The Lord of Shadows Read online

  The Lord

  of

  Shadows

  E.E. Ewer

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Liquid Fae Studios

  The Lord of Shadows © Erin E. Ewer 2012

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Designed and illustrated by Erin E. Ewer

  All illustrations contained herein are © Erin E. Ewer 2012

  Edited by William A. Ewer

  The font in the book was set in Garamond

  For more information about this book, visit the official website at: www.TheLordofShadows.com

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Table of Contents

  The young brunette lay quietly on the bed, her eyes closed and her breaths short and shallow. Holding her hand gently, the demon sitting next to her stroked her hair in the fading evening light, a scowl fixed upon his fierce features. The golden glow of his eyes glittered as the world around them grew darker, and in a moment of deep thought a heavy sigh escaped his lungs.

  It had been only 14 short years since this small human girl had found her way into his life, and even shorter still since he had began to notice the ache deep within his chest every time he laid eyes on her. She looked nearly the same as she did when he first found her crouched inside a partially burnt cupboard, sobbing quietly and frightened at his appearance. She had the same long, wavy, walnut colored hair, the same forest green eyes, and the same radiant fair skin. Only now her skin seemed to have lost its usual glow, and appeared exceptionally pale as she clung to her last moments.

  He pondered for a moment the briefness of mortal life, and how in an instant it could be cut even shorter than it already was. Even though he’d grown closer to her in the last few years, he had never really known her, and it reminded him of why relationships were not something he kept regularly. Regret was pointless, but it was difficult to look back on all the customs and formalities and not find it all just a little bit foolish now. This tiny human girl was the only sign of life left to be found when her village in the Southern Quadrant had been utterly demolished by a rogue band of demons. She had come into his charge at the age of only five, and options being what they were, he picked up the small child and brought her back to Eastcastle. He’d no intent of caring for the child himself, but she was nearly as stubborn as he was. She had no interest in his logical planning, and made it clear she had ideas of her own. For the lengthy journey back to the East, The Lord of Shadows found himself unable to remove the child from his side, as she clung tightly to the only person she felt that she could trust.

  The journey back to Eastcastle had taken several weeks, and in this time he’d grown accepting of the fact that this little human child was uninterested in allowing anyone else to care for her. She was inseparable from his side for months upon returning, and the other residents found his patience with the child unusual, to say the least. Eventually growing comfortable in her new surroundings, she hesitantly allowed nurse maids to care for her, and The Lord of Shadows was able to return to his normal routines.

  The girl was raised with privilege, and upon her own request she was employed at Eastcastle as a housemaid at the age of 14. Although he’d made it very clear she had no obligation, the girl with her gracious attitude insisted it was what she wanted.

  The Lord of Shadows was extremely strict with formalities, and this bouncy little human was possibly the only resident of Eastcastle allowed to call him by name. He had for the most part tried to remain distant from the child as she grew, though she was not quite so easy to convince of the necessity. Because he had allowed her to be informal as a child, he saw no point in forcing a change now. Though he did at times still cringe at the nick name the child had given him, when on occasion she still insisted on calling him “Lu-Lu.” Now when he raised an eyebrow at her for using that ridiculous name, she just smiled and laughed. He knew she only said it to get under his skin, and in a strange way he began to find it endearing. Lucian had never been “The Lord of Shadows” to Nire. He had been her guardian, her friend, and despite his unwillingness to acknowledge it, he had also been more.

  Nothing unusual had been suspected about the massacre of her village until four months ago, when The Lord of the South had visited Eastcastle for the first time in nearly 40 years. Nire had almost no memories of her life before Lucian had removed her from that cupboard 14 years ago, but she did remember him. Lord Azael, the Ruler of the Southern Quadrant was not an easy figure to forget. Standing 15 inches taller than the short human girl, he had blood red skin and a fierce, almost feral face. His head was crowned with the black horns of a bull and his eyes blazed a green that seemed to glow from within.

  After hesitantly revealing her memories of Lord Azael to the head housemaid, Margery insisted it be made known to the Lord of Shadows immediately. Nire’s situation did not go unnoticed by the Southern court, and it quickly made her a target. After a short investigation it was revealed that the Lord of the South himself had led the siege on Nire’s small village, and that he had ordered its destruction and all witnesses disposed of. Motives remaining unknown, it was clear the Lord of the South had intended to keep this a secret, and thought that he had ensured this would be so.

  The Lord of Shadows knew it wouldn’t be much longer before Nire’s heart stopped beating. She had fallen victim to a notorious poison that was very difficult to expel, and even harder to obtain. Its effects were subtle, and the onset of symptoms didn’t occur until after the poison had already run its course. The plan would have been a brilliant way to ensure Azael’s secrets remain permanently hidden, however there were two things the Lord of the South was not aware of. One was Lucian’s fondness for the girl, and the other was that she had already divulged to him all that she knew.

