The Shadows of a Supernova Read online

  Copyright © 2020 N.P. Hector

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  “I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything. Maybe we’re from the same star.”

  Emery Allen

  Contents

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter One

  The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind I was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.

  - Rumi

  Sorcha sat as an impassive viewer of the revelry around her. The bard was singing a bawdy song of knights and their fair ladies as the heat of the giant hearth cast shadows across the drunken crowd. Her spine was rigid, and chin lifted as her feet danced nervously beneath the grand table.

  Beside her, her newly (self) appointed betrothed hoisted his goblet in the air to lead another toast. MacHugh was a fattening middle-aged man with a spindly brown beard and a perpetually red nose. He had a mean temper and, as evidenced by his revelry tonight, a lusty love of spirits. His meaty hands were clumsy in the toast and almost spilled the contents of his glass over the high table.

  She shifted in her seat to avoid being sprayed and immediately regretted that decision. Like a field mouse to a barn owl, her small movement drew the attention of her to be groom-- and not the good kind. With leering eyes he carelessly tangled a fist in her hair and pulled. Sorcha refused to wince, and instead angled her chin higher.

  “To my bride!”

  She seethed at the indignity of this entire farce. Her father pleaded with his eyes for her to forgive him, but she was beyond that.

  Their lands were beset by MacHugh’s alliance. His brother, the older MacHugh, had seized neighboring lands and set keeps ablaze. When they arrived at her father’s keep they bargained-- Sorcha for lands. A hard bargain to turn away when their people were struggling following a meager spring crop.

  Her father was once a strong warrior. But decades of peace had brought prosperity-- and complacency-- to the land. While Sorcha railed at the injustice of it all and prowled the walk like a caged predator, her father was eager for peace. His warriors were older. He had an eldest daughter whose safety he worried for.

  Sorcha could not begrudge him the safety of the people. But she had suggested that they poison the enemy camp’s well during a siege. Instead, her father had surrendered during the third day.

  Perhaps this was her lot in life. Some claimed that her mother’s Fae blood had blessed her, thus earning her the name Sorcha. But Sorcha believed that the same Fae blood that had blessed her with beauty and cunning had also cursed her. For, aside from her red hair and blue eyes, Sorcha was also said to possess a magical gift.

  In all her 25 years this gift had yet to reveal itself. She mused that if it were to select a time, this would be it. But then again, it was the very gift that caused MacHugh to darken her father’s doorstep.

  No one knew exactly what her gift would be, but word of her beauty and the prophecy had been enough to see many a knight and suitor pursue the keep. MacHugh was just the first one to gather enough soldiers to make it a demand, and not a choice.

  “Men” bellowed MacHugh.

  Sorcha winced as two men emerged from the melee that had made a mockery of the formerly dignified great hall.

  They bowed deep at the waist as they awaited further orders. MacHugh placed a clumsy hand on her thigh and instructed the men, “take Lady Sorcha to my bedchambers. And not--” he coughed on his ale “--a scratch on her. I’ll know.”

  Sorcha breathed in an angry breath as the humiliation sank in. The great hall’s booming noise had sunk to a dull hum as onlookers craned their necks to watch the latest public humiliation of Sorcha’s family. Great guffaws filled the air as some of MacHugh’s closest friends understood the innuendo.

  “I most certainly will not--”

  “Milord.”

  Sorcha raised a delicate eyebrow at the interruption. MacHugh puffed his chest and jabbed a meaty finger into her shoulder. “You will address me as milord. For I am now Lord of Dunhavenn castle.” He sat back in his chair with a drunken, satisfied grin.

  Sorcha wanted to strangle him but doubted that she could fit her slender hands around his leathery throat. Thinking quickly, she resumed “-- I must be untouched. If that is broken before marriage, my power will not emerge.”

  MacHugh looked surprised, but then nodded to himself. He seemed to have completely missed the intentionally disregarded demand to be called ‘Milord’. “Mm, Kem would be upset if this was all for naught.” But then his beady eyes alighted upon her figure, and he mused, “but still...”

  Sorcha heaved an exaggerated sigh and hoped that the ale had muddled his mind enough for her poor theatrics to be believable. “Still, my power could be well…. anything.”

  Sorcha knew very well that her power was not dependent on chastity. But, like any man in this era, MacHugh eagerly accepted the idea that the essence of her power and the value of her soul was intrinsically tied to her virginity. If that were the case, her mother’s people would have died off long ago. But, MacHugh and so many others were so eager to connect her power to her chastity that they didn’t question the outrageousness of such a proposition. It rankled her to know that her mother’s traditions would be blasphemed by such a lie, but if it kept the oaf away from her for one night then she hoped her bloodline would understand.

  Rising, Sorcha shook off the hands of her escorts. Although her hands were still bound, she lifted her chin and led the way to her own bedchambers.

  The two oafs followed her. When she reached her door, she fumed silently at the large wooden frame. She couldn’t open the door herself with her hands tied, but she’d die before asking them to open it for her.

