The Wayfarer King

Book two of the Kinshield Saga

by K.C. May

The Wayfarer King

Copyright 2011 by K.C. May

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents depicted herein are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Cover design and layout by T.M. Roy / TERyvisions www.teryvisions.com / Sword designed by T.M. Roy
Map of Thendylath by Jared Blando / www.theredepic.com

Chapter 1

He picked up her hand and gripped it as he would in a handshake. “Daia, I’m asking you to be my champion.”

The smell of the crackling mesquite logs in the fireplace at the Elegance Inn filled Gavin Kinshield’s nose, and the flicker of the fire’s golden light on Daia’s face illuminated the shock in her gaping mouth and wide eyes. Gavin grinned, amused that she hadn’t anticipated the question. Wasn’t that what she wanted? She’d hinted as much in the days leading up to their journey to the Rune Cave and assumed the role in the three days since.

Their relationship had been forged on the roads of Thendylath in search of a kidnapped blacksmith. It had been sharpened in the battle against Brodas Ravenkind for the sword, Aldras Gar, and for the King’s Blood-stone. Now it would be polished and wielded over a lifetime of battle and labor as he worked to rebuild the country as its new king. He’d received her pledge of fealty already, but this was different.

Her hand tightened around his own. “Yes. With all my heart, yes.” Her voice quavered thickly. Her pale-blue eyes gleamed in the flickering light of the fire. “I would love nothing more, and I’m honored you asked.” Still gripping his hand, she went to one knee before him. “I, Daia Saberheart, daughter of Dashel Celónd, pledge my life to protect and serve you. As your champion, I offer this solemn vow: to take up arms and defend your health, your honor and your right to rule Thendylath. As I swear before my king, this service is yours for as long as I draw breath.”

“Did you just make that up?”

Letting go of his hand, Daia smiled as she retook her seat on the chair beside him. “Yes. Did you like it?”

“It sounded very courtly.” Gavin breathed his relief. “Awright, that’s one thing off my mind. Now for the rest.”

“What worries you more, the demon in the palace or Ravenkind?”

Gavin ran his tongue over the gap where his right eyetooth used to be. Brodas Ravenkind, no doubt livid over losing the battle for the King’s Blood-stone, wanted Gavin dead, but monstrous beyonders invaded the realm of men every day, slaughtering innocent people, leaving orphans and widows and parents torn apart by grief. These were his people. Their safety was his first concern. “Ravenkind can wait. As long as Ritol’s imprisoned in the palace, the invasion will never end. I got to deal with Ritol first.”

“We’ve got to. You’re not alone. Did your vision in Sohan give you any idea how to send it back?”

It wasn’t a vision he’d had but an ancient memory. He knew that now, and he knew what he had to do. The notion of facing the most powerful of beyonders gave Gavin a chill. He stood and went to the fire to warm himself, but its heat did nothing to comfort him from the shuddersome thoughts roiling through his mind. “King Arek’s plan was to enter the beyonders’ realm and summon Ritol. He was going to take Ronor along to buy him time to find the vortex and return home, but for some reason, he abandoned the plan. He said it was flawed, but he didn’t tell me why. I think it was because he didn’t have you.”

“But you do. What’s our plan? How are you supposed to find the vortex and summon Ritol?”

Gavin returned to his seat. “Help me a second, will you?” He felt Daia’s mystical conduit-force connect with him. At once, his muscles felt stronger, his hearing sharper, his thoughts clearer. He let his mind drift two hundred years into the past when he was Ronor Kinshield, champion to King Arek, back to the moment he found the king in his private study, chiseling the runes into the tablet, infusing the five gems with his magic. Images and memories flooded his mind, images of the king lying broken and dying, the queen brutally slain in a cave, memories of the lordover’s comforting words assuring him they would devise a way to restore the monarchy.

He pushed aside the haunting images and thought back to the times they’d traveled across the country. King Arek would sometimes stop, peer into the distance, then change course to find someplace that looked like any other place to Ronor’s eye. Then he would step through an invisible door into nothingness and come back hours or sometimes days later with stories of beings both terrifying and lofty. Somehow Gavin was supposed to know how to do that too.

He released the connection with Daia and blinked, clearing away the images and settling his eyes back on the inn’s hearth. “King Arek used his magic to find the vortex. Guess I got to learn how, then go through it.”

She nodded. “Do you have what you need to summon Ritol once we get through the vortex?”

“Not yet. I need a Rune o’Summoning.” Ronor had never seen the rune, but he’d known there were two. King Arek had one, and Crigoth Sevae, the would-be usurper who’d summoned Ritol, had the other. “King Arek died in the palace with one in his possession. Sevae had the other, but I don’t remember where he lived, so I don’t know where to look for it.”

“Remember?”

Gavin realized she didn’t know he was Ronor Kinshield reborn because he hadn’t told her. That detail would stay his secret for now. Maybe forever. “Did I say remember? Anyway, maybe the curator at the museum in Ambryce has Sevae’s rune in his collection. I want Stronghammer to put the other two gems into the hilt o’my sword, anyway.” He’d been carrying the fourth and fifth gems from the Rune Tablet around with him and was eager to have them safely placed into the hilt so he wouldn’t lose them. “Let’s leave for Ambryce tomorrow.”

“Perhaps the mage who enchanted it can teach you to find the vortex. I’ll introduce you.” She yawned and stood. “We should try to get some sleep. It’s a long ride.”

“Yeh, goodnight.” He stared into the fire, listening to her footsteps fade up the stairs. Though Ritol troubled him, something else kept him from sleep and twisted his gut with worry, something Brodas Ravenkind said four years ago, after slaying Gavin’s wife and daughter.

Cross me again and I’ll kill every Kinshield in Thendylath and deliver their heads to you.

Chapter 2

Brodas Ravenkind put his fingers in his ears while Cirang heaved an ax against the library wall. Mortar and clay chips flew as she hit it repeatedly. He squeezed his eyes shut as she swung the ax again. This was the sort of task he normally delegated to his cousin, Warrick, whose height and strength were better suited to physical labor.

Every time he thought about Warrick, murdered in an alley by Gavin Kinshield or one of his friends, Brodas felt his anger renewed. If only the ax’s target were Kinshield’s skull. Of all the ways Brodas envisioned killing that bloody usurper, using an ax was not his favorite. He wanted it to hurt, yes, but mostly he wanted Kinshield to suffer. “Hit it harder,” he told Cirang.

Cirang stopped and pulled a rag from her waistband to wipe her brow. “I’m hitting as hard as I can.” She lifted the ax to her shoulder once more.

As she was about to take another swing, Brodas heard the manor’s back door open. “Wait!”

Cirang took a battle stance. They waited and listened as a single pair of footsteps tromped through the kitchen and down the hall, the intruder apparently unconcerned about being discovered.

“Lord Brodas?” a deep voice called.

“Red!” Never had Brodas been so happy to see the rough swordsman. Despite his many flaws, Red was loyal and obedient and right now, that was all Brodas really needed. With Warrick murdered, his contingent of Viragon Sister guards turned against him, and his associates Tyr and Toren presumably dead, Brodas needed Red now more than ever. “Red, I’m back here.”

The big redhead ambled up, smelling strongly of sweat and horse. His arrival could not have been more timely, though Brodas could have used him during the recent battle with Kinshield. Red looked at the broken wall of Brodas’s library with wide eyes. “What’s this about? Who’s she?” He set a battered leather satchel on the floor by his feet.

“This is Cirang, formerly of the Viragon Sisterhood. Did you find the gargoyle merchant?” Brodas asked.

“Yeh, I found him in the market district with a wagon full o’the things.” Red knelt and started to dig through his satchel. “Good news. You’ll like this. He told me that if the person who puts the gargoyle on a chest dies, you just got to put another on the chest to open it. The magic o’the two gargoyles will combine into the live one. Then you can remove the old one and use it as your own.”

Brodas gave an uncharacteristic hoot and clapped Red on the back. “Well done, Red! Tell me you have a gargoyle with you.”

“Yeh. I convinced the merchant to part with one.” He pulled out a small wooden gargoyle figurine, roughly five inches tall and three inches wide, and handed it to Brodas.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” Brodas asked, turning the figurine over in his hands. Though it was a lovely golden brown with smooth, black onyxes set into its eye sockets, the carving was hideous to behold. Its mouth was open, revealing jagged teeth and a long tongue.

“No, m’lord. I left him alive like you told me to.” Red inspected the wooden gargoyle attached to the library door that had locked Brodas out. “Who put this here?”

“Gavin Kinshield or one of his damnable cohorts.”

“We could try to unlock it with my gargoyle.”

“Try it if you want to,” Brodas said, “but Kinshield’s death is too much to hope for at this point. Except for Cirang, he has managed to wrest the Viragon Sisterhood’s loyalty from me.” He held up his three-fingered hand, reminded again of the irony of it. He’d severed the same fingers from Risan Stronghammer’s hand in an attempt to learn the identity of the rune solver.

“Ho! What happened?” Red asked.

“Too much to explain now. Warrick is...” A lump rose in his throat and he swallowed it down. This was no time to get weepy. “Warrick is dead.”

Red’s brows rose, but he said nothing, for which Brodas was grateful. Red did not, exactly, have an agile tongue.

“The chest of gems that you took from the gemsmith — I need to get it open, Red. At once.”

Red measured Cirang with a glance and held his hand out for the ax. “Give it here.” She handed it to him. Red’s large muscles bunched as he swung the ax against the plaster-covered brick wall. Brodas and Cirang stood back, plugging their ears, and watched while Red continued hacking. In time, he broke a hole in the wall large enough to step through.

Red went in first and offered a hand to help Brodas stumble over the debris. Cirang followed. Inside the once-immaculate library, they covered their noses and mouths against the clay dust that floated in the air. Brodas’s wooden chest sat on the desk, right where he’d left it, and to his utter surprise, no gargoyle sat upon its lid.

“Looks like my trip to Tern was wasted,” Red grumbled.

“Not wasted,” Brodas assured him. “The gargoyle will undoubtedly be useful later.” Without another moment’s delay, he raised the lid. Inside were perhaps fifty or sixty gems of various colors, each about the size of his thumbnail. With his heart racing, he picked one up and measured it against his magic power. While it didn’t have the infinite depth of the gems in Kinshield’s sword, it was more than adequate for most any job. He guessed that he would be able to use it a dozen times or more before it began to crack from the stress. He scooped up a handful and repeated the process, measuring each gemstone. Yes. They were exactly what he needed.

“Excellent. Now, help me gather my books.” He closed the lid then set his gargoyle on it, watching as it melded with the lid, locking it shut until the next time he removed the carving.

Red looked at the two walls of shelves, filled with books. “All of them?”

“No, we don’t have time for them all.” Brodas went to the bookcase, pulled his journals from their shelves and handed them to Red. Most of them were there; one was missing. Then he noticed that the spines of his books were misaligned. Someone had been in here, going through his things. Kinshield and his friends must have taken the journal, but why just that one? The information in it was only valuable to Brodas. Of all the books in the library, they should have taken Crigoth Sevae’s journal. In it, Sevae described how, as Royal Mage and Drugger, he’d betrayed the king and summoned the champion Ritol to help him usurp the throne. The idiots probably had no idea that Brodas even possessed it. He pulled the delicate old tome off the shelf and cradled it in his arms. “Cirang, Red, I’m missing a journal with a black cover like these. Help me look for it.”

Cirang scanned the shelves while Red began opening and closing drawers of the desk, sifting through the papers. Brodas continued to scan the shelves, hoping that whoever had been looking through his library had simply moved it.

Behind him, the rustling stopped. “M’lord, is this it?” Red held up the black, leather-bound tome.

“Indeed it is.” Briefly he wondered what had possessed someone to put it in a drawer, but that thought fled his mind as he flipped through the pages and found what he was looking for: the addresses of Gavin Kinshield’s relatives. As fortune shone, there was a cousin in Calsojourn. He snapped the book shut with a satisfying thwap! He’d made a promise to Kinshield, and he was a man of his word.

Chapter 3

Aldras Gar...

Its whispers invaded Gavin’s consciousness, jerking him out of a violent dream. He leapt out of bed, reaching for the sword, before he realized the three gems in the hilt were dark. It was just another dream. No danger. Not at the moment, anyway. With his heart still thumping, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Damned sword.

The sun was rising, and they had a four-day ride ahead. He might as well eat and get on the road. He dressed, grabbed Aldras Gar, and went downstairs.

Edan Dawnpiper was sitting in the dining hall, hunched over a table within a sea of tables, quill in hand, writing furiously. Slim and wiry with light-brown hair and mustache, Edan had always been the one to capture the ladies’ attention, but he’d yet to take a wife. Gavin admired his charm and wit and knew he’d never find a truer friend. There could be no other choice for the position of King’s Adviser.

“What’re you doing?” Gavin asked as he walked in.

Edan started. The pen in his hand stumbled over the page. “Damn, Gavin. You nearly scared the ghost out of me.” He picked up the page. A sliver of light shone through the tear his wayward pen had made. “Writing letters to the lordovers. I’m almost finished.”

Gavin pushed chairs out of his path as he made his way to Edan’s table. “You’ve been up all night?”

“You don’t employ a scribe to copy them for me.” Edan examined his quill and sighed.

The chair’s legs scraped noisily across the slate floor as Gavin pulled it out and sat. “I don’t employ anyone,” he said with a sarcastic grin. “Not even you.” He set his sword down, reached for the carafe of water and guzzled its contents.

“Exactly. You haven’t any money.”

Gavin wiped his mouth on his sleeve and picked up one of the letters Edan had written. “You ain’t asking the lordovers for money are you?” Despite the precise and uniform handwriting, its letters were too fancy for Gavin to make out. He read barely well enough when the letters were printed block style, on signs and the like, but not this.

“Just my father. Explaining why I’ve been gone so long might temper his fury and spare me the stocks and perhaps a whipping.” Edan wiped the ink off his quill and set it aside. “To the rest, I’m announcing that Thendylath has a new king. We can start planning your coronation.”

“No.” Gavin gestured sharply. “No. I told you to wait.” He put the letter back on the pile.

“Gavin.” Edan sounded exasperated. “What good is having an adviser if you won’t take my advice?”

Gavin groaned and fell back in his chair. Not this argument again.

“Why do you think doing this alone is better than getting the help of everyone in Thendylath?”

“Look, if the people knew what really happened to King Arek, they’d panic. The lordovers don’t need that on top o’everything else. When I vanquish the demon and seal the rift between the realms, when Thendylath is safe, then I’ll have proven I’m worthy o’the crown. Then the people will have a king they can trust.”

Edan slapped the table. “You’ve proven yourself worthy by solving the runes and claiming the King’s Blood-stone. We need soldiers, armor and weapons. We need money. How can we hunt down Ravenkind without the lordovers’ help? How can we battle Ritol without an army?”

“We don’t need an army. Soldiers didn’t do King Arek any good.” All Gavin needed was Daia and the Rune of Summoning. And maybe a few ideas on what the hell to do.

“Speaking of armor, where’s yours?” Edan asked.

“In my room.”

“Lot of good it does there.”

Gavin scrunched the scarred side of his face. “I didn’t think I’d have to defend myself against my best pal.”

Edan laughed. “Yet you brought your sword.”

Gavin gazed at Aldras Gar, leaning against the table beside him. “It won’t let me go anywhere without it.” He picked up his sword and rubbed it with a napkin, polishing its snakeskin-like blade to a radiant finish, then shined the three gems embedded in the eyes of the two molded, intertwined snakes that formed the hilt and pommel. As much as he respected the weapon, he also feared it. It resonated with his very soul, and he couldn’t stand to be too distant from it. The thing begged to be wielded. It wasn’t just a pretty blade to hang above a mantel. “By the way, I’m leaving for Ambryce this morning.”

“Get the cuirass repaired before you go, will you?” Edan looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. “Would you at least let me tell my father?”

Gavin groaned. “Are we still talking about this? I remember saying no.”

“There’s no denying we need money. Between us, we’ve only got enough to pay for another eight days here before the innkeeper kicks us out and opens the inn back up to the public.”

“If we run out o’money, we can camp in the burnt part of the Garnet district. There are still a few houses standing.”

“And who among us has the skill to cook for fifteen people three times a day? A better solution is to ask my father for a loan.”

Gavin rubbed his temples. Anxiety started to tense his muscles once more. He knew Edan was right about the straits of his purse. The notion of letting the word out about his claim to the throne made him itch. “Awright. Just the Lordover Lalorian. No one else. He’s been like a father. I’d want to tell him first anyway.” It was a reasonable compromise and might keep Edan quiet about the matter for a week or two.

“Good. I’m glad you agree.” Edan lifted the stack of letters and pulled out the bottom one. “But you should also consider telling the Lordover Tern. After all, he’s—”

“No.”

“—known to have some secrets and historical artifacts handed down from King Arek and Ronor Kinshield.”

“Secrets? What secrets?” He couldn’t imagine any secrets the lordover might have that Gavin didn’t already know or at least be able to remember with Daia’s help.

“That you’d have to ask him. Maybe Daia knows. My point is that he might have knowledge or items that could help us, but he’s not a man to give something for nothing. If he knew who the king was...” Edan made a seesawing hand motion. “...he might be more amenable.”

From what Daia had told him, her father wasn’t the most cooperative or easygoing fellow. The Lordover Tern probably wouldn’t take kindly to the king appointing his estranged daughter as King’s Champion. The last thing Gavin wanted was to get into a pissing contest with the Lordover Tern. “Maybe,” he told Edan. “Let me think on it some more.”

“Think hard.” Edan leaned back in his chair. “And remember, the sooner we get the word out, the sooner we can bring Ravenkind to justice.”

“I know, I know.” He rolled his head to the side first one way then the other to loosen his neck.

“Listen, Gav, there’s something I need to tell you. This is going to be tough to hear, but you have to know. In Ravenkind’s library, we found a journal that described...” He paused for a deep breath. “...described what he did to your family.”

Gavin’s blood ran cold. “What?”

“In disturbing detail. That’s not all, though. It also listed the names and addresses of your family members across the country.”

Gavin shot to his feet. “What?”

“Aunts, uncles, cousins... brother,” Edan said. “Two pages of Kinshields, many with city names, some with street names.”

That meant Rogan was in trouble. Liera, the boys — all in danger. Heat spread up his neck. He pounded the table with a fist. Water from Edan’s glass sloshed onto the wood surface. “Damn that bloody bastard to hell and back,” Gavin shouted. Edan pushed his papers away from the puddle.

“I’ve written a letter to the Viragon Sisterhood to request guards for your brother,” Edan said as he mopped up the spill. “If you can list your other relatives, I’ll have more Sisters dispatched.”

Gavin fell back into his seat and rubbed his brow, thinking back to his childhood in Lalorian. He named a couple of uncles and handful of cousins. “I ha’n’t seen most o’them since I was a boy, and there’s more I don’t remember. Rogan prob’ly knows more than I do.” There was only one thing to do. “I’ll take a couple o’guards with me to Saliria to keep him and his family safe.”

Daia approached and leaned on the back of a chair. “How about Hennah and Nasharla? They’re good fighters and know Ravenkind on sight.”

Gavin nodded, and she left to make the arrangements.

Edan folded the wet napkin and set it aside. “Chances are good Ravenkind’s already fled Sohan, and only the crows know where he’s gone.”

Then Gavin remembered the map his pal Domach had given him showing the location of a farmhouse outside of Calsojourn. That map would still be in his bag. He snapped his fingers. “I might know where he is. I’ll be right back.” He went out to the stable behind the inn. Golam, outside in the corral eating hay, looked up and nickered. “How now, mule. Eat up. We’re going for a ride in a bit.” He went to the tack room and found his saddle and saddlebag.

The stable boy peeked around the corner. “Help you, m’lord?”

Gavin dug into the bag, searching by feel. His fingers found the paper and pulled it out. “No, I found it.” He jogged back inside and handed the map to Edan. “Have the Sisterhood send a scout to this farmhouse to see if he’s there. Chances are good they’ll find him, then they can send a couple dozen battlers and kill him.”

Daia rejoined them at the table and poured herself a glass of wine from the carafe. “If you didn’t have enough to worry about, Galiveth told me Hennah’s missing. That’s the second guard to vanish.”

Gavin scowled. “Missing?” Apprehension made him shift in his seat.

“Gali was on guard with Hennah and said she went to piss. When she got back, Hennah was gone. Gali’s been calling, but there’s no sign of her.”

Pressure started building in his temples again. “Seven hells!” He didn’t want to believe that one of his defenders would simply walk off her post and abandon him. He needed every one of them, and the Viragon Sisterhood had too few to spare to replace her, especially since he had no funds to pay them. “Think maybe they went back to Sohan?”

“No, they wouldn’t have done that.”

“Who’s the second?” Edan asked.

“Tennara. During the night, she disappeared after a beyonder fight. Nobody knows what happened to her except that she survived. Ragetha saw her slay the last one, but Tennara never returned to the inn afterward.”

With the beyonder attacks becoming more frequent, Gavin wondered whether the rift could have opened and pulled the swordswomen into the beyonders’ realm. Barring that, he could think of only one other possibility. “Ravenkind?”

She shook her head. “Gali didn’t notice anyone suspicious. I put Taria on duty with her. Both know Ravenkind on sight.”

“Maybe some o’the townsfolk saw what happened.”

“I’ve sent a few battlers out to search for Hennah and ask around. I’ll let you know the second they return with news. Meanwhile, I’ll have Dona come with us to Saliria.”

Gavin chewed his right thumbnail. Could someone have abducted Tennara and Hennah? Maybe they saw something suspicious and went in pursuit. He picked up his sword and stood. “I’m going to look for them myself.”

“I told you I have people searching. Relax, Gavin. We’ll find them.”

With a deep sigh, he sat back down, but he couldn’t relax. The muscles in his shoulders felt tense. With everything he had to worry about, he sure as hell didn’t need this too.

Chapter 4

Feanna Vetrin moved five-year-old Tansa to her left hip and took the quill the lordover’s chancellor offered. When she looked at the paper, it blurred. She blinked and quickly wiped away the tears that dribbled down her cheek. This wasn’t a compromise. It was a robbery. She lowered her quivering hand to sign and stopped.

“Couldn’t you give me one more month?” she asked. “I’ve posted an advertisement for my new business on the community board in Saliria, and I’ve already received one client.” That she hadn’t the heart to ask the grief-stricken man for money after delivering the news about his son’s death was a detail better left unsaid. “More will—”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” the chancellor said. His black, bushy eyebrows over beady, golden eyes made him look predatory. “His Excellency has already extended your deadline twice because of the kindness you show to the orphans.” Both looked at Tansa, who hid her face in the beige cloth of Feanna’s dress. Iriel and Trevick watched and listened quietly from the great room. “You don’t have the means to work the land anyway. It’s for the best.”

The farm had been willed to her husband then left to her upon his death last year. If she sold the wheat field, yes, it would pay the overdue taxes, but in a few months, she’d be back in the same situation with no wheat field left to sell. If she had to sell the property, it might be best to sell the entire thing, rather than piece by piece. She looked around at the cramped, four-room house where she’d lived since marrying Henrik seven years ago. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was clean, it was warm in winter, and it was home. Then where would she go? With three children to care for, it wouldn’t be long before even that money ran out and she found herself — and the children — living in the gutter. Perhaps soon she would have a few paying clients.

“Your monthly tax burden without the wheat field would be much more manageable,” the chancellor reminded her. He peered down his hawkish nose at her and tapped the paper, urging her to sign.

Feanna set Tansa on the chair and sat on the stool beside her. She tried to read the paper once more, but the words ran together in her mind numbed with sorrow, worry and the feeling of powerlessness. She was only giving up the wheat field, nothing more. She hadn’t sown a crop this year because harvesting last year had nearly killed her. Trevick had been only eleven. Between them, they hadn’t the strength or endurance to get the entire crop cut, baled and threshed. She’d spent part of last year’s income on Henrik’s burial and hadn’t enough money left to hire labor. With a sigh, she dipped the quill into the ink pot and signed her name.

“Very well,” he said. He wrote out a receipt and laid it on the dining table. “Your overdue tax debt is paid, and the next tax collection will be in three weeks. Good day.”

She saw him to the door and watched the footman help him climb into his shiny black carriage, then take his position on the rear step. The driver pulled away, steered the four-horse team to the main road and back toward Saliria.

“Are we going to lose the farm?” Trevick asked.

Feanna closed the door and went to sit beside him on the worn, gray sofa. She lifted Tansa onto her lap and put her arm around Trevick’s shoulder. “Now, don’t you worry about that. I’ll have clients soon, and all will be well. You’ll see.”

“I could work as a torcher in Saliria,” Trevick said. “I’m old enough.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Let’s see how my business does first.”

“Could I?” Iriel asked hopefully. Her smile was lopsided, with one incisor missing and the other half grown in. “I’m almost nine.”

Feanna’s heart ached. The children worked hard around the house as it was. That they would be so willing to take on extra work both touched her and troubled her. “When you’re twelve, we’ll talk, hm? Let’s get supper started, shall we?”

She kissed Trevick’s forehead before he could squirm away, set Tansa down, and went to the kitchen. She opened the cold box and noted the ice was nearly melted. “We’ll need to go to town tomorrow for a new block of ice.”

Someone knocked at the door, startling them all. Living outside of Saliria in a small farming community, they didn’t often receive visitors. If it were Liera Kinshield or one of her boys, they’d have called out already. “Who’s calling?” she asked.

“Sorry for disturbing you, m’lady. I’m Adro Fiendsbane.”

The name was unfamiliar. Perhaps he was a new customer, someone in need of her special skill. Someone looking for a lost loved one. His name definitely sounded like an epithet, though. Feanna hoped it wasn’t another battler come to drop his bastard child off with her, hoping she would relieve him of his fatherly burden. Whatever would move a man to do such a thing was incomprehensible, but she’d already turned away two of them this year. After the day she’d had, Feanna wasn’t sure she could be tactful. She went to the door and opened it, prepared for the worst.

A battler stood on the stoop, holding in his arms a girl who appeared about four years old. Her blond hair and brown eyes matched those of the swordsman, and she clung to him, trembling. He wore a brown shirt, whose long sleeves were out of place in the warm spring afternoon. His long hair flowed across his shoulders. Around his neck hung a leather thong, disappearing into his tunic, suggesting a warrant tag hung ready to display on request. “Good evening. I’m Adro, and this is Jilly. Are you Feanna Vetrin?”

Feanna sighed. She knew it. If the child hadn’t been in his arms, she would have filled his ears with thorns. The poor thing must have felt so unwanted, faced with being abandoned to a stranger by her father. “If you’re thinking to leave your daughter here while you gallivant across the countryside without a care in the world, you’re mistaken.” She shifted and put a hand on the soft skin of Jilly’s arm.

Feanna was overcome with profound sadness. Lost and terribly alone, she felt the world had ended, yet she went on, unloved and unwanted. The pain in her chest was crushing. She gasped and yanked her hand back, unable to stop the sobs that burst from her. Tears spilled from her eyes.

“My lady!” Adro said, reaching to steady her. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

She held up a finger as she hid her face and concentrated on dissipating the flood of emotion that had taken her by surprise. What devastating loss had this poor child suffered? Feanna took a corner of her apron and dabbed at her eyes, gathering her wits and flushing the child’s pain from her mind before finally turning back to face her visitors. “She isn’t your daughter, is she?”

“No, m’lady,” Adro said. “Jilly’s parents hired me to accompany them from Sohan to Tern, but we were overrun by beyonders on the way. Sadly, her parents were both slain. Jilly has no family left, and she doesn’t know of any aunts or uncles. A buck like me wouldn’t make a suitable father for a little girl. The Lordover Saliria said you might be able to help.”

The Lordover Saliria who had just taken her wheat field sent another orphan to her? What a bastard. Feanna pressed her lips together and ran a gentle hand across Jilly’s back, careful not to shift before touching her. “Jilly, I’m sorry about your parents.” Looking into those soulful brown eyes, Feanna knew she couldn’t turn the child away. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. Other children have gone through a similar loss, and some of them live here with me. You’re welcome to stay here too.” She held out her hands, inviting Jilly to come to her.

Jilly lifted her head from Adro’s shoulder. Her eyes were glassy, her expression numb. She held her arms out limply. Feanna took the girl from her guardian and held her close. Jilly laid her cheek against Feanna’s shoulder.

“Has she any belongings? Clothes, shoes or toys?”

Adro bent his head. “The bags got scattered and torn apart in the fighting. Didn’t think to collect any of it. I could ride back to the site, try to retrieve some stuff for her.”

“That would be very helpful, Adro. Thank you. May I offer you something to eat?” Feanna didn’t have the time or inclination to entertain at the moment, but to feed the man who’d saved this child was the least she could do.

“Thank you, m’lady, but I’ve asked enough of you for one day.” He extended his hand, and Feanna shook it. Shifting, she felt his shame over failing to protect his charges. She also felt his attraction to her, a feeling she didn’t often experience. Although she felt lonely from time to time and wished for the romance her marriage hadn’t given her, she had more important concerns now: the children.

“I’ll ride out and try to gather some of her belongings.”

“There’s no rush,” Feanna said. “I can find something for her to wear in the meantime. Be careful, Adro.”

He smiled. Twin dimples gave him a charming, boyish appearance that was at odds with the otherwise roughened visage. “Yes, m’lady. I will.” He ran a hand over Jilly’s hair, and his smile disappeared. “Sorry, sweetheart. Miss Feanna will take good care of you.” With a bow, Adro bid them good-bye and left.

Feanna went into the house and closed the door quietly.

She sat with Jilly on the sofa, cuddling her close. She shifted and laid her hand on Jilly’s leg. Despite the pain, she wanted to keep tabs on what the girl was feeling. If Jilly became overwhelmed, Feanna would send the other children to their room while her newest orphan grew accustomed to her new surroundings.

Iriel put her hand on Jilly’s head. “My mama and papa were killed by beyonders too,” she said quietly. “I’m going to be a Viragon Sister when I grow up. Then I’m going to find the rest of the beyonders and slay them so this never happens to children again.”

Jilly lifted her head and looked at Iriel. Through her contact, Feanna felt hope like sunshine peeking through the dark clouds of a terrible storm. Then Jilly settled back against Feanna’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

That first night, Feanna poured each of the children a small cup of milk as they gathered in the kitchen. “Have you said your prayers?” she asked.

The girls nodded dutifully, but Trevick said nothing. He tossed his milk back and wiped his mouth.

“Trevick?” Feanna prompted.

“I don’t believe in Asti-nayas,” he said. “I’m not going to pretend to pray anymore.”

Feanna touched him gently, shifting, and confirmed what she suspected. His confidence had waned, and he only needed reassurance. “Darling, I love you, no matter what you believe. You don’t need to pray if you don’t want to. I’ll think of you as my son either way.” She kissed his temple, hoping she’d eased some of his fears of abandonment that surfaced now and then. “Tansa, how about you?”

“Yes, m’lady,” Tansa replied. “I prayed for Jilly to like it here so she could be my sister.”

Tears burned Feanna’s eyes. “That’s so sweet, dear. All right, let’s go on to bed now. Jilly, you’ll sleep with me for a night or two until I get a pallet for you.”

One by one, the three children gave Feanna a kiss on the cheek and bid her goodnight. They went to their sleeping room and shut the door.

At first Feanna dressed Jilly in a night-shirt that was much too big. When she bunched the excess fabric in her fist and said maybe the two of them could fit in it, Jilly managed a smile. She found a smaller shirt in Tansa’s meager stack of clothes, and pulled it on over Jilly’s head. “Much better. You and Tansa will need to share until Adro brings some of your clothes.” She tucked Jilly into bed and blew out the lamp before climbing under the covers herself. Once she settled into the bed, Jilly snuggled uncomfortably close to her.

“It’s too dark,” Jilly whispered.

“It is a bit dark in here, isn’t it?” Feanna rose again and lighted a candle, then set it on the dressing table across from the bed. “Better?”

Jilly nodded, her blond hair glinting in the candle’s warm glow. Feanna crawled back into bed, shifted, and checked the girl’s feelings. Calmer, not so agitated, but still deeply sad, and as good as Feanna could hope for under the circumstances. She waited until Jilly’s breathing slowed and deepened before she let herself relax into sleep.

Sometime later, she awoke to a terrible scream. Beside her, Jilly thrashed madly, arms and legs kicking and striking out, tangling herself in the bedclothes. “Jilly!” Feanna said. The girl didn’t hear, didn’t respond. Her shrill screams threatened to break Feanna’s eardrums. She shifted and tried to pull Jilly into her arms.

Fear gripped her. She remembered the smell of blood, of vile beasts and snapping fangs. The sense that a man was screaming made her skin creep. Death was everywhere. Her terror rose to a crescendo, then grief, overwhelming grief, threatened to crush her chest.

Feanna gasped and jerked back. Heavens! “Jilly!” she yelled. She tried to take the child by the shoulders, but Jilly thrashed too violently. A foot slammed into Feanna’s ear and took her aback. “Jilly! It’s Miss Feanna. Wake up!”

The child was lost in the nightmare, unable to hear her. Feanna hated having to use her skills, but what choice did she have? She had to calm Jilly.

When she thought she had a good grip on Jilly’s waist, she shifted, gritting her teeth against the violence and fear that the poor child felt. She shifted again and concentrated on her own feelings of calm, confidence and love, then pushed them at the fright-stricken child. Moment by moment, the terror ebbed. Jilly’s thrashing slowed until finally she lay still. Her quick breaths were the only sounds in the sudden quiet. “That’s it, love,” Feanna whispered, sending calming thoughts and feelings into her, loving, tender feelings of safety and serenity. Jilly’s breathing slowed to normal, then deepened again into the rhythm of restful sleep. Only then did Feanna release the contact.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, stroking Jilly’s sweaty forehead. You’ve been through so much. I won’t take your grief from you. You need it to heal, but I can help you get through the nights.

“What’s wrong?” Trevick asked. He stood in the doorway with his arms around his two frightened foster sisters.

“She’s all right.” Feanna beckoned the girls with her free arm. They ran to her and climbed into bed, clutching her for comfort. “She had a bad dream. That’s all. Just a bad dream.”

“We were afeared beyonders came.” Iriel gazed up at her with wide blue eyes.

Feanna kissed her forehead. “No beyonders would dare.” She looked at Trevick with raised brows, asking silently if he was all right. He gave her a small smile. As much as he liked his role as the man of the house, at twelve he was hardly immune from the fears of childhood, especially when nightmares kept alive the worst memories for orphans like himself.

Chapter 5

The cook carried plates of food to the table — ham, boiled eggs, potatoes, bread and an assortment of fruit. Gavin’s stomach grumbled appreciatively as he filled his plate. He did his best to mind his table manners, though the hungrier he was, the more he tended to forget himself. He shoveled food into his mouth as quickly as he could chew and swallow, ignoring Daia’s sounds of disgust. Hell, he was hungry and needed a lot more food than she did. She should try being as big as he was and see if she could still eat daintily.

“Daia,” Edan said, “what do you know of Ronor Kinshield’s secrets supposedly kept by your family across the generations?”

“Not much,” she said. “My father hinted at a few things as I grew older. He told me that when I was old enough to understand, there were things he needed to tell me. Things he’d been told by his father, and his father before him. Things that were never to be written down.”

“You mean, there’s more?” Gavin asked.

“More than what?” Edan asked.

“Swallow first,” Daia said. “Then talk.”

Gavin gulped what he had in his mouth. “More than what the letter said. More about Ronor’s shame and failure as Arek’s champion.” More about the curse that prevented his soul from resting until the promise to King Arek was fulfilled.

“I wish I could tell you,” Daia said. “I don’t know. I left home before my father revealed any of those secrets to me, and I highly doubt he’d tell me now. I’d offer to go with you to talk to him, but I wouldn’t be doing you any favors. Edan, you probably have a good rapport with him. The two of you could go.”

“What’s the point?” Edan asked. “He has no reason to tell us anything. We have nothing he wants except you, Daia, and we’re not giving you up.”

Gavin took another bite. “But if he knew who the king was, he would. Wouldn’t he?”

Edan raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying you want to tell him?”

He didn’t want to, but if the Lordover Tern had some information or artifacts that might help him vanquish the demon Ritol, he would. Gavin used his fingernail to pick a bit of food from between two teeth. “He’s going to find out sooner or later. If he has knowledge or artifacts or something that could help us, I guess there’s no reason not to tell him sooner.”

Edan clapped his arm. “I knew you’d come around.”

“Let me do it, though,” Gavin said. Edan’s smile fell. “Or at least barter for it. Don’t send him that letter you wrote.”

Daia was the first to finish her meal and push her empty plate away. “Before we leave, I want to get you fitted for mail. I’ve made an appointment at the armorer.”

“How did you get an appointment so soon?” Edan asked.

“I arose early and banged on his door until he opened it.” Daia smiled sweetly. “Thodas made my father’s armor. He’s among the best.”

“Money’s scarce.” Gavin took one last bite of food. “I can wear my cuirass for a bit longer.”

She shook her head. “That’s not sufficient protection for my king. It has a three-inch gash in the front.”

“And yet I’m still alive.”

“You were lucky Toren’s blade missed your heart. You’ve made me your champion, and my duty is to protect you. Before you fight Ritol, you’re getting mail. Don’t worry about the cost. I have a plan.”

Gavin smiled and wiped grease from his chin with his sleeve. He liked that she hadn’t stopped being Daia when she realized he was the rune solver. People would bow and scrape, call him ‘my liege,’ kiss his ring and all that crap, but as long as his friends treated him as Gavin, and not as The King, he could manage the rest. “Cost ain’t the only problem. Those things take months to make.” He pushed his plate away with a long, satisfying belch.

“Ugh. Gavin,” Daia said.

Edan looked at him with eyebrows scrunched in disgust. “Be glad my mother isn’t here.”

Gavin chuckled. “Yeh, she’d soap my neck for that, king or not.”

“Is your cuirass in your room?” Daia asked. When he nodded, she stood. “I’ll get it. Thodas should be able to repair it before we leave.”

The square in the city center was probably the busiest section of Tern. Every building was three stories tall, with a shop of some kind occupying the bottom two, and living quarters on the third. Among the popular grocer and butcher was also a jeweler, clothier, stationer, confectioner, apothecary, watchmaker — every type of business someone could need, and even some no one needed. Gavin stared at the lottery office as he walked past. People walked in with money and came out with nothing but hope. That didn’t seem right.

Daia stood at the open door of the armorer’s shop, waiting patiently. “Is there a problem?”

“There will be.” He squeezed past her and went inside.

The shop’s front room was so small, Gavin could touch both walls with his arms extended. A door opened in the rear wall, filling the room with the heavy clang of hammers on anvils. A muscular, middle-aged buck entered wearing a leather apron, his skin glistening with sweat.

“Good morning, good morning,” the armorsmith sang. “Welcome to Thodasworks.”

“Thodas,” Daia said, “this is the friend I told you about, Gavin. He needs a mail hauberk.”

“We’re so pleased you’ve come in, my good sir. I’m Thodas Wirgenfed, master armorer. It’s an honor to meet you and my pleasure to craft a fine suit of armor to meet your battling needs.”

The tedious greeting threatened to overfill Gavin’s mug of patience. Had Daia told the man his secret? He raised his brow at her to ask silently, and she answered with a shrug.

“First, my lord, I’ll measure you for a perfect fit,” Thodas said. “If you’ll kindly stand with your arms raised... That’s perfect. Wonderful. I can tell you’ve done this before.” He pulled a bundle from his pocket and unrolled it: a strip of cloth with black marks at regular intervals along its length.

“How long’s this going to take?” Gavin asked. He’d been fitted for clothes before, but he preferred the things his sister-in-law Liera sewed for him. She knew his measurements and always left extra room for him to move. The clothiers he’d gone to before had without exception cut his shirts too small. They always ripped at the seams during battles. If this armor made him sluggish, Daia could holler all she wanted. He wouldn’t wear it.

“The measuring won’t take but a few minutes, my lord. The mail will require three months.”

“See?” Gavin told Daia.

“Any chance you could finish it sooner, Thodas?” Daia asked.

The armorsmith wrapped the tape around Gavin’s waist. “These things take time, even with my diligent crew.”

Daia smiled sweetly. “Isn’t there some way to get it done more quickly?”

Thodas sighed. “We’re nearly finished with a hauberk for the Lordover Saliria’s captain. I suppose I could add links and size it for you instead. He’ll be mighty red about the delay. I’ll have to add twenty percent to your price to offer him a discount for his trouble.”

“Twenty percent!” Gavin spat.

“That’ll be fine.” Daia winked at him. “Two days, then?”

“A week,” Thodas said. He wrapped the tape around Gavin’s upper arm.

“I ain’t waiting that long,” Gavin told her.

