Forest of Firelight Read online

  Contents

  Also by Shari L. Tapscott

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Sea of Starlight

  Message from Shari

  Also by Shari L. Tapscott

  About the Author

  Also by Shari L. Tapscott

  FANTASY FICTION

  The Riven Kingdoms

  Forest of Firelight

  Sea of Starlight

  Silver & Orchids

  Moss Forest Orchid

  Greybrow Serpent

  Wildwood Larkwing

  Lily of the Desert

  Fire & Feathers: Novelette Prequel to Moss Forest Orchid

  Eldentimber Series

  Pippa of Lauramore

  Anwen of Primewood

  Seirsha of Errinton

  Rosie of Triblue

  Audette of Brookraven

  Elodie of the Sea

  Grace of Vernow: An Eldentimber Novelette

  Fairy Tale Kingdoms

  The Marquise and Her Cat: A Puss in Boots Retelling

  The Queen of Gold and Straw: A Rumpelstiltskin Retelling

  The Sorceress in Training: A Retelling of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

  CONTEMPORARY FICTION

  27 Ways Series

  27 Ways to Find a Boyfriend

  27 Ways to Mend His Broken Heart

  10 Ways to Survive Christmas with Your Ex: A 27 Ways Novella

  Glitter and Sparkle Series

  Glitter and Sparkle

  Shine and Shimmer

  Sugar and Spice

  Stand-alones

  If the Summer Lasted Forever

  Just the Essentials

  Forest of Firelight

  The Riven Kingdoms

  Book One

  Copyright © 2020 by Shari L. Tapscott

  All rights reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing by Z.A. Sunday

  Cover Design by Covers By Juan

  Special Thanks to Christine Freeman and Leah Feltner

  For Cheri

  Without you, this book would still be titled “2020 Fantasy Project.”

  And that’s not very catchy.

  1

  My skin prickles, and for one moment, I get the distinct feeling someone is watching me. I scan the meadow through the churning mist, but nothing appears out of the ordinary. Shrugging away my discomfort, I turn back to the impatient wolfdog prancing in front of me.

  I run my thumb along the stick in my hand. It’s smooth, the bark stripped by a nameless animal. Putting all my irritation behind it, I let it fly. It’s not an impressive throw—actually, it’s a rather pathetic throw—but Ember doesn’t care.

  The wolfdog takes off, eyes bright, white coat camouflaged in the fog. I can just make her out through the haze as she snatches the stick from the ground and then takes off into the meadow, ears and tail high, disappearing from sight.

  I wrap my arms around myself as I wait for her to return. Father’s hounds fetch. Mother’s lapdogs perform tricks.

  Ember runs.

  It’s too cold for this time of year. Too wet, too gray. A day belonging to autumn instead of spring. The clouds hang low, drifting over the ground with their swirling white mist. Fresh growth peeks through last year’s brown, withered foliage. Today, however, the green of the new grass is subdued, its vibrance lost in the dreary weather.

  I stare through the shifting fog, trying to make out the Casperon Mountains in the far distance—mountains I won’t have the opportunity to see for myself any time soon. As I stand here, waiting for Ember to return, movement catches my eye at the edge of the meadow.

  It’s nothing more than a dark shape, there one second and gone the next. I search the mist for the figure but with no success. A moment of unexpected foreboding brushes my skin like an unwanted caress, causing me to shiver under my cloak.

  I’m not far from the protective walls of Kenrow, the capital city of my father’s kingdom, and our people are at peace. There’s no reason for the unease traveling my spine, nor the goosebumps rising on my arms.

  It’s only because of the fog, I tell myself. My mind is quick to jump to fanciful conclusions because of the strange weather. The figure was likely a nearby farmer out for a morning stroll, or maybe a woman harvesting mushrooms.

  There are farms nearby, and an orchard sits at the edge of the meadow. I’m certainly not the only one who comes this way.

  Besides, if it had been someone sinister, I would like to think Ember would sense it…wherever she is.

  With that thought in mind, I whistle for the dog, calling her back.

  I hear her before I see her. Stealth is not one of Ember’s skills, likely because the young dog has never had to hunt for her supper. She emerges from the mist, leaping clean over a bush. Her eyes are bright, and her tongue lolls out to the side in the most undignified manner imaginable.

  She managed to lose the stick.

  I watch her run, smiling to myself despite my mood. Ember is a pretty dog—and she’s vain enough to know it. She boasts a thick, white topcoat, and a downy black undercoat that peeks through. She wears a constant smile, making her look less like a wolf and more dog.