  Chortling to himself, one of the lumbering buffoons opened the door and shoved her between the shoulder blades. She stumbled into the dark room just as the door slammed shut behind her.

  As she was righting her balance strong arms reached out from the shadows of her room and caught her to a hard chest. Sorcha instinctually struggled, but relaxed once she realized that those arms belonged to none other than Adrian.

  The logs in the fireplace sparked to life and instead of jumping in alarm she sank backwards into his large chest. There was comfort in knowing that Adrian had set that fire alight with his power. Comfort in the knowledge that he had come for her.

  “Sorcha.”

  “Adrian.”

  He turned her so she now faced him, the flames of the hearth throwing dancing shadows across the planes of his face. His jaw was so square it looked like it was cut from glass. A day’s growth of whiskers indica
ted that he had likely rode long and hard to get to her. His eyes were an obsidian black framed by long, black hair, gathered in the back to keep away from his face.

  He was undeniably handsome, and undeniably hers.

  His rough hands gathered hers gently. His hands dwarfing her own slender ones. His voice was a low baritone as he asked, “they bound you?”

  Her eyes flicked up to meet his and she saw the tightly coiled violence within him. She didn’t have the words so she nodded. His jaw clenched.

  “I’ll kill them all.”

  Sorcha shook her head. “If you kill MacHugh his brother will descend on my father’s people to enforce punishment.”

  “Then we’ll remove the incentive”

  Sorcha lifted a quizzical brow at that suggestion. “The incentive?”

  Adrian removed a small knife from his lean waist and began sawing at the rope at her wrist, being careful to avoid her skin. The rope fell away with a woosh and the pads of his thumbs whispered over her skin. The marks she’d earned from struggling faded away before her very eyes.

  “They’re after your power. If you leave, they’ll have no choice but to pursue. That’ll give your father a chance to secure the keep and your people.”

  Sorcha raised a hand to cradle his face, “darling, you’re a very powerful mage, but you can’t teleport the both of us.”

  He nuzzled her hand and scooped her up, his large arms easily bearing her weight.

  “We leave the old-fashioned way, then.”

  “Out the window?”

  “Aye, Brennan and Dougall are below with horses.”

  Sorcha linked her arms around his thick neck and armor. “I cannae put all of you in danger.”

  Adrian nodded forward and the windowpane opened slowly. Hoisting both legs to the edge of the sill and cradling her close, he leaned in to kiss her. “My dear Sorcha, you’re a certain type of danger.”

  Her lips were soft and pliant under his firm ones, and his kiss muffled her shriek as they descended from the spiral tower to the ground below.

  Chapter Two

  In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there is no love for you like mine.

  -Maya Angelou

  It was dark as the horses they rode crashed through the woods and towards the border that separated Sorcha’s father’s lands and the next. The wind felt like wolves tearing at the cloak Adrian had wrapped her in, its frosty teeth biting at the edges of the cape.

  Adrian navigated the horse around a fallen tree. “This is not how I wanted us to start our lives together.”

  “I know that yes, you could have asked my father, and yes, we would have been married before knowing each other, but with the war with the Nemeans this is the best we have.”

  “I should have told the Order no; I should have stayed with you.”

  Sorcha held onto his forearm as they clashed through, “you never would have forgiven yourself, you were just made head warrior mage.”

  His black hair whipped with the wind and his gaze was determined. “It’s nothing without you.”

  Sorcha looked back at him and kissed him on his cheek, “and you’re nothing without your duty.”

  “Adrian, veer to the right ahead-- it’s shorter.” Brennan called from his horse just behind them. Dougall pulled forward to their right to check that the way was clear, his horse eating up the ground ahead of them.

  Dougall made it just above the escarpment and called back “all clear!”

  Just as they were about to ascend the path to the escarpment and past her father’s lands, Sorcha felt a strong tug and was pulled from the horse.

  “Gods, what---.” Adrian wrapped his arms around her and broke the fall with his broad back. Dougall and Brennan were at their side in an instant.

  Adrian shifted so Sorcha was beneath him, shielded by any threat. “Sorcha, love, are you hurt?” He kept his weight off her but kept her shielded completely.

  Sorcha gasped and laid her head against the cool earth. “Just a bit shocked. What, what was that?”

  Adrian brushed the hair from her temples, his arms resting beside her head, his eyes lifted in search of a threat. This was the side of Adrian she rarely got to see-- the side that had taken this proud mage and made him into a warrior of the order.

  Suddenly, the dark was lifted as Adrian brought a circle of fire around them “I’m not sure, but I’m about to find out.” He jumped to his feet and lifted her gently by the waist and settled her beside Dougall. His sword was unsheathed with a hiss as he kept his gaze forward searching the dark beyond the fire. “Stay behind Dougall.”

  Sorcha bristled under the command but nodded in understanding. Although she wanted to object, she trusted Adrian’s battle experience. Drawing her hood up, she wrapped the cloak closer. Dougall also drew his sword, and nodded to her, “Lady Sorcha, I had hoped we would talk again under better circumstances.”

