Starwalker (Starborn 1) (Sci-Fi Fantasy Romance) (3 page)

“You must find a way, son. If you enter her life now, her destiny could be altered. She must encounter all that a child encounters, make the mistakes of a teenmaiden, learn to make proper decisions, learn who she is. Living is how she will learn. The same as you have.” Rhade shook his head. “She cannot know you yet.”

Breckken felt as though his world was spinning. He wanted to be angry with the Fates and their cruelty. He wanted to laugh as he would when a proper joke was played. But mostly, he mourned. Years without even speaking to his Heartbeat.

“What then, after she comes of age? Can I then seek her out?”

Seemed logical. Gilleth and others sought after their Heartbeats.

His father stared hard at the polished stone floor. “I don’t know, son.” Breckken could tell his father hated that he was unsure of his answers. “I think… I think you must leave it up to the Fates. For whatever reason, they’ve seen fit to make your heart beat in this manner. It must be for a cause.” He paused. Shook his head. “Wait for a chance meeting. Let destiny take its course.”

Bile threatened Breck’s throat. “And what if… what if it is many years before we meet? How can I see to my duties as her Heartbeat?” What he really meant was,
how can I wait so long for her when I already know who she is
?

“Your destiny and hers will weave together when the time is right. Don’t force it. Be patient. After all, you have some growing to do yet.” He clapped a big hand on Breckken’s shoulder. “You have a hard road ahead of you, my son. But you are strong and brave and wise for your years. I have no doubt you will find your way.”

Breckken tried not to blush at his father’s praise and failed miserably.

Rhade stood, his tall frame towering and dwarfing his son’s bedroom. “Sleep now. I will request a meeting with your commander in the morning and we will depart for An`gel afterward.” He hesitated at the door. “Does Gilleth know?”

“No.”

Rhade nodded. “You might wish to tell him. It’s your choice.”

Breckken would definitely not be telling Gill. He wouldn’t lie to his best friend but as was obvious, Breck was talented in the skill of avoidance.

Besides, Gill wouldn’t understand, and would mock him to the ends of the earth.

By morning, Breckken was anxious to get back to the city and see with his own eyes that Canna was well.

With his father’s help, he filed all the necessary codes for transfer to the Nova Guard outpost near the city and they were able to leave unto An`gel. The farther they traveled, the easier the journey got. It was as if Canna was the medicine, exact type and dosage, to cure what ailed him.

He should resent her for her effect on him, but how could he. She hadn’t chosen this path any more than he had.

He found her castle as soon as he was in the city. It was easy. All he had to do was look for the largest one. But she wasn’t home. There was a compulsion deep within him to set his eyes upon her, to be sure of her safety, so he went searching for her.

An hour passed, but still no Cannalise. He became frantic, rushing up streets and pushing through the crowds. If not for his father’s steady hand he might have injured someone for all the slipping and sliding he managed.

He climbed up the bridge, for the second time, and looked in every direction, his eyes frantically scanning the gleaming streets and buildings. Where? Where was his little Heartbeat? Was she indoors perhaps?

He spotted her sitting cross-legged on a slab of ice that was made into a bench. Next to her, one of the more exquisite fountains that decorated the city gurgled and spewed water in various directions.

But she wasn’t paying attention to the splendor of the water. No, she was carving into the bench with something sharp. Whittling. She was safe, and whittling.

His breath eased out of his lungs in a long, heavy stream as he just gazed at her, relief replacing every ounce of worry.

Beside him, his father sighed. “I do not understand why this has happened to you, my son, but I know something great is to come of it.” Breckken forced himself to look away from the little royal and met his father’s firm warrior stare. “Let us find you a dwelling so I may return to your mother.”

Breckken nodded, now understanding why his father so hated to be apart from his mother. It was like the very muscle that pumped inside your chest wouldn’t work right without the other half. It was an eerie feeling. And in Breckken’s case, there was also the sickness.

