A Soul to Guide: Duskwalker Brides: Book Four, page 1
A Soul to Guide
Duskwalker Brides
Book Four
Opal Reyne
Copyright © 2023 by Opal Reyne
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-0-6458301-0-1
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover art: Sam Griffin
Editor 1: The fiction and friction
Editor 2/ proofreader: Messenger’s Memos
Trigger Warning
Major spoiler below
Please only read further if you have triggers, otherwise you will seriously spoil the book for yourself.
Firstly, I will list what triggers AREN’T in the book so you can stop reading in order not to spoil it: No rape, non-con, purposeful harm done to the FMC by the MMC, torture, suicide/self-harm, death or detailed grieving over death, ow/om drama, abortion, pregnancy, mental/emotion abuse, incest, drug/alcohol abuse, or child harm.
Please consider stopping here if your trigger has been detailed above as the rest are spoilers.
This book doesn’t have many triggers.
There are some depictions of depression and mental health. Childhood trauma.
As always, my books have gore.
Author’s note on language
I’m from AUSTRALIA.
My English is not the same as American English.
I love my American English spoken readers to bits. You’re cute, you all make me giggle, and I just wanna give you a big ‘ol hug. However, there are many of you who don’t seem to realise that your English was born from British English, which is what I use (although a bastardised version since Australians like to take all language and strangle it until it’s a ruined carcass of slang, missing letters, and randomly added o’s).
We don’t seem to like the letter z.
We write colour instead of color. Recognise instead of recognize. Travelling instead of traveling. Skilful instead of skillfull. Mum instead of mom. Smelt is a past participle of smell. We omit the full-stop in Mr. Name, so it’s Mr Name. Aussies cradle the word cunt like it’s a sweet little puppy, rather than an insult to be launched at your face.
Anyway, happy reading!
Pronunciation guide
People:
Merikh – Merr-ick
Raewyn – Ray-wen
Daefaren – Day-far-in
Cykran – Cy-kran
Aurea – Aur-ea
Ulair – Ul-lair
Mericato – Merry-cato
Jabez – Ja-bez
Weldir – Wel-dur
Lindiwe – Lind-di-we
Races:
Elysian – E-lee-see-an
Anzúli – An-zoo-li
Bansu – Ban-zu
Taihee – Ta-he
Places:
Nyl’theria – Nyl-ther-ria
Lezekos – Lee-zee-key-os
Anzúla – An-zoo-la
Other:
Synedrus – Sa-ni-drius
Draflium – Dra-flume
To all the MonsterFuckers out there that love a good grumpy/sunshine trope,
this book is for you.
We like ‘em mean, we like ‘em keen, and we like confusing the fuck out of the grump. It’s even better when we can flit around them like a pretty fairy, dazzling them with our charm.
I would like to give a big shoutout to the wonderful sensitivity readers who helped to make this book a safe place for those I am trying to positively represent. As you all know, representation is a big part of what I want to do, but I want to do so in a way that isn’t harmful.
Thank you Diamond, Erin, Geornesha, and Nicole for your contribution towards POC sensitivity.
Thank you Anica, and Trev for your contribution towards POC and disability sensitivity.
Thank you Joanna, Kristin, Pearl, and Vanessa for your contribution towards disability sensitivity.
I would also like to give a special thank you to Crystal for your contribution towards POC, disability, and overall sensitivity.
I appreciate all the time and effort you put into helping me with this book. You will forever have a place in my heart.
If one had eyes that could see, they would probably note the mess in this high-ceilinged, spacious laboratory. How the walls and ceiling were made of white tree branches, while black obsidian glittered on the ground. They would note the gold ore that filled in the gaps between branches and helped to support the glass in the roof.
They would see that every wall in this octagonal, nearly circular room, either had a writing board or a gold and black marble bench against it.
They would try to figure out what ingredients the cupboards, windowsills, and benches were covered in, since there were glass beakers, tubes, and metal jars from one end of the room to the other. Some contained ground-up dust, others whole items such as plant roots, flowers, and leaves. There were a few that held liquids of different colours.
A person might even gape at the lovely round white light that looked like an exploding star hanging from the very centre of this triangular roof, and marvel at how it was powered by magic. Or stare in awe at the little red, blue, green, and silver orbs that hung from the ceiling and changed locations to mimic their current astronomical points in the sky.
She knew, without a doubt, they would be scratching their heads at the mathematical equations written on every surface available.
For Raewyn, who could not see, she knew the state of her precious laboratory by what she could smell, by what she could feel, and by what she could hear – like the papers loosely fluttering on their clipped stacks from the wind gently pushing in.