  I’m fortunate to have her. The dogs were originally bred in Draegan, the kingdom above ours, long before our lands were torn apart—before the Chasm physically separated us. There are very few of the wolfdogs left in Renove. Their numbers have dwindled in the last hundred years.

  “Ungraceful girl,” I say, laughing as she nearly plows me over. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  I scratch behind her ears, looking again into the mist. Ember leans against me, breathing hard, satisfied with her run.

  “Who’s ungraceful?” a man says from not far behind me. “You or the dog?”

  Ember whips her head toward my brother and lets out a happy howl that could wake the dead. She then leaps to her feet and races for him.

  I cross my arms, giving Braeton a tight smile, choosing not to dignify his question with an answer.

  “It’s cold,” he says when he reaches me. He rubs his jacket-clad arms as if he must prove the words to be true. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Ember needed to run. She paced all morning.”

  Even now, the
dog bounces between the two of us like an overgrown hare.

  Braeton frowns, not falling for my excuse. His light, fawn-colored eyes narrow, and I can practically hear his thoughts.

  We’re twins. He’s older by mere minutes, but our eyes are the only feature we share. His hair is light blond; mine is a golden shade of brown. He’s shorter than he would like, and I’m taller than I would like—putting us at very nearly the same height.

  “You’re angry with me,” he finally says.

  “I’m not.”

  No, it’s true. I am angry.

  Braeton crosses his arms, matching my stance. “It was Father who said you cannot come with me on the Requeamare—I had nothing to do with it.”

  I could point out that he didn’t take my side—didn’t assure our parents I’d be all right traveling with him. But I don’t bother. It seems a waste to quarrel when he’s leaving soon. I have days with him, maybe a week at the most, and all because a flower bloomed five years too early.

  Or, more accurately, thousands of flowers.

  Every generation, fire lilies light up the Renovian shorelines like scarlet banners, a much-anticipated show that announces the changing of the monarchs—a time when the current king prepares to descend from his throne and his heir prepares to ascend. Like clockwork, they bloom on a schedule carefully tracked by the royal scribes—have for centuries.

  Until now.

  And because they spread their fiery petals, Braeton must go on the Requeamare far earlier than expected. He’ll spend a year amongst his people, living with them, learning about their lives. Most importantly, he’ll use the time to find his queen. When a full four seasons have passed, he’ll return for his crown.

  My brother was expected to be twenty-eight years of age when the fire lilies made their appearance. Instead, he’s two weeks shy of twenty-three. Father says he’s not ready.

  I, however, believe Father is wrong. Braeton is steady like an anchor—kind, level-headed. He’ll make a magnificent ruler.

  I just don’t want him to leave without me. Why must I be stuck here, doing the same things I’ve always done, when he gets to travel and see the kingdom?

  “You’d be uncomfortable anyway, Amalia,” Braeton argues. “We’ll have none of the comforts you’re used to.”

  “Am I one of Mother’s pampered dogs?” I demand. “Do I not look like I could withstand a bit of unease?”

  Making a silent point, he gently tugs the intricately woven braid that falls down my back. He then turns toward Kenrow, pausing momentarily to wait for me to join him. Before I follow, I glance over my shoulder, scanning the mist one last time.

  There’s no one there.

  Pushing the uneasy feeling aside, I match Braeton’s pace. Ember bounds with us, racing ahead and then looping back, never venturing too far. When we reach the path that circles the city’s walls, I call her to me, instructing her to stay by my side.

  Silent guards dressed in brown leather armor bow their heads to us from their positions on either side of the entrance. The massive gates are open during the daylight hours, letting villagers come and go as they please. Despite the cool weather, the streets are bustling with people conducting their business. Ahead of us, a farmer drives a wagon, likely headed for the castle.

  A woman arranges bolts of fabric at her nearby stall, and another sells loaves of dark brown bread that are sweetened with honey and raisins.

  Ember sticks her nose in the air when we pass, taking in the smells. I grasp her collar and give her a gentle tug, reminding her to stay with me. She reluctantly complies, though it’s obviously a struggle.

  Though not the largest in the kingdom, Kenrow is a busy city, with tall buildings built of gray stone and topped with spires that can be seen from far in the distance. There are too many people—many of them travelers—for more than a few of the commoners to recognize my brother and me.

  “Where will you go first?” I ask Braeton resolutely as we climb the stone stairway that leads to the western side of the city.