“Could you repair his cuirass in the meantime?” She showed it to Thodas and stuck a finger through the gash in the front. “We have to leave this morning.”

Thodas eyed Gavin with a long look. “You took that from a corpse?”

To explain that he’d been wearing it at the time would undoubtedly raise more questions. “Can you mend it or not?”

“Give me an hour.”

Daia clapped Gavin’s arm. “Good. We can leave after that, yes?”

He sighed. The ride to Saliria would take roughly six hours, and they could stay the night at Rogan’s house. “I s’pose.”

They left the shop an hour later with Gavin in a soured mood. Edan was going to choke when he learned of this. “We can’t afford mail, let alone extra charges.”

“It’s all right. My father has money to litter with.”

Gavin stopped in the street. “Wait. The Lordover Tern’s paying for it? Did he agree to that?”

She grinned wickedly. “Not exactly, but he owes you money from taxes he’s collected. Just take it off his bill.”

He groaned. This wasn’t how he’d meant to start his relationship with the lordover.

They were nearly at the inn when someone behind them screamed.

Aldras Gar, the sword whispered in his mind.

Chapter 6

The following day was somber and cool, fitting for what had just transpired. A breeze tossed Brodas’s hair and billowed his tunic. A drop of rain tapped his head and another his face beneath his right eye, mixing with the tear that ran down his cheek. This should never have happened. Kinshield would pay for this, the bloody bastard. Brodas felt the conviction burn in his chest.

He knelt on a folded cloth laid on the mound of fresh dirt and brushed a few stray crumbs of soil from the flat stone marking Warrick’s grave. In his fist he clutched a gem, smooth and warmed by his touch, and concentrated on the task at hand.

“Otra kerven,” he whispered. He drew his trembling finger over the surface of the stone, spelling out Warrick Rone Darktalon, beloved cousin and friend. In the path his finger made, a dark line appeared and deepened, seeming to burrow into the rock itself. “Good-bye, my cousin,” he said softly. “You were like a brother.” The only sons of twin mothers, he and Warrick had been born only four weeks apart and had been each other’s constant companion their entire lives. They were more than cousins bound by blood. They were friends bound by love. “I will avenge you. That’s my most solemn promise. I’ll have justice for your murder.” He wiped the drop clinging to his lashes before rising. Several paces away, the gravedigger leaned on the end of his shovel, respectfully bowing his head. Red came forward and took a long look at the grave marker before giving it his customary two-finger salute.

“Let’s go,” Brodas said. His steps fell heavy across the grass of the cemetery while his thoughts continued to circle the injustices perpetrated by not only Gavin Kinshield, but his entire family, all the way back to King Arek’s champion. Cirang waited by the horses and greeted him with a respectful bow.

“Do you need to send word to family members?” she asked.

Brodas supposed he should send a message to their mothers. That could wait. Now they needed to get away from Sohan before the Viragon Sisterhood found them. “Later,” he said as he climbed into the saddle. “Now we ride for Calsojourn. My former associate, Sithral Tyr, had a farmhouse near there.” He heeled his horse and pulled the collar of his shirt up to shield his neck from the cool gust that sent shivers across his skin.

“Is he there?” Red asked, riding up alongside Brodas. “We could use his help.”

“He’s dead,” Brodas snapped. He shouldn’t blame Red for not knowing these things; the battler had been away.

“Are you certain, my lord?” Cirang asked from his left.

Did she have no thought in her head? “You saw him leave my home with Brawna. Days later, she arrived at the Rune Cave with Kinshield and your fellow Sister, Daia Saberheart. Ask me again whether I’m certain.”

“Sorry, my lord.”

“My liege,” Brodas said. “I’m the rightful king, and I prefer you use the correct honorific when addressing me.”

“Sorry, my liege,” she said. Red smirked, and she shot him a seething glare. “What the hell are you smiling at, you ugly bastard?”

Brodas held up a hand. “The last thing I need is for you two to be at each other in a jealous feud. Red has seniority with me, Cirang. You’ll defer to him until you earn my respect. Red, don’t antagonize her. Honestly, must I treat you as children?”

“No, my liege,” Red said, though a trace of his derisive smile remained on his mouth.

They rode hard to reach Rheodry before nightfall. Brodas paid for a room for himself and one for Red and Cirang to share. If they were going to work together, they might as well start getting comfortable with each other. He undressed and lay abed, going over the recent events in his mind and trying to devise a plan that would put him within reach of the throne that should have been his.

“I claim the bed.” Brodas heard Cirang through the wall as easily as though there were no wall. “You’re sleeping on the floor.”

“I’ll arm wrestle you for it,” Red answered.

“You’d lose. I understand why you’re loyal to him,” she said more quietly. “He’s a powerful man, the kind who gets what he wants, but why does he think he’s the rightful king? He didn’t solve the runes.”

Brodas scowled indignantly, though he supposed it was a legitimate question. She didn’t know he was descended from King Arek’s cousin, a man who should have been the successor to the throne. No one did. Not yet.

“Don’t ask me, witless shrew. Ask him.”

“You just follow people blindly?”

“No more than you. What happened to his eyebrows?” Red asked.

“He was burned in the fight with Kinshield. If you’d been here, you’d have known.”

“If I’d been here, he wouldn’t’ve gotten burnt, you ugly sow.”

A few snappish remarks from Cirang were followed by a few crude comments from Red, then they seemed to settle into an agreement. Brodas was astonished when he realized the sounds that awoke him late into the night were those of the bed frame creaking and grunts of passion. Red had better not be ravishing her, he thought groggily. He could ill afford to have her storm away in anger or, worse, kill Red in his sleep. Brodas had few enough allies remaining as it was.

The following morning, he pulled Cirang aside while Red adjusted his mount’s tack. “Will the friction between you and Red prevent you from performing your duties?”

She cocked her head as though curious why he would ask. “No, my liege.”

“Then he didn’t force you last night?” Brodas asked.

One side of her mouth lifted. “Hardly.”

Once they were on the road again, Cirang and Red began to bicker over idiotic nonsense such as whose horse was kicking dust into whose face. “That’s enough,” Brodas said. “For the rest of this journey, you will both address me and only me. I won’t spend the next two days listening to you squabble.”

“Cirang thinks you don’t have any claim to the throne,” Red said.

“That’s not true, my liege,” she called from behind. “I was just asking is all. I never doubted it.”

Brodas waved dismissively. “It’s a fair question, one I expect to have to answer many times before the matter is resolved.” Cirang clicked her tongue and moved her horse to ride beside him. “As we know,” he began, “King Arek died in the year fourteen thirty-one without an heir. Arek was King Dantrak’s only surviving child, but few are aware that Dantrak’s brother had fathered a son and daughter. King Arek’s successor should have been his cousin Hent Engtury, but because of the conspiracy designed by Ronor Kinshield and Portulus Celónd, then Lordover Tern, Hent’s right of succession was denied.” Brodas didn’t see the point of mentioning Hent’s mental defect that supposedly prohibited him from ruling or even marrying, and that caused him to rape his sister, begetting his only child, a daughter. The way Brodas saw it, Hent’s daughter had the purest of blood. She had not one, but two parents descended from King Ivam. “My mother is descended from Arek’s grandfather, King Ivam, so rights to the crown fall to me.” Of course, Brodas’s mother wasn’t yet dead, but since she had no interest in claiming the throne for herself, she would abdicate to him anyway. Naturally, he had to secure what was his.

“I see,” she said with a thoughtful expression. “Don’t you have cousins or uncles who could make the same claim?”

“Quite possibly,” he admitted, “but I’m willing to challenge them for it. All my life, my mother has told me I’m next in line for the throne. I promised her I would claim what’s mine.”

“The people believe the rune solver is the rightful king,” she said. “How can you lead if no one will follow?”

“Despite what Ronor Kinshield claimed King Arek had said, the throne belongs to a descendant of the royal family, not some ignorant peasant who made a few lucky guesses. In time, I’ll make the people realize that Kinshield and Celónd had no right to invent that ludicrous law proclaiming the rune solver the true king in the first place. A couple of years ago, I hired a scholar to research my lineage. With those documents, I can prove proper succession. I merely need to get Gavin Kinshield out of the way first.”

“But if you’re the rightful heir and have proof of it,” Cirang said, “why not show your documents to the Council of Lordovers and have them declare you our monarch?”

Brodas didn’t expect a woman to understand these matters. Speaking slowly, as if to an idiot, he said, “Because as long as Gavin has the gems from the Rune Tablet, he gives legitimacy to the law that would declare him the king. If he couldn’t claim the throne, there would be no question who should sit upon it.”

Two days later they arrived at their destination. Though Sithral Tyr had called his shack a farmhouse, nothing had been cultivated on its surrounding acres for perhaps centuries. Weeds and grass had long ago taken over the field, and the dilapidated barn had only a partial roof, the rest caved in over years of neglect.

The one-room house was furnished with only a table, a single rickety stool, and a musty, bug-ridden pallet that Brodas had no intention of using. Without a hole in the ceiling, the shack couldn’t even accommodate a fire in winter. Even in the brightest hours of daylight with the door open wide, it was too dark to read without a lamp.

The original house had burned to the ground, but when Tyr discovered the hidden cellar beneath its ruins, and the treasures within, he built the shack over the cellar’s hatch and claimed the land by squatter’s rights. Among the abandoned items within the cellar, he’d discovered a journal that had once belonged to the infamous wizard Crigoth Sevae. Though the pages were frail and the ink faded, the information within was still quite legible. Brodas had managed to negotiate cheaply for it before Tyr fully understood its value. Over the course of several months, Brodas painstakingly copied the original text into one of his own journals to create a working copy for himself that he could read repeatedly without risking damage to the fragile tome.

They unloaded the horses and settled in. Cirang went around killing spiders and clearing away their webs while Red gathered wood for a cook fire. Brodas found an old candle, dug the burnt wick out of the wax and lighted it. With an assortment of quill pens, bottle of ink and his journals on the table, he sat and leafed through the journal he’d marked with the numeral one. He crossed out the first name on his list, then copied the location of Gavin’s brother’s house to a sheet of paper he ripped from the back of his current journal.

“Red and Cirang, I have a task for each of you.”

Chapter 7

Gavin ran up the street, back toward the city square, shouting at the fleeing citizens to make way, and they parted for him. He pulled on his leather glove as he ran. Daia shouted at him to wait, but he couldn’t. Not when his people were in danger.

“Please help,” an elderly man said as he hobbled toward Gavin. He stopped long enough to point in the direction from which he had come. “Beyonders. A dozen of them.”

Aldras Gar, the sword whispered.

He reached behind his head and pulled the sword from its scabbard. In the hilt, the gems glowed with an inner light, brightening with every step he took. A foul stench grew stronger as he neared. The sounds of screaming became louder, as did the sounds of men shouting commands and curses.

He rounded the corner onto Barrel Street and came upon a horrific scene. Three of the lordover’s men-at-arms lay bloody and still on the ground. Gavin relaxed his vision but saw no hazes around their bodies. They were dead.

Three more soldiers were surrounded by six monsters, each about the size of a pony and stinking like a privy. Five of the beyonders were covered in tiny scales like a snake that shimmered a rainbow of color in the sunshine. Under any other circumstances, they might have been comely, but their fingerlike appendages dripped the blood of their victims, and their naked bodies were splattered with bits of human flesh.

The sixth was the tallest, similar in structure but gray and black, with eyes so terrible that even Gavin had to look away. That one came toward him, uttering a choking sound that he took for a laugh. He stepped into a battle stance and readied himself for the attack. Its five friends turned their attention to Gavin, giving the men-at-arms an opportunity to focus their attack on one. It fell with a horrific scream.

The gray one whipped a pair of long fingers, like a pair of frogs’ tongues, toward Gavin. Their edges frayed, revealing tiny suckers on the ends. He swung Aldras Gar and severed one. The other snapped back, then lashed out again so quickly, Gavin caught it on his back swing. One finger snaked out toward his face. He leaned back, timing a narrow miss. Another stretched out and wrapped around the blade of Aldras Gar, its sucker ends latching onto the steel. He felt the sword being torn out of his grasp. No. The gray beast shrieked and released the sword. Smoke trailed upward from its seared appendage.

An arrow lodged itself into the gray one’s shoulder and another into its chest. It roared.

From his right, Daia stepped in with her sword raised and speared the thing. One of the remaining four luminescent beasts halted its attack on the men-at-arms and launched itself at Daia.

Gavin had little time to react. It was coming from her left. She wouldn’t have seen it. He stepped in and pivoted from the waist, slamming his right elbow into the thing’s face. It leapt toward him. He stepped through, turning, bringing his sword up in his left hand to spear it in the gut. Daia’s sword joined his in the thing’s body. It slumped to the ground with a gurgle.

Arrows buried themselves into the gray one’s flesh. It took shaky but determined steps toward the archer, who kept backing away while firing one arrow after another.

The men-at-arms killed the fourth luminescent one, and the last, already injured, went down easily by Gavin’s sword.

He turned to slay the one the archer was working on and saw him toe the corpse warily. Daia appeared free of injury. One of the men-at-arms clutched his bloody arm. He was being tended by his fellow, but Gavin went to see if it needed his attention. With only a touch, he sealed the cuts and started the healing process.

“Thanks,” one of the soldiers said. “It was good of you to help, but, uh, the Lordover Tern doesn’t pay valour-gild.”

“I know,” Gavin said. “I didn’t expect any.”

Behind him, Daia muttered something about cheap and selfish.

“Pardon?” a soldier asked her.

“Nothing.” She took Gavin by the arm and led him a few steps away, out of earshot of the soldiers. “Listen, Gavin, you can’t do this kind of thing anymore. You’re the king.”

“What kind o’thing are you talking about?”

“Running into battle like that. I’m here to keep you safe, not the other way around.”

While he understood her concern, it was unfounded. He’d been a warrant knight for years, protecting people from dangers like this. Between his skill, experience, the healing magic he got from the gems in the Rune Tablet, and Aldras Gar, there’d been no danger to himself. “You’re worrying over nothing.”

“It’s my job, remember? You made me your champion, so trust me to do your fighting for you. You need to exercise more caution.”

“You mean cowardice,” Gavin snapped.

“No! Think of it as protecting the country. We need our king healthy and alive.”

“I can’t sit around and let people die.” He pointed at the remains of the three who’d been slain. “I got to fix this, and it’s only getting worse.”

She cocked her head. “Worse?”

Gavin grabbed the leg of a beyonder carcass to drag it from the street. “Ha’n’t you noticed the beyonders coming through more often lately? Two years ago, seeing one in a city like Tern was unheard of. Now they pop out in numbers right here in the middle o’the town square, in the full light o’day.”

“The attacks have gotten more frequent and more violent in the last few days,” a guard said. “As if they’re on a mission.”

Gavin stiffened. Ever since he’d solved the last king’s rune?

Daia grasped the beyonder he was holding. “I’ll help clean up. Why don’t you go back to the inn and have our horses saddled for the ride?”

Chapter 8

Daia and the men-at-arms dragged the beyonder corpses to the side of the road and heaped them into a pile between two shops until the city custodian could come to haul them away. They were heavy and difficult to move, trailing a foul-smelling substance she took care to avoid stepping in. Passersby held their noses and watched in disgust, murmuring to each other and pointing more at Daia than at the beyonders. She wondered whether they noticed her resemblance to the lordover or his other daughters but tried to ignore them. She hoped that no one would call her by her birth name and attract unwanted attention.

When the last beyonder was out of the way and the deceased soldiers’ bodies loaded into the sexton’s wagon and bound for the graveyard, Daia nodded to the men-at-arms and headed back toward the inn.

“Wait a moment, Lady Sister.” The man who’d spoken was a good two inches shorter than Daia, with a belly that strained the fasteners on his red and black uniform. He nudged the one beside him with his elbow.

“You’ll need to throw your weapons to the ground,” said the tallest of the three.

“What?” Surely she hadn’t heard correctly.

A third soldier drew his sword. “He said throw your weapons to the ground.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “What crime could I possibly have committed in the last five minutes while you were standing right here?”

“By carrying a blade longer than ten inches within the city, you’re in violation of the Prudent Law of Arms. Will you come along peaceably?”

“I helped saved your lives,” she said. “As a Viragon Sister, carrying a sword is part of my job.” Her statement was only half true. The whole truth would have required a lengthy explanation that Gavin wouldn’t have approved of.

“The law applies to everyone,” the short armsman said, “Viragon Sister or not.”

“You’re both carrying blades longer than ten inches,” Daia said. “You didn’t stop my companion. His blade was far longer than mine.”

The third man glanced at his fellow soldiers and grinned. “I beg your pardon. The law applies to all women.”

“That’s absurd!”

“You can argue your case to the lordover.”

“Listen,” she said, “you’re making a mistake. Trust me on this. The lordover won’t be pleased to see me in his gaol.” Not to mention the king.

“Are you resisting arrest?” the tall one asked, moving a hand to his sword.

Anger heated her face, but she tossed her sword and dagger to the ground. “Send word to the Elegance Inn that I’ve been arrested.”

“We take orders from the lordover, not from the Viragon Sisterhood.” The middle one bent to retrieve her discarded weapons.

The short soldier held out a leather strap. “Your hands, if you please.”

“Is that really necessary?” Daia asked, presenting her wrists, one over the other.

“Standard procedure,” he answered as he bound them not quite tightly enough to cut off the circulation to her hands.

The soldiers escorted Daia through the city toward the lordover’s complex, about a half-hour’s walk away. The citizens stared, pointed and whispered at the sight of a Viragon Sister under arrest. Although she was tempted to walk with her head bowed so people wouldn’t see her face and perhaps recognize her, she held her head up proudly. She’d done nothing wrong and wouldn’t behave like a guilty criminal. The matter would be resolved once she talked to her father, but she tried to convince the armsmen to set her free without putting everyone through all this trouble.

“Save your breath,” one of them told her. “We’re following our orders. Your appeal will be heard by the chancellor. The lordover will announce his verdict and decide your punishment.”

Chapter 9

Two of the soldiers walked Daia through a gloomy corridor past a row of leering, shouting prisoners, reaching for her through the openings of their cell doors. “Take me to the lordover,” she said.

The short armsman said, “The lordover doesn’t speak with criminals. You’ll plead your case to the chancellor.”

“The chancellor is a drunkard and an imbecile,” she said.

“I’d mind my tongue if I were you,” the tall armsman said.

“I need to speak with someone sane. Is Jophet still Captain of the Guard?”

“He is,” the tall one replied. He opened the door of a cell and gestured for her to enter.

“Send him to see me, if you please.”

“Your name?”

She hesitated, deciding which name to give him. “Daia Saberheart.” Jophet might remember the name and make the connection.

The shorter soldier wrote the name on a list, asking twice for the correct spelling. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Do yourself a favor. Don’t delay.”

The soldiers shut her door with a bang, and the noise echoed down the corridor. Their footsteps grew fainter, and in the distance another door opened and shut. Then, silence, interrupted only by a cough and a muttered curse from another inmate.

“Daia,” said a woman nearby.

“Who’s there?” Daia asked. Was a Viragon Sister imprisoned here? She tried to look out the tiny window in her cell door, but saw little beyond the cell door opposite hers.

“It’s Tennara.”

“Tennara! Thank Yrys you’re safe.” Then Daia pressed her lips together and shook her head. Damn her father for arresting Gavin’s guards. “Is Hennah here too?”

“Yeh. She was brought in this morning.”

“I’m here,” Hennah called from down the corridor.

“What did they tell you? How long are they going to keep you here?”

“They haven’t let me plead my case to the lordover’s chancellor yet. I’m told he’s busy.”

Tennara had championed Daia in the first year of her training at the Sisterhood. When the other women laughed and jeered at the prissy girl at their door, Tennara ran them off. When the guild mistress was inclined to deny Daia the opportunity to train as a Viragon Sister, Tennara offered to oversee her lessons. That was eight years ago, and Daia had risen to a rank far above that attained by any other Viragon Sister thus far: she was the king’s own champion. She owed much to her friend Tennara. “I’ll get you out,” she said. “As soon as I get out of here, myself.”

Tennara laughed. “You didn’t tell those guards your birth name. They have no reason to summon anyone. They could let us rot in here, and neither Lords Gavin nor Edan know we’re here.”

“If they know what’s good for them, they won’t,” Daia muttered. Not only would the lordover skin them alive, but their own captain would too.

She paced for a while, expecting to hear the door open and approaching footsteps announce Jophet’s arrival. After a time, when it became clear the guards hadn’t summoned Jophet, she went to her cell door and banged it with her fist. “Hey!” She kicked it a few times. “Guard!”

Some of the other prisoners laughed. “You don’t actually think that’s goin’ to work, do you?” one asked.

Daia supposed the guards heard a lot of demanding, pleading and general complaining from the prisoners, and had undoubtedly become deaf to it. There had to be some way of getting their attention.

“Fire,” she said. “Fire! Fire!”

“What? Oh hell! FIRE!” someone yelled. The other men joined in. “FIRE! FIRE!”

The door at the end of the corridor flew open with a bang and someone ran in. “Where? Where’s the fire?”

“Down there!”

Daia put her hand through the six-inch window opening of her cell door. “Here! Help me!” she cried.

The guard ran to the door and peered in, trying to look past Daia’s head blocking his view. “Where’s the damned fire?”

She grabbed him by the hair and pulled, smashing the side of his face against the window’s frame. “My birth name’s Dashielle Celónd,” she said into his ear. “If you don’t get Jophet in here now, I’m going to tell my father, the lordover, what unspeakable things you did to torture me while I was waiting for my chance in his court.”

She set him loose, and he stumbled backward, reeling with his arms, his eyes wide. The skin beneath his eyes sagged, and the corners of his mouth dipped into a frown. “Yes, m’lady. Right away!” He hesitated, holding the ring of cell keys in his hand as if he were unsure whether to let her out now, or do as he was told and summon the captain. He sprinted up the corridor.

After several minutes, two pairs of footsteps came back toward her cell. Daia pressed her face to the opening in the cell door, trying to see out. A familiar face came into view: the lordover’s Captain of the Guard.

Her throat swelled, and her heart ached in her chest. She’d abandoned a life of opulence others only dreamed of, but she’d also left behind people she cared for deeply. “Jophet! Thank goodness you’re here.”

“My lady! Is it really you? So many summers...”

“...So many winters. Eight, in fact,” she said.

“And eight too many,” Jophet said.

He looked the same to her, perhaps a little grayer, and the lines beside his eyes were a little deeper, but he was the man for whom she had developed a puppy-like adoration as a budding young woman. For years he had entertained her with stories of his adventures as a warrant knight until he married and settled down to a less nomadic life working as a soldier in the lordover’s garrison. She wondered if Jophet knew that his stories were largely responsible for her joining the Viragon Sisterhood after she’d run away. “You look well. How’re the little ones?”

Jophet sighed. “Growing up too fast. Marga’s already got a suitor, and she’s barely thirteen. It’s enough to drive a father to drink.”

“By Yrys, how quickly time passes.” The ache in Daia’s chest deepened. Her youngest sister, the same age as Jophet’s daughter, was becoming a woman, and Daia wouldn’t know her on the street. Her eyes welled, but she didn’t mind. “It’s good to see you, Jophet. I’ve missed you terribly.” She thought she saw a glimmer of moisture in her friend’s eye as well.

“Well, young lady. I’d hoped never to see you in your father’s gaol. What happened?”

“After I helped your guards slay the beyonders that had them outnumbered,” she told him, “they arrested me for violating some idiotic law about women carrying weapons in Tern.”

The captain motioned for the other guard to leave them, and after the footsteps had faded to silence and the heavy door at the end of the ward had closed with a creak, he approached the cell door. “You vex me even now,” he said with a grin. “Yet, I’m happy to see you looking so well.”

“So, how about letting me out of here?”

He glanced toward the door leading from the ward. “It’s complicated.”

Daia’s jaw dropped. What was he talking about? “Complicated? Just open the door and I’ll be on my way.”

Jophet shook his head. “It’s not that easy. He probably knows you’re here, but if he doesn’t, I’ll have to sneak you out, falsify the papers, and offer my men a bribe for their silence. If the lordover ever finds out you were here, he’ll have my head.”

“This law of his is not only ridiculous but indiscriminate. He won’t like it that I was in his gaol, but I doubt he’d take it out on you.”

“You misunderstand, my lady,” the captain said. “He wrote the law hoping to capture you.”

Chapter 10

“Have you seen Daia?” Gavin asked as he returned to the dining hall of the Elegance Inn. “Moving a few corpses shouldn’t have taken this long. The horses are ready to go.”

Edan, poring with a pair of Viragon Sisters over maps and papers, rose. The two women warriors stood too and bowed to Gavin. “My liege,” they said in unison.

Edan checked his pocket watch. “She has been gone a while. I hope she didn’t encounter the same trouble that Tennara and Hennah did.”

“Seven hells.” Gavin paced the length of the lobby, his fists clenched and his teeth grinding. “I’m going back to the square. Maybe someone’s seen her.”

“We’ll come with you, my liege,” Vandra said. “If they’ve run into Ravenkind, three battlers will be better than one.”

A man wearing a mail hauberk and the red and black livery of the Lordover Tern’s guard burst into the inn. “Is one of you named Gavin Kinshield?” the man-at-arms asked breathlessly.

Gavin nodded. “I am.”

The soldier strode forward and handed him a roll of paper bound with a ribbon. “A message for you from Jophet Renaun, the Lordover Tern’s captain.”

Gavin slid the ribbon off then unrolled the note and studied the script. The letters were difficult to make out, as the writing was in a swirling, decorative style. What kind of soldier wrote like that?

Edan stepped up beside him to read the note. “They’ve arrested Daia? For what?”

“Damn it!” Gavin spat.

“She violated the Prudent Law of Arms. Jophet sends you this note as a courtesy.”

“I’ll spare his life as a courtesy,” Gavin growled. He started toward the stable to get Golam. Behind him, he heard Edan thank the soldier for the note and tell him they would be along shortly.

Minutes later, as they rode across town to the Lordover Tern’s complex, Gavin cursed and spat. “The Prudent Law of Arms? What the hell kind o’law is that?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Edan said.

They arrived at a huddle of white stone buildings separated from the lordover’s manor by a large pond. Gavin had delivered criminals to this gaol numerous times and knew where to find it, though they were stopped by soldiers three times on their way. When they arrived and asked to see Daia, the gaol warden stood with arms crossed, shaking his head.

“No prisoners are allowed visitors without the captain’s consent,” he informed them.

“Your captain summoned us,” Gavin said. He pulled the note from his pocket and waved it in front of the guard’s face. “Fetch Jophet now, or I’ll ram this mess—”

“If you please,” Edan interjected loudly, snuffing Gavin’s threat. “It’s important.”

Gavin closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. He needed to learn patience as well as a different way of solving disputes. Edan was the right man to teach him, but this way was far less satisfying.

“…recognized the urgency of this matter,” Edan was saying, “and I’m sure he would appreciate your prompt attention as well. It would be unfortunate if he were to learn that we were delayed because his soldier refused to cooperate.”

The guard swallowed and shifted on his feet. “Jophet is with the Lordover Tern at the moment and cannot be disturbed.”

Gavin leaned forward and opened his mouth to speak, but Edan gently elbowed him back. “That’s even better. Would you please send word to the lordover that Edan Dawnpiper of Lalorian wishes an audience. We can address the Lordover Tern and Jophet Renaun at the same time.”

Gavin nearly jumped out of his boots. What did Edan think he was doing?

The guard hesitated, studying his two visitors for a moment. “Come with me, please,” he said, probably deciding that he shouldn’t leave them alone in the gaol lest he find himself short one prisoner.

“We ain’t telling him now,” Gavin murmured as they followed the guard across the courtyard.

“We may not have a choice if we want Daia freed,” Edan said.

The guard led them to a building made of the same size, color and shape stones as the gaol, with a similar architecture. Its walls were lined with well-tended flowers, its brick walkway was swept clean of debris and its glazed windows sparkled. They jogged up the three steps and followed the guard through the tall oak door. Inside, a painting of a seascape decorated the wall of the immaculate foyer and a three-foot marble sculpture of a breaching whale stood in a corner.

Beside the door, another guard stood straight and tall, eyes directed ahead, reminding Gavin of his days as a guard for the Lordover Lalorian what seemed lifetimes ago.

A young man swept into the foyer from the open doorway on the right. He was too muscular to be a manservant, but he was dressed as one, in dark-gray breeches, white shirt and red waistcoat. He glanced at the guard and Edan then scrutinized Gavin with curiosity. “May I help you?” he asked.

Edan stepped forward, drawing the manservant’s attention. “I’m Edan Dawnpiper, son of Curon Naredus, Lordover Lalorian. We request an immediate audience with the Lordover Tern about an urgent matter.”

“What matter would that be?” the manservant asked as he glanced again at Gavin.

“It would be imprudent to discuss it with anyone other than the lordover himself.”

Gavin stood still and quiet, paying close attention to the way Edan spoke and held himself. While he could muddle through a dinner conversation with the Lordover Lalorian, who’d been like a father to Gavin in his youth, he’d never been taught to socialize with nobility nor talk as Edan did to the staff. He’d never needed to learn until now.

“I’ll deliver your request to the Lordover Tern.” He handed their escort a strip of black cloth. “Put a tie on his sword, will you?”

Edan gave Gavin a wink when the manservant went into one of the offices, shutting the door behind him. The armsman used the cloth to tie Aldras Gar to its scabbard, which would prevent Gavin from drawing it while he was with the lordover.

Finally the manservant emerged from the lordover’s office and held the door open. “He will see you.”

Edan paused to let Gavin enter first, but until he was ready to reveal his identity and accept his role publicly, Gavin preferred to play the part of the swordsman. He motioned for Edan to enter ahead of him.

Two men were in the room; one was brawny with dark hair that had silvered at the temples, and the other was a tall redhead with light-blue eyes. Gavin immediately saw the resemblance between the Lordover Tern and his blue-eyed daughter. They shared not only the eyes and red coloring in their hair, but a determined set of their mouths and square shoulders made it clear they would not be bullied.

“Edan Dawnpiper.” Celónd extended his hand, though he didn’t rise. “What a pleasant surprise. I see you fare well. How’s your father?”

“He’s very well, thank you, my lord,” Edan said.

Gavin watched them as they exchanged pleasantries, noting the ease with which his friend chatted with the most powerful man in Thendylath. Rather, he thought with a grin, the second most powerful.

The soldier standing beside the desk was watching him. Gavin met the man’s gray eyes and nodded. The soldier nodded back. This must be Jophet. Perhaps he was Daia’s ally, perhaps not.

Edan gestured to Gavin. “My lord, may I introduce Gavin Kinshield, formerly Captain of the Guard of the Lordover Lalorian’s garrison and my father’s most trusted warrant knight.”

Gavin offered his hand, but the Lordover Tern didn’t spare him more than a glance.

Celónd crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “What brings you today, Edan?”

“It has come to our attention, my lord, that one of our associates is in your gaol,” Edan said. “We’ve come to negotiate for her release.”

“If you’re referring to my daughter Dashielle, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”

“It’s imperative she accompany us,” Edan said. “She’s crucial to the success of our mission.”

“What mission is that?”

Edan glanced at Gavin. “I’m afraid I haven’t the authority to say.”

“Commissioned by your father?” Celónd asked.

“No, my lord.” Edan didn’t explain, and for a moment, the four men stood in silence waiting for another to speak.

“Then who?” Celónd asked.

When Edan didn’t reply, Gavin said, “The king.”

All eyes turned to him. Celónd looked angry that Gavin had dared to speak in His Lordship’s Immaculate Presence. “And you say the king has given her a mission?” He laughed. “I thought I smelled ale on your breath,” he said to Gavin.

Edan went rigid. “I beg your pardon?”

“If I could explain, my lord,” Gavin said in his most polished voice. He didn’t wait for an invitation to continue. “Daia Saberheart not only aided the king against his enemies but was also present when he solved the final King’s Rune and claimed the King’s Blood-stone. He regards her highly and wants her freed immediately.”

Celónd burst out laughing and carried on for quite some time. Edan glanced at Gavin with an annoyed expression, to which Gavin answered with a small shake of his head. Finally Celónd wiped his eyes as he regained his composure. “Have you ever heard anything so ludicrous, Jophet? Tell me, Kinshield, were you drunk when she told you this tale?”

“My lord,” Edan said more loudly than he needed to, “do I understand, then, that you haven’t heard the news?”

The pompous smile fell from Celónd’s lips and his laughter subsided. “What news?”

“About a tennight ago, the final rune was solved and the King’s Blood-stone claimed.”

Celónd’s face reddened. “Why have I not been informed?”

“We’re informing you now,” Edan said.

“Why, then, hasn’t the king sent for me? What kind of insult does he intend by such a crude blunder?”

Gavin’s neck started to itch. This buck was quicker to anger than even the surliest of battlers. He thought it wiser to keep quiet and let Edan handle things.

Edan’s brow furrowed. “You’re the first of the lordovers to receive the news. He means no insult.”

That seemed to set well with Celónd, and he leaned back into his chair. “You know who the king is, then?”

“I do.”

Gavin supposed that was his cue, but doubt stilled his tongue. He wasn’t ready to ring this bell, though the conversation would certainly go more smoothly if he did.

When Edan said nothing further, the lordover raised his brow. “Well? Who is it?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

Celónd shot to his feet, face red and fists clenched. “What kind of game are you playing, Edan? I demand you tell me this instant!”

“Calm yourself,” Gavin said without thinking.

Those blazing blue eyes bore into him. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Get out of my office, ’ranter.” He pointed at the door. When Gavin failed to move, Celónd motioned to Jophet. “Throw that cocky bastard out.”

Jophet stepped forward to obey. Gavin raised a hand, knowing he could change the course of this encounter with two words, but they would not come. Whether it was fear of publicly accepting his role as king or something else, he didn’t know. He only knew that when he opened his mouth to say it’s me, his throat closed around the words and would not let go.

Edan shook his finger at the lordover. “We won’t forget this.” He spun on his heel and stormed out.

Gavin drew a rectangular piece of wood from his coin pouch and tossed it onto Celónd’s desk. “I took that from the corpse of a criminal. You might want to look into who’s forging your warrant tags.”

Jophet’s eyes flew wide, but he wasn’t looking at the fake warrant tag. He was looking over Gavin’s left shoulder at the hilt of Aldras Gar. Before Jophet could question him about it, Gavin followed Edan out.

As they stalked across the courtyard, Gavin wondered whether Jophet recognized the gems. More importantly, he wondered how they were going to get Daia out now that they’d fouled her father’s mood.

“Can you believe his arrogance?” Edan asked. “No wonder Daia can’t stand him. Why didn’t you tell him? That would’ve shut him up. Ha!”

“Just didn’t seem like the right time.” Gavin needed a seal of some kind to give his messages an official look until the time was right to reveal his identity. He remembered then that King Arek had given his signet ring to Ronor Kinshield. If Gavin found it, he could press it into a wax seal. Maybe the curator at the Gwanry Museum had it or knew where it was.

“Gavin,” Jophet called from behind. “A moment please.” Gavin stopped and waited while Jophet caught up. Edan continued on, muttering to himself as he stomped angrily to where their horses waited. Jophet’s gray eyes darted to Aldras Gar. “That’s quite a sword.”

“Yeh,” Gavin said. “It’s a beauty, ain’t it?” He figured it was only a matter of time before people started commenting on it. A battler would notice it straight away. “Crafted by a Farthan blacksmith in Ambryce.”

“Listen, I know the lordover can be difficult. I’ll work on him, but I need to ask you one thing.” Jophet met Gavin’s eyes steadily, the way a man would when trying to judge another for honesty. “Are those gems from the rune tablet?”

“They are,” Gavin admitted. “This sword belongs to the king.”

Jophet glanced at Edan. “Why do you carry it?”

Damn. Gavin didn’t want to tell Jophet the truth, but he refused to lie. Evasion was his best option. “You wouldn’t ask if you’d seen my old sword,” he said with a derisive snort. “So can you help us get Daia out or not?”

Jophet looked again at Edan. “I don’t want to lose my job. Not until I can secure one in the king’s service. Could you, ah, put in a favorable word for me?”

“I’ll make sure he knows you helped us.”

“I think maybe he already does,” Jophet said. He stepped to the side to give Gavin a direct line of sight to the gaol over Jophet’s shoulder. “Look to the right of the building. See the tall hedge? Within the hedge is an entrance to the gaol. It’s locked, but I’ll send the gaol warden to empty the chamber pots. Wait around the corner — you’ll be out of sight there — and go in once he’s passed. Then come through the ward to the front office and get the keys.”

Gavin relaxed his gaze and examined the hazy glow that surrounded the lordover’s captain. Seeing the hazes around people was the first of King Arek’s magical abilities he’d learned after deciphering the first of the five king’s runes. He was still figuring out what the colors and patterns meant, but he learned more every day. He saw no indication of ill intent in Jophet’s haze.

In a loud tone, Jophet said, “Now get going before I arrest you for loitering,” and headed toward the gaol.

Near the horses, Edan was watching the two battlers’ exchange with a curious expression. “What was that about?” he asked as Gavin approached.

Gavin gave Golam a pat. “Edan, I need you to make sure Daia’s horse is ready to ride and Dona and Nasharla are mounted. We’re going to be in a hurry.”

“Gavin,” Edan said in a suspicious tone. “What are you going to do?”

“It looks like she has an ally in the captain.”

Chapter 11

Gavin waited in the hedge as Jophet instructed, with his back against the white stone wall. Soon the door around the corner rattled and creaked open, and a guard placed a brick in the doorway to prop it open. He scurried past, carrying a pair of stinky buckets. Gavin slipped inside and kicked the brick away to let the door swing shut behind him.

The room he entered was dim, filled with buckets, mops, rags and sponges. Beyond the opposite door was a hallway with stone floors and a high ceiling. Metal doors lined both sides of the hall, each with a small window. “Daia?” he called as he peered into each cell. “You in here?”

“Here!” she called. A hand stuck out a cell door opening a few paces ahead, and he went to it. “Gavin. Thank Yrys you’re here.”

“Don’t thank Yrys,” he said. “Thank your friend Jophet.”

“How did you convince my father to release me?”

“I didn’t. Now I need the key. Wait here.” He chuckled as he started toward the door at the far end of the hallway.

“My lord,” someone called. Another hand poked through a cell opening.

He paused and looked in. “Tennara?”

“Yeh, and Hennah’s here too. The lordover’s arresting all women carrying swords in the city. He’ll have your whole guard in here by the week’s end.”

“Damn him. Awright, I’ll take care of it.” The occupants got noisier as he continued up the hallway, men begging to be let out.

Gavin eased the door open and peeked inside the room. Jophet stood at the window with one finger hooking the curtain, looking out. He was alone. Gavin pushed the door open and went in. “Awright, where’s the key?”

Jophet gave him a wicked grin. He held the key ring out, dangling on his index finger. “Come and get it,” he said, his tone like a dare.

Gavin eyed him warily. “What’s this about? I don’t want to fight you.”

Jophet grabbed a chair and broke it over the desk. It exploded into splinters and chunks of wood. Gavin shielded his face with an arm and muttered a curse. Jophet handed Gavin a chair leg. “Hit me with this.”

“You’re jesting,” Gavin said.

“The lordover’s no dunce. Hit me.”

Gavin took the makeshift club but made no move to strike the other battler with it. “Jophet...”

“Hit me, damn it. Make it look real. Knock me unconscious.”

Gavin understood Jophet’s thinking, but the idea of beating an unarmed man unconscious didn’t sit well with him, no matter the circumstances.

Jophet picked up another chair leg and whacked Gavin hard on the arm.

“Ow!”

When Jophet raised his club to strike again, Gavin blocked the blow with his chair leg then hit Jophet at the base of the neck.

“Harder,” Jophet said. “Hit me here.” He pointed to his temple.

Gavin hated this, but he knew it was for Jophet’s sake and Daia’s. If she was going to get out of gaol anytime soon, it would have to be because someone helped her escape, and Jophet would find himself in gaol if anyone found out he’d aided her. He hit Jophet on the side of the head.

The captain staggered and blinked. “Damn. That won’t work. My wife always says I’m hard headed. Guess she’s right.” He took a pewter tankard from the desk and tossed its brown liquid contents onto the wall. “Use this.”

Gavin took it, feeling its solid weight in his hand. “But I might kill you with this.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jophet turned his back to Gavin.

“I can’t hit you from behind.”

Jophet sighed. “Just do it. Make it good.”

Gavin swung the tankard and struck the crown of Jophet’s head. He felt the blow absorbed by the man’s skull, and saw blood soak his hair. Shit! The key ring fell from Jophet’s hand. The man swayed on his feet for a moment then hit his cheek on the edge of the desk as he went down. Blood gushed everywhere.