“Cykran, could you please close the window for me?” she murmured as she frowned at the paper in her right hand, too distracted to raise her voice.
She brushed her fingers over the bumps etched into the paper to read what was there.
Cykran said nothing, but her pointed ear twitched at his light footsteps heading towards the only open window in her spacious laboratory. Despite his general quietness, Raewyn could hear where he was by his deep breaths, and lately, she’d even noticed him by the general shift of his clothing.
The window made a muted clicking noise, and the smallest smile spread over her lips.
A few had been nervous about a Demon working as her assistant, considering how many of his kind had slaughtered the Elvish people. Raewyn, on the other hand, couldn’t think of anyone more tolerable.
Since the day she’d accidentally blinded herself with magic, people’s attitudes towards her had changed. Some were wary of her hurting herself in her laboratory, while others were worried she’d hurt others by exploding this part of the council palace – it wouldn’t be the first time, and that was before she lost her sight.
Of course, there were many more who knew Raewyn wouldn’t stop her experiments, no matter where she was, so it was safer for her to work where she was isolated and could be monitored.
Many had come forward, wanting to be her assistant, but none were as patient as Cykran. None were as quiet, even in the way they breathed. None were as thankful as he was.
What’s more, none knew how to distinguish what she truly needed against what they thought she did.
Others would get in the way by being overly helpful, but he rarely crowded her and stuck to leaning against one of the cabinets, since there was barely any free wall space. He also only spoke when necessary – except for when he wanted to be a sarcastic little bastard, but that was part of his charm.
From the right, she tentatively felt out and picked up a vial with a distinct peppery scent, then one that was musky.
“Yellowcrest and bellsage,” he commented, which caused her to put down the musky scented one and grab the container on the left instead. “Yellowcrest and ringsage.”
After bringing both closer, she fingered the paper with bumps of elbraille on it so she could read her notes.
Letters made up of triangles and lines told her what was written, both in Elvish and mathematically, and she was thankful such writing craft was available. With just a small amount of magical ink, the elbraille would form raised patterns on the parchment.
It also allowed everyone, no matter if they were visually impaired or not, to read what was written.
The rest of her experiment she could do without Cykran’s help, since she had all the tools she needed with elbraille etched into the handles to inform her of their measuring amounts. Each spoon had a swiper mechanism, so she didn’t need to touch whatever it was – like spotted green and pink polleshrooms, which could be quite poisonous.
After pouring a tiny amount of yellowcrest into a glass container already filled with other ingredients, most of them liquid, Raewyn paused as she went to tip in a gram of ringsage.
This spell required the perfect amounts of every ingredient. An incorrect ratio could lead to different results: some funny, most not.
Last time, when she had been trying to uncover the spell through her equations, she’d accidentally turned her dark-br
When she’d paused for too long, Cykran chuckled. “I wonder if you’ll turn into a hufflepumpkin this time, rather than just colouring yourself as one.”
Raewyn pouted. “That’s mean, Cykran.” She stepped back and gestured to the glass container. “Excuse me, assistant, but I require help.”
His dark laugh was warm but hissy from his Demon fangs. “By the holy Gilded Maiden, no. You do it, councilwoman. I don’t think I’m truly capable of such wonderful scientific breakthroughs; that is best left to our most valuable asset, the great Raewyn Daefaren.”
Raewyn rolled her eyes at his mocking words. “Then don’t tease me. Since you’re in the room with me, you’ll likely turn purple, too.”
His fangs clipping shut in concern and his clothing ruffling with movement had her laughing.
She could almost picture him with an annoyed pout and his arms folded. She remembered what he looked like, since they’d been friends long before she’d lost her sight.
She didn’t know if his hair was still long and tied back into a high ponytail, but he had the same white hair and taupe-brown skin, similar to the Elysian Elves, despite being born a Demon. He was a little taller than the average Elysian height of six foot four inches, but he was just as lean, with defined muscle tone.
Since he wasn’t a true Elysian Elf, Cykran lacked the magical symbols printed over their skin, which was indicative of the type of magic they best wielded. He also had red eyes, whereas theirs were predominantly a variation of brown or green. He hated his red eyes, claws, fangs, and horns, considering they made it obvious what he was.
She had never minded them.
Most Elysians didn’t. As long as Demons fully obtained Elysianity and intelligence and weren’t mindless, bloodthirsty monsters, they were accepted.
Which, unfortunately, were few and far between.
Delysian was the race of Demons who had become so Elf-like, they were basically the same. It was the name given to them when they entered through the gates and were granted permission to stay within the city.