They found a room for rent at the farthest end of the city, near the east wall. It was about as far away from Canna’s castle as Breckken could get and still remain within the city limits. He couldn’t risk her seeing him—at least not as more than a passing stranger. And luckily An`gel was a big enough place for him to hide. Still, he would have to be vigilant. Her care was now in his hands. If he failed her, he failed them both.

His Father was right. He must let his little Canna be. Must not interfere anymore than to keep her from harm’s way. For only then would she grow into the woman who was hand-picked by the Fates especially for him.

He grinned and sent a silent thanks heavenward.

She was his. Someday, they would be together. He would hold her in his arms and make her smile and touch her cheek when she blushed. It wouldn’t be long. Years could fly by quickly.

No, it wouldn’t be long.

Chapter Three

One thousand and four years later…

Yes, you read that right. One thousand and four years later…

Cannalise strolled through her home city at a leisurely pace, her father’s arcbow slung over her left shoulder, the silver quiver full of ice arrows strapped to her back. She stared straight ahead, not caring enough to look anybody in the eye. Her gaze was as glacial as the ice upon which the great city was built, and no other dared to clash with it.

It was just as she preferred it.

As she made her way toward Ula’s, she didn’t have to pause for anyone to pass or worry that she might bump into them or step around them or even divert from her direct path from point A to point B. No, the crowd parted for her. Of their own will. And wise of them to do so.

It was almost enough to make her smile.

Almost.

She liked that they were scared of her. People didn’t mess with someone they were scared of. A lesson she’d learned as a childmaiden. One of many lessons learned far too young.

Or maybe “scared” was the wrong description. Perhaps “dislike” was more proper. Hated? Loathed? Scorned?

Whatever. It mattered not. What mattered was that no one bothered her. Ever.

The single downside to that, of course, was that Cannalise lived a lonely existence. There was only Rowene.

And she was so glad she hadn’t killed Row that day when she was learning how to shoot the arrows. She simply hadn’t known a guardian had been sent to her as described in her parent’s last will.

Row was and had been everything to Canna. Mother, father, sister, brother, caretaker, counselor, disciplinarian, teacher… friend.

Friend.

The only one Canna had ever had. Of course there was Ula, but you could hardly call her a friend to anyone. And then there was Emmalyn, but Canna had never been comfortable around her—she simply wasn’t accustomed to that much… sweetness. Though she would kill anyone who threatened the maiden. Because Emmalyn was good. The type who would never hurt a soul, always had a nice word, a friendly smile. And only such friendliness in return would be fitting.

End. Of. Story.

Canna yanked open the door to Ula’s kafé and entered the building with purpose. The purpose being to scare the hellfire out of any drunken wrens.

It only took the cold stare of her turquoise eyes to do the trick. The warning was clear: be good or be broken. Simple.

A few wrens glanced her way and then quickly stared into their mugs as if the brew inside held the answer to the mysteries of the universe. The rest didn’t bother looking up.

Good. The night should go well for Emma and Ula.

She stalked past several empty tables toward the back where the kitchen was. Ula’s eyes darted to Canna but her hands stayed busy kneading the bread dough that would feed her customers this night.

“Hello, Cannalise. How fare you this day?”

Ula was always polite but her words were underscored with a weariness that bordered on harsh. She certainly was not gentle and sweet as her niece, Emmalyn. But Ula had been better to Cannalise than most people, feeding her as a youngster and basically just putting up with her.

So yeah, Canna would kill anyone who threatened Ula as well.

“I am well. You?” Canna’s voice was as cold as her stare and for a moment she wished she could sound warm and lovely like Emma did.

“Can’t complain,” Ula answered as she pounded harder on the stiff dough.

“Is there anything you need from me?”

Ula sighed. Dusted her floured hands on her dark green apron. “No, Canna. We’re fine today.”

Canna nodded. “I will return at nightfall then.”

“No need.”