“Oh, hell! Sorry,” Gavin said. He squatted beside the fallen man and put a hand on his shoulder. Instantly he felt the heat rise to his hand and the healing power flow into Jophet but only enough to stop the bleeding.

Gavin grabbed the key ring and peeked out the window. No one was in sight. He wondered if he should heal Jophet the rest of the way before he left. If Jophet was found with scars instead of cuts, he would be accused of mischief. Gavin didn’t want to leave him there with a mortal wound. He squatted beside Jophet’s still form and lifted his head out of the blood to inspect the wounds. They were closed but not scabbed. Jophet moaned and stirred.

Good enough. Gavin picked up the weapons lying on the desk, assuming they belonged to the Sisters, before closing the door behind him.

Prisoners beckoned to him as he strode down the corridor, keys in hand. Men stuck their hands through the windows of their cell doors, begging him to stop and free them, claiming they were innocent of any wrongdoing.

“What do you know? It’s Gavin Kinshield,” one prisoner said. “Let me out and I won’t tell nobody you were here.”

Gavin walked on without responding. The lordover would probably suspect him anyway.

“Come on, Kinshield,” the man shouted after him. “I’m bound to get out an audience with the chancellor sooner or later. You don’t want me tellin’ him the lordover’s own captain helped her escape, do you? I heard you talkin’ in there.”

“Yeah, and if he don’t tell,” said another, “I will.”

Gavin reached Daia’s cell and met her eyes through the window in the door. He could see by her angry expression that she’d heard the man’s threat. He tried a dozen keys in the lock before he found the one that fit. The lock clicked and he swung the door open.

“My thanks, Gavin. What was all the commotion in there?” Daia asked, jerking her chin toward the front office.

“Jophet was in there. I had to take care of him.”

She blanched. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

He shot her an impatient look as he headed back up the corridor to release Tennara and Hennah. “I only have one horse,” he said. “I didn’t expect two more riders.”

“Don’t worry about us, my liege,” Tennara said. “We’ll be fine. You two go on.”

Daia rode double behind Gavin on Golam’s back as they galloped to the inn. Edan had her horse ready with a leather satchel strapped to the saddle. As she changed horses, he held her mare steady.

“Listen, Edan, if the lordover tries to make trouble, use my name if you have to. Tell him if he arrests any more o’my guards—”

The sounds of shouting and hoof beats against the stone street drew near. They were coming.

“I got it,” Edan said, giving Golam a slap on the rump. “Go.”

Gavin heeled Golam, and he and Daia headed down the valley and southeast toward Saliria, followed by his two guards.

Chapter 12

Outside the farmhouse, Red was sharpening his sword or whatever battlers did in their idle time. Inside, Brodas opened the cellar hatch, and peered into the blackness below, curious about what antique treasures Tyr might have been hoarding. He lighted the candle and descended the rickety ladder. With each step, the dry, old rungs creaked and groaned, threatening to crack under his weight. Finally at the bottom, and glad of the solid ground beneath his feet, he held the candle in front of him to look around, waving his free arm to tear away the cobwebs tickling his face.

The cellar was empty except for three warped shelves against one wall, stacked with bricks as supports. Various sizes of dust-covered glass jars filled with powders and roots were neatly arranged on the top two shelves. On the bottom was an odd assortment of wooden sticks and feathers tied to them, a jar holding a handful of gems, and a stack of loose papers containing faded drawings and notes. A small leather pouch with a drawstring closure sat on the middle shelf behind a jar of something black and crusty. When he lifted it, it jingled with coin. Nilmarion gold coins, Brodas discovered. At least thirty of them, worth a great deal of money. Well, well, you sly devil.

Hot wax dripped onto his hand. He sucked in his breath, flinching hard enough to nearly drop the candle. Hell’s bones! He drizzled the excess wax onto the dirt floor. That was when he noticed a stone, round and flat, on the ground. Some kind of symbol was carved into its surface. He picked it up, blew the dirt off, and examined it more closely. Could this be one of the Runes of Carthis? His heart began to thump. Its shape somewhat resembled those he’d seen in the Rune Tablet that Gavin Kinshield now had in his possession, but this was not one he’d ever seen before. The symbol resembled two squares, one over the other, and beside it a headless stick figure standing beneath a crooked letter T. There was only one rune mentioned in Sevae’s journal: the Rune of Summoning. Could this be it? The very rune Sevae had used two centuries ago to pit the beyonder champion Ritol against King Arek?

Like everyone else, Brodas had grown up hearing stories about Ritol still trapped in the palace. Many believed that Ritol’s presence was the cause for the continued beyonder invasion. After reading the journal, Brodas had come to dismiss those stories as tales parents told their children to frighten them into good behavior. There was no question that Ronor Kinshield had locked the beyonder prince in the palace shortly before it killed King Arek. Even had Sevae not dismissed it, Ritol would have automatically returned to its own realm on the death of its summoner.

Brodas studied the symbol, letting his mind play. He supposed that in some abstract way it could be construed as a man shaded by a tree or umbrella opening a box. Perhaps the shaded man represented the summoner being protected from whatever powers were in the box. His heart was racing now, as certainty fueled his excitement. If this was what he thought it was, he had the power to bring forth this very champion, exactly what he needed to take the throne by force. Let Gavin Kinshield see how well he fared against that.

Brodas dropped the rune into his coin pouch, held the candle between his teeth and carefully climbed the ladder. All he needed to do now was learn to perform the summoning. After closing the cellar’s door, he dripped wax on the table and set the candle’s base into it to hold it upright. Then he retrieved Sevae’s journal and began to scan for mentions of the rune.

The rune itself was not as difficult to obtain as one might imagine, when one understands the royal family as I do. Though the king’s cousin was of diminished wit, he had the body of a young man and the raging lust to go with it. He would do anything, I discovered, for a peek at his budding sister in the nude. With a small bit of mandrake root in her nighttime tea, I used her to great effect. Her brother, it seems, made quite the thief, and his mental defect put him above suspicion when the king noticed the rune missing. Though I now have it in my possession, it is useless to me without its name, which I will undertake to discover.

Yes, Brodas thought. The rune was useless without the name, but if it was in the journal, he would find it, and when he did, he would call forth his champion and seize his throne.

Chapter 13

With Dona in front and Nasharla taking up the rear, they rode hard for the first few miles, then slowed when they were certain the lordover’s men weren’t on their heels. Gavin hadn’t particularly wanted to begin his relationship with Celónd on a sour note, but the man had worked himself afoam all on his own.

“So you met my father,” Daia asked with a grin. “Charming, isn’t he?”

“Charming isn’t the word I would’ve used.”

“I can’t imagine the two of you would get along.”

“Like a scythe striking stone,” Gavin said with a grin.

Daia laughed. “He’ll ask for an opinion then slam his foot up your backside when you give it. He’s the most arrogant, argumentative, conceited—”

“I got that impression,” Gavin said.

“Which of my sisters did he try to marry you off to? Mildryn? Naome?” A wisp of her dark auburn hair fluttered in the breeze, having come loose from her braid. He realized he’d never seen her hair flowing freely.

Gavin scratched his temple. “Ah, we didn’t get that far. He was too busy kicking me out o’his office.”

“What? You didn’t tell him?”

“Don’t climb up my back, Daia. You don’t know how hard this is.”

“I’m not climbing up your back. I’m defending it. You have your reasons, and that’s good enough for me. I need to know the current situation. I know him better than anyone, remember.”

“He’ll prob’ly shit when he finds out I’m king, huh?” Gavin asked with a grin. “Common buck like me?”

“Yes, he will. Did you really beat Jophet unconscious?”

Gavin put up a hand defensively. “It was his idea. He didn’t want to go to gaol or lose his job over letting you go free.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “If my father discovers he helped you, he’s finished.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

Daia barked a laugh. “His guards are no doubt scouring the city for us both as we speak. You’re the last person he’ll listen to.”

“Once he finds out I’m the king, he’ll change his song.”

“You’d be surprised. He still won’t cooperate unless he has to.” She grinned. “If you agree to marry one of my sisters, I’m sure he’ll forgive your misdeeds.”

He wondered whether her sisters were as comely as Daia was, though it didn’t truly matter. Since he’d have to remarry, he’d prefer a woman who wouldn’t be put off by his scars or his less-than-kingly habits. He was a simple buck used to a simple life chasing criminals and slaying monsters, relaxing with a strong ale at night, and finding a dry place to lay his head. A lordover’s daughter would find him boorish and unappealing. Daia was proof of that.

She eyed him pensively, tapping her chin. “I think of the two eldest, Naome would suit you better.”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“She’s a good girl, even if she is loud, obnoxious and stubborn.”

He crooked an eyebrow at her. “And you think that’s the kind o’woman that suits me?”

“All right,” she said, “tell me then. What kind of woman do you prefer?”

Gavin honestly didn’t want to be discussing this with Daia. This topic was better suited to Edan, but Edan already knew his preferences. He’d introduced Gavin to Talisha when they were sixteen. Gavin had known the instant he set eyes on her that she was the one.

“You prefer them quiet and obedient?”

“Hardly. I appreciate all women, no matter their charms.” He eyed her up and down with a sloppy grin. “Even the tough ones who pretend they ain’t really women.”

“Don’t say ain’t. And I don’t pretend I’m not a woman.”

“Whatever you say.”

The sun was sinking into the cloudless western sky when they broke through the trees on Rogan’s property. Gavin’s nephews GJ and Jaesh clacked wooden swords together, laughing and taunting each other. From the way GJ lunged forward and back, his leg looked completely healed. Gavin couldn’t have said he was surprised.

“Uncle Gavin!” they cried in unison, running toward the riders.

Gavin smiled broadly and wondered how he would deliver the news that they were now princes. Or were they? GJ rushed to his side and reached up. Gavin grasped his arms to pull him onto Golam’s back, facing him. The boy’s legs stretched across Gavin’s thighs, and Gavin held him steady by one arm. “My leg’s all better, Uncle Gavin! Papa said you healed me. Is that true?”

He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Could be.” He took the scabbard from his back and passed it to Jaesh. “Take a look at this,” he said, “but be careful. This blade’s much sharper than my old one.”

“Aiy, Uncle Gavin, snakes! This is lofty!” Jaesh exclaimed, taking the weapon. As they continued walking the horses toward the house, he whistled in appreciation. “Look at these gems.”

GJ cast a glance at Daia. “Who’s she?” he whispered.

“Daia, meet my nephews Jaesh and GJ. This is Daia Saberheart.”

“A pleasure,” she said.

He gestured for his two guards to come forward. “That’s Dona and Nasharla.”

“Whoa, real Viragon Sisters,” Jaesh said.

“What do you know about the Sisterhood?” Daia asked.

“My papa says their battlers can cut your head off as cleanly as any man could.”

She smiled. “Your papa speaks truly.”

“My name’s Gavin too,” GJ told her, “but everyone calls me GJ. That stands for Gavin Junior.” He stood on Golam’s back, balancing with Gavin’s hands on his waist. He stepped around Gavin and wrapped himself around Gavin from behind.

Gavin held onto the boy’s hands clasped at his throat. “Ready? Hold tight now.” He dismounted with GJ clinging to his back, letting out a long, exaggerated groan. “You’re getting too big and I’m getting too old for that.” GJ released his hold and slid to the ground.

Daia dismounted as well and began to loosen her saddle and remove her armor. “Another nephew?” She lifted her chin toward a boy standing against the house. He looked about Jaesh’s age with short blond hair but stood a few inches shorter. He wore a shirt sized for a man and a curious expression on his face.

“Who might you be?” Gavin asked as he removed his cuirass.

“Trevick, my lord.”

“This is my Uncle Gavin,” Jaesh said. “And that’s Daia Saberheart. She’s a Viragon Sister. GJ, run tell Papa that Uncle Gavin’s here.”

GJ took off as instructed, with no evidence of a limp in his gait. Gavin wondered how Rogan was handling the gossip and speculation. In a community this small, word about GJ’s injury would have spread quickly and word about his miraculous recovery even more so, and more widely.

“Do you live nearby, Trevick?” Daia asked.

The boy nodded and pointed east. “A couple of plots over.”

Rogan stepped out the front door as he pulled on a shirt. “Little Brother! Didn’t think we’d see you again so soon. Glad you could come. We got a pig roasting. Are you hungry?”

“Always,” Gavin said. He embraced his brother tightly and shared a few good-natured slams on the back, each one trying to hit harder than the other. Then he introduced his brother to Daia.

She leaned forward to shake his hand. “My pleasure. The family resemblance is remarkable. You two could almost be twins.”

“’Cept Gavin looks like he been trampled by a herd o’beyonders. Nice to meet you. We got a gathering going on in the back. Come on around.”

“Gavin,” Liera said gaily, walking out. “You’re home!” She reached to hug him, and he swept her into his arms and twirled her around, then planted a kiss on her cheek as he set her back on her feet. “Look at you! You’re too lean, and you need a haircut. It’s a good thing we’re roasting today. I can fatten you up.”

“I doubt you have enough food for that.” When he introduced her to Daia, he caught a glimpse of disappointment in Liera’s eye, or perhaps surprise. Whatever it was disappeared quickly, and she welcomed Daia into her home as though they’d been friends for years.

Then a woman stepped out, a beauty who took Gavin’s very breath away.

Chapter 14

When Feanna stepped outside, her attention was drawn immediately to a taller, younger, more muscular version of Rogan. His face was marred by two long scars, but she was captivated by his beautiful dark-brown eyes hooded by a prominent brow. This must be Gavin, about whom Liera talked incessantly. When their eyes met, time seemed to slow. The sound of her heartbeat filled her ears. Even across the dozen feet that separated them, she felt his presence loom large, dominating not only her attention but that of everyone nearby. A peculiar strength emanated from him, the kind that drew people in. The kind that engendered trust and confidence, that prompted a nod from passersby, that encouraged stray dogs to fall into step beside him. He was big, this man — not only in size, but in some intangible, indescribable sense that he was more, much more than he seemed.

Liera’s voice seeped into her consciousness. “Feanna, meet Daia Saberheart.”

Feanna tore her eyes away from Rogan’s brother and met the palest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Daia was almost as tall as Henrik had been, and manly muscles bulged from her sleeveless tunic, though her fine features would have made her a grand subject for a statue. Her face might have been comely once with such a perfect white smile, but she was too lean and her neck too thick and muscular, making her look alien. Was this Gavin’s lover? Daia stepped forward, offering a hand.

Feanna shook it and immediately gasped. Like a flock of geese that had burst into a cacophony of honking, the feelings of everyone bombarded her at once. Never before had anything like this happened. She sensed Daia’s curiosity, Liera’s joy dampened by mild disappointment, Rogan’s relief edged with worry, Jaesh’s excitement, Trevick’s diffidence, GJ’s adoration, and from Gavin a longing so intense as to nearly break her heart. Something was intensifying her skill, like pouring water down her throat with a drenching horn, and she hadn’t even shifted. Anxiety started to well in her, building toward panic and a strong urge to flee. It had to stop. Stop. Stop! Shocked by the suddenness and intensity of the emotions, Feanna jerked her hand out of Daia’s. At once the feelings receded like a tide going out.

Daia cocked her head with a curious smile. “Forgive me. I had no idea. Pleased to meet you, Miss Feanna.” She had a knowing look in her eyes and a gentle smile that was teasing yet comforting.

“Nice meeting you too,” she managed to say before the words jumbled in her throat. What had just happened? Had Daia been somehow responsible for the sudden burst of empathy? Feanna sensed Gavin watching her, and she was right. Settled upon her, his brown eyes were like Rogan’s, but their intensity made them seem harder.

Oblivious to what had happened, Liera said, “And this...” She put an arm around Gavin’s waist. “This is Rogan’s brother, Gavin.” She gave him a squeeze. “I intended to introduce you to Feanna last time you were here, remember?”

Feanna straightened her posture, trying to draw herself up to be more like the woman he’d arrived with. If he preferred his women strong enough to wield a sword, she didn’t stand a chance, but she wanted him to know she was no field mouse. “Well met, Gavin,” she said boldly, trying not to seem overly demure. Her heart raced. Although she wasn’t close enough to touch him, she felt his longing still, as well as something else, though she wasn’t sure how to describe it other than... intent.

“So you’re Feanna,” Gavin said in a rich, deep voice. “I’m glad to meet you. Sorry I didn’t get to last time I was here. I see now it was a terrible mistake on my part.” The timbre of his voice was like velvet to her ear, a voice that would have made any bard choke on his envy. She could listen to him all day. And all night.

Feanna felt a nervous giggle well within her, but she couldn’t stop it. She realized she’d been smiling, and her lips were sticking to her gums. She licked her lips and tried to conceal her crooked teeth behind them. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, her heart stuttered and heat spread across her face. “It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Don’t believe a word of it. I’m not a bad buck, really.” Gavin gifted her with a warm, gap-toothed smile that was both rugged and endearing.

When he came forward and offered his hand, she hesitated to take it. Don’t shift, she reminded herself. She slipped her hand into his, and immediately lost herself in his touch. His eyes dominated her vision. The warmth of his hand seeped into her blood and spread up her arm. Even without shifting, she knew that her attraction to him was reciprocated, but it wasn’t only physical attraction. It was something more, like two halves finally becoming whole. Now she understood what people meant by love at first sight. She could fall in love with this man. Perhaps she already had.

Everyone was silent, watching the two of them watching each other. As the moments ticked by, Feanna found herself more and more flustered, unsure what to do. She’d never met a man so captivating. All at once, everyone uttered a “Well” or “So,” and Feanna gently and hesitantly withdrew her hand.

Jaesh handed a huge sword to Rogan. “Look at Uncle Gavin’s new sword, Papa.”

Rogan took the sword and turned it this way and that, whistling. Its hilt was fashioned with snakes — not the sort of design Feanna cared much for, but she could see why a warrant knight, or any battler, would like it. What got her attention though were the gems embedded in it. She’d never realized that Gavin was wealthy. She supposed if a warrant knight had no home, he could save most of the money he earned, but he’d have to stash it in a bank or risk being robbed. Buying gems to decorate his sword would be a safe alternative.

“These gems,” Rogan said. He cleared his throat. “They the ones you were tellin’ me about?”

Gavin nodded.

“Got another to add to it, then?” Rogan asked. His voice was taut, and his hands trembled as though the sword were very heavy, though the twelve-year-old Jaesh hadn’t struggled overmuch to hold it.

Gavin scrubbed a finger under his nose. “Yeh.”

Rogan’s eyes widened, and his face reddened. “You ain’t going to leave it be, are you? You’re going to—”

“Boys,” Gavin said sharply, cutting Rogan off, “would you show Dona and Nasharla to the stable and help get the horses unsaddled?”

“Yes, m’lord,” Jaesh said. “GJ, go tell Asiawyth to come help. This way, Lady Sisters.” He took the reins and led the horses toward the stable with Trevick following.

“Let’s go around back,” Liera said. “We’ve got a pig on the spit, eggplants and potatoes from Feanna’s field and bread baking.”

“Little Brother,” Rogan said. He looked like his blood was about to boil over and spill out his ears. “Hang back a bit. I want to talk to you.”

Liera took the arms of Feanna on one side and Daia on the other. “I hope you brought your appetite.”

“Oh, I think I could manage a bite or two,” Daia said.

Feanna glanced back over her shoulder, and caught Gavin watching her. When she looked at Daia, fearful of seeing jealous rage on the battler’s face, she was rewarded instead with a smile.

“So, Daia.” Liera clutched Feanna’s arm more tightly as they walked. “You and Gavin—”

“Are friends,” Daia said quickly, “and nothing more.” She met Feanna’s eyes over the top of Liera’s head. “I’m like a hired sword, except that he doesn’t actually pay me.”

“How interesting,” Liera said. She patted Feanna’s arm and winked at her. Liera’s earlier disappointment evaporated, replaced by eagerness and excitement.

“How long will you two be staying?” Feanna asked.

“I don’t know yet. I think he’d only planned to stay the night, but an unexpected development might delay us.” Daia was smiling broadly now and looking directly at Feanna, as was Liera. “It seems he has his eye firmly set on you.”

Heat washed across Feanna’s face and neck. “Oh, do you think so? I wouldn’t have thought a warrant knight would be much interested in a woman who was burdened with a house and children.”

“Gavin’s not quite what he seems at first glance,” Daia said.

When they arrived at the backyard where the pig was roasting, Liera went back to work basting the meat while it cooked, turning it with a crank on the handle. The girls, interrupted from their hopping game, stood aghast at the sight of the brawny swordswoman. While Tansa and Jilly gaped, Iriel came forward with a dreamlike expression. “Are you a Viragon Sister?” she asked.

“This is my daughter Iriel,” Feanna said. “Iriel, this is Miss Daia.”

“How d’you do?” Iriel bobbed a clumsy curtsy. “So are you?”

“I was,” Daia said, smiling.

Feanna went to the fire pit to check the potatoes.

“How come you’re not anymore?”

“Iriel, that’s none of your business,” Feanna said. “I’m sorry, Miss Daia. She’s obsessed with becoming a Viragon Sister.”

Daia put a hand on Iriel’s shoulder. “I felt the same way when I was your age. I couldn’t hear enough stories about battlers and their adventures.”

“Can I touch your sword?”

“You may but only on the hilt. The blade is very sharp.”

Since Daia seemed to have matters in hand, Feanna went back to work. She used her sleeve to wipe the sweat and wet hair from her forehead then sat to peel the eggplants. Her mind returned to Rogan’s brother, wondering why he’d come. She couldn’t deny her attraction to him, but she’d heard rumors about warrant knights and their lifestyles and had no interest in becoming anyone’s bedfellow. She’d always wanted a child of her own, but a ’ranter’s bastard was not what she had in mind.

Jilly came to sit beside her and watched Daia silently from a distance. Tansa ambled over to listen to Daia tell Iriel about joining the Sisterhood.

“How old must I be to join?” Iriel asked.

“Twelve at least.”

“I’m almost nine. But I’m tall for my age, and strong too.” Iriel flexed her biceps. “They could let me in early. I could keep up.”

“No doubt,” Daia said, “but the Sisterhood has many rules which mustn’t be broken. If you get caught breaking rules, you can get kicked out. It wouldn’t bode well to break a rule to get in, would it?”

A deflated Iriel sat hard on the ground. “I guess not.”

“You’ll be twelve before you know it. Meanwhile, do your best to help your mother. Chores help you develop discipline and strength, traits of a good battler.”

Feanna gave Daia a thankful smile, which she acknowledged with a wink. Feanna got the impression she and Daia would get along just fine.

Chapter 15

Gavin watched Feanna walk away, appreciating the shine of her honey-colored hair in the sunlight, the narrowness of her waistline, and the sway of her hips beneath her skirt. If he’d known this was the woman Liera had wanted to introduce him to a few weeks ago, he’d have stayed another day, maybe two. Damn she gave him the itch. Judging from her haze, she was equally attracted to him. It probably wasn’t fair to see into her like that, but he’d only wanted a peek.

Something else about her haze had piqued his interest. It glowed brilliant golden yellow with a second haze of pure white around it, like a belt. At one point, when she shook hands with Daia, he saw the orange tendril of Daia’s haze, the one that he surmised was the source of her mystical conduit power, infusing Feanna’s haze with energy. The belt part had expanded wide enough to wrap around all of them then lit up in a storm of colors. He had no idea what it meant, but it was both intriguing and beautiful.

“I’m glad you came by, Little Brother,” Rogan said. They started to walk toward the barn. “I been worried about you.”

Gavin snorted. “About me? Why?”

“You know why. A messenger brought a box this mornin’. Said it was for you. I was tempted to open it, but it felt cold, like whatever was in it had some magical influence. I thought better of it.”

When Gavin followed Rogan into the barn, Dona, Nasharla and the boys ceased their conversation while they tended the horses. Golam snorted, tossing his head a couple of times and tamping his feet. The warhorse had never been fond of stabling, preferring to sleep under the open sky, no matter the weather. But he also tended to wander around, nibbling everything in sight and getting his foolish self lost. “Calm yourself, Golam. We ain’t going anywhere.”

Rogan fetched a box from a high shelf in the tack room and set it on the workbench. About a foot square, it had some weight to it but not a lot. Rogan was right: something cold was in it. A block of ice would have melted long ago. Some magic spell must have been working on the box from the inside.

“Are you going to open the box now, Uncle Gavin?” Jaesh asked, joining them. GJ ducked under Jaesh’s arm and came into the room. Asiawyth and Trevick watched from the doorway.

“I guess I am. Who’d it come from?”

“The messenger said a Viragon Sister paid him to deliver it,” Rogan replied. “Didn’t say her name.”

A Viragon Sister might have had reason to send him items, especially something they’d found at Ravenkind’s manor, but it should have gone to the Elegance Inn in Tern. How would the Viragon Sisterhood know where his brother lived? Gavin looked at GJ. “Go fetch Daia, will you?”

“I will,” Asiawyth volunteered. He ran from the stable.

“You boys better go too,” Gavin said to Jaesh. “No telling what might be in here.” And he had the uncomfortable feeling that something awful was in there.

“Aww, I want to see—”

“Do as your uncle told you,” Rogan said.

Jaesh slammed the heel of his hand into the wall.

“Jaesh!” Rogan hollered. “You need a belt against your backside?”

“Come on,” Jaesh said. He took GJ by the arm and sulked off toward the house. Trevick followed obediently behind.

Rogan handed Gavin a pry bar, handle first, which Gavin used to ease the top of the box off, its nails squeaking in protest. With every squeak, his stomach knotted a bit more. The top came away, and a round object sat inside, wrapped in a bundle of cloth and steadied in the corners with extra rags. He hoped to hell this wasn’t what he thought it was.

Gavin reached inside and took hold of the bundle, feeling the cold through the cloth. Rogan flipped the box over, and Gavin set the bundle on the overturned box, then began to pull away the cloth.

His stomach lurched the moment he saw dark hair. Ravenkind. That filthy, evil son of a thrice-damned whore. “Seven hells!” He shut his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. If the wizard had been there now, Gavin would have ripped the bastard’s cold heart out with his bare hands. He considered wrapping it back up before Rogan could see, but Gavin had to know who had suffered for his actions.

“What’s wrong?” Rogan said. “What is it?”

With a shaking hand, Gavin pulled the cloth away to reveal a severed head.

Rogan cried out and stepped back as he threw an arm across Gavin’s chest in a protective gesture. “Seven hells!”

The face, spattered with blood, was frozen in a look of surprise with its brown eyes wide and mouth dropped open. A small gem teetered on the lip. Frosty air swirled around it, radiating cold.

Rogan stumbled to a corner and retched. He stood bent over in the corner for a few moments, then made his way back to the bench with heavy steps. “What kind o’sick monster would do somethin’ like this?”

Gavin studied the face. He recognized the family resemblance in her deeply set dark eyes and wavy, brown hair, but he couldn’t place her. “Who was she?” he croaked.

With an expression of mixed horror and disgust, Rogan ventured a closer look. “Looks kind o’like Uncle Corrick’s daughter Winna. But I ha’n’t seen her in ten years at least.”

“She lived in Calsojourn, didn’t she?”

“Last I heard. Why, Little Brother? Why would someone do this to her and send her... her head here? To you?”

Now Gavin was certain Ravenkind was hiding in the farmhouse near Calsojourn. He hoped to get a report from the Sisterhood that he’d been slain. He draped the cloth back over his cousin’s face. “Rogan, you got to take Liera and the boys away from here. I have a place in Tern where you’ll be safe until—”

“Oh, hell. This is Ravenkind’s doin’, ain’t it? What’d you do to him this time?” He clenched Gavin’s shirt in his fists and hauled his brother up close. “What the hell did you do?”

Gavin looked steadily into Rogan’s eyes, knowing his brother didn’t want to hear what he had to say any more than he wanted to say it. “I kept him from claiming the King’s Blood-stone.”

Rogan’s expression changed from anger to shock. He released Gavin’s shirt and staggered backward until he hit the wall. “Wait a minute. Are you tellin’ me you’re the king?”

Footsteps announced someone entering the barn, and Daia stepped into the tack room. “What’s going on?”

“Are you tellin’ me you’re the bloody king?” Rogan shouted.

“Shhhh! Yes, now keep your voice down.”

Rogan stumbled to a stool and sat heavily on it. He buried his head in his hands.

Gavin showed Daia the severed head. After her initial shock and disgust, she looked at him with a lowered brow. “I don’t understand. What’s this about?”

“Remember when I told you Ravenkind murdered my family?”

Daia nodded.

“Last thing he said to me was, ‘Cross me again and I’ll kill every Kinshield in Thendylath and deliver their heads to you.’” To his brother, Gavin said, “He knows where you live. You aren’t safe here.”

“To hell with him!” Rogan hollered. “I won’t be intimidated by that bastard. I dare him to try—”

“Rogan,” Gavin said firmly. “What makes you think you can protect your family better than I could mine? I knew the son of a bitch too. You don’t.”

“Gavin’s right, Rogan,” Daia said. “He can easily render even the strongest fighter useless with magic then kill your wife and children at his leisure while you watch. Let us protect your family until we can find him and kill him.”

“You’re goin’ after him then?” Rogan asked.

Gavin and Daia looked at each other. “Not right away,” Gavin replied. “But yeh. We got to. We got to stop him.”

“Well, I’ll be goin’ with you, then,” Rogan said.

“Rogan, no,” Gavin said. “I couldn’t do to your sons what I did to—” He stopped, realizing he was about to reveal the secret he’d kept from Rogan for fourteen years.

“What you did to who?”

Gavin needed to tell his brother. He should have done it years ago. Rogan deserved to know the truth. “What I did to you and me. Papa’s death. It was my fault.”

“Little Brother, I know you been full o’guilt over it for half your life, but lay it to rest. Papa was killed by a bear. You got bigger problems now.”

“Shut up, Rogan. I got to tell you this. It’s been on my shoulders since I was twelve. You need to know the truth as much as I need to tell you.” He couldn’t look his brother in the eye. As he began to tell the tale, the memory of it was as clear as though it had happened the day before.

The arrow hit the tree stump squarely in the center of the rag nailed to it and quivered with the shock. Gavin turned to Papa, excited. “I hit it!”

Papa laughed and patted Gavin’s shoulder as he readied another arrow. “Hell, Gavin! I couldn’t’ve done as well myself. You’ve a fine eye. Remember to focus on your bow arm. Loosen your fingers a bit. There you go.”

Gavin released and watched the arrow strike the rag again. He couldn’t have wiped the smile from his face if he’d had a knife to his throat.

“Well done, son. You’ve a natural talent.”

He’d practice all day if he could, but there were more chores to be done now that Rogan had taken a wife and left home. It also meant that Papa would bring Gavin along on his hunting trips, rather than make him stay at home. With the two of them hunting, Papa would have more skins to tan and that would mean more money coming in.

“Why don’t you keep practicin’,” Papa said. “I’m goin’ to take a nap. Wake me when the sun dips below that branch there, will you? Then we’ll get us a couple o’squirrels for supper.”

“Awright.”

“Don’t go nowhere, Gavin.”

“I won’t.” Gavin eyed his target. With a fluid motion, he lifted the bow, pulled the string, sighted down the arrow and released. The bow string snapped his right forearm, reddening his skin, and the arrow sailed past the tree stump. “Ow.”

Rubbing his arm, he trudged after it and pulled his other three arrows from the trunk to try again. Papa had settled against a tree behind him, pulled his hat over his eyes, and crossed his arms.

Of the next twenty shots, Gavin only missed the rag twice. He was damned good at this. His natural talent made up for his inexperience. He checked the position of the sun and estimated he had time to go into the woods a little ways, perhaps kill a couple of squirrels himself. Papa would be proud of him for getting supper by himself.

He checked to be sure Papa was still asleep, made sure their horses were tied up good, then tiptoed off. Plenty of squirrels and chipmunks darted everywhere at the sound of his approach, but they always wound their way up a tree, never straight up. He had no time to aim and release before they were out of sight, only to come around, much farther up, a few seconds later.

The sound of something rustling to his left made him stop and listen. It moved slowly, whatever it was, without making much noise. It was too early in the day to be a raccoon, too big to be a rabbit. He crept forward with an arrow nocked, peering through the trees and underbrush. There, behind a thicket, was something dark and shiny. It made a sound like... a turkey! Gavin’s heart fluttered. A turkey would make a fine supper, and the feathers could be sold for arrows or quills. He raised the bow, pulled, sighted, and released.

A terrible squeal echoed through the trees. A hit! He bounded after it, nocking another arrow in case he’d only nicked it. It was running away. He gave chase. Then horror gripped him when he got a good look at what he’d shot.

A bear cub.

The brown cub limped though the woods, screeching in pain and fear. A deep grumble answered.

Shit! Gavin turned and ran as fast as he could toward camp. “Papa!” he shouted, needing to wake his father before the bear sow gave chase. “Papa!”

Through the trees, he saw his father leap up and look around. “Gavin?”

“Papa,” Gavin cried breathlessly. “A bear.”

A roar echoed through the woods with the snapping of branches and four feet pounding toward him. He felt every one of its thundering steps in his spine. Gavin had an early lead, but the bear was faster. Sticks and roots and plants caught his feet and slowed him.

Papa began to untie the horses. “Gavin, run!”

Behind him, the sow roared. He would swear he felt its breath on his neck. He wasn’t going to make it to the horses.

“The tree,” Papa shouted. “Climb.”

Ahead, he saw a tree with a trunk split low and ran to it. He put his foot in the split and hauled himself up.

He’d made it four feet up when the bear’s claws raked across his face, knocking his grip loose. He fell to the ground.

“Yah!” Papa shouted. He stabbed the bear in the back with his knife. It roared and swiped him. He went tumbling.

Gavin scrambled to his feet and ran to the next tree. He climbed as fast as he could. His feet scrabbled for purchase, slipped, and caught. Eight feet up... Ten feet up... Bear claws raked bark from the tree only inches below his foot. Twelve feet... Fifteen... He stopped about twenty feet above the ground.

The bear sow, unable to reach him, turned on Papa, who was limping toward a tree. “Papa, run!” Gavin shouted.

Papa was injured, clutching his arm to his body. He reached a tree and started to climb. The bear gave chase. Then it was upon him with teeth and claws. Papa screamed. Blood sprayed everywhere.

No, no, no, no. Gavin squeezed his eyes shut and clutched the tree as if by thinking hard enough he could stop what was happening. He would wake up. This was just a dream. It wasn’t real.

At last Papa’s screams stopped, and all Gavin heard was the bear’s angry growls. He couldn’t bring himself to look. Let Papa be knocked out. Gavin stood on the branch for what felt like hours, waiting for the bear to leave. When he realized the sound he heard was the flapping of scavenger wings, he dared to open his eyes. What he saw would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life — a red blanket of forest litter and body parts strewn across it like a devil’s picnic.

Gavin’s voice was quiet, stripped bare like his soul laid out for Rogan and Daia to see.

“I don’t need to know the rest,” Rogan said. “You got him home. I can imagine what you went through to do it. You were a boy. No child should ever have to see what you saw or do what you did.”

“Don’t you see, Rogan?” Gavin said. “I killed Papa as surely as that bear did.”

Rogan shook his head slowly. “I see. I also got a son the same age you were then, and I know the foolishness of boys and the trouble it can cause. Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself enough for it?”

“But—”

“No,” Rogan said. “If it helps any, I forgive you. Now focus on the things you can do and the problems you can solve. Find the whoreson who done this.” Rogan pointed to the crate. “And kill him. Kill Ravenkind afore he can do more damage.”

“Gavin,” Daia said, “if you and Rogan list all the Kinshields you can think of, I’ll dispatch a request to send Viragon Sisters to guard their homes. We may not be able to protect them all, but if Ravenkind tries something like this again, at least we’ll have a chance at stopping him.”

Rogan put his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “Whatever you need me to do, just ask.”

“For now, keep it quiet,” Gavin said. “Don’t tell anyone who the king is. Anyone.”

“Don’t you think your family deserves to know?” Rogan asked, scowling. “Don’t you think you ought to tell that lady out there whose life you’re thinkin’ o’turnin’ upside down?”

Gavin blinked at his brother. He felt an unfamiliar heat fill his face.

“Don’t try to convince yourself nobody sees it. She’s a fine lady and a friend o’mine and Liera’s. You owe her the truth, Little Brother. Before you capture her heart, not after.”

Chapter 16

Calie was already moving before Daia was fully in the saddle, no doubt sensing her rider’s urgency. Daia heeled her mount and rode at a gallop to Saliria, not slowing until she reached the main street. She trotted when she could, walked when too many people made it necessary. The streets were busy for a city its size, though nothing like the streets of Tern or even Ambryce. Many gaped at her, pausing to watch the swordswoman go by.

“Lordover Saliria should follow in the Lordover Tern’s footsteps and make a law against women carrying weapons,” someone said. “Go back to the kitchen where you belong, young lady.”

“Shut up, you old coot,” a woman spat. “She might beat the pulp out o’you, and I’d pay her a handsome valour-gild for it too.”

A few people laughed.

Daia stopped. “Would you tell me where I can find the messenger service?”

People quieted and stared, no one answering.

“Please, this is an urgent matter,” she said.

“Two streets to the north,” said the woman who’d spoken earlier. “Sign in front shows an arrow with a scroll wound around its shaft.”

“I got a shaft you can wind around,” someone muttered. Nervous laughter broke out.

“My thanks.” Daia nudged Calie and continued on. By now she’d grown used to the rude comments, though she’d never found humor in them. An unwelcome touch, on the other hand, was an invitation for a bloody nose.

She located the messenger service building, a tiny shack with a creaking floor, but no one was inside. She went through the back door and found a heavyset man, shirtless and sweaty, tending to the hooves of a horse. “Pardon me,” she said. He jumped and startled the horse, making it neigh and sidestep. “I need an urgent message sent right away.”

He measured her with a glance then wiped his hands on a rag. “Come inside. I have a messenger available. It may be a while, though. He’s sleeping after a long ride.”

“I’d appreciate haste. This message is important.”

“Where’s it going?”

“To the Viragon Sisterhood compound in Sohan.”

“My penmanship is excellent. Would you like me to write it for you? No extra charge.”

Daia shook her head. Surely he offered the service for the illiterate customers who couldn’t pen their own messages. “I’ve already written it, though I could use some sealing wax.”

“Very well. Help yourself.” He produced a basket and excused himself to rouse the rider. Daia selected a ribbon with which to tie the rolled paper. She used the flame from a nearby lamp to drip wax on the seam, let it cool a few seconds then pressed her thumb onto the warm blob to seal the letter shut.

The dispatcher returned, breathing heavily. “He’s coming. Getting his boots on. Should be here in a moment. My son is saddling his horse now. We’ll have your message off in a hop-skip.”

“And what is the charge?”

“The normal rate is four kions, but urgent delivery is seven.”

Daia opened her satchel and dug into it for her coin pouch. She counted seven small silver coins into his palm. “Posthaste?”

“Absolutely. Thank you for placing your trust in Arrow Messaging Service.”

Daia left the musty shack and untied Calie’s reins. As she led the horse though the town’s streets, people stopped again to stare.

“You find your friend, Lady Sister?” a man asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Another Sister asked which way you went. I seen you go into the Arrow. She didn’t find you?”

Daia’s throat tightened. “What did this Sister look like?”

“Oh you know, typical Viragon Sister: ugly, board-chested wench with a sword.” He laughed at his own joke. When he saw Daia didn’t join him, he said, “Dark hair, full lips. She had a deep voice for a woman.”

The description sounded like Cirang, the woman who’d framed Daia for another Sister’s murder, the woman who’d given her loyalty to Brodas Ravenkind instead of to the rightful king. Daia returned to the Arrow. The dispatcher looked at her in surprise.

“Lady Sister?”

“Have you seen a Viragon Sister with dark hair? Speaks with a deep voice?”

“No, Lady. Only you.”

“Tell your messenger to watch out for her and do not under any circumstances give the message to anyone other than Lilalian Whisperblade in Sohan.”

“Ah, he’s already left, m’lady. You said it was urgent, so he mounted and rode off with it only a moment after you left here. Never fear, he’s a professional. He wouldn’t let your message fall into the wrong hands.”

“You’d better hope not.”

Chapter 17

After Feanna peeled the eggplants, she set them near the fire to cook. Her knees started to ache, and she pulled over a crate and sat on it. Rogan returned from the barn alone carrying Gavin’s sword, studying it as he walked. “It looks like a fine weapon,” she said.

“Yeh. I’ve never seen the like before. Makes me yearn to be ten years younger and twenty stones lighter.” Rogan patted his belly with a grin. He squatted beside her. “Listen, I know Liera’s been harpin’ on you to meet my brother,” he said in a low voice, “and she means well — for both o’you.” He cast a glance at his wife, perhaps to make sure she was occupied and outside of his hearing. “I thought she was bein’ meddlesome, but this time, she might be right. Don’t tell her I said so.”