  Sorcha smiled and Dougall and flicked his braided hair playfully. “Dougall, why is it that you’re always around when I embarrass myself?”

  His white teeth glowed in the firelight. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  A figure emerged from the darkened woods and marched forward to stand right in the fire. Adrian whirled his longsword in preparation for battle. He growled and advanced, “you almost injured my fiancée.” Stepping closer to the flames, he assumed a battle stance “I’ll have your head in exchange.”

  “Oh my”, Sorcha exhaled.

  Dougall chuckled and raised his eyebrows. “I know.”

  The figure stepped into the inner circle and Sorcha could see clearly now. She didn’t recognize this man, though. “Lady, Sorcha. You’re going to miss your wedding if you don’t hurry back.”

  “Wedding…” Sorcha mumbled to herself, confused. The wedding had been so impromptu that they handed been able to hold the customary three days of wedding games. Nor had they invited any guests from neighboring clans. Her wedding party was just to be members of the invading force.

  So how else could this stranger know about the very wedding she was fleeing?

  Her head snapped up in sudden alarm, “Adrian, it’s Kem MacHugh!”

  The tall man bowed at the waist. “Your soon to be brother-in-law, my dear. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll return and you can marry my pig of a brother and we’ll be done here.”

  Adrian took a swing at the man and shouted, “you will not go near her. You will not touch her; you will not even look at her.”

  A broadsword suddenly appeared at the man’s left hand. He leapt at Adrian as more shadowy figures approached the fire circle. They crowded the circle until their massive shoulders touched, their weapons gleaming.

  “Adrian-- look --.”

  “Protection spell, Dougall!” Adrian and Kem engaged in combat as a purple electric shield bubbled around them. The dark soldiers couldn’t get in but Sorcha, Dougall, Brennan and Adrian were trapped inside with Kem.

  Sorcha knew from watching her father’s soldiers at tournaments that close combat was deadly combat. She knew not to interfere, but she also knew that Dougall’s force field could falter at any moment.

  “Dougall, give me a knife.”

  Dougall had his eyes on the fight as he responded “Lady Sorcha, I cannae in my right mind--”

  Brennan hissed “give her a blade, Dougall. She’s not a dimwit”

  Sorcha nodded her thanks and accepted the blade Dougall offered.

  Suddenly, an orange blaze burst through the purple bubble and shattered it. The shadow warriors let out a large roar as Dougall clasped his hands to his head and fell to the ground. Brennan began fighting off their numbers as Adrian slashed out to Kem. He grasped his sword with both hands and drove it to the ground just as Kem winked and disappeared. With a great roar, Adrian spun around looking for his enemy.

  Catching sight of Sorcha, he cut his way towards her and yelled to his comrades “Dougall, Bren-- take Sorcha away from this place.” Both men were surrounded and fough
t to keep them at bay. Adrian had managed to keep flames at Sorcha’s back to keep her protected, so they only needed to protect one side. As Sorcha looked for an opening, Adrian was engaged in a battle with another shadowy figure. Just as he lifted his sword in a great arc, Kem appeared again. This time, he raised a dagger at Adrian’s back.

  Sorcha’s heartbeat accelerated and she felt as if her body was humming with energy. Running forward, she threw herself at Adrian’s back. Instead of landing between Adrian’s shoulder blades, Kem’s dagger planted itself solidly between Sorcha’s ribs.

  Too shocked to comprehend what had just happened, Sorcha sank numbly to the ground and looked down at her chest. She saw the dagger. She knew it was there. But she couldn’t feel anything. With a great roar, Adrian turned to attack Kem. He sliced his arm, but Kem managed to disappear. His shadowy figures disappeared all at once.

  Adrian rushed to her side. Dropping to his knees, he drew her gently into his lap. “Sorcha, Sorcha, you’re strong, we can do this.” He pressed his palm against the wound to stem the blood loss. Sorcha hissed and he murmured apologies to her. He ripped a portion of fabric from her skirt and pressed the wad against the wound. Realizing that they couldn’t mend the wound in the middle of the woods, he called out. “Dougall, get the horse.”

  Sorcha groaned and went to pull the dagger out. Adrian put his hand over hers to stop her from touching it. He’d seen too many men die on the battlefield because they instinctually pulled the weapon out without anything there to replace it. Dougall brought the horse over. Adrian’s heart stopped when he realized that Sorcha would not be able to make it to the nearest cottage, let alone on the horse. To subject her to that would be cruel. The ride on horseback would jar the dagger and drive it further into her breast. He wished that he could heal her, but he hadn’t yet mastered that skill.

  Sorcha coughed and moaned as the movement shifted the dagger. She looked up at Adrian. She was so young, so impossibly beautiful with her milk skin and flame red hair. She was a young woman, but in that look he knew that she understood the gravity of the situation. “Adrian, I-- I feel so cold.”