Between silence and shad.., p.1
Between Silence and Shadow, page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by TJ Knight
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. To request permission contact the author at madeknightlybooks@gmail.com
Ebook ASIN: B0CW1MHYLJ
Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9904658-0-0
Cover Design: Lunaris Falcon Studio
Editing: Atwood Editing
Formatting: Letizia Firmani
Contents
Content Warnings
Prologue
1. Wren
2. Wren
3. Jareth
4. Wren
5. Wren
6. Jareth
7. Wren
8. Wren
9. Jareth
10. Wren
11. Wren
12. Jareth
13. Wren
14. Jareth
15. Wren
16. Wren
17. Wren
18. Jareth
19. Jareth
20. Wren
21. Jareth
22. Wren
23. Wren
24. Wren
25. Wren
26. Wren
27. Jareth
28. Wren
29. Wren
30. Wren
31. Wren
32. Elias
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Content Warnings
While this book is a New Adult Romantic Fantasy, there is mature content, and your mental health is important. Make sure you read through the trigger warnings listed below:
-Abuse
-Alcohol consumption
-Attempted sexual assault
-Child abuse (not on page, only mentioned)
-Death of minors (not on page, only mentioned between characters)
-Death
-Imprisonment
-Kidnapping
-Manipulation/gaslighting
-Misogyny
-Sexual content
-Sexual harassment
-Torture
To those who have found solace where it is darkest, may this journey be a light for you through the shadows.
Prologue
END OF THE GREAT WAR
The dungeon halls echoed with ceaseless, blood-curdling screams that seemed to etch themselves into the very stone. Each cry tore through the frigid, moisture-laden walls, growing in intensity and constancy with each passing moment. Each cry tore through me, deeper and deeper to the dense marrow of my bones. The torment was an unending nightmare, a relentless chorus of anguish that refused to grant even a brief reprieve.
Two guards, their faces fixed with hardened indifference, came rushing down the dimly lit corridor. Their heavy booted footsteps stomped ominously as they abruptly halted at the cell next to mine, their torchlight casting eerie shadows on the damp, uneven walls. The suffocating smell of mildew, blood, and death caused bile to rise in my throat.
The sound of keys rattle, and I hear the cell door squeal as the guards crowd the space. "Shut your filthy mouth, traitor," the taller of the guards hissed as he collided his boot into the small of her back, a grotesque display of power.
My blood inflamed with a tempest of rage and fury. "Lay another finger on her," I seethed, my voice like a blade forged in anger, “And the next time you're within arm's reach, I'll rend you limb from limb. These bars will offer no sanctuary from me then."
The guard who had inflicted the brutality turned his disdainful gaze upon me, a sinister sneer contorting his features. His teeth, yellowed with the beginning of decay, showed through cracked, parched lips. "Won't matter," he spat with a smirk of malevolence, his cruel satisfaction exuding through the air, “Your fate is as certain as the setting sun. Come tomorrow, your life will be ripped from you before the first rays of dawn grace the sky, and you'll reunite with this whore in the bowels of hell."
Her agonized shrieks and writhing on the cold ground were almost unbearable. Desperation rose within me, and I sank to my knees, reaching through the corroded, rusted bars. Yet, even in this moment of shared torment, the cruel irony was that I remained just out of reach, unable to offer any semblance of comfort.
"Please," I begged, my voice trembling with sorrow and helplessness, "Please just let me be with her." My fist clenched the bars before me tightly, and the pulse of my rapid heart throbbed in my palms.
The guard, who had maintained a stoic silence, shifted uneasily on his feet as if on the verge of acquiescing to my plea. However, his intentions were abruptly thwarted by the guard with decaying teeth, who shot him a withering glare and forcefully placed his hand upon the other guard's chest, halting any further steps forward.
"You know the orders, Cedric," the menacing guard declared. They are to remain separated, regardless of the current circumstances."
In Cedric's gaze, I detected a fleeting moment of pity just as my wife erupted in a piercing cry of agony once more.
"I can't stall any longer, the baby... it's coming," she cried out, her voice filled with desperation.
I extended my trembling arms into her dim, squalid cell, aching to bridge the gap between us. "Do you have the strength to crawl to me?" I implored.
My wife nodded, her brow slick with sweat, a pool of blood gathering around her legs. She inched her way toward me with immense effort, bracing herself against the cold, unforgiving bars. As I reached out to her, I gently draped one arm across her heaving chest and placed my opposite hand across her forehead.
"The next wave of pain," I murmured into her ear, “You must summon all your strength and push. You're going to have to push. You can do this, my love."
She wearily shook her head, tears flowing down her ashen face. Her voice strained with agony and quivered as she spoke, "I don't think I can."
"Yes, you can," I reassured her, my own voice steady and unwavering. "You must do this for our child."