Feanna felt a familiar warmth spread across her face. “Rogan, not you too!”

“I got a buzz in my ear sayin’ Gavin wants to court you. His life is complicated, though. Make sure he tells you everything afore you accept. Unless you ain’t interested. If that’s the case, let him down easy, eh? He may look big and tough, but he’s got a tender heart.” Rogan chuckled, patted Feanna’s shoulder and continued toward the house.

Watching Rogan walk away, Feanna considered his words. She’d always liked Rogan, perhaps once or twice wished her husband had been more like him. She’d known the Kinshields for all the seven years she’d lived in her home and thought them lovely people, good, hardworking, honest and caring. Their boys were well-mannered and obedient, and last spring helped sow her field. If Gavin was anything like his brother, she could do worse. Much worse. Still, she wondered how interested a warrant knight would be in taking vows and raising a family. Liera had told her about Gavin’s murdered wife and daughter. With those sorts of memories in his head, how could he forfeit a nomadic life free of responsibilities to start fresh?

Just as Daia returned on her horse, riding it directly into the barn, Gavin came out with his huge, gray warhorse in tow. The animal had been handsome dressed in its leather armor, but now, bareback with mane flowing free, he was magnificent. Leading the animal into the fenced pasture, Gavin called, “Jaesh,” and waved. His deep voice carried easily across the distance.

Jaesh, who’d been kneeling with Trevick and Asiawyth beside a tub while they scrubbed the pig skin, stood and waved back. “Can I, Papa?” Jaesh asked.

“Go on,” Rogan said. “You been waiting long enough for this.”

Jaesh wiped his hands, ducked between the wooden fence rails and ran to where his uncle stood waiting. In his hand, Gavin carried a pair of toy swords. They talked for a moment before he gave Jaesh a boost onto the gray’s back.

She watched them practicing in the pasture. Now and then, the warhorse tossed his head to loosen the reins and bent to nibble the grass. Gavin patiently took him by the bridle and lifted his head, but as soon as the horse quit chewing, down he would go for another mouthful.

Daia came over and sat beside her. There must have been something different about her that stimulated Feanna’s skill, for immediately, Feanna felt her emotions without touching her or shifting. Daia watched Gavin with a mixture of concern, affection and admiration. “Is there something I can help with?” she asked.

“Thank you for offering, but I think we have it in hand.” Feanna stole glances at the swordswoman, unable to get over how muscular she was. If not for her breasts and the sparsity of hair on her arms, she might have been taken for a man. Feanna wondered how Daia managed to ride for hours on a horse. Didn’t her breasts get awfully tender from all the bumping? With a bolder look, Feanna saw the outline of corset laces in the front of Daia’s tunic.

“Do you live nearby?” Daia asked her.

“Yes, just down the road.”

“Are you married?”

Feanna hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “No,” she said. She watched Gavin teach his nephew how to steer the warhorse by using body movements. He leaned one way, then the opposite, and Jaesh imitated him. The horse responded by turning or sidestepping.

“Never had the inclination?” Daia asked after a moment.

Feanna bowed her head. “I’m widowed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. How long ago did your husband pass?”

Why all the questions? “A year ago. He died last winter of the lung blight.”

Gavin handed one of the toy swords to Jaesh and held the other in his left hand.

“You have only the four children?”

Feanna thought Daia’s questions were more probing than conversational. Perhaps as a battler, she was more accustomed to bluntness than she was polite conversation. “They’re all orphans, but I think of them as my own.”

Daia looked at her, surprise plain on her face. “Why?”

“Someone needs to look after them. It gives me joy to do it.”

“Were you unable to conceive?”

The image of Henrik caught in an intimate embrace with a man came unbidden to her mind. “That’s a private question and certainly none of your business.“

“I’m sorry. You’re right. That was rude. Please forgive me.”

A minute passed in silence. Daia’s embarrassment hung like a cloud around her, and soon Feanna felt ashamed for having chastised her for a legitimate, if personal, question. “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” she said softly. “There’s no reason I wouldn’t be able to conceive.” Assuming, of course, she married a man inclined to have relations with his wife.

“I don’t mean to pry, but since you’ve caught his eye, I’d like to know you better.”

Was that jealousy she felt emanating from the swordswoman? “I wouldn’t want to come between you,” Feanna said.

“No,” Daia said quickly. “My intentions are pure. I want what’s best for him, and I’ve no interest in a husband for myself. I’m married to my sword.”

While Feanna sensed that was the truth, she also felt Daia was holding something back, perhaps some feelings for Gavin that he either didn’t return or that she kept closely guarded. “I see. Doesn’t that life get lonely?”

Daia studied her feet. “At times, but the decision is entirely my own, which is better than any life chosen for me.”

“Yes,” Feanna agreed. Not all her decisions had been wise, but they had been hers.

“Do you believe in fate?”

An hour ago, Feanna would have said no. Looking at Gavin Kinshield, she wasn’t so sure. “There’s a lot I don’t understand about the world. I’d like to think we have free choice in all things, but I don’t honestly know.”

Daia smiled, evidently pleased with the answer. She exuded approval, acceptance and eagerness as she turned her gaze back to Gavin and Jaesh. “What do you think?”

Feanna looked at her with a quizzical expression. “Of fate?”

Daia tossed her head in Gavin’s direction. “Of Gavin.”

“He seems nice.”

Gavin backed twenty or so paces away from the horse and rider then beckoned them with a hand motion, holding his wooden sword at ready. The horse started forward.

“He’s an honorable, decent person,” Daia said, “and fond of children. That says something about a man, don’t you think?” The horse cantered toward Gavin. “I’m not trying to play matchmaker, but he’s seeking a wife. If you’ve an inclination to remarry—”

“Golam!” Gavin yelled. He started to sidestep, but Golam struck him hard with his shoulder and sent the big man tumbling. He lay still, face down in the grass.

“Gavin!” Daia cried as she shot to her feet and took a few steps toward him. Feanna found herself on her feet as well.

GJ, sitting on the wooden fence rail, leapt off. “Uncle Gavin!” Jaesh slid from Golam’s back and rushed to his uncle’s aid.

Instinctively, Feanna reached for him empathically, but he was too far away. Then something extraordinary happened; a rush of clarity enveloped her mind, enabling her to extend her range and touch Gavin with her skill. He was annoyed but uninjured. “He’s not hurt, just a bit nettled.” She looked at Daia, who gave her that knowing smile again as she returned to the log and sat. “Was that...? Did you...?”

“The Farthans call me a vusar — a mystical conduit. My special power is enhancing the abilities of others. I presume yours is some kind of communication?”

The two boys rolled Gavin onto his back then squealed as he suddenly grabbed both boys, pulling them down with him. Their laughter carried across the field.

Feanna laughed too, sharing Gavin’s moment of carefree joy. “No, it’s empathy.”

Chapter 18

Brodas pored over Sevae’s journal day and night, hunting for any mention of the rune. When his eyes crossed from exhaustion and the headache became unbearable, he put away the book and went for a ride with Red into Calsojourn to have a meal and contemplate what he’d read. He wondered why Sevae had wanted the Rune of Summoning. He gathered from earlier journal entries that the wizard had no aspirations to rule. Late one evening, with his back aching from days sitting on the hard stool, he found an entry in the journal that began to clarify.

Again I tried to persuade Arek to use the rune to summon the champion he had met from the realm of discord. With such a powerful ally, we could wrest control of the Wellspring of Enlightenment from the Osgani and ensure our people a life free from ignorance and suffering. He turns a deaf ear to my arguments, refusing even to hear me. Still I persist. It’s the right thing to do.

The next several weeks’ entries mentioned little about the rune, but buried within a discussion of the harvesting and crushing of iridacea leaves for the treatment of fever, Brodas found what he was looking for.

Finally, I obtained the name of the summoning rune. It has proven a much greater challenge, for not only did I have to prepare the deliriant potent enough to loosen King Arek’s tongue without inducing a coma but to slip it to him before he napped without arousing suspicion. After one particularly close call in which the queen walked in as I was questioning my liege lord in his state of delirium, I managed to wrest from him the name of the rune Whemorard, and he was none the wiser.

Brodas blinked. That was it. The name of the rune. The handwriting was such that he wasn’t sure whether it was Whemonand or Whemorard, but it was something to work with. He skimmed ahead, hoping for instructions on the rune’s use. For the next hour, he flipped pages, his eyes burning with exhaustion. He came to the entries describing the beyonder prince and concluded that Sevae had not written down the summoning process. There was only one thing to do. Try it.

He retrieved the Rune of Summoning from his satchel and selected a smooth, dark amethyst from the box of gems before taking his seat on the stool. With the rune in one hand and the gem in the other, he took a breath to calm his thundering heart. This would be the defining moment of his rise to power.

“Ritol, I summon you to me by the power of the rune Whemonand.”

Nothing happened. Perhaps Sevae had written Whemorard.

“Ritol, I summon you to me by the power of the rune Whemorard.”

The gem in his hand cracked into shards and bit into his flesh. He flinched in surprise, flinging the bits across the floor. Hell’s bones! A dull pain trickled up the back of his head, but his healing magic immediately began to ease it. Wetness seeped from his nose across his upper lip, and he swiped it with his knuckle. Blood. He fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief and used it to clean himself. With his head tilted back, he managed to stop the nosebleed within a few minutes.

Perhaps he needed more than one gem. He wrapped his cut hand with the cloth, then picked two more gems — harder ones this time, a pair of topazes — and held them more loosely.

“I summon Ritol by the power of the rune Whemorard.”

Both gems cracked apart. A headache gripped his skull from the back of his neck to his eyes. He clutched his head, aware that his nose had begun bleeding again, but he let it drip onto the wood floor between his feet. The drip became a stream. He leaned back, resting his pounding head against the wall while he tried to relax with the handkerchief pressed to his nose. The fluttering white magic gradually eased the pain and stopped the flow of blood. After that last attempt, he was disinclined to try the summoning again that evening.

The following day, Brodas sat at the table going through Sevae’s notes again, searching for some bit of information he may have overlooked on his previous three dozen readings. One of the things he prized most was his intellect. That he couldn’t make the Rune of Summoning work not only frustrated him but perplexed him as well. He had the rune, he knew its name, and he knew the name of the being he wanted to summon. It should have worked. A piece of the puzzle was missing, and nothing in Sevae’s journal had given him a clue what that was. The only explanation that came to mind, though Brodas was loath to entertain the notion, was that his skill with magic simply wasn’t as strong as it needed to be. There was a remedy for that, however, and her name was Daia Saberheart.

He heard the rhythmic beating of horse’s hooves approaching. “Is that Cirang returning?” he called to Red.

“No, sire,” Red said. “Looks like a messenger.” After a few minutes, he entered the shack. “He said it’s from Cirang.”

Brodas took the proffered paper, broke the seal, and opened it. “I hope she has a good explanation for why she’s not back yet.”

The handwriting was barely legible, like something one might see scratched into the dirt by some ancient barbarian, and the spelling was atrocious, but he managed to make sense of it.

Your Majesty,

I was on my way back from Saliria when I caught sight of Daia Saberheart and Gavin Kinshield riding into town with two Viragon Sisters. I made sure they didn’t see me and followed them to his brother’s house. I couldn’t get close enough to see or hear them, but I know Kinshield found the head because Daia went into town to send a message. Of course I stopped the messenger and disposed of his corpse. The message was addressed to Lilalian asking for more battlers to guard Kinshield’s relatives. It also said they’re using the Elegance Inn in Tern as their temporary palace, so I went to Tern to investigate. They have about a dozen Sisters guarding the place, but they’re usually in easily manageable pairs. Please send instructions to me at Swift Flight Messaging to return or stay.

Yours to command,

Cirang

Too excited to sit, he paced across the floor, traversing its length in only seven steps. This news could not have come at a better time. Knowing where Kinshield was hiding simplified everything. Not only could he capture Daia and use her rare and precious gift to summon Ritol, he could deliver on his promise to Kinshield more directly. He didn’t need Rogan Kinshield alive any longer.

“Get our horses ready to ride, Red.” Brodas started to pack his books for the journey. “We have a journey ahead.”

Red sucked his teeth. “Where to, sire?”

“We’re going to Tern, but we’ll stop in Saliria on the way. We’re going to meet Gavin Kinshield’s brother.”

Chapter 19

The Kinshields’ dining table wasn’t large enough to seat the seven adults and as many children. The five youngest children sat at the table, which had been carried outside, while Jaesh, Trevick and the adults gathered around the smoldering cookfire on stools and overturned crates and buckets, balancing their plates on their knees.

Feanna couldn’t help but be aware of Gavin, whose presence loomed large within the circle. Attention seemed to focus and settle on him, even during the quiet moments while everyone ate. Despite the jovial atmosphere and occasional jest, his mood was subdued. In fact, since he’d left the barn, he seemed more somber than before. Every time she glanced his way, she caught him looking at her. Most of the time he offered a smile, and once he winked at her, which sent a tingle up her neck and across her face. Twice she had to ask Liera to repeat herself, as she’d gotten carried away trying to figure out what it was about Gavin that had her heart thumping so. All conversation came to a stiff halt when Rogan asked his brother what his plans were. Everyone turned to Gavin.

For a moment, Gavin stared into his plate with a somber expression. Then he grinned. “I’m planning to have another helping o’bread ‘n’ gravy.” As he stood, he let out a long belch timed perfectly with his rising, which had Feanna, Daia and Liera cringing and the children laughing uproariously. “Pardon me,” he said with a sly grin.

Before he sat back down, he moved his sitting stump closer to her. “Can I bring you something while I’m up?”

“No, but thank you for asking. How long will you and your companions be staying?” she asked.

“Daia and I need to be back on the road tomorrow or the day after, but Dona and Nasharla are staying on for a bit.”

“Oh?” Feanna asked. “Why aren’t they going with you?”

He leaned close, almost close enough to whisper into her ear. In a quiet voice, he said, “I did something to anger a vengeful man. It’s a precaution is all.”

She remembered Rogan’s warning to make sure Gavin was forthcoming with information about his so-called complicated life, but she didn’t want to put her nose where it didn’t belong. She certainly didn’t appreciate her neighbors doing the same to her. “You’re stirring my curiosity, but I don’t want to be meddlesome.”

“I’ll tell you about it but not now.” The warmth of his gap-toothed smile utterly charmed her. With him so close, she truly got a sense of how large he was. His hands were nearly twice the size of hers, and his forearms were larger than her calves.

After the meal, everyone gathered in the great room except Dona and Nasharla, who stayed outside to patrol the property. The adults drank wine and laughed at tales Gavin and Daia told of their adventures. The children sat cross-legged on the floor, listening with rapt attention and wide eyes. She soon realized that not only was there not a romantic connection between them, they had not known each other very long, either.

“How did the two of you meet?” Feanna asked.

Gavin and Daia looked at each other with speechless hesitance on their faces. “You tell it,” Daia said.

“Daia found out a friend o’mine was kidnapped,” Gavin said. “She was trying to get information about him so she could track down his kidnapper. She asked me to help find him, and that’s how we met. She won’t admit it, but I think she suspected me at first.”

“No, I won’t admit it,” Daia said with a grin.

“Did you find him?” Iriel asked, clearly more impressed with Daia than with Gavin.

“Yes, we did,” Daia said. “He’s back home with his wife and son now.”

“And the kidnapper is dead?”

“One of the kidnappers got away,” Gavin said, “but Daia killed the other. Tell ’em about that time in the alley.”

Now and then, as Daia told her tale, Iriel touched part of Daia’s clothing as if trying to determine whether the battler’s clothes were different somehow. Daia accepted it with good grace and didn’t chastise the child for being too bold or curious.

Tansa inched closer to Gavin and bravely touched his scarred face with a finger. “You got a prickly face,” she said, making conversation in the clumsy way five-year-olds did by stating the obvious.

He leaned over and whispered something in her ear, to which she nodded. Moments later, she was sitting on his lap, snuggled against his chest. Gavin didn’t appear to mind in the least, and in fact, at one point in the evening Feanna saw him press a kiss onto her head.

Jilly followed Tansa’s lead by curling up in Feanna’s lap. Eventually, Feanna felt herself stifling a yawn and knew it was time to go. She hated leaving Gavin’s company and hoped she would see him again soon. “We’ve all thoroughly enjoyed this visit,” Feanna said, “but we need to go home. It’s time the little ones were in bed.” Tansa was fast asleep in Gavin’s arms.

He stood, holding Tansa carefully against his chest, then offered his free hand to help her rise with Jilly on her hip. “I’ll walk you home, then.”

“Thank you, Gavin, but that’s not necessary,” Feanna said. “We live just up the road. I could make the journey blindfolded.”

“No doubt,” he replied as he bent to pick up his sword. “But there’s no need to wake Tansa.”

“Miss Daia,” Iriel said with a rough curtsy. “Can I be your page? I could learn about being a Viragon Sister now instead o’waitin’ ’til I’m old enough to join the Sisterhood.”

Daia and Feanna shared a surprised glance. “I’m afraid we don’t use pages, Iriel,” the battler said. “It’s a wonderful idea, though. I’ll have a talk with the guild leader and suggest it.” Iriel slumped, defeated.

Feanna put her free hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Let’s go, love. Miss Daia will inquire. It’s something to hope for.”

She bid everyone good-night, and they began the walk to her house. Iriel and Trevick skipped ahead, chasing fireflies on their way. Gavin said nothing at first, but eyed her under the light of the three-quarter moon. His scrutiny reminded Feanna of his boldness and lack of social grace, and she cleared her throat. “Is something the matter? Why are you staring at me?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I can’t get over how beautiful you are.”

She felt the blood rush to her face and hoped he could not see her blush in the moonlight. “For the compliment, thank you.”

“Liera tells me your children are all orphans.”

That brought a smile to her face. “Yes, they have no family, and I can provide them the food, shelter and clothing they need. I feel like I’m doing something worthwhile.”

“And love,” Gavin said. “Children need love as much as they need food and shelter.”

“Yes. And love. It’s amazing what the loving touch of another human being can do for someone, especially a grieving child.”

“Men and women need love too,” he said softly. “Is there someone who touches you?”

Feanna felt herself blushing again. “My needs aren’t important.”

“Sure they are. Don’t you ever lie awake at night, wishing for a shoulder to lay your head on? Or the gentle brush of a finger on your brow when you’re weary? Someone to hold you when you’re frightened?”

The reaction Feanna had to these images amazed her. With each of his questions, she heard his heartbeat against her ear, imagined his finger on her brow, his warm arms around her. She didn’t answer. She didn’t know how. To her relief, they arrived at the path leading to her house. “This,” she started. Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “This is my house.”

He followed her up the path. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I suppose I didn’t.” She smiled, glad he was behind her.

He took her elbow to help her up the two steps to the stoop. “Then I’m taking your silence for a no.”

Inside, Trevick had lighted a lamp and a few candles. The back door swung shut behind him as he headed to the outbuilding.

Feanna led the way into the children’s bedroom and laid Jilly on her pallet. She indicated Tansa’s pallet beside it, and Gavin set the girl gently down, then started to remove her shoes. “It’s all right. I’ll get them dressed for bed in a bit.”

He nodded and followed her into the great room. “I’ll bid you goodnight then.” He went to the door. Feanna’s heart sank. She had hoped he would try to kiss her, though she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for that. It would have been nice to know he wanted to.

“Goodnight, then,” she said.

He paused at the door. “Do you think I could see you sometime?”

Feanna smiled. “Perhaps.”

In two long strides, he was upon her, his arms sliding around her waist and pulling her close. She was too shocked to react in time to object. He held her body against his in a close, intimate embrace, far closer and more intimate than her late husband ever had. His breath was warm on her neck, his prickly face rough against her ear. As he was pulling away, she lowered her head so he couldn’t kiss her, but he tipped her chin up with a finger. “One kiss?”

His eyes were like two coals in the dim light. She felt his hunger... and something else, something she didn’t expect: his admiration for her. At that moment, she wanted his kiss more than anything. He lowered his mouth slowly toward hers, lips parted.

Someone giggled.

Gavin and Feanna snapped their heads toward the bedroom and saw Iriel peeking through the doorway.

Feanna pulled away and beckoned the youngster with a finger. Already in her nightgown and bare feet, Iriel giggled behind her cupped hand and came forward. Feanna bent to her and kissed her forehead. She was too embarrassed to chastise the girl for spying. Later, she would have a chat with the children about privacy.

Gavin squatted in front of Iriel and examined her, head to toe, with a stern expression. The giggling stopped, and Feanna felt her stiffen. “Have you brushed your teeth?” he asked.

“Yeh.”

“Yeh what?”

“Yeh, m’lord?”

Gavin nodded. “Don’t forget to do it every day so your teeth won’t rot out.”

“Did your tooth rot out right there?” Iriel pointed to her right eyetooth.

Heat burned Feanna’s face in embarrassment. “Iriel, what kind of question is that?”

“No, it started growing long one day, like a dog’s fang, cutting into my lip, making it hard to eat and talk. So I got dr— uh, got a doctor to give me medicine so I wouldn’t feel pain. Then he got a pliers and pulled it out.”

Feanna giggled.

“Did that really happen?” Iriel asked with a skeptical squint in her eyes.

Gavin winked. “Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t.”

“I’m goin’ to be a Viragon Sister when I grow up,” she announced.

“Are you now? Well, if you go directly to bed and don’t make a peep, maybe I’ll let you hold my sword tomorrow.”

Iriel’s face lit up, and she hopped excitedly. “Truly?”

“I don’t see you running off to bed,” Gavin said.

Iriel ran into the bedroom.

Feanna loved how comfortable he was with the children. She was still smiling when he rose and stepped up close to her. “Now,” he said as he slid his arms around her waist. “Where were we?”

The back door opened and Trevick came inside carrying the nighttime chamber pot.

Feanna stepped back out of Gavin’s arms. “Set it down, sweetheart,” she told Trevick, “and get ready for bed. I’ll finish the nighttime chores. Goodnight, Gavin. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gavin leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Here’s fair warning,” he said into her ear. His warm breath raised gooseflesh across her neck. “I’m getting my kiss tomorrow.”

Chapter 20

The following morning, while Feanna was cooking breakfast, she heard a rhythmic sound, like... someone chopping wood. She did a quick scan of the children around the table, accounting for each with a flood of relief. She went outside and, to her surprise and delight, found Gavin splitting wood.

“Good morning,” he said with a grin. “Hope you don’t mind. Rogan had plenty o’chopped wood, so I thought I’d see if you needed some.”

Feanna smiled. “That’s sweet of you, Gavin. Thank you. Have you broken your fast?”

Gavin showed her his gap-toothed smile. “As a matter o’fact, I ha’n’t. I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat — if you have enough.”

“If you don’t mind eggs, we have plenty.”

Gavin came in, washed his hands, and joined them at the table. At first, the children stared at him, silent and bug-eyed while he shoveled mountains of food into his mouth. Feanna had to remind them twice to eat their food and stop staring at their guest.

“Is Miss Daia comin’ too?” Iriel asked.

“We might see her later,” Gavin told her with a playful smile.

Then the flood of questions started: “Are you a ‘ranter?” “Are you married?” “Have you ever killed anybody?” “Do you have children?” “How come you’re missin’ a tooth right there?” “Did it rot out?” “What’d you get those scars from?” “What’s your horse’s name?”

Feanna enjoyed listening to Gavin answer the questions, some with a gentle version of the truth, some with an outrageous story designed to amuse. He accepted their uncommon lack of tact with good humor. Then Feanna realized Daia had been right: his fondness of children told her a lot about him. She could do worse than Gavin Kinshield. In fact, she already had.

After breakfast, Gavin went around the property with a handful of nails and a hammer, fixing things Feanna hadn’t found time for. Then he cleared the weeds growing next to the house, warning her that too much growth this close was a fire hazard. The children followed him around like ducklings, and he let them help despite that they were undoubtedly slowing his progress. Kneading dough in the kitchen, Feanna watched out the window while he showed Trevick how to hammer a new nail to fix a hinge on the barn door. When Trevick hit his hand and clutched it, wailing loudly enough for Feanna to hear, her instinct was to rush out and comfort him, but Gavin handled the crisis with skill, first examining the wound, then spitting on it — oh! She hoped he was only pretending to spit on it. When Trevick laughed, Gavin rubbed his head and gave him a playful push, prompting Trevick to push back. Feanna laughed quietly, watching the two wrestle, until Iriel jumped on Gavin’s back in a very unladylike manner, skirt hiked to her thighs. Then Tansa attached herself his leg, and Gavin collapsed to the ground under their weight. The children leapt to their feet and danced a victory dance over whatever beast they had slain, and Gavin rose, laughing.

Watching their antics was more fun than Feanna had had in quite some time, and she found herself laughing too. Her heart swelled. This was a man she wanted to have in her life. She wondered whether he would be playful in the bedroom too. Her thoughts embarrassed her, but they also made her realize that perhaps Gavin had been right. Men and women did need love, and Feanna had been too long without it.

“Can I hold it now? Can I?” Iriel asked, hopping excitedly.

“Awright,” Gavin said. She followed him to the side of the house where he’d left Aldras Gar. He picked it up and beckoned her to come with him to the chopping stump. “Two rules. Rule one: you don’t point a sword at anyone you aren’t willing to kill.” Iriel nodded. “Rule two: you always know where it’s pointing.” He squatted beside her and rested the blade, still in its scabbard, on the stump and extended the hilt toward her. “It’s heavy. Take it in both hands.”

She wrapped her small hands around it, unable to close her fingers completely. He adjusted the position of her hands. “Now step back with your right leg. A little more. Good. You’re ready for battle.”

She gritted her teeth and strained. “Uhhhh! I can’t lift it.”

“When you join the Sisterhood, you’ll work with a smaller blade until you grow big and strong enough for one like this.” He took it from her and set it on the stump. “Let’s get back to work, eh?” He returned to the barn where Tansa was handing Trevick nails to hammer into the siding. “Good job, Trevick. You’ll have it like new.”

An unsettling feeling came over him, and his smile dropped away, replaced by a brow creased in concern. Something wasn’t right.

Aldras Gar.

“Everyone run to the house,” he commanded as he pulled his glove on.

Trevick and Tansa stopped what they were doing, hearing the stern tone in his voice. “What? Why?” Trevick asked.

“RUN!” Gavin shouted. He started toward the stump where Iriel was trying to lift Aldras Gar. The gems in the hilt glowed with alarming brilliance.

In the field a few dozen yards away, a large black form emerged through a red slit in the air. The beyonder raised its head, sniffing the air. With dark smoke rising from its body, it looked like a giant badger from hell. Two others joined it.

Trevick started to run. Tansa screamed. The three hell badgers turned toward the source of the sound. She wasn’t going to make it to the house in time.

Gavin turned back and sprinted to the barn where Tansa stood paralyzed with fear. He snatched her up and raced toward the house. Iriel was still trying to lift Aldras Gar, oblivious to the danger. “IRIEL!”

She looked up, surveyed the scene and began to run. Trevick was at the house. Iriel slowed to look at the hell badgers behind her.

“Don’t look. Run!” Gavin changed course and scooped Iriel up in his free arm as he overtook her. He set the two girls down and pushed them into the house. “Bar the door,” he said.

With the children safely inside, Gavin faced the hell badgers. Each was roughly seven feet long and three feet tall at the shoulder. They raced toward him. Judging their speed and distance, he knew he wouldn’t make it to Aldras Gar in time. He lifted his hand toward the weapon and pulled with his will.

The sword wiggled. Gavin pulled harder, gritting his teeth. The hell badgers were close enough he could hear them grunt as they ran. As if it were being propelled by a tornado, the sword launched into the air, hurtling toward Gavin. Its hilt slapped into his hand, and its momentum jerked his arm backward.

The first hell badger hit him. The force of the creature’s charge slammed him onto his back. The thing was upon him, teeth snapping. Its putrid breath threatened to gag him. He tried to swing the sword around. Inch-long fangs clamped onto his forearm, ripping through his flesh. His grip weakened. Agony seared his thoughts. He clenched his teeth against the pain. Blood ran down his arm.

The sword shuddered in his hand, and a wave rippled the air. The hell badger squealed and flew back. Heat burst from his body in a wave, scorching the two others as they leapt on him. Gavin swung his sword across his body. It took the head off one and sank into the shoulder of the other, lodging in the bone. A terrible shriek pierced the air. Gavin yanked his sword free as the first hell badger charged again. He rolled to his feet and twisted at the waist, swinging the sword with a two-handed grip. Its blade lit up with a faint blue glow as it sliced through the beast’s chest as easily as if it were made of smoke, cutting the thing in two. A pale whitish fluid sprayed through the air, splashing Gavin’s sleeves. It turned green the moment it touched his clothing. He twisted his body, bringing the sword around again. Though the point missed its mark when the last hell badger stumbled after him, the spark that flew forth did not. It seared the beyonder like a hundred bolts of lightning. The beast glowed brilliantly enough to leave a white afterimage in Gavin’s vision, then faded to a charred black lump. Smoke rose from its singed fur, with an acrid smell like burnt rot.

Gavin stood over the three corpses, his chest heaving. He looked at the sword, both awestruck and wary. Unmarred by beyonder entrails, it sparkled and shone as though it were proud of itself. He was going to have a talk with Risan Stronghammer, the sword’s maker. Not that Gavin didn’t feel grateful that the weapon had... had worked so hard to save him. But this wasn’t a weapon; it was a warrior in its own right. Did he have control over it? Could it tell friend from foe?

In the house, a small face peered at him through a window, eyes wide. Iriel. Gavin looked down at himself and sighed. The shirt was in tatters, ruined with his blood and the creatures’. He stripped it off and tossed it onto one of the corpses. He’d bury it with the bodies. No one needed to know he’d been injured. His chest and abdomen sported a few minor cuts and scrapes. He looked at his arm where the beyonder had bitten him. Pink lines and punctures and an annoying itch were all that remained of the wounds. In fact, he was healing so quickly that the wounds darkened while he watched.

He went to the door and knocked, dreading the inevitable tears and hysteria from Feanna and the girls.

“It’s Gavin,” Feanna’s voice said urgently. “Hurry. Open the door.” He heard some scraping sounds, and the door swung inward.

Jilly launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his thigh. Gavin patted her back, touched by her display. “It’s awright. They’re dead. Everyone’s safe now.”

“Gavin, are you hurt?” Feanna’s eyes roamed his body, returning to his chest and shoulders. He couldn’t tell whether she was staring at his muscles or his scars. “I have bandages and iodine.” In her hands was a box of supplies. She was surprisingly calm, despite the worried line between her eyebrows.

He stroked her hair tenderly. “No, I’m awright. My shirt got ripped and the beyonders’ stinky blood got on it. I’m fine. See?” He turned around for their inspection, flexing his muscles dramatically as he did. Tansa giggled behind her hand.

“Wow,” Iriel said. “Can I see the dead bodies?”

“No,” Feanna answered.

Gavin put a hand on Trevick’s shoulder. “I could use a man’s help burying the corpses.”

The boy seemed to swell as he scooted past Feanna and the girls. “Yes, m’lord.”

Gavin looked at Iriel. “Could you do somethin’ for me? Run to Rogan’s and ask Daia to bring my horse and be ready to ride.”

Iriel smiled and curtsied. “O’course, m’lord.”

The question in Feanna’s eyes was clear.

“Sorry. I’ll explain later,” he said.

Chapter 21

Feanna watched Gavin and Trevick take a pair of shovels from the barn then drag the beyonder corpses out of sight. She had a washbasin and clean towels ready for them in the kitchen when they returned, dirty and sweating, a half-hour later.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as Gavin put his arm into the strap of his scabbard and positioned it on his back.

Gavin looked around at the children who watched him quietly. “I have to leave. There’s something I got to take care of, and until I do...”

She followed his gaze and saw the fear in Jilly’s wide blue eyes. She went to the child and put a calming hand on her shoulder.

“It’s safer for you if I leave. I’m sorry.” He headed to the door.

“Gavin, wait,” Feanna said, hurrying after him. “Children, stay here.” She glanced back at the house to make sure the children were obeying. They crowded at the window and door, watching as she and Gavin walked to the road.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. My presence here put you and the children in danger.”

“No, that’s not true. You saved us. If you hadn’t been here, I tremble to think what would’ve happened to us.”

At the road, they stopped. He faced her, standing close. “If I ha’n’t come, they wouldn’t’ve either. Everywhere I go, beyonders come. They’re drawn to me.”

“What makes you say that? We’ve had beyonders before.”

“When was the last one?”

She rolled her eyes skyward. “About two months ago. Gavin, this wasn’t your fault.”

He searched her eyes, then lay his palm against her ear to gently stroke her cheek with his thumb. “I got to tell you something about me. There’s a lot you don’t know. A lot you need to know.”

She smiled. “I know what kind of man you are, and for now that’s all I need to know.”

Gavin’s brow rose slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Then his hand slipped around behind her neck. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his mouth to hers, maintaining eye contact until the moment their lips touched.

Feanna felt like she was falling. She closed her eyes and sank into his kiss, hungry for the warmth of his lips. They were softer than she expected, and hotter. His other arm circled her waist and clutched her body closely against his. She wrapped her arms around him, splaying one hand over his smooth, warm skin. Her fingers found and stroked the hairs on the back of his neck.

Gavin moaned softly as his mouth moved over hers, pushing her lips farther apart.

A flood of spicy warmth spilled into her most private region, radiating upward across her belly, her breasts where they pressed into his hard chest, into her arms, her neck, her face, her lips. Never had she wanted the kiss of a man like she wanted this. His tongue, soft but demanding, slipped into her mouth and sought hers. They danced together, a slow, erotic dance that surely must have been what heaven was like. Nothing she’d ever experienced before had prepared her for the intensity of what she felt now. The physical sensations set her insides on fire. The strength of his caring and the depth of respect and longing drew her in closer. The thought of ending this kiss, this delicious communion of man and woman, was excruciating. Everything she’d lost could be found here, in this moment, in their future together. This was what she’d been looking for, and now she’d found it.

Then Feanna realized she was shifting.

She jerked, stiffening. Gavin loosened his arms and pulled back with a question in his eyes. Feanna didn’t know how to explain to him what she’d done, but she was sure it was wrong. After all, those were his feelings, not hers. She’d merely stolen them and enjoyed them with him. The experience had been immensely pleasurable, certainly, but what had she felt? She pushed away from him, and reluctantly, he let her go.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I didn’t mean to... do what I did. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry.” She smoothed the front of her dress and cast an embarrassed glance at the house. The children were smiling. Tansa waved, nodding enthusiastically.

“I thought it went well. Didn’t you like it?”

“More than you know,” Feanna said softly, lowering her gaze. She fought the strong impulse to step back into his arms where, for that luxurious moment, she’d felt cherished and desired for perhaps the first time in her life. “But I shouldn’t have... It’s hard to explain.”

“Well then, I guess we both have something to confess.” Daia walked toward them leading two horses, saddled and dressed in leather armor. Iriel sat upon Gavin’s huge, dappled gray gelding wearing a smile that nearly split her face. “Look, I really need to tell you something before I go. I’m—”

Feanna put a finger across his lips. “Tell me next time. And I’ll do the same.” She went up on tiptoe and pulled his head down to place a soft kiss on his lips.

Gavin took the leather thong from around his neck and pulled it off over his head. His wooden warrant tag dangled from it. “I swore never to take this off. I want you to wear it until I come back.” He slipped it over Feanna’s head.

“Won’t you need it?” She grasped the tag in her right fist and felt his emotions almost as strongly as though she’d touched him directly — concern, regret... and affection.

He smiled. “No. I’ll tell you about it next time. Feanna, listen. If you need me for any reason — any reason — send word to the Elegance Inn in Tern and I’ll be here as fast as Golam can run.” He placed a warm, lingering kiss on her lips.

Even after he’d pulled away and gone to his horse, the feel of his lips remained.

Iriel patted Golam and waved as she backed away. Daia nodded with a pleasant smile. “Miss Feanna.”

Feanna stroked Gavin’s warrant tag where it lay against her chest, still feeling him acutely. “Miss Daia.” She put a hand on Iriel’s shoulder, and they watched as Gavin pulled on a clean shirt and donned his leather cuirass. He and Daia mounted their horses. Feanna caught her breath at the noble sight of him sitting tall in the saddle with the jeweled sword on his back. Roughened though he was, there was more to him than met the eye. Far more.

He waved at the children. When he looked back at Feanna, the expression in his eyes was intense and longing. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.” He rode away with Daia at his side.

Chapter 22

“What’s wrong?” Daia asked as they rode away. “You certainly didn’t look like a man eager to get back on the road. Is that blood on your trousers?”

“Yeh. Beyonders. Three o’them.”

Guilt stung her like a hive of bees. He could have been killed. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go there alone.”

He shot her an annoyed look. “Do I look like I lost the fight?”

True, he didn’t look like he’d fared poorly except for the fresh scars on his forearm and wrist. “Beyonder blood isn’t usually red, Gavin, so don’t pretend the fresh scars on your forearm aren’t from that beyonder attack. I’m glad you heal quickly, though.”

His face showed surprise, but he didn’t press the matter. “I think they’re drawn to me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Wherever I go, they ain’t— aren’t far away. You heard that armsman in Tern say there’s been more beyonder attacks in the city during the last week — ever since I got there. They came through in the city square only minutes after I was at the armorsmith’s. Feanna said she ha’n’t seen a beyonder in months, but when I came, three o’them turned up — not to Rogan’s where you were but to Feanna’s where I was.”

It did strike Daia as strange that they’d encountered so many beyonders lately. Perhaps it had something to do with Gavin receiving King Arek’s magic. It was just as well they were on their way again. With evidence that Brodas Ravenkind was killing Gavin’s relatives, Daia felt a desperate need to leave Rogan’s property to keep Gavin’s location secret. That Cirang might still have been in the area concerned her.

She followed Gavin to his brother’s farm where he tried again to convince Rogan to take his family into hiding. She didn’t think a man could be more stubborn than Gavin Kinshield, but Rogan held fast to his decision to stand his ground against Ravenkind’s threat.

“You don’t want your boys growing up without their father,” Gavin said.

“We got Dona and Nasharla here. Besides, Ravenkind’s made his point. He’s hungry for power, not for blood.”

“You don’t know him,” Gavin said. “He escaped with five of us against him. The two guards won’t give you much more than an early lead if he comes here. You heard Daia say she thinks one o’his spies is still in Saliria.”

By the lines in Rogan’s wrinkled forehead, the caution appeared to sink in. “Where would we go?”

“To the Elegance Inn in Tern,” Gavin said. “At least send Liera and the boys. If you want to be a fool, do it at your expense and not theirs, though they’ll be hurting without you.”

“I’ll think on it,” Rogan said.

With an exasperated sigh, Gavin shook his head. He bid his brother good-bye with a long embrace, but didn’t seem to have many more words left to say that he hadn’t already tried.

“Don’t worry, Little Brother. At the first sign that somethin’s amiss, we’ll be on the road.”

Gavin climbed back into the saddle, but the defeat was gone from his posture. In its place was the confidence of a new conviction. “I’ll be right back.” He trotted to where Dona was walking through the trees on the outskirts of Rogan’s property and returned with her, riding double on Golam’s back. Once they’d stopped and Dona had dismounted, Gavin said, “Sorry to do this, but I got to. Dona, you’re witness to this. Rogan, pack your wife and sons, make arrangements for the care o’your animals, and go to Tern. You’ll leave by nightfall tomorrow. As King o’Thendylath, I command it.” Without waiting for a response, he trotted off.

While Rogan shouted a string of curses and objections at Gavin’s back, Daia exchanged a nod with Dona to confirm she would see the king’s command carried out. She hurried to catch up to him.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they merged onto the main road leading west, though the tall pines and cedars, oaks and ash created a canopy that shaded much of their travel. Squirrels and chipmunks darted across the forest floor, and birds sang merrily from their perches above as the riders made their way toward the Lucky Inn.

“You had to do it,” Daia said. “It was for his own good.”

“Yeh. Doesn’t make it any easier, though. He’ll be plenty red about it.”

They rode on for a few hours, making light conversation. Judging from the way Gavin’s expression changed periodically from a drawn brow and mouth pinched tight to a relaxed gaze and easy smile, Daia suspected that his thoughts see-sawed between concern for his brother and his budding relationship with Feanna. Although Daia would have delighted to see one of her sisters marry the king, she didn’t truly think he would be drawn to either, especially after meeting such a lovely woman as Feanna.

“Don’t worry about Rogan,” she said. “Dona and Nasharla will see him safely to Tern. With so many Sisters around, he’ll be safe.”

“That doesn’t ease my concern for the rest o’my family. Uncles, aunts, cousins — they’re still in danger. I’ll stop and warn my aunt in Ambryce, though she took her husband’s name when she married. Ravenkind may not know of her.”