Canna’s face was a blank mask unchanged from the second before, but inside her eyebrows were pinched in confusion. She always checked on Ula and Emma—first at noon and then at nightfall. Why would she
not
come?

“I will return at nightfall,” she repeated.

Ula walked to the farthest counter and retrieved a basket. Canna knew, packed inside, was a lunch of her homemade crackers and cheese.

“Listen, Canna,” Ula’s tone was careful, almost… nice. “Me and Emma, we appreciate you watching out for us. We really do. But you have to stop. You are turning away my customers. Many of my regulars never come here anymore and, well, it’s because of you.”

Still Canna’s face didn’t change, but inside… inside, she felt like crying. Which was just so unacceptable. Another lesson she’d learned as a child: crying solves nothing and makes your face look stupid.

She had never meant to hurt Ula’s business. She’d only wanted to be sure that she and Emma were treated with respect. Now, in light of this new awareness, people being scared of her seemed like a bad thing, when only moments ago it had seemed an asset.

Canna nodded once and accepted the basket Ula offered. “I will come no more.”

Ula went back to her bread dough. “I put some chocolate in there.” She tipped her head toward the woven basket Canna was cradling. “I know you like it,” she said in her hard way.

“Sincere thanks to you, Ula. Have a nice day.” Canna turned and went quickly from the kafé, this time avoiding the eyes of the brew drinkers.

As she walked through the city streets, her face set in a scowl. She didn’t count Ula and Emma as her friends but for some reason, she felt as if they’d disowned her, cast her aside. She didn’t have much love in her useless heart but she’d given them what she could: protection. Apparently she’d guarded them
too
tightly, been
too
aggressive.

Figures.

She was and always had been deemed too aggressive. Couldn’t help it though. It was her nature.

She sighed as she came to rest on a bench near her favorite of all the fountains in An`gel. It was
her
bench. Literally. No one dared to sit there just in case she might pass by and desire to use it. And use it, she had.

This particular bench was her therapy.

Canna sat the basket on the ground and dug around in the pocket of her robe for the small file she kept with her at all times. When she found it, she carefully laid her bow aside but kept the quiver on. Sitting cross-legged on the bench, she stared at the flowing, blue tinged water of the fountain, trying to figure out what she wanted to write.

When it finally came to her, she scoped out an empty space in the slab and began carving with the file. As she did, a certain peace came over her. A lull. A stillness. A reprieve from the torrent of emotions that thundered inside her like a storm out of control. Every time she came here, every time she experienced the hush, she wanted it to last forever.

If only… if only she could be like this always. Then would people like her? Would they cease their chatter about her parents? Would she make friends? Real ones. Would she someday feel her heart pound in her chest? Just… what would it be like to be
normal
?

She blew at the spot where little shavings of ice had accumulated, and then went about carving again.

Canna remembered the first time she felt the hush, remembered it clear as a picture. She was eight light-years-old—going on twenty—the first time she’d carved the bench. She’d had a rotten day. Her classmates had been especially mean since she’d broken a boy’s finger just the day before. When she finally chased them all away, she found herself oddly disappointed… for now, she was alone. Rather they be taunting her than not talking to her at all.

Confused and frustrated, she’d wandered to the fountain and plopped down on the bench. When she figured out what she was feeling, she set to carving the word “lonely” into the ice.

Canna blew again to release the remaining crystals and sat back to examine the new art.

SAD

She knew her face was still a stone but inside, she let herself roll around in the emotion. It felt like a weight upon her chest, but one she couldn’t throw off. How ironic that she could best a living being, but she could not best a feeling.

Frustrated with the thought, she put the file back into her pocket and locked her feelings up tight.

A few deep breaths later and she was able to eat the lunch Ula had packed for her. She saved the chocolate though. She would eat it at nightfall, since she wouldn’t see Ula and Emma. Instead, she would eat their chocolate and be glad that they would have extra business.