  “I’m not sure.” He pauses to greet a woman tending the bladesmith’s stall. The forge is outside the city, but the man’s family sells their goods here. As he browses the wares, Braeton says to me, “Maybe I’ll head north to Brecklin, or perhaps I’ll go around the bay to Saulette.”

  I’ve never been to either of the cities.

  Braeton chooses a short sword and inspects the blade. I watch him roll the hilt in his hand, and a seed of unease takes root in my stomach. Outside the protection of the city, Braeton may find himself in a situation where he must use such a weapon.

  We are an isolated kingdom, cut off from all others, and therefore safe from outside attacks. But tales of bandits reach us occasionally. Royal guards travel the main thoroughfares, keeping crime to a minimum, but if you venture off the roads that connect the four main cities and larger villages, you’ll likely find trouble.

  My intuition flares up once more. I look over my shoulder, half-expecting a shadowed man to slip out of view, but there is nothing but people going about their day.

  Braeton glances over, reading my expression, and his forehead knits. He sets the dagger aside, thanking the woman for her time, and continues toward the castle.

  “You’re not worried about me, are you?” he asks. His tone is light, though I know him well enough to sense he’s annoyed.

  I shrug, refusing to answer that with words.

  No man wants it confirmed that his sister thinks he’s incapable of protecting himself…even if it’s true.

  But besides playing with wooden swords with our younger brother and cousin when he was young, what practice has Braeton had with a weapon?

  He’s always preferred reading to sparring, would rather play table games of strategy than hunt.

  The truth is, I’d feel less uneasy about our seventeen-year-old brother, Keir, taking off into the world for a year.

  If Gage, our cousin, were joining Braeton’s party, perhaps I wouldn’t worry as much. But he’s to be married in a month. Braeton refused to let him come along—said Kess would never forgive him if he stole her fiancé for an entire year.

  He’s probably right.

  “Is that why you want to join me?” Braeton asks with a laugh, drawing me from my wandering thoughts. “Are you going to protect me? Will you strap a sword to your hip and a bow to your back?”

  I roll my eyes, trying not to smile.

  Braeton gives my shoulder a friendly shove. “Don’t worry about me, Amalia. It’s not like I’ll be traveling alone.”

  That’s true. He’ll have a handful of guards acting as companions, friends, and protection. Just because a prince must venture forth into the world of the commoners doesn’t mean he must actually live like a commoner.

  We’re almost back to the castle when I set my hand on Braeton’s arm, pulling him back. I can’t shake my anxiousness from the meadow. I have this strange premonition that something is going to go terribly wrong, and I’ll never see him again.

  I meet my brother’s eyes, making him listen to me. “Take care of yourself, all right?”

  Braeton nods, his demeanor almost flippant.

  “Promise me,” I demand, digging my fingers into his arm.

  He sighs, preparing to humor me. “I promise, I solemnly swear, I will return in one piece.”

  I study him for several long moments, and then I smile, jabbing him in the ribs as I pass. “You had better.”

  Before I’m past, he catches my shoulder. “And in return, you will be strong. I don’t want to return and learn you cried the whole time I was gone.”

  He’s joking, but just as I can read him, he can read me.

  “I don’t even like you that much,” I tease, matching his tone.

  “Then I don’t suppose you’ll want this?” He drops a pendant in front of my face—a deep, dark ruby. It dangles from a gold chain, catching the light. “Happy birthday.”

  “You remembered,” I whisper, taking the necklace from him. He�
��ll be deep in the heart of Renove while I celebrate here, alone for the first time in twenty-three years.

  “I’ll miss you, little sister.”

  Tears sting my eyes, but I nod, standing straighter. “I’ll miss you, too.”

  “You’ll be all right?”

  “I will.” I fasten the necklace around my neck. “I promise.”

  2

  Rain falls on the cobblestone courtyard outside the stables, an endless shower that’s continued for two solid days. It’s as though the sky is weeping for me, crying because I haven’t been able to find my tears.

  I sit in a pile of fresh hay, the cold air sinking into my bones, too numb to care that I’m frozen. Ember lies beside me, oblivious to both my heartache and the weather. The dog’s back foot twitches occasionally, but her breathing is slow and steady. She’s so at peace, so solidly asleep, the young barn cats dare to venture into the empty stall to say hello.

  The kittens are the reason I came. Something about stroking their soft fur, listening to their rumbling purrs and demanding mews, makes me feel a little less lost.

  A soft knock sounds at the front of the stall, and I look up, startled someone found me. No one has ever looked here before.