“You didn’t tell Miss Feanna where we were going, did you?“ she asked.

Gavin shook his head. “She doesn’t know anything yet, aside from I live in Tern.”

“You haven’t told her you’re the king, either?”

“I didn’t want to ruin my chances with her afore she got to know me.”

Daia thought his worries were unfounded. Women would be throwing themselves at him when they found out his bride would become Thendylath’s queen. “I doubt she would reject you for that alone.”

He shrugged.

While Feanna didn’t have the bone structure that set the standard of beauty among the nobility, she had a pleasant face and beautiful eyes. Two of her front teeth had grown in at awkward angles, but they gave her smile a certain charm that Daia was sure would resonate with the common people over whom she would rule as queen. Like Gavin, she wasn’t a perfect doll-like icon of nobility but a real person with true compassion. Both were the sorts of people Thendylath needed on the throne. “She’s a lovely lady,” Daia said.

“Yeh.” A small smile curved his lips.

She wondered if the pang she felt was jealousy toward Feanna or envy for Gavin. There was a time Daia would have liked to have a family of her own, but such things didn’t fit well into the life of a Viragon Sister. The thought of a king’s champion waddling around with a huge belly or babe suckling at her breast nearly made her chuckle aloud. No, that path was lost to Daia for good. She’d embraced her life as a swordswoman and accepted the sacrifices that went with it. “She seems kindly, what with the orphans and all.”

He regarded her with his brow drawn. “Do you have a problem with Feanna? Because if you do, I don’t want to hear—“

“I don’t have a problem with her, Gavin. Why so defensive?”

“I seen you sitting with her, measuring her with your glance. Who I court ain’t your decision to make.”

“Isn’t my decision. You misunderstand. My intention was to get to know her so I’ll be better able to champion her against anyone who attempts to dissuade you or challenge your choice. I happen to think she’s a good match for you, and I look forward to getting to know her. Did she tell you about her power?”

“Huh?”

“She tapped into my conduit when we first met. She didn’t mention it to you?”

He shook his head with his brow scrunched in thought. “She wanted to, I think. We ran out o’time.”

“Well, this morning while you were courting our future queen—”

“I never said I was going to marry her,” Gavin said.

Was that blush in his cheeks? “You didn’t have to. We all saw it the moment the two of you set eyes upon each other.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was blushing deeply now, though he tried to hide his face.

Daia couldn’t hold back her smile. She’d never imagined Gavin Kinshield could be embarrassed about anything. “No need to be abashed, Gavin. It’s wonderful. When two people are right for each other, they know it. I’d say everyone who was in the vicinity knows it. We expected you to sweep her up and carry her off right then and there. Your sister-in-law couldn’t be more pleased.”

“No doubt.”

“Anyway, this morning I asked Rogan about any items he knew of that could be of use — things that were passed down to your father that he might have stored away.”

Gavin looked at her now, the redness fading from his face. “Did he?”

“He had a small chest tucked away with a few odds and ends, including a key. It didn’t fit the chest, and he didn’t know what it was for. It has a bit of rust on it, but it’s in fairly good condition.”

“You have it, then?”

“I do. What’s most interesting about this key is the head. It’s quite ornate.”

“I wonder if it could be for the palace.”

“That was my thought as well, but if your vision was true, then a key isn’t going to make any difference. Ritol wouldn’t have let a mere lock stand between him and King Arek’s magic.”

They stopped and dismounted to stretch their legs and let the horses graze for a moment. Daia pulled the key out of her pack and passed it to him.

“It doesn’t look familiar. Help me for a second, will you?”

Daia reached for Gavin with her conduit, felt him take the connection. His eyelids fluttered as his eyes rolled back. At first, he tugged at her with his usual gentleness, but the sensation intensified as though he couldn’t quite grasp what he was seeking and needed to pull more from her. She remembered the time Jennalia had grasped her conduit with such strength, it frightened her. She was reminded of that sensation now, like sitting on a terrified horse without reins to control its frenzied gallop. The pressure around her chest felt like a giant fist squeezing the air from her lungs. She concentrated on her breathing, deep and steady, while Gavin pulled harder. Something within her felt like it was ripping away. It was all she could do to hold on. If she let go, would she ever come back? Fear bubbled up from deep within her survival instinct. I trust him. He won’t hurt me. I trust him. She knew she had to conquer this fear to help him do what he needed to do, but it grew ever closer to panic. It took every bit of her will to keep from yanking herself back and shutting off the connection. A small sound, like a child’s terrified whimper, escaped her throat.

Then she was free. She gasped for breath, knowing even as she did it that her lungs had never been without air.

“I couldn’t get it,” he said. “Could be Ronor never owned this key. You awright?”

“Yes. I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t give you anymore. We can try again later if you want.” Next time, she would try a little harder to feed him what he needed. After all, she would be no good to him if she couldn’t master her fear enough to grant him the very strength he needed to defeat Ritol.

Once they were mounted and on the road again, Gavin said, “Let’s talk about this fear o’bats you got.”

“No, let’s not.” She would never have confessed such a thing to him, especially knowing how he would tease her, but her nervousness had gotten the best of her one night a couple of weeks ago, and he’d managed to guess its cause.

He chuckled. “You’ve no humor.”

“I’ve plenty of humor. Let’s talk about how you lost that eyetooth.”

“Oh, that? I was at the Lucky Inn, eyeing a comely wench who just finished rebuffing a buck. So I went over and started flirting. Turns out that other buck was her husband. Hit me in the mouth with a pewter tankard.”

“Kinshield, you are so full of— tales.”

He laughed. “Know any traveling songs?”

Daia was taught to sing as a child, but she’d never enjoyed singing for an audience. “No.”

“In Tern lived a poor, starving lass,” he sang loudly. Though his voice was deep and rich, his off-key notes were cringe-worthy.

Golam nickered and shook his head.

“Set out to the fair on her ass.”

The warhorse snorted like a bull.

“She said to the donkey, in a voice that was on-key...”

Golam stretched his head out and began to squeal.

“...you’ll fetch a fine pielar, alas.”

The horse neighed loudly, causing Calie to nicker questioningly.

Daia laughed. “I guess he doesn’t like your singing.”

Gavin patted Golam’s neck. “He loves my singing. It’s that song he hates.”

“Golam’s the quirkiest horse I’ve ever known.”

“If I sing it again, he’ll buck me right off his back. His favorite song is—” He reined in his horse. “Stop.”

“What is it?” The hairs on the back of Daia’s neck stiffened.

He pulled a leather glove onto his sword hand, as he did before every fight. “I think something’s coming through.”

Aldras Gar!

Gavin drew his sword while turning Golam in a circle, trying to see where the danger was.

“There,” Daia said as she drew her weapon.

Ahead on the road, a red slit formed in the air, and a brown, hairy foot stepped out followed by another and two more. The beyonder’s body was the size of a bear. It had four arms in addition to the four legs, and a wide mouth that wrapped nearly all the way around its head. This thing didn’t look like it would be difficult to kill.

Daia heeled her mount and went in with her sword ready. With barely a nudge, Golam took off after them. Her sword sliced off an arm as she sped past. A new one took its place. Ho! Gavin drove Aldras Gar into the thing’s chest. It turned with the sword still in it. With Golam’s forward momentum, and the monster’s turn in the opposite direction, Gavin lost his grip on the weapon. Hell. Golam slowed, turned and started at it again. Gavin pulled hard on the reins. He wouldn’t be able to fight with only his dagger.

Daia was already making a second pass when the red slit appeared again. A second beyonder, similar to the first but slightly smaller, stepped through. She slashed the first one, then shifted her blade to the other side and sliced the new one before it was even completely though the tear. The beyonders’ shrill cry sent a shudder up Gavin’s spine.

About eight inches of Aldras Gar’s blade, blackened with blood, protruded from the first one’s body. Gavin tugged at it with his mind. Come. It slid out of the beyonder’s chest and hurtled toward him, hilt end first. With a slight lean, Golam rotated, putting Gavin’s hand in Aldras Gar’s direct path.

Armed once more, he charged forward. Daia had circled back and was engaging the second beyonder. Then the first one’s four arms and legs became two as a third beyonder squirmed out of its body. The second beyonder split into two as well. Now instead of facing two beyonders, they faced four.

“Don’t let it hit you,” she called. “Their fur’s like porcupine quills.”

Good to know. As if of one mind, all four of them attacked Daia. She swung her blade with impressive speed and skill, while her horse danced and kicked. He needed to split them and get two of them on himself. Golam ran straight for the one on the right, head down. Gavin swung Aldras Gar. It crackled with a blue light as it descended, then sliced deeply into the thing’s shoulder. A spark lit the monster up, singeing its fur. A rancid odor filled the air like burnt chicken shit. It screeched and warbled. Two of the beyonders turned on him. Good. One swiped at him. He leaned away, but Golam didn’t have time to react. The massive paw struck Gavin in the chest like a tree branch. He fell backward, tumbling over Golam’s flank. He landed on his arse. Golam circled the monsters, trying to get to him, but one beyonder went after the horse. Gavin leapt to his feet in time to engage the other. It towered over him by at least two feet, massive paws swinging at his head. He ducked, speared it in the gut, then ducked again. It swiped lower — too low to duck — and he spun away, swinging the sword as he did. He felt it lag as it sliced through his target. Quickly surveying the road, he saw Daia fighting off one beyonder while her second opponent lay still a few feet distant.

Golam neighed loudly as he reared and struck the beyonder brutally with his front hooves, mouth open and trying to bite. His dark-gray nose was bloody, his gray face spattered with blood. The horse fought with the spirit of a true warrior.

Gavin sank into his fighting stance as the beyonder bore down on him once more. A huge paw came at him. Aldras Gar sliced cleanly through it, severing it. The creature wailed, sending a sharp pain through Gavin’s skull. Vile-smelling, black sludge pumped out the open wound until a new paw grew from it. He brought the sword around again and chopped down. On a man, it would have been a killing blow, slicing through from shoulder to waist. On the beyonder, the sword stopped about a third of the way through as though he’d struck stone. Then the monster sealed itself as though it had never been cut.

“Cut off its head,” Daia shouted. “It’s the only way to kill it.”

Gavin spun, aiming Aldras Gar at the neck, and missed. Its newly grown paw slammed into his back, sending him flailing into the dirt. He rolled, glimpsing Daia, still mounted, charging at his beyonder with sword poised. Her sword sliced deeply into the neck, but not enough to sever the head. She circled back.

Golam was kicking his opponent with rear legs. Gavin left the third one to Daia and charged the beast his horse was fighting alone. He didn’t have a good angle to swing at its head, so he speared it in the back to get its attention. Behind him, Daia slew the third beyonder. He wanted to kill one at least.

The monster turned and roared. It came at him with both paws raised. He couldn’t get its head off like that. He swung hard, twisting at the waist, aiming at its lower torso. The blade sliced into it. He felt the stress in his shoulders as Aldras Gar met the resistance. It cut through the creature’s flesh and bone, then the blade was free again. The monster lay in two pieces, squirming and screaming. Its legs sprawled motionless on the ground, but the top half was still trying to fight.

Golam ran in, stomping with his forelegs. “Golam, no. Get back,” Gavin said, waving his free arm to warn the horse away. Daia leapt off her mount and chopped with her sword, severing the thing’s head. He heaved a sigh. She had slain four, Gavin none. "Shit. I would’ve had it." He consoled himself by knowing he’d chosen the right battler as his champion.

She looked him over quickly. “Are you hurt?” Her chest heaved from the exertion of battle. Sweat plastered a few loose hairs to her face.

“No, you?”

She eyed her shoulder and left arm. Fine brown hairs poked her skin. “Stings like a mother’s slight.”

“Let’s see if I can heal you.”

“Tend your horse first,” she said. “He’s hurt.”

Golam tossed his head, prancing uneasily. Blood streamed from his nose into the weeds. The sight of his injured horse squeezed Gavin’s heart. He approached slowly, careful not to spook him. “Aww, mule. Look at you. Calm yourself. It’s awright.” Gavin placed one hand on Golam’s muzzle above his nose, and the other under his jaw. He focused on the white fluttering sensation he felt when King Arek’s healing magic was at work. With the help of Daia’s conduit, the heat built up quickly in his hands and the fluttering flowed through them and into Golam. Soon the blood stopped flowing and the cuts sealed with pink skin. “Better now? Let’s get these needles out o’you.” He began pulling the beyonder’s fine brown hairs from the tender flesh of the horse’s nose. He inspected one, amazed at how the rigid tip was so sharp like a needle. “You did well by yourself. Maybe you ain’t as dumb as you look, huh?” When he was finished, he tousled the white forelock. “I need a rag to wipe the blood off you.” Golam nickered and nuzzled him, wiping his wet, bloody nose across Gavin’s neck and the top of his cuirass. “Aww, Golam.”

He turned to show Daia what his horse had done and found her collapsed on the ground.

Aw, hell. He ran to her side and fell to his knees. Her eyes were closed, face relaxed. “You ain’t playing a game are you?” he asked as he placed his hands on her bare skin, one on her wrist, the other on her neck.

Again, the healing magic flowed through him and into her. Pressure built in his head. Without her conduit, it took longer and more effort, despite the gems in his sword and coin pouch. Unconscious, she couldn’t connect with him, but maybe he could connect with her. He unfocused his eyes, found the swirling orange tendril in the center of her egg-shaped haze, and took hold of it with his own. He felt the magic power within him strengthen, and he went back to work healing the effects of the poison that coursed through her veins.

After a few minutes, her eyelids fluttered. She looked up into his face and flinched. “What happened?”

“Poison.” Gavin shifted back, squatting on his haunches, and helped her sit upright. He began pulling the beyonder’s hairs out of her arm.

“Ouch.” Daia started pulling them out as well. “You didn’t get hit with these?”

“No, but Golam had a snout-full. Nasty pricks.” He chuckled at his jest.

“You’re not going to faint after healing us, are you?”

“No, I’m not going to faint,” Gavin drawled. “I used your conduit.”

“While I was knocked out?” From the way her brow knitted, he could tell she shared his thought.

Unconscious, she was vulnerable.

Chapter 23

After a three-day ride to Ambryce, Daia followed slightly behind Gavin, scanning the city streets for danger with her hand on the hilt of her sword. Despite the increased frequency of beyonder attacks in populated areas, the likelihood was still higher that a citizen would be attacked by miscreants. She cast a glance at the king and smiled to herself. Nobody right of mind would attack such a man, jeweled sword or not.

The city was not one of her favorites. It was dusty and worn, victim to a succession of corrupt lordovers over the last three decades. Only in the last few years had a son taken over who made an effort to use the taxes he collected to improve the city. It had a long way to go before even the most affluent section would resemble the middle-class area of her home city of Tern.

“Do you want to stop at the Stronghammers’ to ask Risan to put the other gems in your sword?” she asked to his back.

Gavin tossed her a glance over his shoulder. “Yeah. After we talk to the curator. After we find out where to go next.”

The museum looked like it had once been the home of a well-to-do family. Its entrance was decorated with portraits of long-dead nobles and the work of once-renowned painters. The hostess, a middle-aged woman with a scrawny neck, hurried to greet them, curtsying with a flirtatious smile at Gavin. Daia was amused by Gavin’s playful return. If the woman had known he was king, she might have literally swooned into his arms. She waved her hand toward the staircase, reminding Gavin that he knew where to find the curator’s office.

In the room at the end of the hall sat a man about the same size as Daia’s younger sister, eating a bowl of stew. His eyes flew wide at the sight of Gavin, and he stood quickly, jarring the bowl and slopping the contents over one edge and onto the wood beneath. He beckoned them in and gestured to the two chairs before his desk. “Gavin, how good to see you. Do you have the pendant?” he asked as he mopped up the spill.

“No, I delivered it to the Institute for Scholarly Studies.” Gavin removed his scabbard from his back and took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the curator’s desk, then laid the weapon across his lap. Daia stood slightly behind him, hands clasped.

The curator’s brow lifted. “And you received Ronor Kinshield’s letter in return?”

“Yeh.”

Laemyr blinked a few times and licked his lips. “You will share it with me, won’t you? After all, I paid you four dyclen to bring me the pendant.”

“And you sent me into a trap without warning,” Gavin replied.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have anticipated, I’m sure. After all, I hired the most experienced warrant knight I could find — and the most honorable. We had an agreement.”

“I can’t give you the letter. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons. I’m here because I need a favor.”

Laemyr smiled and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Gavin, you know this dance. I twirl, you dip. You swing, I pivot.”

Gavin looked at Daia with an impatient expression. “See? I told you he wouldn’t cooperate.”

“Why don’t you show him your sword,” Daia suggested. Though only three of the gems were embedded in the hilt, Gavin had the remaining two in his pocket.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Gavin said.

Laemyr put up his hands, palms out. “Now, now. There’s no need for violence.”

She motioned with her head for him to consult with her privately in the hall, and she followed him out. “It’ll convince him to help us, and we need his help.”

“But he’ll know, and he’ll start blabbing around town about it.”

“Even if we swear him to secrecy?”

After a moment’s contemplation, Gavin sighed. “Maybe not.” They returned to the office. He presented Aldras Gar to the wide-eyed curator hilt first. “Take a look at this.”

Laemyr barely glanced at it. “Very nice, but I know little about weapons.”

“Look at the gems.”

Laemyr looked at it more carefully but said nothing.

“Remember when you saw me carving the fourth king’s rune into the table at the tavern?”

Laemyr’s eyes flew open. “Oh, my lord. Oh, my!” He stuttered for a moment, wringing his hands. “You’re the one deciphering the king’s runes? You’re our… our new king?”

Gavin’s silence was probably answer enough, but Daia nodded to make certain the curator understood who he was dealing with.

Laemyr came around to the front of his desk, then dropped to one knee at Gavin’s feet, head bowed. “My life for your service, my king.”

“So about that favor,” Gavin said. He grasped a handful of Laemyr’s tunic and urged him to stand. “Ronor Kinshield had King Arek’s signet ring, and I need it. Do you know where it is?”

Laemyr cleared his throat. “To my knowledge, the ring has not surfaced since King Arek’s demise. I fear it’s lost forever, unless perhaps one of your relatives has it.”

Gavin drew his brow pensively. “I would’ve remembered seeing it if my father’d had it.”

A terrible thought occurred to Daia. “Might your cousin have had it?”

Gavin’s face reflected her thought. “If Ravenkind knew about the signet ring, he might have sought her out.”

“Presenting King Arek’s signet ring would give him a good deal of credibility in the absence of the King’s Blood-stone.”

“What about the Lordover Tern?” Gavin asked. “A lot o’Ronor’s belongings were given to the lordover.”

“And burned in a fire,” Daia reminded him.

“Not everything. His letter survived in spite o’rumors it perished.”

“If you’d like,” Laemyr said, “I can inquire. I recently bought a painting from the Lordover Tern, and I’m interested in buying another.”

Daia and Gavin both nodded. They would rather not cross paths with Celónd again so soon.

“Yeh,” Gavin said. “Go ahead, but don’t mention us.”

At Laemyr’s questioning look, Daia said, “He’d be less than cooperative if he knew who was asking. He doesn’t yet know that Gavin’s our king.”

“Duly noted,” the curator said. He went around his desk and scribbled a note. “If there’s no reason in particular you require that specific ring, might I suggest you have a jeweler craft a new one?”

Daia and Gavin shared a look. Risan Stronghammer. He was no jeweler, but with his blacksmithing skill he could make a temporary ring.

Laemyr went to his bookcase. “I have a sketch of what the seal looked like. You could have it duplicated, at least until you find the original ring.” He withdrew a book, opened it, and pulled out a loose page. “Is there anything else I can help with, my liege?” he asked as he handed it to Gavin.

“We’re looking for information about King Arek’s travels between the realms,” Gavin said. “Can you tell us anything about how he did it?”

“Why, yes. I’ve been researching it for some time. In fact, that’s the subject of the painting I’d hoped to acquire. It depicts a man stepping through a vortex from nothingness into the world. Remarkable. Simply—”

“The Wayfarer King?” Daia asked. She’d grown up admiring the painting from where it hung in her father’s library on the occasions he wasn’t around to shoo her away.

The curator shot her a startled look, reminding Daia that as much as her familial ties were part of her, others couldn’t see them. “Yes, that’s it. It was reportedly painted by a woman who’d seen King Arek returning from one of his otherworldly jaunts. Over the last twelve years, I’ve hunted through every book, every letter, every diary to find information on the portals and how they worked.” He went to a bookcase and pulled a tome from a shelf. “I compiled the information into this encyclopaedia. It lists everything I could find about the realms King Arek and the kings before him visited and what they brought back or reported. It seems that some of them are more dangerous than others.” He patted the book gently and caressed its front cover.

“What do you know about the realm o’beyonders?” Gavin asked.

“The basest realm. King Arek only went there once that I know of, and what he reported would raise the hair on your neck. Well, perhaps not on your neck, seeing as you’re a warrant knight— or you were one — and much braver than the average—”

“Let’s have it,” Gavin said, holding his hand out for the tome.

Laemyr clutched it to his chest. “This book means a great deal to me. It’s the culmination of years of research. Please understand I cannot simply give it to you. I could have a scribe copy it, though it may take a few weeks’ time.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand.” Daia stepped forward, intending to intimidate him. “This book could provide the king the information he needs to end the beyonder invasion. The fate of the entire world rests with King Gavin. He has the greatest burden of any person since King Arek himself. Are you saying you would obstruct his work because you’re fond of a book?”

“Well, ah, no, not exactly. Of course not. No, that’s absurd,” Laemyr said. He thrust the book into Gavin’s arms. “Take it with my blessing. Anything else you need, please ask me first. If I don’t have it, I’ll try to get it for you.”

“I need you to swear an oath,” Gavin said. He handed the book to Daia. It was bound in stiff leather, and each page was carefully trimmed to the exact dimensions of the one before it. She couldn’t help but respect the time and care that had gone into making it.

Laemyr ducked his head in a semblance of a bow. “Yes, my liege. I swear I will try—”

“Kneel before the king when swearing an oath,” Daia said. Gavin shot her an annoyed look, and she tried to hide a grin.

The curator dropped to his knees.

“Laemyr Surraent, swear you won’t speak my name to anyone for any reason until I give you leave to do so. You won’t talk about this book or our conversation to anyone. Not even Tolia.”

“On my honor, on my life, I swear to obey.”

Gavin motioned him to rise. Laemyr stood with his gaze fixed on the book. “You will take care of the encyclopaedia?”

Gavin snorted. “I trust her with my life. You can trust her with your book.”

Once they were outside and unhitching their horses, Gavin gestured to the book. “How about you start reading that while I go see the Stronghammers? It’ll save some time.”

Her protective instinct warned her not to leave him alone, even for such a trivial task, but what harm could come to him in Ambryce that he couldn’t handle alone? “All right. Meet me at the Princess Inn when you’re finished. I’ll get us a room there, and we can talk about what I discover.”

Gavin smiled and wagged his eyebrows. “A room? I like the sound o’that.”

Daia laughed. “I’m sleeping on the floor, and you’re not. Give the Stronghammers my regards.”

“Will do.” He mounted and rode away.

She climbed onto Calie’s back and rode to the inn, where she then paid for their best room. After giving her horse to the stable boy, she took the book, her bedroll, and her small pack to the room. It was smaller than the rooms at the Elegance Inn, and the bed too short to accommodate Gavin’s height, but he was probably used to that. She opened the shutters covering the unglazed window and looked out into the street below. Ambryce wasn’t the cleanest city, nor the most affluent, but the sounds of merchants bartering, songs of bards and the clanking of a blacksmith’s hammer were proof that it was a thriving community. A dog ran past with something in its mouth, and a merchant ran after it, shouting for someone to stop the mangy mongrel.

Laemyr’s book in hand, Daia sat on a stool beside the window to take advantage of the afternoon sunlight, and began to read.

Chapter 24

By the time Gavin arrived at the inn, with the last two gems embedded into the hilt of his sword and a new signet ring still warm in his pocket, the sun had set, and the inn patrons gathered at tables in the dining hall. The scent of pork and garlic made Gavin’s stomach rumble with hunger, though Arlet Stronghammer had fed him while he waited for Risan to finish in the foundry. He suspected Daia hadn’t eaten yet, and he begged for some scraps from the innkeeper’s wife.

“Have a seat there at the table and I’ll fetch you a plate,” she said.

“Bring two. I’m with a friend.” He returned to the lobby where the innkeeper was counting coins. “Which room is the swordswoman sleeping in?” he asked.

“As if I’d tell you that,” the innkeeper said. “She didn’t look like the type to seek the company of a ’rant— a warrant knight.”

“You ain’t considering all my charms.” Gavin leaned both elbows on the bar and grinned. “Care to wager she’ll share a table with me?”

“A kion says you come back with a bloody nose.”

Gavin dug a kion out of his pocket and slapped it on the bar.

The innkeeper matched it. “Room five.”

Gavin sauntered upstairs to the room with the number five painted on the door. Daia answered his knock quickly. “What took you so long? I’m starving.”

“Innkeeper’s wife is warming something up. Come on.”

Daia grabbed Laemyr’s book and followed him downstairs. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Yeh.”

When they walked into the lobby, the innkeeper looked at him in shock and awe. Then his expression turned sly. “You played me.”

“And well,” Gavin said. He picked up the two kions, tossed one back to the innkeeper and winked before following Daia into the dining hall. His bootsteps on the gray slate floor echoed against the white-painted brick walls. His eye was drawn to the fireplace, whose bricks were left their natural red color. Though no fire blazed now, the blackened bricks along the top of the opening told stories of warmth offered to shivering travelers seeking refuge from cold winter nights.

The other dining patrons stopped talking to watch as Gavin ducked his head to avoid the low beams in the ceiling and led the way to a table. He chose one far enough from the others to have a private conversation. The bench groaned under his weight as he sat.

“Let me see it,” she said.

He took the sword off his back and angled the hilt toward her. The previously empty eye socket on one of the snakes was now filled with the King’s Blood-stone, the last gem from the Rune Tablet. Although the sword’s enchantment worried him, he couldn’t help but admire Risan’s workmanship. It was more than a fine weapon; it was a work of art. The blade was crafted of some unusual alloy which gave it the appearance of snake scales. In sunlight, all colors of the rainbow danced on its surface. The hilt itself was pewter, with two snakes intertwined. Three Farthan symbols etched into one side of the blade below the hilt gave it a unique signature. There was no other weapon like it in the world.

“Where’s the blue gem?”

“It looked unbalanced in the snake’s tail, so I had him take it back out. I’ll find a use for it.”

“Well, the sword is beautiful beyond words,” she said. “How’s Risan faring?”

“He’s getting along well. Luckily he’s a lefthander, so his maimed right hand doesn’t affect his livelihood much. Dwaeth is adjusting to life with his new parents, and Arlet’s as happy as she can be with a new son to dote on. They do like to talk, though. I could barely get away.”

“I’m glad they’re well. I’ll bet it’s a relief to have the King’s Blood-stone safely embedded into your sword. There’s no chance you’ll lose it now.”

“Yeh, but the sword already has a mind of its own,” Gavin said. “I’m almost afeared to use it now, with the King’s Blood-stone in it. Maybe I could just point at my enemy and command it to attack as if it were a dog.”

Daia snorted a laugh.

He nodded toward the book. “What’ve you learned so far?”

“Well,” Daia started eagerly, “it starts off describing the realms that King Arek wrote of in various letters. Apparently there’s one similar to our own, whose people tend toward lawlessness and debauchery rather than order and morality. Then there’s the realm of beyonders, where that demon Ritol was summoned from, and one that’s the opposite, filled with beings that are angelic in comparison. Arek surmised that the realms comprise a larger system of order balanced with chaos. There’s also one called the midrealm where order and chaos balance each other — it has no opposite. He discovered that his magic didn’t always work in these places, or at least it didn’t work as he expected. The challenge for him, every time he journeyed, was finding a vortex through which to return.”

As Gavin listened, his mind spun. It was far more complicated than he’d expected. He had no real understanding of the magic he possessed, and the thought of using it to move from one realm to the next without knowing where he was going or how he would get back terrified him. “How the hell am I s’posed to know what to do? I barely know how to use magic here. Now you tell me it works different in other realms?”

Daia smiled and patted his arm. “That’s why you have me.”

“How am I s’posed to find you in another realm?”

“How do you find me now?”

“I don’t know!” The anxiety knotting his muscles came through in his sharp tone. “Sorry.” He rubbed his brow. “The magic just... happens. Sometimes when I’m fighting, I see sparks or flames, but I don’t know how I’m doing it. I don’t have control of it.”

“We’ll talk to the mage tomorrow. I think she’ll be able to help us.”

“What does the book say about finding the vortex?”

“That’s just it, Gavin. This book doesn’t give any detailed instructions. Listen to this.” She wiped the grease off her hands and opened the book, flipping a few pages. She began to read aloud. “King Arek wrote that he used his mystical eye to locate swirls in the air like the wind from a storm that spins fallen leaves. Each had a unique quality he could only describe as a color. He stepped into it, entering a world similar to ours in its landscape but inhabited by strange beings. One such world was populated only with the things we’ve come to call beyonders, every one murderous.”

“How did he get back?”

Daia flipped a few pages, scanning quickly. “Maybe he did the same thing on the other side. Here it says he focused on the gems.” She picked up another pork rib and began to gnaw on the meat.

Gavin did likewise. “What’s that mean?”

Careful not to get grease on the book, Daia held the rib away while she read. “It was essential for the king to have gems of infinite clarity when he journeyed to the other realms. To return, his ability to find the vortexes required him to focus his magic through the gems.”

“That’s it!” Gavin said, pounding the table with his fist for emphasis. Heads turned toward him and conversations quieted. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “That’s what Ravenkind did. That’s why he wanted my sword.”

“Yes, but you have it now. We’ll defeat him easily next time.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

Daia kept her gaze on her food while she ate. “You’re getting better about the ain’ts, but your eating habits haven’t changed.”

Gavin wiped the grease off his chin with the sleeve of his right arm. “I don’t have a handkerchief.”

“It’s not only that, Gavin. The smacking. The talking with your mouth full. The chewing with your mouth open. These habits aren’t very kingly. It’s a wonder you didn’t scare off Miss Feanna with your foul manners.”

He felt his frustration turn hot. “I got enough crap to worry about without you criticizing everything I do. I’m sorry you aren’t getting the nobleman you wanted on the throne.”

She shook her finger at him. “That’s not fair, and you know it. I’ve been behind you from the beginning. I pledged my life to you. I’m only trying to help you step into the role.”

“No, you’re trying to make life easier for yourself.”

“Not life, just meals. You’re a pig, and watching you eat turns my stomach.” Immediately, Daia’s eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear lord. I’m so sorry. That was unacceptably rude. Pig or not, you’re still my king.”

Gavin burst out laughing. Before he could put up a hand to cover his mouth, bits of partially chewed meat sprayed across the table. A few specks landed on her forearms. One stuck to her cheek.

“Ugh! That’s disgusting.” She used her handkerchief to brush the bits of food off herself.

“I’m sorry,” he tried to say, but he couldn’t stop laughing long enough to form the words. A combination of frustration, anxiety and the absurdity of her apology threatened to send him into the abyss of madness. He covered his face with his hands and laughed for a minute longer. At last, with his stomach muscles aching, he looked up. The bit of meat still clinging to her cheek renewed his guffaws once more. He reached out weakly to brush it away. She slapped at his hand then used her cloth to wipe her face.

“Pig, I tell you,” she said with a smile.

For the fun of it, he let out a snort with his laughter, which was enough to get Daia laughing too.

Chapter 25

The following morning after they’d broken their fast, Gavin stood behind Daia as she knocked on the door of a tiny cottage, rattling it in the frame. A warbling voice within called “one moment,” and they waited on the stoop while rain tapped their heads and shoulders. When the door swung open, a white-haired Farthan woman, as small as a six-year-old child, smiled from the doorway with a toothless grin. “I was expecting you for long time. Come in.” She waved them in, staring into Gavin’s belly with clouded blue eyes. “I am glad you find each other. Your work would not be possible without vusar.”

Gavin glanced at Daia with a questioning look. Was this old woman addled or mad?

“She means me,” Daia said. “I’m the vusar — a mystical conduit.”

“Yes, that is right,” Jennalia said. “Vusar can help people find their strength.” She shut the door and barred it, plunging them into darkness. A single window faced east, but both its exterior and interior shutters were closed, letting only a few slivers of light into the home. “Do you need cloth for wiping off water?”

Gavin cracked his head on a low beam. “Ow. No.” With one hand, he groped for its location. “It only started raining a minute ago.”

Jennalia fumbled around with a drawer and other items he couldn’t see, and whispered a few words. On the dresser, a ball of dried grasses burst into light, brightening the room. “This for you do not injure your head again on ceiling.” She reached blindly toward him. “Take my hands. I must now see you.”

When Daia nodded encouragement, he took them gently, wondering whether two pairs of hands could be more different. His were massive and scarred, rough with calluses and accented with dark hair that covered his arms to the elbow. Hers were child-sized, bony and wrinkled, spotted with age, and surprisingly soft. If he gripped them too tightly, he might break them into tiny pieces.

She rocked forward and back, grinning. A wisp of white hair drifted down from the ponytail she wore, but she didn’t appear to have noticed. Daia winked at him. He took a moment to calm his impatience.

The cottage consisted of a single room with the dresser against the west wall, a table and three chairs against the south wall and a bed positioned under the window. The scent of herbs was so strong, if he closed his eyes, he might imagine himself in a garden.

At last, Jennalia released his hands. “It is good you are come here. I see you have sword Risan made for you. Gems make it powerful to handle. You must be careful.”

“Yeh, I figured,” Gavin said. “Can you tell me what enchantment is on the sword?”

“Three enchantments I put,” Jennalia said. “Strength for battle keeps you strong for fighting. You will not tire from use it like normal weapon. Second is for sharpness, so blade never is dull, and third is for Warrior’s Wisdom. It tells you when enemy is nearby. You must listen inside your head.” She tapped her temple.

“Yeh, I hear it whisper to me when danger is near. Also the gems in the hilt light up.”

Jennalia smiled toothlessly. “Good. You must listen because you cannot always see gems. Anywhere you are, it warns you if there is danger.”

“How does it know when I’m in danger?”

Daia grinned.

Jennalia cocked her head and tilted her face up, though her eyes missed his. “Because it is magic. Enough silly questions. We have work. Sit please.” She directed Gavin to sit at one end of the table, Daia across from him, and Jennalia pulled up a stool and sat in the center. “You have great burden, but with vusar, you can live.”

Daia’s eyes widened, and she looked at Gavin with concern in her expression.

“That’s good to know,” Gavin said, “but what burden are you talking about?”

Jennalia made a motion with her hands as if outlining a bubble around him. “I see in shadow what sits ahead on your path. You must to learn how to use vusar even across great distance. First, we practice searching.”

“Searching for what?”

“For vusar.”

“She’s right in front o’me.” This was ridiculous. Gavin wanted to leave. “I don’t have time for games.”

“You want to close rift?” A note of impatience soured Jennalia’s voice.

Her question was like a slap. “How do you know about that?”

“As I said, I know what sits ahead on your path.”

He cast a questioning glance at Daia.

She answered with a nod and knowing grin. “Gavin, trust her. She can help us.”

He sighed and sat back in his chair. “Awright. What do you want me to do.”

“You know how to see shadows, yes?”

“Yeh.” Most people referred to the ability as shadow-reading, but the term was inaccurate. What he saw was a hazy bubble, not a shadow.

“Easy to do when your eyes are open and you look at someone. You relax eyes to let hiding eye work. Now you must learn next step — finding shadow without using your real eyes. Close them. You know where vusar is, so this will be easy.” Gavin complied, and she continued. “Picture in your mind each of us as bubble. One bubble is me, one bubble is vusar. Can you see them?”

“No, my eyes are closed.”

She sighed. “You see shadows not with your eyes, but you use them like old men use cane to walk. You must use your hiding eye without cane. One that lives here.” Gavin felt a light touch between his eyebrows, above the bridge of his nose. “Can you feel where I touch you?”

The sensation of having been touched remained, although he knew her finger was no longer there. “Yeh.”

“Even nothing is touching you there, you feel it. Same is with hiding eye. Think out from that place to see shadows.”

For a moment, Gavin thought he saw two hazes in front of him, yellow-white and shaped like eggs. When he tried to focus on them, to grasp their images with his mind, they dissipated.

“You almost had it. Try again.”

He felt a second touch on his forehead, and immediately the two egg shapes appeared. Again they broke up when he tried to focus on them. Then he discovered that if he didn’t focus directly on them, if he concentrated instead on a point near the center of Daia’s egg, perhaps a few inches closer than the nearest boundary, he could see it better. “I see it.” Daia’s haze had a sunny ring near the top. A swirling cloud of orange swept outward from her abdomen. Using the hidden eye gave him a clearer image of the hazes than relaxing his physical eyes did.

Jennalia clapped her hands. “This is your hiding eye at work. You are very strong. You only need practice.”

He opened his eyes, but the haze didn’t immediately fade. He had to blink a few times to see Daia’s bodily form.

She was smiling, her chin resting on the back of one hand. “Well done, Gavin. I didn’t even help you.”

“Next, we try harder,” Jennalia said. “Turn around so Daia is on your back.”

“Behind me?”

“Yes, behind.”

He stood and straddled his chair, leaning on its back. As much as he tried to follow Jennalia’s instructions and do what he did last time, he couldn’t see Daia’s haze nor his teacher’s. She even stood to touch his forehead like she did before, but he felt like he was groping in the dark.

“Vusar, try help him,” Jennalia said.

Immediately, Gavin sensed a brilliant orange flame behind him, stretching outward from her abdomen toward his own like a tongue. The sensation of seeing through the back of his head and looking at her haze was startling. “Seven hells! I see you!”

“Stop now,” Jennalia said. “Let him try find you again.”

They practiced this for another hour until Gavin was able to find both women’s hazes without Daia’s help.

“What’s next?” Gavin asked as he faced the two women. He felt energized, eager to learn more.

“There is no next,” Jennalia said. “I taught you what I can. Only practice now, to build your skill. You must practice finding vusar over great distance, and she also finding you. When you can find each other, you can use her.”

“But what about the vortex? How do I find it? How do I open it?”

“I know nothing about vortex, but everything is done same way — use your hiding eye. When your skill is enough to find vusar across great distance, then you can venture beyond this realm.” Jennalia leaned over and took his face between her tiny, warm hands. “Do not be too eager to journey. Without connect to vusar, how will you return?”

The old woman had a point. The last thing he needed to do was get himself stranded in another realm.

Daia started to mount her horse and paused, thinking about the figurine in her pack. She’d taken it from the corpse of the Nilmarion Sithral Tyr a few weeks earlier, but no one she’d asked knew what it was. “I’ll catch up to you in a bit. I want to ask Jennalia about something.”

“About what?” Gavin asked. “She dug into her saddle bag, searching by feel for the object at the bottom. ”I want to ask her what this is.“ Her fingers found the cold, smooth surface and pulled out a cat figurine made of porcelain with a glassy, gray-green finish and deep black eyes. It might have been attractive except that there was something distinctly... horrible about the eyes.

“You’re still carrying that thing around? Just smash it and be done with it.” He swung onto Golam’s back. “Prob’ly has nothing but sand inside.”

She shrugged as she started back to the mage’s door. “Perhaps. I’ll see you back at the inn.”

Jennalia answered the door with a questioning expression. “Vusar? Something is wrong?”

“I found a little sculpture a short time ago and hoped you could tell me what it is.”

“Oh? Let me hold it.”

Daia put the figurine into Jennalia’s tiny hands and watched her feel its shape. “Where did you get it?”

“I killed a Nilmarion criminal and found it on his body.”

Jennalia pushed it back into Daia’s hands. “Take it away. You must be careful to not break it. It is dangerous.”

It felt heavier than it looked, but dangerous? Only if she broke it over someone’s head. “What is it?”

“Soulcele token. Nilmarion use them to protect innocent souls before death or imprison evil ones. This one contains blackened soul. You must not let it to escape.”

“A soul?” Daia asked in disbelief. “Do you mean the Nilmarion’s soul?”

“Yes. I cannot see shadow because of special ward to lock soul inside.”

“Did his soul go into it when he died?”

Jennalia shook her head slowly. “Nilmarions have ceremony to separate soul when it becomes evil. That man did horrible thing and his gods punish him by removing zhi. Best thing to bury it. Bury it deep in wilderness so nobody ever will find it. Be sure not to let it break.”

“What would happen if it breaks?”

“I do not know. Some say the soul is release to go to afterlife. Others say it finds new body to live in. I want to be far away if it breaks. Far away. Please. Take it.” Jennalia closed the door, leaving Daia standing bewildered and disturbed on the stoop.

