light could be found to illuminate the Manor. The smells of dinner still filled the air, mingling with the scent of rain as the humid scent permeated everything.

  Lord Llew of the House of Egon was his title, but to me he was simply Father. He was not one for making grandiose announcements, unlike most of the aristocracy who thrived on theatrical speeches. His many years on the battlefield made him prone to bluntness and practicality and while he curbed his tongue well enough in social situations, he failed as often as he succeeded, regretting the dramatics that typically followed.That was one trait I shared with my Father: Diplomacy was not his strong point, nor was it mine though I did try. My saving grace was my abhorrence of the drama even more than Father.

  The fire blazed in the library, much to my relief, and Father stood near the hearth, brows tightly knit together in his brooding state. A goblet of wine was gripped in his hand, already nearly empty as I knew he was working up the determination to make his announcement. Liquid courage, I had often jested to him, though I knew the few times he needed his liquid courage were well warranted. This announcement was no small matter, I realized as I took a seat on the couch. Father glanced at me, giving me a weak smile though he said nothing. He took another sip.

  Iolyn sauntered into the library with Brynmor, chattering quietly and chuckling at some private jest before they split, Iolyn settling himself comfortably into a seat at the desk. Brynmor wove his way through the furniture to find a place behind me, opting to lean casually against a pillar. Father watched the men, a faint snort blowing out of his nose as he looked at Iolyn, then settled his gaze on Brynmor.

  Rhian came into the library meandering slightly in her path as her head swiveled to look around the room. Fidgeting as she made her way past Iolyn and Brynmor, she slowed only a little to give Brynmor a slight smile and a polite curtsy. Brynmor flashed her a boyish grin and gave her a little wink, and I couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed. If Rhian did have a crush on him, he shouldn’t encourage her feelings with the flirtations that he freely shared with every female that crossed his path.

  Not to say that Brynmor and I didn’t have our own friendship, as knowing him my entire life had lent itself to him seeming more like an older brother than a guard. He had caught me on more than one occasion when I slipped out of the house to meet in secret with a boy that I had fancied, catching (and interrupting) my first kiss with humiliating flourish. I had been a handful in my younger years, a fact Brynmor thoroughly enjoyed teasing me about at every opportunity. I am relieved to say that I found little in the way of trouble from my gallivanting, and grew out
of my adolescent silliness quickly enough.

  Rhian came to sit next to me on the couch, worry in her eyes as she failed to muster up a smile for me like she had with Brynmor. She wanted reassurance that Father’s announcement would be something simple, but with my own sense of apprehension, I was unable to give it. I patted her hand before giving it a squeeze and she relaxed a little, her thin frame losing a little of its stiffness. I was glad that her worries could be eased so quickly, my own growing and bringing a restlessness that would not fade.

  Father’s throat cleared and all eyes turned to him, the man lifting himself from the mantle to face us with a grim visage. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked ominously in that moment, perhaps nature itself knowing what was to come and voicing its own warning before he could bring himself to speak. It felt like an omen, and I wondered if the gods themselves were frowning upon this twist of fate?

  “I have decided that our family will leave Taurova and head west.” Father stated bluntly, his gruff voice resounding more than usual and leaving the rest of us unable to do anything but stare in shock. “As I’m sure you have heard, the old rumors have come back to haunt our family once again and I have come to accept there is no freedom from them. The widow of my late comrade has once again set the eyes of the City Guard on me, claiming new evidence of my guilt in his demise. It will be proven as nothing like every other shred of so-called evidence she has managed to muster up, but the damage has already been done.” He took a breath and let out a weighted sigh. “That, and with the enemy infiltrating our very haven of safety and the riots that ensue, I fear for our wellbeing.” I wondered if he had been at the execution earlier, and knew more than we did of the chaos that followed?