  The Lord of the South had left his company two weeks prior, and would currently be in route to Southcastle. Nire had suddenly taken ill only a few days ago, and had The Lord of Shadows not already been aware of Azael’s agenda, her death would have been considered a natural one. The poison first appears as heavy flu like symptoms, and eventually kills its victim of cardiac arrest. Should all have gone according to plan, Nire would have stayed ill in bed for the last few days before she was discovered. By that time all signs of poison would have been gone from her system, and her death would have been assumed a consequence of her illness.

  However, falling ill so suddenly after the Lord of the South took his leave raised a stir amongst those with privileged knowledge in Eastcastle. The court Medic was able to find minute traces of the poison that still lingered in her blood. Oddly enough it was not the poison itself that did the killing; it was the body’s attempt to purge itself of the toxin that eventually lead to death. In Nire’s case, her window of opportunity closed the moment she began to feel ill.

  Caressing her hair with long gentle strokes, Lucian cared not for the Lord of the South at this moment. Azael could wait, as the cocky demon Lord had doub
tlessly left the walls of Eastcastle feeling rather secure in his position. He was entirely unaware of the bloody mess that remained in the dungeons, left by a certain member of the Southern Court, who had quite literally spilled his guts.

  Lucian’s thoughts were interrupted when the small human girl lying below him stirred, and began to open her eyes. She looked up at the demon sitting next to her on the edge of the bed with a gentle gaze. His golden eyes were piercing, and his stoic face wouldn’t betray the feelings that hammered at his chest as he sat by her side. A small smile formed on her lips as her green eyes flashed at him, and he gave her a gentle smile in return.

  His figure was an impressive six foot, seven inches as he stood at the sound of a knock on the door. The Medic had returned with a tonic that would lessen her fever and pain, possibly allowing her more time as it eased the stress on her body, which would soon fail her. Candles were lit in the fading light and their flames flickered in Lucian’s golden eyes, which made a stark contrast to his dark, blue-gray skin. The ram’s horns that topped his head did not make him particularly friendly looking, but Nire had never been discouraged by his appearance.

  When the Medic left, Lucian once again took his seat next to the exhausted girl, who appeared to be slightly more comfortable now. Her lips, usually a lovely pink, were almost completely devoid of color, dry and cracking from dehydration. The room was silent except for the gentle crackling of the fireplace and no words passed between them in the dimly lit room. He had been by her side for the last 24 hours as she faded in and out of consciousness, only moving when necessary for fear that she would wake up and need him, and he would not be there.

  As he quietly sat watching the girl, he wondered if she knew his world was fading with her. He considered making himself known to her, but was unsure if that would only complicate the situation. Especially if by chance she did not return his feelings, would it be better to simply allow himself to believe that he could have had something more? For as much time as he’d known her she was still a mystery to him, and as the silence stretched between them he became painfully aware that was all she would ever be.

  He could feel her heart beat grow weaker in her chest. The last couple years had been an odd mixture of emotions and tension, noticed only by those closest to The Lord of Shadows. Nire had been… different somehow, and he had noticed. Perhaps she had not been different at all; perhaps he had just started seeing her differently. It was not a phenomenon that had ever occurred before in his great expanse of existence, and as she lay on his bed slowly fading from life, it was clear as to why.

  As her heart weakened and her breath grew increasingly shallow, Lucian was not sure he could bare the silence much longer.

  “Nire…” he started, but his voice caught in the back of his throat when her green eyes opened to look at him as he spoke. He looked sad. It was not a look she’d ever seen on him before. More so, he looked troubled. He placed his hand on her cheek, and despite her pale complexion she was still warm with fever. As she gazed up at him her heartbeat became erratic, and her eyes glittered.

  He leaned over the beautiful, brown haired girl and softly placed his lips against hers, lingering for just a moment to feel her soft breath on his skin. When he pulled away she smiled at him, and a few tears streamed down her hot cheeks. Gently he brushed them away with his thumb, and resisted the weight in his chest that urged him to do the same. It was only moments later that her green eyes closed, and the Lord of Shadows was left alone in his quarters once again.

  Mortals… had an unfortunate habit of dying, and this was something that he had never had to deal with on such a personal level. He kept few friends, all of which were unlikely to leave his side without the help of a blade running them through… and even then, it would be quite the chore to dispose of any one of them. Which brought his thoughts back to another problem… Azael. He would be troublesome to deal with.

  As much as he would like to simply remove his head, it was not within his power to do so. And despite that, even if he should remove Azael from power he was then left with a bigger problem; who would rule the Southern Quadrant? It was not his place to simply lay siege to the South and take command… even if he did have the full support of the North and West.