Chapter 26

Gavin was quiet on the way back to the inn, considering the things Jennalia had said and weighing them against what he knew he must do. The demon in the palace had waited two hundred years. It would wait a few more weeks. Still, he felt the weight of time pressing on his shoulders and couldn’t shake the notion that he didn’t have weeks to practice. The country needed its king, and he needed to ensure the people’s safety before he could claim to be their leader and expect them to bend the knee.

“Try it, Gavin.” Daia rode beside him on her brown mare. “Ride on ahead and try to find me. I’ll help you.”

He nodded. “Awright. I’ll lift my right hand if I find you. Then stop helping me and I’ll try it again.” She dropped back while he and Golam continued walking. Trusting his horse not to run people down in the street, he shut his eyes and concentrated on Daia’s haze. To his surprise, he saw a dozen of them belonging to the townsfolk they passed. He searched behind him, and there, slightly distant, was Daia’s haze with the orange bolt shooting toward him. It was so intense as it came at him, he had the urge to duck. Instead, he lifted his right arm and watched with his hidden eye while the orange tendril shortened, withdrawing back into the center of Daia’s egg-shaped haze.

He tongued the gap between his teeth while he contemplated what Jennalia had said. Without vusar, how will you return? The question struck him deeply. If his connection to Daia didn’t stretch across the boundary between realms, he could very well be stuck there. King Arek had no mystical conduit to help him, but he still found his way home. If Gavin had to use King Arek’s method of finding the vortex without Daia’s help, then Jennalia was right. He needed much more practice using his hidden eye. In the beyonders’ realm, he would have to find a vortex before summoning Ritol and hope he had time to open it before the demon — and all the other beyonders — killed him.

“What’s on your mind?” Daia asked.

“Thinking about how I’d get home if I couldn’t find you from another realm. If I can’t open a vortex, then I’m stuck.”

“If we had a way to create a more solid connection between us...” She tapped her chin. “I wonder... do you still have that ring you took from Ravenkind.”

The idea lit up in his mind like a torch in a cave. He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. He used the gem in his ring to control Lilalian and the others.”

“If we could get one of the necklaces they were wearing, maybe we could use the ring and necklace to find each other.”

“I broke the connection between those gems at the cave, remember?”

“Couldn’t you reconnect them?”

“Maybe. Or get new ones made.”

After asking several people on the street, they found a gemsmith’s shop fifteen minutes’ walk from the inn. When they entered, Gavin sensed that the proprietor was more than a gemsmith. He felt a peculiar tickle in his gut and knew she had the ability to read hazes.

Comely, blond and voluptuous, she didn’t fit his image of a gemsmith. He supposed he wouldn’t fit her image of a king, either. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Gemma’s Gems,” she said. “I provide full-service gemsmithing: cutting, setting and spelling.”

Gavin waved a hand in front of her in the fashion of a mystic. “I sense... your name’s Gemma.”

She smiled slyly. “No, it’s Brandalyn. I named the shop after my mother.”

Daia laughed and slapped his arm playfully.

“Damn. It was a good guess, though.”

“How might I help you today?”

“Awright, well, Brandalyn, I have this gem.” He showed her Ravenkind’s ring. “It used to be connected to another like it.”

“May I?”

He handed it to her. Brandalyn went to the desk against the wall, held it under the light of a lamp and peered at it. “Yes, I see. The connection was severed quite violently, it seems.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a contraption which she slipped onto her head. It appeared to be a jeweler’s loupe attached to a strap, but the loupe laid between her eyebrows rather than over one eye. “There was more than one. Dozens. This was skillfully spelled. Did you do this?”

“No. I’m the one who broke it. We were wondering if the connection can be repaired somehow.”

She took the loupe off and returned the ring to him. “I’m afraid not. The gem is quite fragile now. Try to use it once and it’ll break into bits. You might as well sell it as jewelry scrap.”

“Oh.”

Daia asked, “Do you have a gem to replace it? Something we can pair with another?”

Brandalyn gestured to a table. “Absolutely. What we do is spell one gem then cut it into two or more pieces. Have a seat. I’ll show you what I have.”

They pulled a pair of stools out from under the table and sat while Brandalyn retrieved a flat box from the adjacent room. After setting the box on the table, she opened the lid. Inside were perhaps three dozen gems of various colors, all smoothly cut into round or oval shapes and polished to a shine. One in particular drew his eye, a brilliant blue gem.

“What’s that one?” he asked, pointing to it.

“That’s a sapphire. It’s particularly good for spells involving locating people or things. Many people use it in divining wands, but it’s especially favored among matchmakers.”

Daia looked at him with raised brows. “You have a good eye.”

“What’s your purpose?” Brandalyn asked.

“Finding someone,” Gavin answered with a grin. He nodded his head toward Daia. “Her in partic’lar.”

Brandalyn blinked. “I’m not sure I understand. Why would you need to find her if she’s right beside you?”

“She gets carried away picking berries and gets herself lost.” He smiled teasingly.

Daia shoved him lightly. “I am not Golam. I can’t believe you said that.”

“Sounds like what you need,” Brandalyn said, smiling, “is a lover’s tie binding. It helps you feel more connected to each other, however far apart you are.”

Gavin scratched his temple. “Uh, a lover’s tie?”

Daia blushed. “Oh, we’re not—”

“Don’t feel abashed,” Brandalyn said. “I’ve heard of Viragon Sisters and warrant knights falling in love before. It’s perfectly natural. You fight side by side, you live similar lifestyles, have similar codes of honor. It’s easy to see why the two of you would bond emotionally.”

Gavin’s neck started to itch. “How much would a gem like that cost?”

“This one is one hundred twenty-five dyclen without the spell. Two hundred with.”

Daia gasped so sharply, she began to cough.

“Do you have anything in the five dyclen range?” he asked, grinning. He figured she would either laugh and ask them to leave, or ask them to leave first then laugh.

“Five? You’re jesting.”

“We’re beggared.”

Brandalyn lifted her chin toward Gavin’s sword. “That’s quite a fine sword for someone who claims to be pielarless.”

Better leave before this conversation goes too far off-path. “Valour-gild,” he said, standing.

“Why not use one of those gems?” she asked.

“Sentimental reasons. Sorry to waste your time.” He headed to the door.

“May I have a closer look at those gems?”

“We haven’t the time to spare, sorry,” Daia said, taking his cue.

Brandalyn followed them. “Those are far better-quality gems than any I’ve ever seen. Wait.” She caught his sleeve. “Oh, goodness! It’s you, isn’t it? The rune solver. Those are the gems from the Rune Tablet.”

As a shadow reader, she’d be able to tell if either of them lied. Better to address the matter before it got worse. “Look, it’s best if you don’t mention this to anyone, awright? I’m not ready to make the knowledge public yet.”

Her eyes glittered like they were faceted. “The rune solver’s a warrant knight. I knew there was something different about your shadow when you came in. I didn’t know how to interpret it. I’m honored to have you in my shop.” She curtsied low to the floor. “I could sell you the gem for what I paid — seventy-five dyclen. I’d give it to you if I could, my lord, but I have all my money tied up in gems and little enough to spend on food.”

“I understand,” Gavin said. He didn’t want people thinking they had to give him the shirts off their backs just because he was king.

“What about your blue gem?” Daia asked. “I’d understand if you don’t want to cut it, but it’s an option.”

That was a good use for the gem. With the other four in his sword, he didn’t need it to help his magic. He opened his coin pouch and pulled it out. “What about using this one?”

Brandalyn’s eyes widened. “Oh, my. A blue moonstone. That’s remarkable. I’ve never seen one with such depth and clarity.”

“How much to spell it?” Gavin asked.

“My normal price is seventy-five dyclen, but for the rune solver, I’ll do it for fifteen.”

“We don’t have fifteen.”

“Perhaps a marker,” Daia said. “Something you can redeem for coin in a few weeks, once His Majesty gets access to the royal coffer.”

Gavin liked the idea. “If you spell my gem now, I’ll give you a marker for twice your price, one hundred fifty dyclen, and I’ll give you the gem in this ring that you can sell for jewelry.”

“I don’t even know your name, my lord.”

“It’s Gavin Kinshield.”

Her eyes brightened. “Kinshield? We’ll have a Kinshield on the throne? In that case, agreed.” She offered her hand, and he shook it. She cradled her hand in the other as though it were a precious thing. “Oh, this is so exciting. The rune solver is in my shop! When will you solve the last rune and claim the... Oh! You already have the Blood-stone. You’re actually the king?”

“He is, and you’ll keep this knowledge to yourself?” Daia asked.

Brandalyn nodded and swallowed. “Pardon me.” She shuffled to the table and sat on a stool. “Goodness.” She fanned herself with one hand. “Seems I’ve a touch of the vapors.”

Gavin and Daia shared a look of amusement as they sat back down. “About the rings,” he said, urging her back to the matter at hand.

“Yes, the rings. Right. Do you have another ring to set the other half of the gem into?”

“No,” he said, trying to look pitiful. For one hundred fifty dyclen, maybe she could include one in the arrangement.

Brandalyn laughed. “That’s not a problem. I can find something to give you, though the fit may not be perfect. Does this ring have any sentimental value?”

Both shook their heads with matching expressions of disgust.

“Very well. I’ll be only a moment.” She took the box of gems and Ravenkind’s ring into the next room and returned a few minutes later. On the table, she laid several steel rings of various shapes and sizes, each with a setting to hold a gem. One she pulled away from the group. “This is the ring you came in with. If it fits one of you, I’ll reuse it, but feel free to choose the two that fit you best.”

They tried the different rings on various fingers, and each chose one that fit better than the others. Gavin selected the largest one of the bunch, which fit the middle finger of his right hand. He didn’t want it to slide off easily and didn’t want to wear anything on his sword hand that might interfere with his grip. Daia chose one for the third finger of her left hand, the finger women usually chose for a wedding ring. When Gavin gave her a questioning look, she shrugged.

“I’m ready to spell the gem for the lover’s tie— and I presume perhaps you’re not... never mind. The spell is the same regardless.” Gavin handed her the blue moonstone, and she wrapped her fingers around it. “If you would, Lady Sister, place your hand on mine, and you, my lord king, place yours on hers.” She waited until everyone’s hands were into position. “Good. Give me a moment.” Gavin saw Daia connect with Brandalyn, who gasped. “Goodness! So that’s what the flame in your shadow is.”

“Thought maybe it would help,” Daia said with a grin.

“This will be a very strong tie.” Brandalyn whispered something Gavin didn’t quite hear. A white spark rippled across his haze and another across Daia’s. The gem now had a faint white haze of its own. “And it’s done.” They withdrew their hands. “I’ll need about a half-hour to cut the gem in two and set the two halves securely into your rings. Feel free to wait here or return.” She went into the adjacent room.

“Let’s take a walk,” Daia suggested. “We can practice a bit more without the rings.”

Chapter 27

The next morning, Gavin awoke with a start as he did every morning, only this time it wasn’t beyonders that had startled him but Ritol itself. The things Jennalia had said pressed heavily on his mind. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, wondering how the hell he was going to make it through all this.

Daia came in carrying a bucket of steaming water. “Good, you’re awake. I was getting some wash water. The cook is baking bread. We have time for more practice before it’s ready.”

“We have the rings. We don’t need to practice.”

“What if one of us loses it?” Daia asked.

“You got an argument for everything, don’t you?”

“When my king’s life is at stake, I won’t gamble.”

Gavin took a few minutes to wash and dress while Daia waited outside. When he was ready to begin again, she moved about the room as he practiced finding her with his eyes open, eyes closed, sitting, standing, and even balancing on one foot while reciting a children’s nursery rhyme. That was the hardest, not because he struggled to remember the words that had once come so easily to him, and not because he had to recite it while concentrating on finding her, but because the only one that came to mind had been his daughter’s favorite: Three Pigs in a Pit. The old, familiar pain in his chest made the task that much harder.

“That’s enough for now,” he said.

“We need more practice. Perhaps the nursery rhyme was a bad idea. I’m sorry. Let’s keep going.”

“I’m hungry.”

“You’re moping. Shut your eyes and find me.”

“Leave off, Daia. I’ve got the knack.” He stood and put his arm through the strap of his scabbard.

She watched him for a moment with her mouth pinched closed. Her light-blue eyes were shocking in their paleness, but they weren’t nearly as expressive as her mouth. She’d asked him not to read her haze, so whenever Gavin wanted to get a sense of what she was thinking, he didn’t look at her eyes. She’d become adept at hiding her thoughts behind a steady gaze, but her mouth betrayed her. The smallest of twitches, the wrinkle above the upper lip, all were signals that Gavin was learning to read. And while her pinched lips communicated her annoyance, there was something else, a tiny pursing of the lower lip that told him she was also contemplating something.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re too impatient for your own good.”

“You’re too stubborn for yours. Bread must be done by now. Let’s go eat.”

After they finished their meal, they went outside to the street. He practiced finding Daia among other people first with his eyes open, then with them closed, down the street, and in a crowd of people in the market. The farther away she got, the more he had to concentrate. Then he remembered the new ring on his finger.

Like in Ravenkind’s old ring, the gem in his ring had a haze as fine as spider silk that connected to Daia’s. He cheated a time or two by following that thread right to her. When he realized how easy it was to find her that way, he stopped trying to do it the hard way.

Over the last couple of weeks, he’d noticed that the gems in his sword acted like magnifying glasses for his magic, but he’d never consciously tried to use them that way. He took the scabbard off his back and held the sword in front of him. When he imagined looking at the ring’s haze through the King’s Blood-stone, it led him to Daia’s haze as before, but there he saw more — the hazes of people through buildings, on the street around her, hazes he didn’t even know were there. The exercise was even easier when he relaxed in the inn’s dining hall with an ale. It wasn’t long before he felt confident that he could find her anywhere in the city. To prove it, he instructed her to ride across town.

She held her hand out. “Give me your ring. No more cheating, you rook.”

He gave her a sour look as he pulled it from his finger and dropped it into her palm. “Spoilsport.”

He went to their room at the inn and napped for about a half-hour to give her time to cross the city. When he awoke, he concentrated on finding her, but he had no idea which direction she’d gone. He shut his eyes and focused on the spot between his eyebrows, using the imaginary eye there to see the unique orange arm in Daia’s haze. Even focusing on the gems in his sword, wherever he looked, all he saw were the yellow-white bubbles of the strangers going about their business in the city. It was as difficult as combing the streets on foot looking for someone. Then he realized that his mystical third eyeball wasn’t actually attached to his head. He found he could use it to move, though his physical body was reclined on the bed. In fact, the eye wasn’t limited by the speed of his legs. As quickly as he could think the thought, it was halfway across the city. He lifted it, like a bird flying up to sit on the highest rooftop. There he spotted her haze, not far from the Gwanry Museum of History. Grasping her orange tendril was as easy as though she stood beside him.

We did it! he thought. He was ready to try finding the vortex.

He waited for her outside and waved when he saw her approach. “It’s working,” she said. “Our diligence in practicing is paying off.”

He took her horse by the bridle and stroked the mare’s neck absently. “Help me find the vortex.” He opened his palm, and she gave him his ring back.

“Wait. It’s too soon for that.”

“Not to go through it, just to find it. I’m already getting good at finding you, so why not try the vortex?”

“The book doesn’t show a vortex in Ambryce. The nearest one is between here and the Lucky Inn. Now that our business here is settled, let’s head back to Tern so we can update Edan on what we’ve learned. We can stop and look for the vortex on the way if you want to.”

After packing their belongings, they saddled up and started north toward the Lucky Inn. Daia read from the book while they rode. They’d been riding for roughly four hours when Daia noted that one of the vortex locations was not far away. The book contained a crude map, which she expressed little faith in. “We could spend a week stomping around in the woods looking for the right place and never find it.”

“Does it say how King Arek found it?” Gavin asked. “If it’s not on the road, how did he know to go stomping around in the woods after it? There’s got to be some kind o’sign or something.”

“That’s a good point. He could locate the vortexes in other realms too.” She flipped a few pages. “Let me see what I can find.”

There was a stream not far away. Gavin suggested they pause to water the horses and stretch their legs.

After drinking his fill and refilling his water skin, he sat on a rock and leaned against a tree. He couldn’t help thinking about King Arek and how he’d found the vortexes. He had to have just ridden around, searching for them randomly during his travels. Could it be there were more than the ones he noted? “Give me a hand, will you? I want to see if I can find a vortex.”

Behind his closed lids, colored dots whirled endlessly. After taking hold of Daia’s orange rope, he saw the plain white hazes of the horses and various small forest critters, as well as what looked like snow falling from the sky. If only he knew what a vortex looked like. Maybe he needed a look at that painting the curator had mentioned. Until then, he wasn’t going to find any—

There!

He tried to focus on what looked like a miniature tornado of purple, but it dissipated into the swirling snow.

“Grasp harder,” Daia whispered. “I can take it.”

He envisioned grasping her orange rope harder, and in that moment he glimpsed something odd and unexpected. His haze reached an arm out toward her orange tendril and encircled it, as if he were wrapping a rope around his forearm to pull someone out of a mud pit.

“Whoa,” Daia said.

He started to release her, fearing he’d hurt her somehow.

“No, don’t let go. I need the practice like you do. Use it.”

And he did. The sensation was lofty, as if he’d arisen like a giant after a long slumber, stretching muscles that had long lain still. It felt intoxicating and scary at the same time. Gavin worried that Daia could be used as a weapon by anyone with the ability to take hold of her this way. Could Ravenkind? Could Ritol?

There it was again. The swirling snow spun faster, forming a spinning tornado, only this time it was blue. “I see it,” he whispered, afraid that the act of speaking would make it go away again. It was about five feet away and now purple. He got up and approached it slowly, worried it would move away like a mirage, but it stayed where it was.

“That’s good. Look but don’t go through.”

“I won’t.” He only wanted to examine it, try to understand it better. “It’s about my height,” he said. “Looks like a whirlpool but made of air. At first it was blue, then purple. Now it’s red. Looks like it’s cycling through the colors in the rainbow.” He brushed it with his haze, and it shimmered and wobbled and righted itself. “It’s so beautiful.” Maybe he could look through. Some colors enticed him more than others. The red one he wanted no part of, and orange was slightly less offensive. Blue felt comfortable, like a favorite pair of trousers. The white one reminded him of paintings depicting heaven. He leaned toward the vortex, now yellow.

“Gavin?” Daia said. Her orange rope snapped back, yanking him away. The vortex disappeared.

“What the—” A dizzy spell overtook him, and he spread his arms out to steady himself. He felt like two halves of himself being combined. “Why’d you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything. The connection broke. What were you doing?”

“I wanted to have a look.”

“Damn it, Gavin. You promised not to go through.”

The dizziness faded. “I wasn’t going through, just peeking inside. Let’s do it again. Hold on tight this time.”

He found the vortex more easily now. This time, when he put his arm into the swirling green cloud, a sucking sensation drew him toward the murky center. He leaned backward, trying to stay out. “What is that?”

“Tell me what you see,” she said.

“Clouds. They’re thick, but I can see a dark shape behind them. There’s wind, pulling me in. It’s loud too. Can you hear me?”

“Stop. I’m losing the connection.”

“I can’t quite see through the—”

Then he was falling.

Chapter 28

Feanna wrapped her hands with a thick rag, opened the stove, pulled out the hot pan then set it on the wooden table.

Tansa, kneeling on a chair, leaned over the casserole and sniffed. “Mmm, my favorite. Beans and eggs.”

Feanna heaped a serving into each bowl. “Where’s Jilly?”

“Jilly!” Iriel hollered.

Beside her, Feanna cringed. “Young ladies don’t yell. Run find her, love.”

Iriel rose from the table and went into the great room. “Miss Feanna. I found her. She’s with a man.”

Alarm ran up Feanna’s spine like a flag up a pole. She rushed outside and found Jilly on the front stoop. The warrant knight Adro squatted before her, talking quietly.

“Oh, good day, Adro. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.”

He stood and bowed slightly. “M’lady. I brought clothes for Jilly. Found some of her mama’s and papa’s things too, in case you could use them. No sense letting them lie on the ground to rot.”

Feanna smiled gratefully. “That was very thoughtful of you. We were just sitting to dinner. Would you care to join us?”

His face brightened. “I’d love to, if you have enough.”

She’d warmed up the casserole left over from the morning meal and felt embarrassed serving it to a guest, but it was all she had available on short notice. “We’ll make do. Please come in.”

He followed her to the kitchen. The children quieted their bickering instantly and gaped at him. She sensed their questions, thankfully left unspoken. Iriel, in particular, was enthralled. With eyes round and eager, she touched the hilt of his sword. Jilly wordlessly held up her arms for him to pick her up, and he did. She hugged his neck tightly while he patted her back.

“Looks like she’s adjusting well,” Adro said.

Jilly pulled back, nodding. She didn’t talk much yet, but she was responsive. He set her on a chair.

“She’s doing very well, though the nightmares still plague her and probably will for a time.” Feanna pulled a stool up to the table beside Jilly. “Here you are.” She handed him her bowl and spoon and invited him to help himself while she pulled a second bowl and spoon from the cupboard for herself.

“Have you ever killed anyone with this sword?” Iriel asked.

Feanna glowered at her. “Iriel, please. Not at the table.”

“Tell us some stories,” Iriel begged.

Adro pressed his lips together. “I don’t think I have any good ones to tell.”

“You do so. Tell us about the time you saved Jilly.”

Jilly’s eyes widened, and her chin began to quiver.

“No, that’s not a story we care to hear,” Feanna said.

Through the meal, Adro was gracious enough to tell a few stories of his adventures, though Feanna suspected he left out a lot that wasn’t appropriate for children. She appreciated that, and twice he winked at her. He was a nice fellow and had a charming way about him, but after meeting Gavin Kinshield, Feanna had lost any interest she might have had in Adro. She’d met the man she wanted. In a short time, she’d developed a deeper bond with Gavin than she’d ever had with her late husband. He might not have Adro’s charm or dimples, but he was strong and masculine and determined with a pleasant humor and eyes so deep she could get lost in them.

Her eyes went to Adro’s arms. Again she wondered why a battler would wear long sleeves in weather this warm. It occurred to her that he might have something to hide, perhaps a birthmark or scar that embarrassed him. Criminals often received brands on their forearms as a warning to honest folk to be wary, but that couldn’t be it. He had a conscience. She’d felt his shame and sorrow over the death of Jilly’s parents. Besides, Adro had shown her his warrant tag.

Feanna’s hand went automatically to Gavin’s tag hanging around her neck. A cold shudder raced across her body. Something was wrong. She closed her eyes and felt with her skill, shifting as she tried to sense Gavin’s feelings. With a gasp, she realized there were none. The tag was only a lifeless block of wood. “Oh no,” she whispered. She looked around at the faces turned to her in puzzlement.

“What’s wrong, Miss Feanna?” Iriel asked.

Plastering a smile onto her face, she dropped the tag under the neckline of her dress, where it lay out of sight between her clothing and corset. “It’s nothing. I think I’ve lost...” The sentence began to shake a tear loose. She blinked it back and cleared her throat. “...track of time. Would anyone like some bread? We still have a half loaf left from this morning.”

She tried to play the polite hostess, smiling and nodding during the remainder of the meal, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. It was the same sensation she’d had when Henrik died. Holding his hand during his final minutes, she’d felt his fear one moment, his calm the next, and after that, nothing. It was as if he had ceased to exist. Gavin’s tag shouldn’t have felt that way unless... Oh, no. Oh, no. He couldn’t have died. She prayed it wasn’t so. Tears welled in her eyes, and she tipped her head back, looking up as far as she could to make them soak back in.

“Then he fell on his... behind, right into a mud puddle,” Adro said.

The children burst into laughter.

“You made that up,” Trevick said.

“Did not, I swear it.” Adro crossed himself as a devotee of Asti-nayas.

“Did too!”

“He did not!” Jilly exclaimed.

The room instantly quieted, and all eyes snapped to the small girl.

“She speaks,” Trevick said.

Everyone laughed except Feanna. She couldn’t stop her thoughts from swirling around Gavin and whatever fate had befallen him. What had happened to him? Could it be that the bond connecting him to his warrant tag had been severed? It was possible, perhaps even probable. If only she could see for herself. He’d said that he lived in Tern, only a short day’s travel away, and he said she could send for him, though if he was well enough to answer her call, he would also have to interrupt his urgent business to do so. Instead, she would go to Tern to see him. Once she was assured he was well, she’d return home and rest confident that the lack of feelings from the warrant tag didn’t portend disaster.

After everyone had finished eating, Feanna set a pot of water on the stove to heat for washing the dishes. “Adro, I must travel to Tern. Are you available to escort the children and me? We have a wagon, and I can pay your usual fee.”

Adro smiled, dimpling his cheeks. He looked sweet and boyish when he smiled. “I owe you far more than that, m’lady. I’ll be glad to escort you at no charge. I can be here at first light if that suits you.”

“I was rather thinking to leave immediately. If we leave now, we’ll arrive well before dusk.”

Chapter 29

A wind, unlike any Gavin had ever felt, brushed through his senses of smell, taste and hearing more than touch. It left his head spinning. He found himself lying on his back, knees bent, on the dirt about five paces from the creek. Above, puffy white clouds floated across a pale-blue sky. Had he not just been sucked through a vortex of color, he might have thought he was in his own realm but for the sparse foreign foliage. The predominant plants were tall, rotund shrubs of deep teal green, and tall wispy trees whose long leaves danced in the breeze. He pushed himself to his knees, spurring another wave of dizziness.

A black bird sat in the nearest tree, squawking angrily at him. A foul scent like burnt corpses wafted by on a stiff breeze. He turned his face in to the wind and squinted. In a clearing downstream from him was a village, or rather, the remains of one. The ground surrounding the dozen or so crumbling buildings was blackened as were the lower thirds of the walls. From where he knelt, Gavin could see no signs of life there. Perhaps he would find some clues about what had happened to the inhabitants.

When the dizziness subsided, he headed toward the village. He hadn’t traveled more than a dozen paces when he stopped. Alarm stiffened his spine, though Aldras Gar was silent and its gems were dark. Whatever had destroyed that village was still there. Until he figured out which realm he was in and how well his magic worked here, he didn’t want to meet whatever was there. Not alone, anyway.

He walked upstream, hoping to come upon another village untouched by whatever had ravaged this one. Chances were good this wasn’t the beyonders’ realm. He couldn’t imagine vicious monsters living in villages. Most of them had strange appendages that weren’t well-suited to using tools. Building huts would be difficult at best.

He heard the snap of a twig and stopped, not wanting to give away his presence. He pulled on his leather glove, in case he needed to fight. Someone was approaching, humming softly as if unaware of Gavin’s presence. Though the sword didn’t whisper its warning in his mind, he drew it quietly and hid behind a tree until he got a good look at whoever — or whatever — it was. Soon it came into view — a being clearly not human but standing upright as one. Golden-brown ears, triangular like those of a terrier, sat high on its head. It was almost as tall as Gavin with long arms and legs and a graceful neck, all covered with short golden-brown fur. It wore a patched beige loincloth around its hips. The mismatched sandals on its feet were haggard and torn.

Gavin watched, mesmerized by the creature. It picked nuts from the lowest branches of a tree and placed them into the brown sack hanging from its shoulder.

Then it saw him and froze. Its ears lay flat on its head, and it ducked deferentially like a dog before its master. “A human?” Gavin would have sworn he heard the words in his mind, while with his ears he heard clicks and whistles. Its round, orange eyes drooped sadly beneath a wrinkled brow. It didn’t look like any beyonder Gavin had ever seen, and he didn’t think there was such thing as a submissive one.

“Do you understand me, Emtor? I mean no harm.”

Again, the creature emitted whistles and clicks, but Gavin understood it as though it had spoken his language. King Arek’s magic must have been at work here. He knew no other way to explain it.

“Yes. I understand.” Gavin examined the creature’s haze. What he saw there amazed him. Although he was still learning to interpret the colors and patterns in the hazes, he knew this creature had nothing but warm regard for Gavin, though it was understandably wary. Its haze showed a gentle and submissive nature. Even the kindliest and most devout clerics he’d examined at home harbored some kind of anger or jealousy or secret perversion. This creature was the purest being he’d ever encountered. He resheathed his weapon. “Who are you?”

“I’m called Bahn. You’re human, yes? You look like the humans of legend. Are you the champion?” Its eyes changed from orange to green, and its wide mouth, stretched across a short snout, opened in a smile. Something about the creature made it seem male, despite its soft, warm air.

“What champion?” Gavin asked.

“Ronor Kinshield.”

Gavin jerked in surprise. “I’m Gavin Kinshield. How do you know Ronor?”

From the way Bahn limped forward, it was clear that his right leg had once been injured. The gatherer’s sack shifted back and forth with each step. “Everyone knows the story of Arek, the Wayfarer King, Emtor. We have many stories about him and his champion.”

“Why do you keep calling me Emtor?”

“Yes.” Bahn bowed deeply, bending even his knees. “You’re a most honored guest. That’s the meaning of Emtor. Do you mean to close the gaps?”

“You mean the tears the beyonders come through?”

“Yes. The dark ones have destroyed many of our villages and upset the balance in our realm.”

“Well, truth be told, I came here by accident, but closing the rift is my goal.”

“Ah, then you’ve come for the Runes of Carthis.”

Surprised, Gavin said, “Yeh. A Rune o’Summoning to be exact.” He needed the rune to summon Ritol to its own realm. That was how King Arek had planned to do it before his plan had drastically changed. “I can’t close the rift without it.”

Bahn’s face lit up. “My complement agrees to help you, Emtor. She asks you to come with me.” He began to limp back the way he’d come, then beckoned Gavin with a wave.

“What complement?” He looked around but didn’t see anyone. “There’s no one here.”

“She is the one born with me to balance the Is. Come, Emtor. Please. This way.”

With a shrug, Gavin caught up with Bahn as he led the way along a narrow trail beside the creek. Although Gavin was an inch or two taller, his guide had longer legs and moved more swiftly despite his injury. Gavin had to walk briskly to match Bahn’s gait. “How did your complement ask me to come with you if she isn’t here?”

“Complements can speak to each other through our thoughts. Wherever I am, she is always present in my thoughts. It’s how we balance each other.”

“So she’s your twin?”

“No, Emtor,” Bahn said as he limped along. “We were born to different parents. She’s my complement.”

Gavin nodded. “She’s your wife, then.”

Bahn emitted a high-pitched warble that Gavin took to be a laugh, though there was no contempt in it. “Not wife. Complement. She tells me your realm has nothing like it. I don’t know how to describe it so you’ll understand.”

“Try.”

As they approached the face of a large hill that in Gavin’s realm belonged to the foothills of the Superstitions, the woods thickened. Around them, birds twittered and small rodents rustled the forest litter as they darted to safety. Bahn lifted a low-hanging branch, stepped under it and held it for Gavin. “Within you is both darkness and light. You sometimes struggle to keep darkness from overpowering your thoughts and actions, yes?”

“Sometimes.”

“And sometimes you feel relaxed and serene but never so meek that you allow others to harm you.”

Much like he felt now, Gavin noted. Bahn’s gentle presence calmed him and made him comfortable. “Right.”

“The khozhi is the balance. As chaos balances order, as strength balances weakness, as cold balances hot, so does the kho balance the zhi. I represent the zhi, and Bahnna represents the kho.”

“Awright, but what’s kho and what’s zhi?”

“Kho encompasses dark, hard, chaos, hot and aggressive. Zhi is light, soft, order, cold, and passive. Do you see? Together, they balance each other. Kho is focused, zhi is diffuse. Kho is fast, zhi is slow.”

“I think I understand,” Gavin said. “Kho is bad, zhi is good.”

“The khozhi has no bad or good. Those words are judgments made by beings of intellect based on their morality or personal preference. The khozhi doesn’t represent judgments.”

“What about emotions like happiness or anger?”

“Emotions are also balanced within the Is. Zhi is happy, kho is angry. Zhi is shame, kho is pride. Zhi is fear, kho is courage.”

“Zhi is love?” Gavin asked. “And kho is hate?”

“That’s right, Emtor. Zhi emotions are more yielding or open. Kho emotions are more rigid or closed.” Bahn paused when they came to a point narrow enough to cross the creek. He went first and hopped across easily.

The jump was too far for Gavin’s shorter legs, and his leading foot landed in shallow water. “Damn.” He stepped quickly to the other side to keep the water from seeping through the sole of his boot.

“Kho is dry, zhi is wet,” Bahn said with a grin as he resumed his pace. “Bahnna’s kho-ness is necessary to balance my zhi-ness. I don’t understand her thought process any more than she understands mine, but as complements we accept and embrace each other because together we create harmony.”

“Sorry, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“The khozhi is within you, Emtor. You balance yourself. You live within a society because of your realm’s tendency toward order. The realms with more orderly societies than yours have less chaos. The realms with more chaos have less complex social structures.”

Gavin thought about the thousands of people he’d met during his travels as a warrant knight. Some had been predatory, dominated by the foul darkness within them. Others were victimized — usually good, kindly people who were weaker or more willing to yield than their attacker. Judging by their hazes, most people were somewhere in the middle, acting within the accepted boundaries of society despite the temptation to unleash whatever violence or perverseness they kept hidden within. He supposed that in the end, it all balanced out enough to keep society poised. “If your complement represents chaos, how do you keep her from destroying your society?”

“My thoughts temper hers, as hers temper mine,” Bahn explained. “Together we create balance.”

“What if one o’you dies?” Gavin asked.

“Without each other, neither tempers the other. Should Bahnna fall, I would die a natural death soon after. The opposite is also true.”

“What about the beyonders, the dark ones? Do you know how their realm works?”

“Theirs is the realm most dominated by the kho. It is filled with chaos, aggression and so forth. Their realm is balanced in the Is by the realm of nearly pure zhi. In that realm is order, light, passivity.”

“Where is the Is?”

“The Is is a what, not a where. It is simply the existence of all life. We know not what else to call it, so we call it the Is. Here on our world, life exists in layers we call realms. The mountains and oceans are the same across the realms. The birds and fish and trees are not.”

“So the two realms balance each other in existence?”

He looked at Gavin with a sad expression. “Yes, Emtor, but for how long, we don’t know. When the dark ones invade other realms, they upset the balance. Without balance, chaos reigns. If chaos reigned in all the realms, the world would be destroyed. We don’t want to kill the dark ones, only close those rips that allow them to cross into other realms.”

Gavin realized with a sick feeling that until he sealed the rift, beings from other realms were in just as much danger as his own people were. This made it all the more imperative that he seal the rift at once.

“We’re almost there, Emtor,” Bahn said, stopping. “Before we continue, I must warn you about Bahnna. You won’t like her. She’ll do and say things that tempt you to let the kho dominate you. You can curb those desires by addressing me rather than her.”

Gavin had dealt with plenty of dark, wicked people in his lifetime. He could handle himself.

Chapter 30

Ahead, Gavin made out the dark form of a cave in the side of the rock. “Your people live in caves?”

“For all of our history, we lived in villages. When the dark ones started to come, our kho-bent could slay the occasional one that came too close to the village. Ten full moons ago, the dark ones started coming more often and in greater numbers. We split into small family groups to ensure entire villages are not slain at once. Bahnna and I have not yet begun our families, so we live together.”

Ten months ago would have been when Gavin had first started deciphering the runes. Yeh, he noted, that was when he’d first started noticing an increase in beyonder invasions in his realm as well.

“Our elders believe the increased number of dark ones means the champion would soon close the gap. And here you are.” Bahn smiled.

Gavin hoped they were right. “What are your people called?”

“We call ourselves the Elyle.”

An Elyle, similarly dressed in a loincloth and sandals, exited the cave and made its way toward them. Judging from its slightly smaller stature, Gavin surmised this one was female, but there was a hardness about her that would have made even the toughest Viragon Sister seem like a wilting flower in comparison. Her green eyes fixated on Gavin, and her tongue trilled a long note that he had no translation for, though it annoyed him fiercely. Something about her unsettled him, like the many beyonders he’d slain, though Aldras Gar didn’t whisper a warning in his head. The closer she came, the more he wanted to distance himself from her.

“Emtor, please allow me to introduce my complement, Bahnna.”

Gavin was hesitant to offer his hand, though he did so anyway to avoid insulting his polite host. The instant he touched her, he felt hot, like his blood was bubbling in his veins. Her presence— no, her very existence— angered him. He dropped her hand as quickly as he could. She had a pleasant face, but her presence, her proximity, inspired such intense misgiving that he wanted nothing more than to walk away before he did something he would regret. He gripped his will and forced a smile. “My pleasure,” he said, though the snarl in his voice made the words sound as insincere as they felt.

“Mine too, Uckod,” she said. Gazing at him with steamy, lustful eyes, she ran a hand over his chest.

Gavin jerked back, but she persisted. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Ohhh,” she cooed. “Your hostility arouses me, Uckod.” She darted out a hand to slap him, but his reflexes were quick enough to block it.

“What the hell?” He had a strong urge to slam his fist into her face. He wanted to push her against the rock wall — no, pick her up over his head and heave her against it, hear her bones crack as she hit and fell to the ground. His sudden rage shocked him. Never had he felt such unwarranted loathing. Never had he struck a female in anger, and now he wanted so badly to hit her, to hurt her, as though she were a child-killing beyonder. This was madness. What the hell was going on here?

Gavin clenched and unclenched his fists as he backed away, trying to rein in his hatred. He remembered Bahn’s warning not to address her directly. “Why does she anger me so much?”

“She represents the kho,” Bahn replied simply. “Her kho-ness kindles the kho within you. I help you connect to your zhi-ness, so you feel more balanced.”

Hearing Bahn’s pleasant whistles and clicks did calm him. In fact, it was Bahn’s entire being — his gentle and yielding nature — that made Bahnna’s vile, aggressive presence easier to bear. “Why did she want to see me?”

“You’ve come for what I can give you, Uckod,” Bahnna said.

Gavin felt anger rise to the surface again, and he renewed his effort to focus his attention on Bahn.

“My complement travels the knowledge path of Rarga,” Bahn said.

“What’s Rarga?” Gavin asked.

“Rarga was a who, not a what, Emtor. She crafted the Runes of Carthis for the last Wayfarer King and taught him the skill.”

“Can your complement make the summoning rune I need?” Gavin asked, glancing at Bahnna. He instantly wished he hadn’t, as his anger returned. Fighting it was giving him a headache.

“That knowledge was forbidden long before we were born. She can craft a Rune of the Past that will enable you to visit the previous Wayfarer to discover where he left the Rune of Summoning Rarga made. Perhaps you can find it and use it.”

“He died two centuries ago,” Gavin argued, growing more frustrated.

“Yes, exactly. Use the Rune of the Past to travel to the time in which he lived.”

Gavin jerked in surprise. “You’re jesting.”

“Or perhaps you can travel to the midrealm’s past and receive instruction from Rarga herself to craft the rune you need.” The two Elyles stood silently for a moment, looking at each other. Bahnna grew more tense, while Bahn became calmer, if that was possible. Bahnna’s ears shifted forward, then lay flat on her head as her eyes went from purple to red. Bahn’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes became a serene green color. After a moment, they turned to Gavin.

“She has agreed to craft the rune for you.”

“My price is a single mating, Uckod. I’m fertile now. A child of our union would be most interesting, wouldn’t it?” Bahnna smiled wickedly and walked into the forest.

“What?” Gavin’s hands balled into fists on their own. “No, no and hell no,” he shouted at Bahnna’s back.

“She wanted more, but I convinced her that you’re going to save our realm and she should be more reasonable.” Bahn’s expression looked hopeful, as though he believed he’d negotiated a good bargain for Gavin.

“You don’t truly think I’m going to...” He pointed in the direction Bahnna had gone. “...lay with that. I’m desperate for the rune, but I ain’t perverted.”

“I’m so very sorry, Emtor. It was the best I could do.” Bahn’s whistles and clicks came so rapidly, Gavin had to concentrate to understand the words as they were translated in his thoughts. “Our people think she’s quite beautiful. Many of our males—”

“Well, I ain’t one o’your people. I ain’t doing it.”

“Then you should leave now,” Bahn said.

Gavin gaped at Bahn. Was he saying he wouldn’t help Gavin get the rune from someone else?

“When she comes back, she’ll sing to you. Her song is enchanting. You’ll be unable to resist her.”

“Don’t worry about me. I got a strong will.” After all, he hadn’t choked Bahnna yet. “Is there someone else who can craft it?”

Bahn sat on a rock and began to shuck the seeds he’d gathered earlier. “I’m sure many Elyles throughout the land have traveled the same knowledge path.”

“Do you know any?”

“I’m sorry to say I do not, Emtor. It’s a craft studied by those who are kho-bent. As one of the zhi-bent, I’m unacquainted with many of the kho-bent, even within our own clan.”