She braced against the cell; her body wracked by another excruciating wave of pain. She screamed out as I urged her to push. The passage of time blurred as she strained and cried out, her voice cracking and softening as weakness overtook her. The dungeon floor became a mosaic of sweat and blood. "You're strong," I whispered, carrying a note of encouragement, "and our child will inherit your strength. Just one more push."
The guard, whose name I still did not know, advanced with a determined look, drawing a long blade from his belt. His words dripped with cruel futurity. "Allow me to grant you the fleeting mercy of ending your traitorous life, for it will be the only mercy you shall receive."
Standing resolute in the face of this grim threat, Cedric intervened, his voice firm, "Remember the King's orders; the child's safety must be our priority."
I hear a scoff, the guard's conviction unshaken. "It matters not; the child carries the taint of treachery in its veins, the same as its parents. Death is the kindest fate it deserves."
"Such judgments are beyond our station," Cedric declared, lowering himself to a crouch. He placed a reassuring hand on my wife's trembling knee. "I can see the head; just one more push should do it."
I witnessed her shoulders relax slightly as she pushed through her distress, and my tension mirrored her brief relief. Her strength waned, and her endurance wavered. "Just one more, love," I said, our hearts entwined. "Are you ready?" She nodded, bracing for another surge. I press my lips unyieldingly against the back of her head.
She yelled out one last time, and then I heard it.
A soft cry, as delicate as a breath, reached my ears. I raised my eyes to find Cedric cradling my newborn child in his arms. A small but genuine smile graced his face, but it quickly morphed into a look of uncertainty as his brows furrowed, just as I felt a shift in the air. An unknown power filtered through, and the look on Cedric's face confirmed that I wasn't the only one to feel the sudden change.
"Do I have a son or daughter?" my wife inquired, her voice tremulous with a mix of hope and fear. Cedric's lips tightened into a thin line as he pivoted and left the cell, bearing my child with him. "Please wait—is my child alright?" She shifted as if she attempted to stand, but her body refused.
The guard with decaying teeth loomed near my wife, his blade still threateningly present. "The child is no longer your concern," he said dismissively. Leaning down, he moved with a swift, ruthless grace, drawing his blade across her neck in one merciless motion, sealing her fate with a heart-wrenching finality.
I felt the warmth of her blood drape over my arm as I desperately clung to her chest. She went still; the vitality that once coursed through her veins had now ebbed away, leaving her a lifeless, fragile form in my grasp. I tried to staunch the bleeding, but it was too late.
My vision blurred, and my world was consumed by a storm of grief and fury. It was now my turn to writhe in agony of a different sort. I screamed out her name, but she was gone. My best friend, my wife, my soulmate—was dead.
My wrathful gaze fixed on the guard, who, without care, wiped my wife's blood from his blade. The fabric of his breeches greedily absorbed the dark liquid as though eager to share the sinister a ct.
"Mark my words," I spat out through clenched teeth, every syllable dripping with venom, "you shall meet your end at my hands, a slow and painful demise that only the fires of hell will grant you reprieve," I vowed this with an intensity that resonated from the deepest part of my being.
He replied with a callous, mirthless laughter that consumed the chamber. "You should be thanking me," he sneered, a harsh smile playing on his lips, "for the fate that awaited her in the morning was far darker than the night. You know the punishment that awaits traitors. You signed them as law yourself. Your empty threats hold no sway here; the power you once held is but a distant memory. Sweet dreams, Your Majesty, for they are the last you shall ever have.
With those words, he departed his pride and mockery treading in his wake. I let him believe he had won this battle, but within the darkened recesses of my mind, I began to plot.
As I remained kneeling on the cold, hardened ground, still clinging to the lifeless form of my beloved, her blood turning thick and cold on my skin, I forged a silent pact.
A king's revenge.
1
Wren
TWENTY YEARS AFTER THE GREAT WAR
The very thing I have coveted most may prove to be my undoing.
The only sounds that reach me are the persistent ringing in my ears, melding in harmony with the gentle whoosh of each passing wave. I try to focus on the cool sea breeze that caresses my face. Still, the chilled droplets aren't strong enough as my stomach continues to stir, extending my misery. Gripping the edge of the ship, I press my weight into the sea-worn planks and lean over to eliminate the excess saliva in my throat. There is nothing left to expel at this point.
It has been two days.
I've been clinging to the same plank for two excruciating days at sea, with one left to go, only to immediately turn around and return to my homeland, Lokholme.
There has been an increasing desire to venture across the deep waters for as long as I can remember. I have often spent my days gazing through the collecting cobwebs and dust, my heart aching, my soul yearning—for the endless horizon far outside my tiny, cracked window. The mercurial waters have always been a beacon of freedom just out of reach.
I have sailed on a ship only once, four years ago, while accompanying my uncle and his guard. But just like in my tower, I was confined and ordered to stay in the cabin.