  Retreating into the shadows, the stricken demon made his way to the castle depths, the only place he could truly be alone. Azael would be dealt with eventually. But for the time being he needed him in place to maintain balance elsewhere in the Realm. He had time, after all. If nothing else, he had time.

  Chapter 1

  Table of Contents

  Nire opened her eyes, squinting as the sun spots splashed across her face. The yellow light filtered through the leaves of the large sycamore tree that stood in her front yard, just outside her bedroom window. It was a quiet, peaceful morning, and Nire took her time getting out of bed. Glancing at her night stand the time read 10:30 a.m. Not too late, she supposed. Her mother had probably already made breakfast, but Jane didn’t make a habit of waking Nire on the days she slept in.

  Sleeping, after all, was not Nire’s strong suit. In fact she was hard pressed to do so most nights, and her nightly routine of preparing for bed was one of exasperating lengths. Last night had been a new moon, which was always a small source of discomfort. Even though she had a nightlight she preferred the blue glow of moonlight washing her room, to the tiny confined glimmer stuck to her wall. It was a bit odd for a girl her age to have a nightlight, but it was better than sleeping with the light on like she used to.

  Summer was on its way and Nire was facing her last few days of classes in high school. Only three more days and she would be graduating. Today however, was Sunday, and Nire planned to spend it lazing about, drawing in her sketchbook. After dressing and spending a few moments in the bathroom brushing her long brown hair, Nire hopped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her mother was cleaning dishes and her father was sitting at the table reading the news paper as she entered the room.

  “Nice to see you this morning, Nire,” her mother commented at her tardiness with a smile.

  “Yeah yeah, it was easier to sleep after the sun came up,” she joked as she headed towards the pantry.

  “I did save you a few pieces of bacon if you’d like,” her mother added.

  “Ok thanks,” she said as she rummaged. “Ah ha!” Nire exclaimed as she found what she had been searching for. Popping out of the pantry with a muffin in her mouth she tossed the packaging into the trash and snatched the bacon her mother had saved for her. She sat at the kitchen table, muffin in one hand, bacon in the other. Laughing, her mother set a plate in front of her.

  “Don’t you know how to use a plate?” she asked. Nire smiled, her cheeks stuffed with muffin. A few moments later her mother set a cup of coffee in front of her as well. Jane had always been a care taker and never let any little nuance go unnoticed.

  “Thanks,” Nire said as she swallowed.

  She finished her breakfast and headed out the back of the house to sit under her favorite tree while she drew. The old willow had been there since the house was built, and it must be at least 60 years old by now. The house was an old Victorian style home, and it had been in the family since it was built in the early 1900’s. The willow stood nearly as tall as the house, and its large, looming branches hung lazily over the lawn. On one of its branches was a wooden swing that had been there since her mother was young. This was one of the few places Nire felt safe as a child, and she often spent many hours under its heavy branches.

  The tendrils of the willow draped around her as she sat on the swing with her sketchbook. It was a warm day in late May, and a slight breeze came from the south gently pushing the tendrils of the tree. Nire enjoyed the day as it passed, not particularly looking forward to Monday. She had only two days of classes left, and Wednesday was graduation. She’d been feeling pressure from her friends and parents to make a decision about college.

  The question wasn’t whether or not she would be going, but what s
he would be majoring in. There was only one thing she was really interested in, and that was her artwork. Whether or not she felt she could make a career out of it was a different story. A heavy sigh escaped her lips and she considered what she should do. It was important to her that she were able to be independent, and she wanted to make sure she could get a job that would support her. Her parents had done so much for her; she didn’t want to depend on them because she’d chosen a dead end major. The fact that they were prepared to send her to college at all was enough.

  Through the willow branches Nire could see past the three rung fence that separated the backyard from a grassy field. Beyond the field was the edge of a forest, which continued on to rolling hills until they fell below the horizon. In between the fence and the forest was a large oak tree that stood by itself in the center of the field. Half of it was dead and burnt, and the other half flourished with leaves.

  It had been quite grand at one point, she recalled as she teetered on the swing. When she first came to live here at the age of 12, she remembered watching it out the upstairs window in her old bedroom during a storm. She sat hugging her knees as the rain poured down, the rolling thunder making her tense. She hadn’t been in the house for two weeks yet, and her new family had not really experienced the extent of her problems.

  Lightning struck the tree and crackled; the sound crashing through the house and terrifying Nire. She lay curled up on the bed screaming with the covers over her head when both Jane and Richard ran into the room. Jane took Nire up in her arms and calmed her as she cried – but she remembered being certain she wouldn’t be spending another day in the house.

  It was pretty amazing, she thought, that the tree hadn’t been completely decimated by the lightning strike. It turned out it hadn’t actually hit the tree, but the large boulder that sat next to it, which turned black from the strike. The tree had been severely burned, but the left side had survived the strike and continued to grow.