Gavin paced anxiously while he waited for Bahnna to return. What was he going to do? There was no possibility he would lay with that thing, but without the rune, he didn’t know how he could defeat Ritol. He set a pine cone on a tree stump and practiced throwing his dagger at it. After a few practice throws, he hit it square in the center, embedding the tip into the cone and knocking it off the stump. Between Brodas Ravenkind’s tireless pursuit of the throne, and the constant invasion by beyonders, a lot more people would die in the days to come. It was up to Gavin to do what had to be done. No one else could. At one time, he thought there was nothing he wouldn’t do to save his people. Now, he would be forced to put that conviction to the test.

“She’s ready to carve it,” Bahn said.

“Uckod,” Bahnna shouted.

“Why does she call me that?” Gavin asked.

Bahn laid his ears back. “She’s kho-bent. I’m sorry, Emtor.”

“Uckod, come. Help me make your rune.”

Gavin dreaded going to her without Bahn to temper her foulness. He peered in her general direction, considering whether he should go or ignore her.

“She’ll need your help to craft the rune. Go on. You’ll be safe,” Bahn said.

“Will she?”

Bahn warbled his laugh. “She wouldn’t let you hurt her, and you wouldn’t want to kill me by killing her. She’s safe.”

Gavin grumbled and went off to where the loathsome Bahnna waited by the stream.

Chapter 31

Brodas arrived in Saliria the evening of his third day of travel. While he was tired from long days of sitting astride his horse, he wasn’t too tired to find the Kinshield farm. The entry he’d written in his journal so long ago stated only that it was north of town, but the first person he asked on the street knew exactly where to find it and directed him without hesitation.

To Brodas’s utter disappointment, the Kinshields had fled. When he thought about it, he wasn’t terribly surprised that Gavin would send his brother away after receiving his cousin’s head in a box. The ’ranter might have been foolish, but he was no dunce.

Brodas questioned the butcher’s son, who was charged with caring for Rogan’s livestock in his absence, but didn’t learn much more than what he’d already guessed: Rogan took his family to Tern to visit relatives. They were expected back in a couple of weeks. If Brodas had his way, they wouldn’t return at all.

He and Red stayed the night in Saliria before continuing on.

The first thing he did after getting a room at an inconspicuous inn in the center of Tern was to leave a message for Cirang at the Swift Flight Messaging service. As he’d hoped, she found him at the inn shortly.

“I hope your journey was pleasant,” she said as she followed him into his room. Red came in behind her and shut the door.

Brodas wasn’t interested in exchanging pleasantries with her. He sat on the bed and gestured to the only stool in the room. Red stood by with his arms crossed, sucking his teeth. “Have you seen Rogan Kinshield?” Brodas asked. “Are he and his family staying at Gavin’s inn?”

She sat with her knees spread apart like a man. “The day after I dispatched the message to you, Rogan Kinshield, his wife and sons and two Sisters arrived at the inn. Most travelers have been turned away at the door, but they were let in. After an hour or so, they left and went to a home in the Jade district where they’ve been ever since. Their two guards followed. I had to be careful to keep Dona and Nasharla from seeing me, but I discreetly asked some neighbors and discovered that the wife’s relatives live there — aunt and uncle, I think.”

Brodas smiled, pleased with her investigative sense. “Very good work, Cirang. Before we continue, there’s the small matter of your salary I’d like to settle.” Her eyes lit up, and he knew he hadn’t misjudged her. “Four dyclen — two for what I owe you, and two more for what’s to come. See me through the next few days and you’ll earn a bonus.” He’d paid Red more, but she didn’t need to know that. Men deserved more pay than women anyway.

She took the money eagerly into her cupped hand and put the coins into her pouch. “Thank you, my liege. You can count on me.”

“Is Gavin back?” Brodas asked.

“I’ve been trying to watch both the inn and the home where his brother’s family is staying. It takes twenty minutes to ride from one to the other — longer if I have to circle to avoid a Sister — but I don’t believe Gavin has returned yet.”

“Red, you’ll need to keep an eye on the Elegance Inn and watch for Kinshield’s arrival. Cirang, you watch the brother.”

“I don’t know what he looks like, m’lord,” Red said.

Brodas strengthened his patience with a deep breath. “Considering the inn is closed to travelers and guarded by women battlers, any swordsman arriving with a Viragon Sister and not turned away is likely to be him. If that’s too complicated for you, he’s quite tall — probably three or four inches taller than you are — with dark hair. You’ll know him by the two scars that run down one cheek.”

“Awright,” Red said. “Do you want me to kill him?”

“You can’t kill him, Red,” Brodas said with a derisive chuckle. “He has a contingent of guards around him, not to mention some powerful magic at his disposal. Let me know when he arrives.”

“What’s next, my liege?” Cirang asked. Now and then, she touched her coin pouch, as if to reassure herself that the coins were still there.

After four days of travel, he was ready to find nice, quiet lodgings where no one would question his comings, goings and activities. Beyond a day or two, an inn was out of the question. The last thing he wanted was someone noticing any blood spatter that might land on his clothing or Red’s. A secluded cottage would be ideal, one whose residents wouldn’t be noticed or missed. “I need to find a more effective temporary residence — preferably one with a cellar.”

Chapter 32

The children each selected two changes of clothes, which Feanna stuffed into an old satchel Henrik had kept for traveling. Adro helped Trevick hitch the wagon to Feanna’s white dray horse. Once the windows were shuttered and the doors locked, everyone climbed into the wagon, and they started off. Adro rode astride his white warhorse, which appeared calm yet responsive.

Trevick brooded for the first hour of the journey. He’d wanted to stay home and look after the farm, but Feanna feared leaving him alone, considering the recent beyonder visit. Had Gavin not been there... she hated to think what might have happened. The children chattered, mostly Iriel bragging about how she would kill beyonders if they ran into any because she was going to be a Viragon sister like Miss Daia. Feanna sat on the bench in the front of the wagon to drive the horse, and Adro rode alongside and made polite conversation. She let Trevick drive for a time while she sat in the wagon with the girls.

After a couple of hours, everyone grew quiet, and they rode in silent companionship, listening to the sounds of hawks above and the buzzing of insects around them. The road was a narrow dirt track in the center of a cleared strip of forest. The woods on either side were thick, and the sunlight filtered through the trees for most of the journey, even when the sun was highest in the sky. Although the ride was quiet and serene, Feanna couldn’t stop worrying about what had befallen Gavin. She checked the feelings from his warrant tag twice more, each time feeling nothing but dead, empty wood and renewing her anxiety.

Now and then Adro broke off to ride ahead and scout for danger. On one such scouting mission, he was gone longer than he’d been on the others, and Feanna began to worry that something had happened to him.

“Is he coming back?” Tansa asked in a trembling voice.

“Of course he is, sweetie,” Feanna answered, trying to sound confident. “He probably saw something suspicious and went to investigate. He’ll keep us safe.” She scanned the forest as they continued, looking and listening for signs of him.

“What if he doesn’t?”

She heard something — a distant voice in the trees. “Hush, children. Listen.” She pulled the reins to stop the horse. Everyone quieted, looking at each other with heads tilted.

“Feanna!” Behind them, Adro’s voice, barely audible, echoed through the trees. “Hello!”

“Behind us,” Trevick said, pointing.

“I can’t turn the wagon around here. Iriel, stay with your sisters and don’t get out of the wagon. Trevick, come with me.” She climbed off the bench while Trevick hopped to the ground and drew his long knife. They started back the way they’d come. Cupping her hands around her mouth, Feanna yelled, “Adro. Over here.”

Momentarily, she heard the distant sound of someone crashing through the underbrush, and she gradually made out a male form approaching. She and Trevick waved their arms and yelled for him, stopping when he waved one arm to acknowledge he’d seen them.

By the way he was limping, she grew alarmed. Where was his horse? As he neared, she could see that his shirt was torn and bloody, and his left arm was bleeding badly. “Oh dear!” She gathered her skirts and rushed to meet him. Ducking under his right arm, she clutched him about the waist to assist him. “What happened?”

Trevick took the pack from his hand and offered the skin of water he had around his neck. Adro nodded his thanks and guzzled the water.

“Beyonders,” he said at last. “Three of them. Killed my horse. The saddle’s back a little ways if you don’t mind getting it, Trevick.”

With a nod, Trevick jogged into the forest, following the path Adro had made in the old fallen leaves.

“Let’s get you to the wagon. We have supplies and clean water to tend your wounds. I’m not a bad medic.”

Adro stumbled, and Feanna clutched him tighter, grasping him to hold him steady. His right arm tightened around her, drawing her close. Too close. In a moment of awkward realization that their bodies were pressed against one another, Feanna started to look away and apologize. His lips descended on hers. The kiss took her by surprise, and without thinking, she put her hand on his chest and shoved. He fell to the ground with an “Ooof.”

The realization of having knocked down an injured man, one who’d nearly been killed defending her and the children, horrified her. “Oh! Adro, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Adro said at the same time. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It was my fault completely. Please forgive me.”

“Let me help you up.” She took him by his right arm to help him stand. “I shouldn’t have shoved you.” They started walking again.

“No, no, my lady,” he said. His face was pink, and he kept his eyes lowered. “I deserved that. A thousand pardons. It must be the pain clouding my thoughts.”

“You poor thing. We can find some licorice root along the way. Iriel knows what to look for. I’m sorry about your horse. What will you do?”

“I’ve some money saved, but a good battle mount isn’t easy to come by. Different kind of beast from the one pullin’ your wagon.”

Feanna smirked. “I can imagine. Nellie’s as gentle as they come but not terribly bright. How did you get behind us?”

“The beyonders were on the road ahead, and I had to keep their attention on me. If they’d seen you, they’ve had gone after you or the children. So I lured them into the woods far enough from the road that they wouldn’t hear you pass.”

Feanna’s face tingled. She hadn’t realized how much danger he’d put himself in to protect his charges. “That was quite noble of you, Adro.”

Although his smile looked more like a grimace, his charming dimples came through. “It’s my job, m’lady. I wouldn’t be much of a warrant knight if I’d let them attack you.”

At their approach, the girls rushed to Adro’s side. Iriel bombarded him with questions about the beyonders and how he’d slain them, apparently failing to notice that he’d suffered greatly in the battle. As they helped him climb into the wagon, a pale-faced Trevick arrived with the saddle and blanket Adro had left behind. The spatter of liquid on the front of his shirt could have been spilt water, except that Adro still had the skin.

Not one to complain or admit weakness, Trevick climbed onto the bench and drove the horse. He cast wary glances around them as they continued toward Tern. Tansa and Jilly huddled together, whispering and trying to focus on their dolls, but Iriel was completely unfazed by the blood or Adro’s battle wounds.

With Adro’s shirt in tatters, it made more sense to simply remove it. Rather than trying to pull it off over his head and taxing his injuries, she used Trevick’s knife to cut it off him. Adro’s bare chest was lightly covered with curling blond hair, and his skin was tanned as though he spent a good deal of time under the sun shirtless. While not as large as Gavin, he was muscular and strong, with very little extra flesh. With every movement, the muscles rippled visibly under his skin. Without his shirt on, she could plainly see why he wore long sleeves. He had the brand of a criminal on the inside of his left forearm.

Iriel watched with rapt attention while Feanna cleaned each cut and puncture wound. Feanna had her dab the fresh blood from each wound while she did her best to stitch it closed. When she got to the cuts on his arm, she said, “This doesn’t look like a battle scar.”

Pink rose to his cheeks. “Figured you’d ask about that. Not somethin’ I’m proud of.”

“I wouldn’t imagine.” She wanted to know what he’d done but didn’t want to press him into talking about something that clearly embarrassed him. Everyone had a past, and not everyone’s past was rosy, including her own.

“I try to keep it covered and forget that life. I’m not that buck anymore. You don’t have cause to worry, Miss Feanna. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

She shifted, felt his anguish and shame and knew he was telling the truth. “I know, Adro. It’s all right. I wouldn’t have hired you if I’d had doubts. Who did you say issued your warrant tag?” It lay against his chest on its leather thong. The emblem looked the same as the one on Gavin’s warrant tag.

“The Lordover Lalorian. He’s a good man, one of the best I’ve known.”

“Do you perchance know Gavin Kinshield?”

He started. “Yeh, I know Gavin. He’s the one who branded me. He’s also the one who set me on a straighter path. I call him a friend. Do you as well?”

Relieved, Feanna nodded. “I do. More than a friend, in fact.” She didn’t know how, exactly, to define her relationship with Gavin. He was obviously interested in courting her, but he hadn’t formally declared his intentions. He didn’t seem the sort to follow the conventions of the aristocracy, though. “It’s his warrant tag I wear.”

Adro’s face fell. “Oh. I understand now. He’s courting you, and I’ve made a fool of myself.“ He smiled, dimpling his cheeks.

“There,” Feanna said, as she tied the last bandage. She patted his arm. “Don’t give it another thought. Do you know Gavin well?”

“Yeh, fairly well,” Adro began, though he seemed reluctant to elaborate. He didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, his gaze was fixed on his right hand as he picked the grime out from under his nails. “Of course I only know him as a man knows another. You know, tipped a few ales with him, battled brigands with him, bragged about the— uh, sorts of things men brag about. I don’t know another I’d rather have on my side. If you were my sister, I’d trust him to provide for you, although—”

Feanna cocked her head. “Although what?”

He shook his head. “I ought to let Gavin tell you what secrets he has. It’s not my business to say. It might be just rumors, anyway. You know how whores like to talk.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. She supposed that Gavin, like any other man, would have needs, but... whores?

“Oh, hell,” Adro muttered, shutting his eyes. “I’m sorry, Miss Feanna. I shouldn’t have said anything. Gavin’s an honorable buck. If he thought he had bastards, he’d be raisin’ them hisself.”

“Bastards?” She felt the warmth of shame spread over her face. If Gavin was such a rogue, why would Liera have tried so hard to bring them together? A quick touch of Adro’s arm revealed his deceit. Why would he have said such things? How much of it was true?

Chapter 33

Gavin found Bahnna squatting by the bank of the stream. When he approached, she didn’t bother looking up. “Pour water over the stone while I carve the rune.” She’d chosen a flat stone, about two inches in diameter — small enough to fit completely in his fist. It lay atop a larger rock, nestled in an indentation in its surface.

“I ain’t laying with you, you know. No matter what you say. Make the rune because you want me to help your realm.”

Her smile made his skin crawl. “When you hear my song, you will be enraptured. You will do as I say. Now pour.”

The hell he would. He gripped his will with an iron fist and squatted beside her, while reining in the instinct to use his sword to put an end to her vile presence. He scooped water from the stream into his cupped hands and opened a gap between them to let water trickle onto the surface of the stone. When his hands were empty, he did it again.

Bahnna hummed softly, a curious sound. He wouldn’t have described the song as beautiful, but it was unlike any song he’d ever heard coming from one being, both in its tritonal harmonics and its warbling melody. It was three parts of a song sung by one mouth, which Gavin supposed was the main reason it was so mesmerizing. “Otra kerven,” she said. With the tip of her finger, she traced a line on the surface of the rock, which smoked and sizzled when he poured water onto it. In her finger’s path, dark lines appeared and deepened, like a sign-maker burning words into wood. When she finished, the rune resembled two columns of four parallel lines and one wider line beneath. From a distance, it resembled the letter U. She handed it to him. “It is called Taendat.”

“Taendat. Awright. My thanks.” He dropped it into his coin pouch and started to leave, but Bahnna opened her mouth and began to sing. Part of Gavin wanted to stay and listen to its beauty, its enchanting tunes. Then he realized he had no choice. He couldn’t move.

“Turn around,” she said.

Despite his unwillingness, he complied, unable to resist. She pulled his trousers down to his ankles while he stood helplessly, unable to stop her. His mind resisted, but his body obeyed against his will. She would have him, whether he consented or not.

The notion astounded him, yet there she stood, touching his body, coaxing him with deft hands. The vibrations of her humming stimulated him in a way he’d never felt before. Gavin tried to will his body to resist her, but it heard only her singing, and it responded. Desperately, he tried pushing against her in his mind. He tried to focus his thoughts on the mundane chores like cleaning his horse’s hooves, sharpening his weapons and chopping wood. Nothing worked. For the second time in his life, he was completely powerless against another being.

Aldras Gar.

Daia, he thought. I need you. He tried to find Daia’s haze, groping for her across the boundary between the realms.

The singing stopped. Bahnna looked up in alarm toward the cave then sprinted away.

Released from the song’s grasp, Gavin shuddered. He yanked up his trousers and retrieved his leather glove, still disbelieving he’d come within moments of being ravished by a female. Never had he imagined such a thing was possible, especially not to someone as large and strong as he was. He’d always been able to overpower anyone who attacked him, especially a woman.

With the Rune of the Past in hand, this was the perfect opportunity to leave. Once he sealed the rift between the realms, the Elyle would no longer be in danger. Wasn’t that payment enough for the rune? He’d never agreed to Bahnna’s terms anyway. They’d been forced upon him.

Aldras Gar!

A scream echoed through the forest, too low in pitch to be Bahnna, Gavin broke into a run.

The sound of growling and thrashing grew louder as he neared the cave. Through the trees he caught sight of a shiny, gray form the size of a black bear and Bahnna straddling it, pounding it from above with a rock. Clamped in its jaws was Bahn’s right arm. He lay on the ground with his face contorted in pain, but he didn’t struggle or fight back as the beyonder dragged him toward the trees. He looked like a man who had accepted his fate.

“Oh hell,” Gavin muttered. He’d encountered this type of beyonder before. Heavily armored, it was extremely hard to kill with steel. He put on his glove and drew his sword anyway. “Get off,” he yelled. “Get off it.”

Bahnna didn’t seem to have heard. She kept slamming that rock against the beyonder’s thick-plated skull, though her assault did nothing to deter it. When he ran into the clearing, the beyonder released Bahn’s arm and snapped at Gavin with two rows of triangular, serrated teeth. He leapt backward out of its reach. With a hard shake, it flung Bahnna from its scaly back. She sailed a dozen feet through the air and slammed into the mountain face, then fell like a rag to the ground and lay still.

The beyonder came at Gavin, advancing quickly on six spindly legs. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away from it by running backward, so he led it into the woods and used the trees to keep it at a distance. He feinted one way, intending to spin the opposite way around a tree and stab it in the side. It adjusted, whipping its triangular head around. It narrowly missed Gavin’s sword hand. The thing wasn’t stupid, nor was it slow.

The beyonder’s jaws clacked together so close to Gavin’s shin, he felt its hot breath through his trousers. He circled another tree, then another, working his way toward one with a split low on its trunk.

Pain shot through his right leg as its teeth sank into the flesh above his knee. He stumbled, caught in its vice-like grip, and nearly fell. The agony rose to his throat and rumbled there in a growl. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he chopped his sword at the thing’s eye, hoping to blind it. A spark from Aldras Gar plunged into the tender flesh.

The beyonder screeched and let go, shutting its plated eyelid. It staggered, backed away, and turned drunkenly. Its head slammed into a tree. Gavin stumbled after it. Die! A blue flame shot forth from Aldras Gar and spread across the surface of the beyonder’s armor plating then disappeared into the tiny crevices between them. The thing shrieked and quivered and stopped moving. A plume of smoke danced upward from its still carcass.

Gavin limped at a run to the cave. Already his healing magic warmed the torn flesh.

Bahn sat on the ground, cradling Bahnna’s limp form, his head bowed over her.

“Is she alive?” Gavin asked. He squatted beside the two Elyles and put one hand on Bahnna’s head. The fur between her ears was surprisingly soft and warm.

“Her heart still beats but slowly,” Bahn said. His right arm bled steadily through his ripped sleeve and hung uselessly by his side.

Gavin settled onto his knees and put both hands on Bahnna. As much as he despised her, he knew Bahn’s life was in peril as well. He closed his eyes and concentrated on finding the white fluttering sensation that accompanied King Arek’s healing magic. Little by little, he shut out the sounds of the birds, of the trees rustling in the breeze, of Bahn’s soft breathing. The fluttering was weak, but he focused on it, willing it to burn hotter within him. It heated his hands and trickled into Bahnna’s still form, then gradually flowed more steadily. A cottony feeling filled his mouth, and his temples began to throb before the healing was finished. He gritted his teeth and focused, diving deeper into it and pulling it with all his will.

At last, it faded. He knew he’d done the best he could, and he relaxed his trembling muscles. His head felt like it had been stamped flat under a fallen boulder. Every movement, every thought, intensified the pain, but there was still work to do to heal Bahn’s arm. If only Daia had been there. Her help would have made the healing much easier. Then he remembered his ring and wanted to slap himself. Of course.

Closing his eyes, he focused his hidden eye on the gem in his ring. He followed the fine, hazy thread through the clouds of mist, found her orange tendril and grasped it. He exhaled in relief. The rings worked across realms. The pain in his head immediately began to lessen.

When he placed his hands on Bahn, the Elyle lifted his head to reveal pale orange eyes. “You needn’t bother helping me. I cannot live without my complement.”

“Don’t worry. She’ll recover.” He shut his eyes and let the fluttering white magic heal Bahn. Despite the connection with Daia, he finished feeling weak and queasy. Maybe he was weaker in this realm, or his connection with her wasn’t as strong across realms. His head spun.

The next thing he knew, Bahn was sitting over him, dribbling water into his parched mouth. The Elyle’s eyes glowed like fireflies in summertime. Gavin struggled to sit up. Bahnna took him by the arm and helped. He reflexively pulled away to avoid her vile touch. At least the headache had faded.

“Your touch healed us,” Bahn said. “We owe you our lives, Emtor.” He bowed his head deeply.

Even Bahnna inclined her head a few inches.

“My complement agrees you paid her well for the rune, and she would make you another if you need it.”

Gavin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “If I knew what other rune I needed, I would gladly accept your offer.”

“You would be most welcome to return for it, Emtor,” Bahn said. “She’ll craft it for you anytime.”

“I’ll sing for you as a special favor,” Bahnna said with a lusty grin.

“No,” Gavin said flatly. He started to rise. “It’s time I tried to get home. My thanks for your help.” He looked at Bahn as he said this. With great effort, he looked at Bahnna and tried to keep from snarling as he thanked her for the rune.

“Good-bye, Uckod,” she sneered.

“Good-bye, Emtor.”

He returned to the creek and followed it downstream, looking for the place he and Daia had stopped. When the abandoned village came into view, he followed his footprints until he found the ones he’d made on first arriving.

Again, he used his hidden eye to find the gem’s haze and followed its thread to where Daia’s flame awaited. Once connected to her, he tried to envision the vortex.

At first, he saw nothing but a swirl of colored dots as before. The image of a rainbow vortex danced in his mind, slipping away teasingly each time he tried to focus on it. Don’t try to focus on it, he reminded himself. Instead, he let it hang in the periphery of his vision, just out of focus. When it cycled to the comfortable blue color, he stepped into it. The world twisted and fell away.

Chapter 34

Daia alternately paced, muttering angrily over Gavin’s foolish foray into an unknown world unprepared, and sat on the grass, chewing her fingernails to their quicks. Terrible thoughts raced through her head. What if he couldn’t get back? What if he was injured and his healing magic didn’t work? What if he was dead? He’d promised not to go through, damn him.

She traced his steps and found the exact spot where he’d gone from this realm into another. It didn’t feel like any other, didn’t look any different. The grass grew there as it did in the surrounding area, and the horses didn’t hesitate to graze on it. A vortex had opened here. She hadn’t seen it. All she saw was Gavin stepping out of the world and disappearing.

She sat before that spot. If he was searching for her from whatever realm he’d gone to, she would need a calm mind to sense him. What if he’d been searching for her all this time and her anger and worry had turned her numb to his frantic groping? She shut off her thoughts, recognizing they were unproductive and stupid.

With slow, steady breaths, she concentrated on her ring, caressing its gem with the power swirling in her belly. The world slowed and quieted. Whether it was her imagination or real, she couldn’t tell, but she sensed a thread running from her ring to where Gavin disappeared. Beyond that was nothingness. With her conduit power, she felt along the length of the thread as though she were following a rope in a dark cave inch by inch. Before long, she felt the tickle in her gut of someone connecting to her. It was Gavin. She grasped it. She expected him to come back, but the connection dropped. “Damn it.” Was he in trouble? She tried to relax. He’d found her once. He’d find her again. Several minutes passed, then several more. Daia tried to remain calm, but with every beat of her heart, his absence worried her more. At last, she felt him connect with her again, and she grasped him with all her strength.

“Whoa.”

She shot to her feet and spun, her heart thumping. There he stood, arms out as if to steady himself. Alive. Home. Safe. “Gavin!” She reacted without thinking by throwing her arms around his waist. “Thank Yrys you’re all right.” He teetered on unsteady feet, and she widened her stance to keep them upright.

“The rings work great,” he said, grasping her upper arms. “Only took the span of ten heartbeats to find you.”

She wanted to slap him and hug him at the same time. Only ten seconds, and she’d worried for hours. She stepped back but watched him closely for a sign he might fall, ready to catch him. “I’m glad you’re—” There was blood on his trouser leg. “What happened?”

“I was in another realm, and I met two Elyles.”

“I meant to your leg.”

“Beyonder. Let’s get back on the road and I’ll tell you what happened.” He looked around. “Where’s my horse?”

Calie nibbled the grass several yards away, but Golam was nowhere in sight. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have tied him to a tree. I was trying to concentrate on helping you and didn’t notice he’d wandered off.”

“Damned fool,” Gavin spat. “Not you. The horse. Always getting lost. Golam!” He cupped his hands beside his mouth. “GOLAM!”

They listened for a sign of the big gray. Somewhere to the south, a horse neighed. Gavin called to him as he stamped through the forest toward the sound. Soon, Daia saw the huge gray body trotting through the trees, head high. Golam nickered as he approached his rider. “How now, mule,” Gavin said, chuckling. “Got lost again, didn’t you?” Golam pressed the long flat of his face against Gavin’s chest while Gavin rubbed his ears. “You’re awright now, pal. Come on.” He led Golam by the reins to the road.

“He looks happy to see you.”

“He’s not afeared o’beyonders or men with swords or bats...” He winked at Daia. “...but he turns into a baby when he gets lost.”

Golam swung his huge head toward her as he walked by, reaching for her ear with lips extended. She leaned away and pushed at his face gently. “Don’t try it, lecher.”

Once they’d mounted and started again toward the Lucky Inn, Gavin told her of his adventures in the other realm. Her expression was skeptical until he showed her the rune.

“By Yrys! You got a summoning rune?” she asked.

“No, they wouldn’t give me one. This is a Rune o’the Past. They said I can use it to travel to a previous time. Does the book say anything about it?”

“That sounds familiar.” She pulled the encyclopaedia out of her pack and began flipping pages. “If King Arek could go to a different time, why didn’t he stop Crigoth Sevae from summoning Ritol? Why send so many thousands of soldiers to their deaths trying to kill it?” She looked up again. “What if you could stop that whole Ritol thing from happening at all?”

That notion made Gavin uncomfortable, though it was so foreign that he couldn’t wrestle it still enough in his thoughts to understand why. He pointed at the encyclopaedia. “Read.”

She hunted through the book, brow furrowed and eyes darting across each page. Finally she tapped the page. “Here. Listen to this. It’s from a letter he wrote to the Institute for Scholarly Studies.

“I have discovered that as Wayfarer, my travels are not limited to different realms. Indeed, I’ve found that I can travel to a previous time — to talk to people who have since passed on. I call this ‘back-traveling.’ On one such journey, I saw my mother while she was pregnant with me. I dared not address her for fear she would call the guards to arrest me for speaking of matters too unfathomable to be naught but the ravings of a madman. There are limits to this backward travel, however.

“I take with me only what I back-travel with, and I have no power over life and death. When I returned to the day nearly two years ago, hoping to...” Daia read silently for a moment.

“Hoping to what?”

“Gavin, you don’t want to hear this.”

“Read.”

With a sigh, she started again. “...hoping to save my young son from drowning in the courtyard reflecting pool—”

“Aww, hell,” Gavin muttered.

“—my hands couldn’t grasp him, and my shouts for help went unheard. I watched my son die, powerless to save him.” Daia grimaced sorrowfully. “Did you know King Arek had a son?”

Gavin started to shake his head, but the distant memory of a young body, wet and lifeless, tickled his mind. Though the memory was clouded, the emotion of it was not, clenching his heart. Ronor had loved that child as one of his own. “Yeh, I think I did.” It wasn’t a memory he particularly wanted Daia’s help to clarify, though. He let it go.

She bent back to the page. “My theory is that anything that would alter the past such that later events would not have occurred are somehow impossible. Back-travel is best suited for gaining information that might shed light on current affairs. If you have pressing questions about historical events, such as the crafting of the Star Fire gem or the circumstances surrounding The Sacrifice, send a reply and I will attempt to gather the information. Complete and accurate books on our people’s history would be among our most valuable assets.”

“Is there a reply?” Gavin asked.

She flipped a few pages, scanning quickly down the length of each. “Not that I can see, but I’ll keep looking. Sorry about that drowning business. I warned you.”

“I know.” In truth, Gavin was grateful to have heard it. If King Arek hadn’t been able change events in his past, then Gavin had no hope of saving his own family. Back-traveling to the day his wife and daughter had been brutally murdered would only have made him relive those moments in excruciating detail.

“You really did it, didn’t you?” she asked. “Traveled to another realm.”

He grinned and rubbed his thumb over the rune in his hand. “Yeh.”

“Next time you go through, at least warn me first, will you? I was worried half to death.”

Chapter 35

Brodas rode along a partially-paved street in the southern-most neighborhood of the Garnet district, scanning the burnt homes for one that had suffered less damage than the others. He hadn’t seen a grocer or farmers market within a few minutes’ walking distance and suspected that any nearby shops had gone out of business or moved after the fire. Everyone had left. Not one home had been rebuilt or repaired.

The last two homes on the street, sitting higher on the slope of the hill that marked the mountain’s edge seemed relatively untouched by the fire. He dismounted and approached. “Is anyone here?” he called. “Hello?” When no one answered, he tried the door. It swung easily open.

Inside, the great room was furnished with a pair of wooden chairs softened by pillows, a crude pedestal dining table, and several stools. The stove in the kitchen had evidence of heavy use and light cleaning. The home smelled dank from mildew. In a bedroom, he found a cracked ceiling and water-damaged bedding beneath. The second bedroom had an old bed, seemingly undamaged by mice or water, a wardrobe half-filled with clothes, and a couple of crates as well. A few articles of clothing lay strewn across the floor suggesting someone had left in a hurry. Every corner housed a spiderweb or two with shiny black residents whose bite promised fever and pus-filled boils.

Beneath a tattered rug in the great room was a hatch. Brodas pulled it open and was immediately assaulted with the stench of rancid meat. He waved fresh air into his face to rid himself of the terrible smell, then plugged his nose and descended. When he reached the bottom of the ladder, his feet crunched the corpses of a thousand flies. About twenty feet square, the cellar was filled with half-empty crates of winter clothing, mostly strewn across the dirt floor. The meat, most of it spilled from broken jars, had completely dried out, though the smell lingered in the clothing. His future guests might complain about the smell but not for long. Still, Brodas didn’t consider himself an inhumane barbarian. He’d burn some herbs to make the air breathable.

To be thorough, he checked a couple of nearby houses but found them in less habitable condition.

With his temporary residence secured, Brodas retrieved his belongings from the inn and tasked Cirang with emptying the meat from the cellar while Red hauled the wet bedding out of the bedroom. Red found a couple of usable pallets in the neighboring houses and hauled them over. Cirang offered to sleep in the great room and let Red have the bedroom, either to avoid needing to repair the roof in case of rain or to escape Red’s loud snoring. While they were busy making the house habitable, Brodas rode into the center of town for something to eat. He wasn’t talented in the kitchen, and he didn’t think Cirang had enough of a womanly bent to cook, so he found an inn that would package a meal of chicken, bread and corn for him to take back.

When they finished eating, Brodas pulled the books from his satchel and set them on the table. Buried at the bottom of the bag was a small pouch tied with a drawstring he’d found in the farmhouse cellar. “Cirang, since you’re a former Viragon Sister, I’ll give this next task to you. Tomorrow, I want you to bring Rogan Kinshield and his offspring to me. They’ll most likely come with you willingly if they think you’re one of Gavin’s guards.”

“With his family or alone?”

“I have no quarrel with his wife, but if it’s easier to get the children by bringing her, then by all means do.”

She nodded. “They have two skilled guards, though. I doubt I’ll be able to best both at once.”

He opened the pouch and dipped a finger inside, then extended his finger toward her. “Smell that.”

She took a whiff and immediately darted her hands out to steady herself. “Whoa. Serragan powder?”

“That’s right. That small amount is enough to make you sway on your feet. Imagine what a pinch blown into someone’s face will do.”

Cirang nodded appreciatively. “I’d only heard of it, never smelt it before. Powerful. I’d hate to be on the receiving end.”

“Don’t use much — only a pinch the size of your small fingernail is enough. Be extra careful. To inhale too close to it before you blow could turn the effect back on yourself.”

“I wonder if it would keep Red from snoring.”

He shot her a disapproving glare.

“I’m jesting. I’m jesting.”

When he heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching an hour later, he closed the book and set it carefully between his journals inside his satchel. He withdrew a gem from the chest, in case he needed to defend himself. From outside, he heard voices.

“Here we are,” Cirang said.

“A bit out o’the way, ain’t it?” said a deep male voice.

“You have to admit,” Cirang said, “he won’t think to look for you here.”

“Where’s everyone else — the other Sisters and my brother?”

Brodas peeked out. A big man with dark hair sat on a brown draft horse.

“They’re inside. There’s a tunnel in the cellar that leads to a cave. Why don’t you go on inside while I take the horses around back?”

“Um... How ’bout you go tell Gavin I’m here. I’ll wait.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Cirang fumbled with something on her hip. “If you wouldn’t mind showing him this when he comes out.” She blew a handful of powder, enough that Brodas saw it hang in the air, into Rogan’s face.

His reactions were good. He started to turn and heel his mount, but it was no battle horse. It had barely started walking when he slumped in the saddle and wrapped his arms around its neck to hang on. Cirang easily intercepted the horse, grabbed Rogan by the hair and pulled him off. With a hard “Oooof,” he fell to the ground where he lay on his side, grasping his head.

Cirang dismounted and stood over him with her sword pointed at his gut. “Cooperate and you can save your wife.”

Brodas approached. “Good work, Cirang. How did you get him away from his guard?”

She shrugged with a grin. “They were at a bowyer’s shop, and she stepped outside. I hit her with the powder and dragged her into an alley, then tied her horse to a hitch across the street so he wouldn’t notice it was still there. Then I went in and told him Gavin had sent for him, and Nasharla had gone to retrieve his wife and sons.”

Brodas nodded approvingly. “You do look a good deal like him.”

“Who are you? Where’s Gavin?” Rogan asked, his speech slurred from the effects of the serragan powder.

“Gavin’s not invited to our little party. Not yet.” Brodas smiled. “I’m Brodas Ravenkind, descendant of King Ivam Engtury and rightful ruler of Thendylath.”

“Don’t hurt my wife and sons. Please.”

“My grievance is with the Kinshields. I’ve no ill will toward your wife, but she did bear more of your name. I made a promise to your brother, after all, and I intend to keep it.”

Cirang took him by the arm. “Get up,” she told Rogan. He tried to get to his feet, but the powder’s effects made it impossible for him to stand, let alone walk. Brodas took him by the other arm, and together, they half-dragged him into the cottage. They let him fall to the floor. Cirang rolled him over and pushed his legs over the edge of the cellar opening. Rogan fumbled for a handhold and managed to slow his fall with a brief grasp of the floor’s edge. He dropped to the cellar floor and landed on his arse.

“Gavin ain’t gonna give you what you want,” he said defiantly. His eyes jerked in circles as he attempted to glare at Brodas.

It occurred to Brodas that Rogan must have thought he’d been captured to use as leverage against his brother. Although Brodas had intended to have Red decapitate the man and deliver the head to the inn, he began to wonder whether offering his brother’s life in exchange for relinquishing the throne and giving Brodas the gems was a better alternative. Gavin was a sentimental lout and would surely do whatever he could to save his beloved family, especially knowing that to refuse would guarantee Rogan’s death as well as his sons’. “Then he’ll watch you and your sons die.” To Cirang he asked, “What did you do with his guard?”

“She’s in an alley, curled into a ball and puking herself dry. Maybe I used too much powder, but I got a good puff right in her face. How long will it last?”

“A few hours,” Brodas said, “but I’d rather not have her running to the Elegance Inn to gather her friends. Bring her here.”

Cirang gave him a doubtful look as though she didn’t think it wise, but she said nothing. She mounted and left Brodas alone with Rogan while she went to retrieve the guard she’d left behind. It wasn’t long before she was back with a semiconscious Viragon Sister draped over her saddle. He helped her carry Nasharla in, and they lowered her into the cellar. When Cirang released her wrists, she crumpled to the ground, partly on Rogan’s still form. He groaned, but otherwise both were silent.

“It keeps them fairly quiet as well,” Cirang noted. “How convenient.”

To keep the two from helping each other escape, Brodas locked the cellar hatch with his gargoyle figurine.

During the next couple of hours, Cirang brought two of Rogan’s sons and put them into the cellar. Despite Rogan’s dizziness, he drew his boys close and tried to comfort them. Perhaps it was a sign the effects of the powder were beginning to diminish.

“You said he had three sons,” Brodas said.

Cirang nodded. “The youngest is with his mother. I haven’t seen them part from Dona all day. I should be able to bring the youngest boy next, if I can separate him from his mother’s skirts.”

“Off you go, then,” Brodas sang, happy that Cirang was so crafty. While she didn’t have Red’s strength or hunger for killing, she had useful skills the big swordsman lacked. No doubt she could talk a starving man out of his last piece of bread. Brodas rose to close the hatch over the cellar.

“No, please,” a boy wailed. It was the smaller one with curly hair. “It’ll be dark.”

“Yes, but it’ll be quiet,” Brodas said. “Your endless blubbering is giving me a headache.”

“I’ll be quiet. I promise.”

Brodas snorted. “Just like a Kinshield to make promises and not keep them.”

“My son’s afraid o’the dark,” Rogan said. “I beg your kindness for this one thing. Leave the hatch open. Please.”

Kindness had its uses as a tool to bind people to him or garner favor. Kindness for its own sake, especially toward people who were going to die anyway, seemed a worthless gesture. Besides, the more he put down there, the more likely they would be to try to help each other escape. He shut the hatch and put his gargoyle lock back on it. Surprisingly, the following hour passed with barely a peep from the people below. He heard their muffled voices from time to time, but it was too infrequent to disturb his study.

At last, Cirang arrived, escorting a blue-eyed woman with freckles on her face and Rogan’s third son, a blond boy with the typical Kinshield brown eyes. The woman seemed compliant but alert.

“Where are my boys?” she asked. “Where’s Rogan?”

He measured Rogan’s wife with a glance. Despite her freckles, she was an attractive woman. It was a shame she would have to die. “Your husband and sons are in the cellar.” He removed the gargoyle lock from the cellar hatch and lifted it. “Please, won’t you join them? Cirang, refresh the powder on anyone who needs it.”

With his cellar full of Kinshields, Brodas stood on the front stoop of the cottage, gazing at the charred husks of the neighboring houses as the sinking sun cast a fiery orange glow on their once-white walls. The only sounds aside from the wailing within the cottage were the songs of birds and the gentle rush of wind as it swept down the valley.

It had been a good day. The setbacks of the last two weeks had been devastating, but they were behind him. Ahead lay success. Ahead lay the throne of Thendylath.

Chapter 36

The rest of their journey to Tern progressed smoothly. Without explaining the brand on his arm, Adro chatted about the adventures he’d shared with Gavin. Feanna pondered how much of it was true. He’d already tried to deceive her once about Gavin’s character, though he couldn’t be all rogue. He’d suffered injury and lost his horse protecting her and the children. A true rogue might have tried to take advantage of her guilt or gratitude by requesting a tumble or money or perhaps more. Adro did none of those things. He behaved as a proper gentleman should, despite his continued romantic interest in her.

Familiar with Tern, Adro knew exactly where to find the Elegance Inn. Feanna let him drive the wagon while she admired the many shops and fine buildings. After about a quarter hour’s travel past the city gate, he stopped the wagon in front of a beautiful three-story building of red brick. It had glazed windows as well as wooden shutters, a sight rare in Saliria but more common in Tern. A Viragon Sister stood outside the closed door, a severe-looking woman with blond hair so short it seemed she must have shaved her head bald a month earlier. Adro climbed down from the wagon and helped Feanna.

The guard approached. “I’m sorry. The inn is closed to the public. You’ll have to find another.”

“It’s a Viragon Sister,” Iriel whispered, staring.