Outside the council palace, past the beachside landscape of Lezekos City – the only place Elysians could now live – was an infestation of Demons. This beautiful world, once free for all, was now owned by the Demon scourge: a never-ending wave of fangs.
Poor Cykran still battled the fact that he became this way from eating a vast amount of her kind. Many Elysians were wary of him in general, as they feared he would turn on them, but as long as he consumed some kind of meat every day, he was as harmless as a tukdeer.
Except for his sarcasm, apparently.
“I thought you cared about me, Cykran,” she falsely whined.
“I am thankful for you, councilwoman, as your family is the reason we Delysians are allowed to live here, protected from the Demons.” Then, his tone became snidely humorous as he said, “But no, you can turn yourself into a vegetable, and I’ll make sure no one eats you.”
Raewyn groaned in dismay.
The reason she was trying to make hufflepumpkin grow was so she could help feed the city. Food was free, although monitored, since they would never make someone work for the necessities of life. Anything that a person required to live, whether it be food, water, a home, or even sanitary products, was freely available to all.
Elysians only paid for nonessentials. A small home with very little was provided for free, but if they wished for a bigger home, furniture other than a bed, table, and chairs, they had to work for it. Artwork was considered a luxury.
Most just wished to support the city in any way they could.
However, food was becoming scarcer as their numbers, thankfully, began to flourish. Over two-thirds of their people had been slaughtered when the Demons arrived, and since they were non-violent, they had no way of fighting back.
They never ate meat, so fruits, vegetables, nuts, and legumes were essential. It was odd for them to have livestock, but if the Delysians didn’t have meat to eat, they couldn’t remain in the city.
Besides their slowly dwindling food, they were also running out of space. Currently, thousands were working to expand the city’s walls before overpopulation became an issue.
People had already – after learning the new practice of fighting – cleared the surrounding forests of Demons. The magical barrier protecting the city had recently been expanded, and construction of the new areas was firmly underway.
Now, she was working to make sure her people were always fed.
“Are you sure you need to take this risk, Rae?” Cykran asked, his low, firm tone filled with worry.
Despite not being able to see, she turned her face up towards him. “Yes. We have learned how to make other vegetables and fruits, but they are easy to grow. Hufflepumpkin is so high in many nutrients and is more filling. It will be better for both our peoples if we can grow it quicker, since it will help feed the Delysians as well.”
With just that bit of self-encouragement, she poured in the ringsage. Finally, the last ingredient was dropped inside – a single hufflepumpkin seed.
She hovered her hands above the container and took in a deep breath, letting her magic freely flow through her body. Cold lines wound up her forearms in geometric hexagons and patterns, glowing as she used her magic.
It was the only thing she could see, as if her blindness was purely physical. She’d never been able to see tendrils of magic before her accident, and it was a comforting sight now that she lived in darkness. Hers glowed a neutral grey that lacked any elemental colouring. It was exceedingly rare, but powerful.
Once she poured enough magic into the concoction, there was resistance, as though she was pressing against a large ball. She shoved in spirit, a replenishable source that came from within, and the grey glow of her magic spun with bright green to signify the spell had shifted into more of an earthy element.
Something burst to life in the middle with a wave of pressure, and she stopped. Seconds ticked by as Raewyn waited.
“Did it work?” she asked Cykran, before patting down her arms. She would have touched it to double check, but she didn’t want to be harmed by something unknown that could potentially be dangerous. “Or am I purple?”
“Nothing is happening.”
“It failed,” she sighed. She would have slapped the table in frustration, but her left ear twitched at footsteps approaching from the hallway. “Can I never get a moment of peace?”
“Someone is approaching? I’ll get the door.”
Cykran’s bare feet slapped against the stone floor as he headed to the doorway. His feet squeaked as he sidestepped two of her benches overflowing with either paperwork or ingredients – all of which she knew by memory.
The room was partly made of a gigantic tree that sat close to the centre of the city; it housed many within its white, sun-bleached trunk and branches. Within the unnatural formation, they’d set carved marble and smelted ore, such as gold, platinum, and bronze, into its foundations.
The council palace was at the very top of the trunk, which is where she was currently – on the fringes of it.
“Sometimes it amazes me how good your hearing has become,” Cykran said as he moved.
“Your other senses can sometimes get better when you lose one.” But not always. “Our head of security claims he only obtained his council position because he was always a better listener, since he doesn’t talk like everyone else.”
Mericato had injured his throat as a child, but it was the infection that affected his speech. Now, he used sign language to communicate, more out of comfort than necessity. He was often in pain.
She was just extremely lucky her sense of smell, hearing, and touch had improved in the last few years. Before that... she’d been as clumsy as they came. She’d tripped on air one too many times.