***

Pain bloomed in Breckken’s chest like a poisoned blossom, burning and threatening to choke him. He vigorously rubbed at it with the heel of his hand, but it didn’t help. Never did.

By now he should be used to it. But he’d never get used to the way keeping his distance made him ache inside. He deserved to feel it. Needed to, because it kept him connected to her in some twisted way. If he couldn’t have her close and feel her in the way he should be allowed to… he’d rather feel the pain than nothing.

He watched in secret from his hiding place under the ice bridge. He’d been careful to always observe her from different locations so nobody would notice.

Canna packed the remnants of her lunch and stood. As she did, he took in what was before his eyes. She’d grown tall, nearly six feet, and she was thin, but under her robe, it was clear she was muscular. Her skin was still ethereal white. Her eyes were still a deep turquoise blue. As she looped the Arcbow over her shoulder, her long white hair danced with her hips, the waist-length dreadlocks swinging loose.

She. Was. Gorgeous.

So beautiful she threatened his senses. Made him ache below the belt as much as he did behind his sternum.

Another sharp pain took his breath and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would pass quickly. Peeking through slitted eyelids, he watched Canna walk away from him.

Again.

They’d been doing the same dance for too many years.

As a child, she was… well, trouble, to put a word to it. Every hour of every day was spent fighting, exacting revenge, or being punished. It seemed as if she never had a good day, never played like the other children—of course none of them would play with her. There was no fun, no laughter.

When she passed on to teenhood, it was more of the same. Trouble. Although, she didn’t have to seek it out. Trouble came willingly to her, knocking on her door as if it needed a place to lay its ugly head.

True she was a bag of bother. A fiery, spunky, and mostly angry maiden. But she was
his
.
His
bother. His angry maiden. And he’d been excited to start their journey together.

As she grew older, he came to understand her better. There was more to that tough bravado. There were mysteries underneath that outer shell she used as a shield. And he wanted to crack it, get under her skin, unlock the puzzle that was Cannalise. 

But he couldn’t. He was trapped by fate. Or rather the Fates.

Why hadn’t they allowed him and Canna to meet yet? Why postpone their mating for so many years? She was miserable. He was miserable. They needed each other. Were the Fates really so cruel?

When Canna was long gone from the fountain, Breckken made his way to the bench to examine the newest carving.

The single word made his mouth dry and his vision swirl with a mix of devastation and fury. He dropped to his knees, not able to help himself, overcome with grief.

He’d stood a mere fifty yards away and
watched
… while she’d been…
sad
.

It would have been nothing, nothing at all, to walk over and introduce himself. He could have said something, done
something
, to make her feel better.

He was so fucking sick of this. How long would he have to watch his maiden suffer?

He stared down at the bench, his teeth grinding at the injustice. Words were written all over it. There was hardly any more space for her to carve.

Breckken recalled that first day when he’d returned to the city and found her here, whittling away. Later that night he’d come back to see what she’d done, expecting a flower. A heart. A bird. But what he found was a single word sliced into the ice in jagged cuts.

LONELY

He’d felt cold to the core when he read it, and he vowed it wouldn’t be long before they were together. Then she would never be lonely again. He’d make sure of it.

Since then, so many more words had been added.

Afraid  HURT  Desperate  INJURED  Melancholy FEARLESS  Tired  POWERFUL  Envious MISERABLE  Jealous  NERVOUS  Guilty  RELIEVED  Confused  ANNOYED  Abandoned  HOPEFUL  Resentful  ANGRY  Disturbed  SCARED  Hateful

Many of the words were repeated several times over.

Just once, Breckken wished he would see a word like “happy” or “joyful” or “safe”. But it was not to be. The closest he’d gotten was the day of her sixteenth year, when she’d etched the word “Hopeful” into the ice. But the next morning, when he’d found her at the fountain, the file was fisted in her grip as she angrily hacked at the ice in slashes. “Resentful” was the newest addition to the carving bench.