As usual, my curiosity had gotten the better of me. I would not sit alone in the dimly lit cabin, the humidity slowly suffocating my every pore while my uncle departed the ship to conduct his affairs. With more than enough experience sneaking in and out of places, that ship was no different. And there I was, already soundlessly crawling away before the guard standing beside my door finished his stifling yawn.
I wandered a little, making sure to keep out of sight, at least from those who would have been able to recognize my face. The clothing I found in the trunks within the cabin only aided in my cause, making it harder to identify who I was while wearing clothes that befit a ship's hand. I had to tuck and fold the loose tunic and trousers three times over to ensure I would not trip or snag on any obstacles if there were any to come across.
With my head hanging low, I seized the opportune moment when a group of men began hauling a load of crates off our ship. Following closely behind on the vast, sturdy plank, I scurried like a tiny mouse, avoiding any winged predator. Landing on the dock, I wove through the crates, careful not to stray too far. The sight of the rich blue waters extending endlessly toward the horizon and the loud, bustling town before me were enough to quell my yearning and curiosity, but only just.
There was no care of getting caught, not in that moment, and not like it is now. I pull at the loose stitching on my sleeve as the memory unravels itself in the present. The tunic I wear, much similar to the one back then, only more fitting this time. The off-white fabric rolled once instead of thrice.
Four years ago, I was much better at being inconspicuous than I am now. But back then, I wasn't clutching at my belly, begging for the gods to grant me a moment of reprieve. This would be the only time I would be grateful to be confined; if the cabin offered the cure to this sickness, I could push away the shadows that made the walls and ceiling collapse in on me. I have become accustomed to the act, after all.
I close my eyes, coaxing more of the memory forward as a welcome distraction, but when a flash of blue flickers in the back of my mind, I stumble. My hip knocks into the ship's rough edge. The part of the memory that I tried so hard to lock away comes rushing in, and I remember everything as if it happened yesterday. The grip that branded me, the calloused skin against mine, the blue eyes of the boy I almost condemned to death. Never able to forget, but I never dared to hope I would see him again.
The stranger who saved me from a most unfortunate fate while risking his own.
I would have heard him, I should have, had I not been entirely entranced by the scenery before me. Everything there, in that fishing town, seemed more vibrant and alive than in Lokholme—where all seemed stuck in place and…numb.
Not ever stepping foot off of the docks, I intended to return to the ship without giving myself away. But I saw him a moment too late. Weaving in and out of the stacked, weathered crates, I furtively tried to make my way back. I hastened my steps along the edge of the dock and sharply turned a corner. The impact of my nose against the solid body had me reeling back. I took a step too far. Instead of a water-logged slab of wood, there was nothing but air.
The young stranger's arms shot out and held my shoulders upright, which prevented me from falling into the sandy shallows below. The splash would have undoubtedly meant being discovered by more people. Those that I did not want to make aware of my outing.
A small giggle escapes me as I remember the astonishment on the young man's face. I vividly recall the rapid fluttering within my chest, like hummingbird wings in flight. I remember how my body stiffened under his firm grasp as the uncertainty of his fealty lingered.
With each heartbeat that passed, the risk of being caught caused my palms to perspire, and I remained ignorant of the intentions before me. Yet, when his brows eased, and his grip slackened, I saw no malice in his actions.
The air of understanding between us grew that the only purpose of his hold had been to avert my fall into the waters below. Without thought, I had foolishly opened my mouth to thank him. Before I could utter a sound, his hand covered my lips.
Lifting my fingers, I trace where his calloused skin had touched mine. The roughness of his palm felt like cracked leather, and his touch was as warm as the sun. With a slight shake of his head, that's when I knew. Gazing up at his piercing eyes that could put even the most pristine waters to shame, I realized my mistake. He wasn't from Lokholme but rather a dockhand from this kingdom.
With two simple words, I could have gotten us both killed; whispering my gratitude would have broken the King's decree—the Law of Silence.
I can still feel the echo of his touch, the cool breeze that wiped away the warmth of his hands when he released his grip. The interactions in my life ran few, same then as it is to this day. I did not know how to proceed after the unusual encounter.
Instead, I couldn't help but get lost in the stranger before me. He was handsome, with a strong jaw, heavy-set eyes, and a square nose; he emanated authority even though he didn't appear much older than me. Even now, heat blooms across my cheeks at the thought of his presence.
With my eyes closed, I draw in a deep breath. The crisp scent of salt and brine pushes me further into the past.
He carried the scent as if the water was a part of him, yet something else lingered. Under his dirt-covered tunic, dulled and stained through rigorous days on the docks, there was an earthly musk, like walking through the forest after heavy rainfall. I wondered if he often ventured within the deep embrace of the towering pines or if he lived in a quaint cottage near the tree's edge.
The thought has stayed with me ever since I left him behind with nothing more than a timid smile, wondering if he has ever thought about the peculiar girl he saved that day.
I shake my head.
Of course, he hasn't; you were just a silly girl who shouldn't have been there to begin with.