“Oh, dear,” Feanna replied. “I’m here to see someone, actually. He said he was staying here.”

Behind her, Adro lifted Tansa and Jilly to the ground while Iriel and Trevick got out on their own.

“Who are you looking for?”

“Gavin Kinshield. Do you know him?”

“Forgive me, my lady. He invited you?”

“That’s right.” Feanna didn’t have to shift to sense the woman’s embarrassment and discomfort.

“Step inside, please. I’ll have someone see to your horse and wagon.”

“Could I also request aid for my injured escort?” Though she’d bandaged his wounds and found some licorice root for him to chew to manage the pain, he still needed proper medical care.

The swordswoman measured Adro with a glance. “We haven’t a healer. I’m sorry. There’s a hospital two streets over if you need tending.”

“We’ll drive you,” Feanna said, “and I’ll pay for your treatment.”

Adro waved it off. “You’ve done an admirable job patching me up. I’ll be fine. Might I leave my saddle with your wagon until I get a new horse?”

“Of course.” Feanna offered Adro her hand. “Thank you for the escort, Adro. Are you sure you won’t take a few coins for a meal or two?”

He smiled, taking it gently in both hands. “My lady, the pleasure of your company was payment enough. When you’re ready to return to Saliria, look for me at the Foaming Mug tavern in the Emerald district. If I haven’t found another job before then, I’ll be happy to see you safely home.” With her arms extended, Jilly begged silently for a final embrace from Adro, and he squatted to hug her tightly. “You’ll mind Miss Feanna, won’t you?”

Jilly nodded and waved as she joined her new siblings. Adro set off on foot with his satchel in hand.

Feanna led the children inside, momentarily blinded by the relative darkness. Once her eyes had adjusted, she scanned the regal great hall whose wooden beams and moldings were beautifully carved and stained a rich brown. Beneath their feet, the slate floor was swept clean and accented by a colorful, woven carpet.

“Is this a castle?” Tansa asked.

“No, dunce, it’s an inn,” Iriel said.

“I ain’t a dunce.”

“Children, hush now.”

“One moment, please.” The Viragon Sister strode into the adjoining room. Square dining tables had been pushed against the wall, and unused chairs and stools sat overturned on them. In the center of the room, three tables abutted end to end to create one long table, surrounded by a dozen chairs. A well-dressed man sat at the table, writing. Several stacks of books sat nearby. The battler directed his attention to Feanna and spoke softly. He stood and approached.

Well-groomed and handsome with light-brown hair and mustache, he had a charming smile and kindly twinkle in his deep-blue eyes. “Good afternoon, my lady,” he said. “I’m Edan Dawnpiper, a long-time friend of Gavin’s.” He had the inflection of a cultured man, perhaps a nobleman.

“I’m so pleased to meet you,” she said, smiling. “I’m Feanna Vetrin.” She took his extended hand, and he bowed over it. She liked him instantly. Shifting, she could feel his curiosity and warmth and no hint of annoyance at the interruption. She introduced the children, who politely curtsied and bowed. “Our neighbors, Rogan and Liera Kinshield, introduced us to Gavin in Saliria a few days ago, and he told me to seek him here if I needed him. Is he available?”

“I’m afraid Gavin hasn’t returned yet, but I expect him in a few days. Can you stay and wait for him?”

“Oh, dear.” Her heart fell. “I was hoping... Have you had word from him by chance?”

“No, but I didn’t expect any. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I merely came to make sure he was all right.”

“Is there a reason he wouldn’t be?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Perhaps if I explain. You see, he gave me—” She pulled Gavin’s warrant tag out by its thong from under the neckline of her dress to show him. The sudden rush of emotion she felt when she touched the wood brought a sharp gasp to her lips. The shock of it made her momentarily unsteady on her feet. Gavin. It was him. Gavin was not only safe but feeling excited and hopeful too. Her relief nearly made her knees buckle.

“My lady?” Edan asked, taking her elbow. “Are you all right?”

Gavin was safe. “Yes, I’m quite fine now. He’s well, thanks be to Asti-nayas. Gavin’s safe.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It will take some time to explain.” She let the tag fall back into its place between her dress and corset. “Might we sit?”

Edan smiled. “Why don’t you refresh yourselves from the journey, and we can speak after you’ve had time to relax.” He signaled to a Viragon Sister nearby and asked her to instruct the innkeeper to prepare rooms for their new guests.

She felt the flush of embarrassment warm her face. “I’m afraid we can’t afford to stay in such a grand place as this,” she admitted quietly.

“Please don’t concern yourself with that,” Edan said. “As our guests, there is no charge for your rooms or meals. Please, allow us to see to your needs.”

“That’s most generous. Thank you.”

“Liera and Rogan were here a few days ago, but they’ve gone to visit her relatives. Perhaps they’ll stop by.”

They chatted about Gavin’s family for a few minutes until a middle-aged man with a thick, black beard bustled into the room, sweating from whatever chore he’d been performing. “Forgive the intrusion. M’lady, your rooms are ready. I’ll bring your bags immediately.”

Edan bowed gracefully. “Please return at your leisure, and we’ll talk further.”

She ushered the children upstairs after the innkeeper. They had never climbed stairs before. Trevick and Feanna carried the two youngest girls up, while Iriel climbed slowly behind, clutching the wooden railing with both hands. By the time she got to the top, she was trembling, but she refused to admit fear. By the time she’d collected herself, she was bragging to Jilly and Tansa how she’d run up the stairs by herself as adroitly as a mountain goat.

The rooms were plush and elegant. Feanna and Trevick were given rooms by themselves, and the three girls were put together in the room adjacent to Feanna’s. She started to object, wishing them to stay in her room with her, but they begged to be allowed to stay together alone, promising to behave. Feanna gave them strict instructions to keep their feet off the furniture, no jumping on the bed, and nothing was to be thrown or dropped. “If I hear one peep, that’s it. You’ll be staying with me. Understood?”

They nodded, grinning broadly.

“You’ll behave like proper young ladies?”

“We will,” Tansa and Iriel echoed. Jilly nodded vigorously.

The two younger girls ran eagerly into their room. Feanna caught Iriel by the blouse and held her back. “I’m counting on you to keep Tansa and Jilly safe and out of trouble. Consider it your first mission as Miss Daia’s page.”

Iriel’s eyes widened, and a line formed between her eyebrows as she considered these words. “Yes, Miss Feanna. You can count on me.”

Satisfied, Feanna went to her room, impressed with its soft, richly-woven fabrics and polished wood furnishings. The mattress was thick and firm unlike the one she slept on at home, suggesting a good night’s sleep was in store. On the dressing table sat an empty washbasin.

Someone knocked at the door, a middle-aged woman with a kindly twinkle in her eyes. She had a bucket of steaming water in one hand and another on the floor at her feet, and clean white cloths draped over her shoulder. “M’lady.” She dipped a half-curtsy as she came in. “I’m Martia and I’ll be looking after you and your young’uns during your stay. Whatever you need, please ask.”

While Martia poured the hot water into the washbasin, the innkeeper brought in the satchel with their clothes. Feanna had only one such bag, and she and the children had limited garments to wear. “If you have laundry,” Martia said, “please leave it on the floor outside your room. We’ll see that it’s washed and hung to dry right away. Downstairs we have four private bathing rooms where you may soak for as long as you like in warm, rose-scented water.”

Feanna thanked her and offered a coin from her meager purse as a gratuity.

After she washed the road dust off and changed her clothes, she tried to take a short nap. Despite the comfortable mattress and down pillows, she tossed and worried. Questions tumbled about in her mind, questions about Gavin and his life. She finally realized she wouldn’t be able to relax until she’d spoken to Edan. When she stepped into the hallway, Martia was coming up the stairs with a girl of about seven, whom she introduced as her granddaughter. “I thought the children could play together and keep each other out of mischief.”

Feanna laughed. “Or help each other get into it.”

Downstairs, she found Edan at the table, hunched over his books. He stood politely, inviting her to join him. After pulling a chair for her, he sent for some food and wine. It had been years since she’d had a gentleman seat her. Edan was as different from Gavin as a man could be, with an entirely different set of charms.

“You traveled all this way to see Gavin,” he said, taking a seat. “I’m sure you have a pressing concern. Please tell me how I can help you.”

Feanna chewed her lower lip for a moment. She didn’t want to needlessly worry Edan, especially now that she knew Gavin wasn’t dead. “He gave me his warrant tag to wear until he returned.”

Edan’s mouth dropped open. “Oh?” She pulled it out from under her dress once again, feeling Gavin’s unceasing anxiety within, and showed it to him. He leaned forward to examine it, turning it over in his hand. “Forgive me, my lady. I hadn’t understood the nature of your relationship when you first arrived. Gavin has begun courting you?”

“Yes, I suppose he has. His sister-in-law has been trying to introduce us for months. I think Gavin and I were both a little wary of her matchmaking, but in retrospect, I understand why she was so eager for us to meet. There’s something distinctly different about him. He has so many qualities I can’t help but admire.”

Edan nodded, smiling. “I know exactly what you mean. He may not be the most refined gentleman you’ll meet, but he’s well worthy of our respect and affection. I’m rather fond of him myself. So this is a social visit?”

“Not exactly. You see, I’m an empath. I sense the feelings of others when I touch them, but also when I touch one of their belongings. With his warrant tag, I could tell he was well. That is, until this morning.”

“What happened this morning?” Edan asked.

“It stopped. I couldn’t feel his emotions any longer and worried that something had happened to him.”

Edan nodded, but his expression told her he wasn’t worried. “Gavin’s one of the best battlers I’ve ever known, and he has a Viragon Sister with him. I’m sure there’s no need for alarm.”

“Yes, I met Miss Daia too. She seems very competent. I hoped that by coming here, I could see for myself and put my worries to rest.”

He patted her arm. “It’s her job to ensure Gavin’s safety, and she takes it seriously. Rest easy, my lady. He’ll be home soon.”

“Her job? I thought Daia was a traveling companion. May I ask why a warrant knight would need a protector?”

“Ah. I gather he hasn’t told you,” Edan said. “You see, Gavin’s no longer a warrant knight.”

The short-haired Viragon Sister who’d been standing guard outside the inn rushed into the dining hall. “My lord, forgive the intrusion. The Lordover Tern and his men are approaching.”

Chapter 37

Edan stood and bowed. “Forgive me, Miss Feanna. Please help yourself to the refreshments while I shoo him away.” He winked as he pulled on his jacket, then strode into the great hall.

Feanna pondered Edan’s words. No longer a warrant knight. Why would Gavin abandon his life and livelihood? Had that been what he’d tried to tell her?

Tansa and Jilly appeared at her elbow with clean faces and combed hair tied in crisp, white ribbons. “You girls look lovely.”

Jilly curtsied, smiling proudly. “We’re hungry,” Tansa said. The innkeeper’s granddaughter stood politely by, hugging a doll to her chest.

Feanna sat them at another table so they wouldn’t accidentally soil Edan’s papers and books, and began to fix them each a plate of food. “Did you make it down the stairs by yourselves?”

Jilly shook her head and pointed to a swordswoman, who was sitting on a step mending some clothing.

Clutching the handrail, Trevick made his way carefully downstairs and joined them.

“Where’s Iriel?” Feanna asked. She tucked a napkin into the collar of each girl’s dress.

“She’s coming.” Trevick smirked. “She’s afraid of the stairs, but she wouldn’t let me help her.”

“Remember, we’re guests here. Whisper to each other so as not to disturb our host.” When Feanna returned to Edan’s table, she saw him talking to a tall redhead. She guessed the redhead was the lordover, and judging from his posture, he was livid. Bending back to her meal, she pretended not to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help glancing their way.

“As I told Jophet only an hour ago,” Edan said, “Gavin and Daia are away on important business.”

“Her name’s Dashielle, and she’s a fugitive. They’ll both be arrested the moment they step foot in the city.”

Feanna stiffened. Why would the Lordover Tern arrest Gavin as a criminal? What had they done to anger the lordover?

Almost too quietly for her to hear, Edan said, “Trust me. You don’t want to do that.”

“Then let me speak to the king,” the lordover said.

The king? Feanna thought. We have a new king?

“I’m afraid he’s away.”

“Let me guess. He’s with Kinshield and my daughter. Who is he, Edan? Tell me the man’s name, for the sake of Asti-nayas, and I won’t arrest you for obstruction.”

Now it made sense. Given Daia’s manner of speech and fine bone structure, Feanna was not surprised to learn she was the lordover’s daughter. What sort of man would label his child a fugitive?

“Is that a threat, my lord?” Edan asked.

“This isn’t Lalorian. You’ve no standing here. Any courtesy I grant you is out of respect for your father.”

Edan sighed. Feanna glanced over and saw him rubbing his temples. “All business conducted at this inn is done in the name of the king. Since Tern is within his jurisdiction, his authority supersedes yours. I speak for him while he’s away, therefore you cannot arrest me for obstruction. On the contrary. I submit that you’re the one who’s obstructing the king by arresting his appointees. See that none of the king’s guards visit your gaol again, sir.”

Feanna fumbled the glass in her hand as she set it on the table. The truth came to light in her mind like a flash of lightning illuminating the dark clouds around it. Gavin had a champion. He carried a jeweled sword.

He’s no longer a warrant knight.

Gavin Kinshield was Thendylath’s new king? No, he couldn’t be. She prayed he wasn’t. Asti-nayas, I humbly submit my life to you. Please, if you grant me one wish my whole life, let it be that Gavin isn’t the king.

She hung her head, ashamed that she’d rather have him for herself than give her country the king it so desperately needed, and saddened over the possibility that love would be taken from her after the hope for it had bloomed so colorfully. She could manage loving a soldier, even one who traveled as a warrant knight did. There was no hope for love when the object of her affection was the king.

“Tell me who he is and I’ll give you something in return,” the lordover said. “I’ll give you the keys to the palace doors. Ronor Kinshield himself left them with Portulus Celónd, then Lordover Tern.”

“Keys? You must be jesting. Any decent locksmith can remake the keys.”

The lordover pursed his lips and tapped his chin. “All right, then. I’ll give you the rune Ronor Kinshield discovered with Queen Calewen’s body. That, too, has been left in my family’s care for generations.”

“A rune? Do you know what it was for?”

“No, I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Edan held out his hand. “Agreed.” When the lordover shook it, Edan said, “The king’s name is Gavin Kinshield.”

Feanna slumped in her chair, her body feeling as heavy as her heart did. Her thoughts slowed as sorrow numbed her mind. King. Gavin was the king.

“Kinshield?” the lordover yelled. “That big...? No, I don’t believe it.”

Feanna didn’t know whether to go quietly back to Saliria and hope never to see him again, or wait until he returned to— to what? To chastise the king for filling her with false hope?

“I was there when he deciphered the final rune,” Edan said, “as was Daia and three others. We saw him do it. He has all five of the gems from the rune tablet. Had you taken more than a cursory glance at him, you might have noticed them in the hilt of his sword. I’m afraid you’ll have to swallow your self-righteous indignation this time, Lord Celónd.”

The lordover quieted for a time and paced the length of the great hall twice before stopping. “You aren’t playing some sort of cruel game, are you, Edan?”

“No, my lord.”

With one hand stroking his chin in thought, the lordover paced the length of the hall once more. “He’s unmarried, is he not?”

Edan caught Feanna’s eye and gave her a reassuring smile. “He’s courting a lady.”

The lordover followed Edan’s gaze and settled his attention on her. Oh, no.

“Is that her?” He took a step toward her.

Feanna’s heart leapt into her throat. Please, no.

Edan blocked his path. “Perhaps after she’s rested from her long journey, she’ll be inclined to socialize. I ask that you don’t disturb her today, my lord.”

“Who is she? I don’t recognize her. Who are her parents?”

Feanna’s face and neck warmed with embarrassment. The last thing she wanted was the Lordover Tern scrutinizing her, judging her. She didn’t need him to tell her she wasn’t worthy of being courted by the king. She already knew it.

“You’ve probably never met,” Edan said. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must return to my guest. I’ll ask His Royal Majesty if he can spare a few minutes to see you when he returns.”

The lordover shot Edan an indignant look. “Tell him it’s urgent.”

Edan gave him a shallow bow. “Good day, my lord.”

When the lordover was gone, Edan returned to their table. “I apologize, Miss Feanna,” he said as he took his seat. “I didn’t mean for you to get the news that way. Gavin should have told you himself, but since he didn’t, I should have been more forthcoming.”

Feanna gulped the rest of the wine in her glass. “Goodness, I don’t know what to make of it all.”

He uncorked the bottle and poured her another. “I know this news must come as a horrendous shock to you.”

“I don’t understand why he would lead me to think he intended to court me if he’s the king. Why would he do such a thing?”

Edan gave her a gentle smile and put one hand on hers. “My lady, Gavin and I have been as close as brothers for a dozen years. I know him like I know my own five fingers. The reason he’s courting you is because he’s chosen you to be his wife and queen.”

Chapter 38

“That can’t be,” Feanna whispered. “I’m no one. What would possess the king to choose someone like me?” Gavin could have his choice of young, beautiful, virtuous noble-born women. To choose a poor widow before he’d even surveyed all his options simply made no sense.

Iriel joined the other children at the table. Feanna stood to help her, though Iriel waved her off, insisting that since she was brave enough to navigate the stairs alone, she was grown-up enough to fix her own plate of food. While Iriel ate, Jilly, Tansa and their new friend played with their dolls, and Trevick sat silently with a pensive expression. Edan tried his best to reassure Feanna of Gavin’s sincerity, but that only made her more anxious. The king of Thendylath wanted to court her, a poor widow in danger of losing her home. She was no noblewoman. In fact, she didn’t even feel like a member of the gentry class, despite the deed to the farm with her name on it.

“Gavin had lost both of his parents by the time he was twelve,” Edan told her. “When we met, I was fifteen, he was fourteen. My father offered to adopt him, but Gavin declined. He proudly wears his father’s name, while most battlers, including myself, take epithets. He’s not a man inclined to turn to noble-born women to seek a bride. That he would set his eye on an unmarried woman with children is, admittedly, a bit of a surprise but not completely out of character.”

While Daia had interrogated her, Edan seemed willing to accept her without question. Feanna felt the need to explain her circumstances to him. She told him about her childless marriage, her husband’s untimely illness, and the misfortune that had befallen the children which had brought them together.

Edan studied her with renewed interest. “You take in orphaned children and love them as your own, yet you doubt the wisdom of Gavin’s choice of bride?” He chuckled.

Feanna felt the tickle of heat on her face and bowed her head. “I didn’t mean to disrespect the king. Given that he was an orphan himself, it does seem natural that he would be drawn to me.”

He put a comforting hand on her forearm. “Forgive me for teasing you. I misjudged the impact this news has had.”

“I... I just need time to take it all in. The news has come as quite a shock.”

“I understand, my lady. Why don’t you take a walk? The fresh air and distraction of the city might help clear your head.”

The day was late and would be dusking soon, but a few minutes’ walk would do her much good. “Yes, I think I will.” She turned in her chair. “Children, would you like to take a walk with me?” Her question was answered with a resounding chorus of yeses.

The street outside the inn was wide enough to accommodate three wagons side by side, but most other streets were much narrower and more crowded. Many of the buildings stood so close together that even Jilly would have been hard put to make her way between them, and some buildings appeared to share a wall with their neighbors. As they strolled along the street, they passed a pinmaker and glassmaker, several tailors and shoemakers, jewelers, grocers, and a bookseller. Feanna had learned to read as a child and longed for a collection of books and the time to read them. She stared longingly into the shop’s front window until Iriel and Tansa dragged her by the hands toward the confectioner they’d discovered two doors down.

“May we have a candy?” Tansa begged. “Please?”

“I’m afraid we haven’t the money to spare,” Feanna said, though she did enjoy the smell of the goods wafting into the street.

Trevick opened his coin pouch and pulled out a kion. “I’ve a little money. I can buy it.”

“For us too?” Iriel asked.

“Of course for you too, dunce.” He ruffled her hair. “Where’s the pleasure in enjoying something alone?”

“Oh, Trevick, how generous of you.” Feanna put her arm across his shoulders and kissed his temple. He blushed and squirmed and hurried into the shop. Moments later, he emerged with a bundle of cloth. The girls hopped excitedly, waiting for him to dispense the treats. To Feanna’s surprise, he’d purchased one for her as well. She hadn’t wanted one, but the gesture was so sweet, she didn’t want to disappoint him by refusing.

The six of them stood outside the shop, quietly enjoying their square of candy. It was a dark-brown cake within a light pastry, topped with an almond and drizzled with buttery cream icing. Every sweet bite was a slice of heaven in her mouth.

“Don’t eat it so fast,” Trevick warned Iriel. “Make it last.”

“But it’s so good!”

“It’ll be over sooner if you gobble it like a starving dog.”

Convinced, Iriel chewed more slowly and took smaller bites.

Passersby smiled at the children so obviously enjoying their dessert. Feanna thought she might have moaned in pleasure once or twice too, and looked around self-consciously to see if anyone had heard her. That was when she noticed the Viragon Sister about fifty paces behind them.

Like the others guarding the inn, she wore a plain brown tunic over beige trousers with a short sword hanging from her belt. Her straight, brown hair was cropped short, like a man’s. When she caught Feanna’s eye, she turned quickly to look through the window of a shop, then stepped inside, out of sight. Perhaps she’d received instructions from Edan to follow discreetly. No matter. Feanna appreciated his concern and understood his desire to keep her safe. Gavin would undoubtedly not take news of an assault upon her or the children with good grace.

The following day, as she and the children were out once more, touring the city and ogling the many shops of fine merchandise, Feanna caught sight of the same battler following a few dozen paces behind. The children were captivated by the items on display in the window of a toy maker’s shop, oblivious to the swordswoman’s presence.

Feanna touched Trevick’s shoulder. “Watch the girls for a minute, will you? I want a word with someone.”

The Viragon Sister had ducked out of view, but when Feanna rounded a corner, she found the battler leaning against a wall, cleaning her nails with the point of her knife. Her surprise was quickly masked with indifferent nonchalance.

“Edan sent you to protect us while we tour the city, didn’t he?” Feanna asked.

The swordswoman blinked and stammered.

“We don’t look wealthy enough to rob, and few people know that Gavin’s courting me. There’s really no need for you to follow us, is there?”

“Uh... no, m’lady, but I can’t simply leave you unguarded. Edan would send me packing back to Sohan.”

“Then why not walk with us? The children and I would love someone familiar enough with the city to point out the sights.”

“Well, you see, I...” She bowed her head. “I was given strict instructions to be discreet. Obviously I’ve failed.”

“Then you’ve nothing to worry about,” Feanna said with a smile. “I won’t mention to anyone that I’ve noticed you, and I’ll ask the children to keep your secret too. I’m Feanna.” She offered her hand, and the swordswoman shook it. Feanna shifted and sensed the other woman’s curiosity and excitement but no hint of the embarrassment her words had suggested.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name’s Cirang.”

Chapter 39

When they passed through Saliria, Gavin was sorely tempted to pause to see Feanna. In the long moments of silence during their journey, he’d thought about her often, wondering whether her father was alive. Gavin would like to have a word with him about his daughter’s future once he proposed to Feanna. He decided, though, that the more responsible thing would be to vanquish Ritol first and then talk of the future, since he had none while that task remained undone. If he survived it, then he could plan his forever after.

For the last few miles outside Tern’s city gates, they encountered farmers leaving the city with their wagons empty or nearly so. The sun had begun to set behind them, and markets would be emptying of both merchants and customers. He looked forward to a meal of whatever meat was on hand, and maybe some of that wine the innkeeper kept in his cellar, followed by a long, hot bath. Daia would undoubtedly have her bath first, but a woman’s priorities were often backward.

As they entered the city, a child who’d been sitting atop the outer wall climbed down and ran across the street toward the lordover’s soldier station.

“Gavin,” Daia said. Her voice was quiet like a warning.

He saw them too — two mail-clad men wearing the lordover’s red and black livery stepped out of the building and looked around, finally resting their eyes upon Gavin and Daia. One flipped a coin, flashing in the sunset’s orange glow, before the child caught it and ran off. The armsman barked a command, and two more emerged. All four armsmen mounted their awaiting horses. Two approached from the front and the other two waited. Gavin pulled his glove onto his sword hand and shifted Golam’s reins to his other so he could be ready to draw if the need arose.

“Fight?” she asked.

A few months ago, Gavin would have had his sword drawn before she’d even asked the question. Now he shook his head. These were his own men. They just didn’t know it yet.

“Are you Gavin Kinshield?” one asked.

He decided to play innocent. “I am. Is there a problem?”

The armsman who’d spoken gestured to the two others, who trotted off toward the lordover’s keep. “We’ve been sent to escort you. If you please.” He wheeled his mount and led the way northward. “Make way!” he shouted to the people on the street. The other soldier took up the rear.

Gavin blinked in surprise. He’d expected to be arrested on entering the city, but the armsmen had never demanded they disarm. People stopped to stare at them as they followed the lordover’s man.

“What’s this about?” Daia asked softly.

“I was thinking to ask you the same.” To his surprise, they were escorted directly to the Elegance Inn rather than to the lordover’s compound. There the armsmen bowed, conveyed the lordover’s warmest regards, and left.

The two Sisters guarding the inn approached. “Welcome home, sire,” Hennah said as she took Golam by the bridle and rubbed his thick neck. When the warhorse reached for her ear, she flinched, letting out a whoop of surprise.

“Good to see you’re not in gaol.” Gavin shot her a playful smile as he dismounted. “Don’t mind Golam. He’s a big flirt. Likes to nuzzle ladies’ ears.”

Daia dismounted and handed Hennah the reins of her mount. “Any trouble with the lordover?”

“He did come storming over here with some of his soldiers, but Lord Edan straightened matters out.”

“Is Edan here?” Gavin asked as he untied his pack from the saddle.

“Yes, my liege. He’s inside, reading. Anya arrived with a wagon-load of books from Sohan.”

“Good. See to the horses, will you?” He put a hand on her shoulder.

“Of course, my liege.” She started toward the stable with both horses in tow.

As Golam walked past, Gavin patted his gray rump then took the four stairs in two steps. As expected, he found Edan hunched over a book while he scribbled on a sheet of paper, several books stacked on the table around him.

Edan stood and greeted them. “You’re back sooner than I expected.”

The innkeeper scurried to bring water and wine, then promised to deliver fresh bread and warm meat shortly.

Although Gavin’s arse was sore from the long ride, he fell into a chair. “Did my brother and his family get here?”

“They did,” Edan said, “though Rogan’s not pleased. He broods worse than you do.”

Gavin looked around, but there was no sign of Rogan, Liera or their three sons. “Where are they?”

“They decided to stay with Liera’s relatives instead. Dona and Nasharla went with them, don’t worry. You missed some interesting developments.”

Good. Ravenkind wouldn’t likely know where to find Liera’s family members. “You find anything interesting in those books?”

“Interesting, yes. Helpful? Not so much,” Edan said. “I’ve only started going through them, though.”

“I heard the lordover came calling.”

“I had to tell him. Sorry, Gav.”

“Did he threaten you?” Daia sat one arse cheek on the table and crossed her arms.

“He tried, but he sang another song when I reminded him that I work for the king whose authority supersedes his own. However, I did manage to barter the information for the Rune of Protection that Ronor Kinshield found with Queen Calewen.”

The words were like a fist slamming into Gavin’s gut. From deep within his ancient memory, an image of the rune, clutched in Queen Calewen’s lifeless and bloody palm, clawed its way to his consciousness. Though the rune had protected her from magical attacks, it had no power to protect her from death itself.

“Since he was going to find out anyway,” Edan said, “I thought the rune was a shiny coin worth the price.”

Gavin rubbed his temple, trying to push the image of the dead queen out of his mind. “Do you have it?”

“He wanted to deliver it directly to you. I suspect he’ll be along anytime.” Edan looked him over. “As eager as I am to hear what you’ve learned, I can wait until you’ve washed.”

“I’ll eat first,” Gavin said.

“Trust me, Gav. You’ll want to bathe first. You’ve a few more visitors from Saliria, and you don’t want to smell the way you do when they return. They’re touring the city.”

“Feanna?” Gavin asked, standing. “She’s here?”

“Quite a charming lady,” Edan said. “You sure know how to choose them. The two young ones couldn’t be any sweeter. Iriel often sits on the steps outside with the Sisters to watch for beyonders, and Trevick has been helping around the stable, shoveling dung and brushing horses.”

“Why’re they here? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong, but I’ll let her tell you her reason for coming. They should be back any minute.”

Gavin took the stairs three at a time, calling for hot bathwater on his way.

When Gavin stepped out of the bathing room, freshly shaved, scrubbed nearly raw from head to toe, and dressed in clean clothes, Edan was sitting alone in the dining hall, reading. Gavin’s heart sank. “She’s not back yet?” he asked as he joined his friend at the table.

“Any minute now, I’m sure,” Edan replied with a grin. He closed the book he’d been reading. “Have a seat and tell me about your travels, starting with your very interesting visit in Saliria.”

Gavin ran quickly through the events, knowing he had little time to summarize before Feanna and the children returned. He would have time later to answer Edan’s questions in detail. Daia walked in carrying a jingling mass of silver.

“I thought perhaps you wouldn’t have time to get your new armor once Miss Feanna returned, so I picked it up for you. Let’s try it on.”

He stood, and Daia helped pull it over his head and shoulders. Though the new armor suit was handsome and fit well, he wasn’t used to the weight or bulk, not to mention the loudness of its movement. The hauberk reached his midthigh when he stood straight. “At least it covers the royal gems,” he said, looking down at himself.

Edan grinned. “We have to ensure an heir, after all. How does it fit?”

“Well enough, I guess.” He took his sword to the center of the room and made a few practice swings. “Doesn’t bind.”

“Good. Thodas said to let him know if it needs adjustment. He can add or remove links to improve the fit.”

“He did a good job measuring.” Gavin lunged and reached with his sword, spun and sliced. “It’s loud, though.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Daia said.

He resheathed his sword and pulled the hauberk off with her help. “I’m afraid to ask what it cost.”

She took it from him. “Don’t. I’m going to bathe. I’ll set it in your room on my way.” She headed upstairs.

Gavin sat back down and leaned Aldras Gar against the table. “The Lordover Tern’s going to be mighty red when he gets the bill.”

Edan gaped. “That was her plan? To send the bill to her father?” He put a hand to his brow and shook his head. “Hell’s bones. I thought she was going to give the armorsmith a marker.”

Small voices carried from the inn’s great hall, along with light footsteps on slate floors. Feanna’s two youngest girls, the blond Jilly and dark-haired Tansa, rounded the corner, each carrying a small rag doll. Gavin stood and called to them, smiling.

“Lord Gavin!” they cried in unison and ran to him. He squatted to receive their embraces and planted a kiss on each girl’s cheek.

Iriel came in next and greeted him with a smile and quick curtsy. “Is Miss Daia back too?”

“Yeh, she’ll be down in a bit.”

Then Feanna entered the hall, her honey-colored hair gently windswept. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and a smile lit up her face. Gavin didn’t think about the proper way to greet the lady he’d only recently begun courting. He let his heart guide his body and took her into his arms. His mind knew in some distant way that this was not proper, appropriate behavior for a king, especially with an audience, but it felt natural. Instead of resisting his embrace, she clung to him as tightly, pressing her cheek against his. He drew back and found her lips. She opened to him, and he tasted her hungrily. Her hand stroked his hair as their tongues entwined and danced. Deep in his throat, a moan began, echoing the longing in his heart, his soul, and his groin. He wanted her in every way, more deeply than he’d imagined he could. It astonished him. He didn’t expect to ever feel this way about a woman again.

The girls started to giggle.

When Gavin felt Feanna falter and hesitate, he ended their kiss. He drew back to look again into her beautiful eyes, gray like a storm. Nose to nose with her, he chuckled. “I’m so glad to see you. It’s a long way to travel, though. Is something wrong? ”

“Not anymore.” She stepped out of his embrace. “Once we’ve had a chance to talk, you’ll understand.”

Trevick hung back looking both shy and eager.

Gavin put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “How now, Trevick. You’ve been looking out for my lady, have you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“My thanks. You look hungry. Why don’t we sit for a meal. It should be ready soon.”

At Daia’s and Edan’s insistence, Gavin had become accustomed to sitting at the head of the table, with Edan on his right and Daia on his left. Now Edan gave his seat to Feanna. Daia moved down to put Edan at Gavin’s left. However they wanted to sit was fine with him, as long as he had a good view of Feanna and didn’t have to strain to hear her. The seat beside him was perfect. When the children lined up to sit next to her, the innkeeper tried to herd them to another table.

“No,” Gavin told him. “They’ll dine with us. This is supper, not a council.”

“Can I sit beside Miss Daia?” Iriel asked.

“Of course you may,” Daia answered. She pulled out the chair beside her and patted it.

Gavin invited Trevick to take the seat at the opposite end, facing him.

They enjoyed a leisurely meal entertained by stories about the brawl at the Lucky Inn that Gavin swore he had no part in starting, Golam’s misadventure in the woods, and Gavin’s visit with the Stronghammers. Edan shared parts of his conversation with the lordover, most likely embellishing for Daia’s amusement. Feanna described their journey to Tern. When she tried to skip the part where their escort battled beyonders, Iriel filled in the details.

“Is it true?” Iriel asked. “Are you the king?”

Everyone quieted instantly.

“It’s true,” Gavin said solemnly. He looked at Feanna to judge her reaction, but she had none. Edan must have told her. “But it’s a secret for now. Only those of us in this inn know it and a few others.”

“What’s going to happen to us?” Tansa asked.

Confusion crossed Feanna’s face. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“Trevick says when you and Lord Gavin marry, we’ll have to live in a orfrininge.”

Gavin couldn’t have been more shocked. “Whoa, wait a minute. Nobody here’s going to live in an orphanage.”

“But Miss Feanna went to see it today,” Iriel said. “We thought she was making arrangements.”

“Oh, darling, no!” Feanna cried. “I went there to find out if the children were being cared for properly and to see if they needed help. Lord Gavin’s right. No orphanage for you. Where I go, you go. Understood?” She looked at each of the children in turn and waited for them to nod their understanding.

After supper, Gavin held Feanna’s hand while everyone told stories and laughed. When pressed again about the reason for his missing tooth, he dug deep into his memory for the stories he’d told his daughter that weren’t too violent or sexual. “One night, when I was sleeping in the forest, a magical twillibeast woke me. He said he lost his horn, and he needed a tooth from a human to grow it back.” The children laughed, but they didn’t believe him. Every minute he spent in Feanna’s presence lifted his heart. Her laugh was a delight to his ears, and he loved the crooked teeth in front that made her smile that much more charming.

When the children began to yawn, no longer captivated by the stories, Feanna rose to get them dressed for bed, promising she would be back shortly. When Gavin got up to help, she wouldn’t have it. He was the king. There would be others to see to things like that. He disagreed, but he didn’t want to argue with her in front of everyone. If he was going to be a father to her children, he would act like a father and not a lord.

“Trevick,” he said, motioning with his head. “Come with me outside for a moment.”

Trevick swallowed hard and got the flighty look in his eye of a boy who thought he was about to be reprimanded.

Gavin put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re not in trouble. Worry not.”

The night wasn’t as cool as nights had been recently, a sign that summer would soon be upon them. Crickets chirped from the weeds and grass that grew between the buildings, and fireflies blinked lazily in the air.

“I’d like a word with you about your future,” Gavin said. He sat on the steps and patted the step beside him, inviting Trevick to sit. “And about Miss Feanna’s.”

“Yes, my lord-- um, I mean, my liege.” Trevick’s hands shook, and he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the ground.

“I don’t make any secret of my interest in her. I hope she likes me too. Something you’ll learn about people as you get older is that everyone has unhappiness in their past. I was an orphan too.”

“Truly? I didn’t know.”

Gavin nodded. “My mama died when I was five, and my papa when I was twelve. My brother tried his best to see me the rest o’the way to adulthood, but he was barely more than a boy hisself. I didn’t have my papa anymore, but I did get a second father o’sorts.”

“Did you get adopted?”

“Not formally. Edan’s father stepped in, tried to give me the guidance I needed. Since he was the Lordover Lalorian, just hearing him say my name was enough to make me piss myself, so I have some idea what you might be feeling.”

Trevick chuckled.

“I’ll tell you what he told me. I can’t replace your papa. Nobody can. But if you’ll let me, I’ll do the things your papa would’ve done. I’ll teach you how to become a man, how to carve out a place for yourself in the world.” Assuming, of course, he survived what was to come.

Trevick nodded, biting his lip nervously. “What would you ask of me?”

Gavin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and grinned. “Find out what Miss Feanna’s favorite flowers are and let me know. Quietly.”

Trevick smiled. “Yes, my liege.”

“To be clear, you can always talk to me about anything, awright, Trevick? Whatever worries you have, I want to hear them.”

The clopping of hooves on stone grew louder, as did the jingle and creak of saddles and tack. Gavin knew who his visitor was before the man had come close enough to see clearly in the dim light of the rising moon. Gavin gestured with his head at the approaching riders. “Looks like the lordover’s come to lip-shine my boots for me.” He stood and offered his hand to help Trevick up. “Want an introduction?”

“Not really.”

Gavin chuckled and bid him good night.

The two Sisters standing guard outside took positions in front of Gavin and slightly to each side as the riders approached. Their horses high-stepped in time with each other as if they’d been trained for some kind of ceremony. Their manes were styled into braids and loops. It looked like something the hens would laugh at. Gavin would cut the hand off anyone who tried to do that to Golam.

“Announcing His Excellency, Dashel Venn Celónd, Lordover Tern,” the lead man said. He bowed and stepped away to the side with a sweep of his arm.

The Lordover Tern rode up on his prim, prancing horse and stopped. Gavin almost expected him to dismount onto a velvet pillow, but he climbed down like a regular buck. The lordover approached and bowed with a flourish. “Your Royal Majesty,” he said, his head still low and his arm still swept across his chest. He seemed to wait for Gavin to say something. Gavin was amused by the display and wanted to see what would happen next. At last, the lordover straightened. “Good evening.” Behind the horses, a footman was helping a young lady out of a carriage. Oh, hell. Not now.

“Last time I saw you, Celónd, you were insulting my character and kicking me out o’your office.”

For one brief moment, Celónd looked aghast. “You hadn’t given me a chance to know you, my lord.”

“I believe the proper way to address a king is ’my liege,’ my lord.”

Celónd shot him a spiteful smile. “Of course, my liege. If you would allow me to introduce my beautiful daughter, Naome Dashia Celónd.”

“You may as well save your breath.”

The girl approached and curtsied low, dirtying her frilly, yellow gown on the street. “Your majesty,” she said in a breathy tone he imagined was supposed to be enticing. “It’s my life’s greatest honor to meet you.” She cast her eyes down. There was little chance she would know him on the street if they met during the daylight.

Gavin rolled his eyes. He should have tried harder to convince Edan to be king. “It’s my pleasure.”

She offered her hand. He thought he was supposed to bow over it and kiss it or something, but his lips were only for Feanna. He bowed, but he didn’t kiss.

“Good evening, Father.” Daia came out and stood beside Gavin.

“Dashielle,” Celónd said. “Nice to see you’re alive.”

“Her name’s Daia now,” Gavin said, “and she’s my champion, so I expect her to receive the same respect and courtesy you’ll show all the members o’my staff.”

Celónd pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“’Omie,” Daia said gently as she leaned in to kiss her sister’s cheek. “It’s lovely to see you.” Her eyes glistened.

“Daia,” Naome said, smiling. “Mother will be so glad to know you’re well.”

“Perhaps we could go inside.” Celónd gestured as though to usher Gavin into the inn.

“It’s late,” Gavin said. “We’ve had a tiring day. Another time, maybe.” He bowed toward Naome. “My lady, sorry you got dressed up for nothing. You should know that I’m already courting a lady and won’t be considering any others unless she declines my proposal.”

“Now, Gavin,” Celónd said, “your choice of a bride needn’t be made in haste.”

“My choice of a bride is mine to make, Dashel.”

Celónd sighed. “Of course, my liege, but putting a common-born woman in such a position of power might not be the best choice. She’s to be our country’s queen.”

Gavin felt his face burn. “Such a woman is better suited to sit beside a common-born king than the child of a noble-born jackass.”

Daia laughed into her fist.

Naome looked at his face for the first time. Gavin hoped she recognized that the insult wasn’t directed at her but at her father.

Celónd’s face reddened, and he cleared his throat. “If you agree to accompany Naome to a few social functions and take the time to get to know her, I’ll give you this rune, kept safe by my family for generations.” He opened his palm to reveal a round, flat stone with a symbol deeply carved into its surface.

Gavin had seen the rune many times in his nightmares. It was the one the queen had been clutching when Ronor found her slain in the cave. King Arek had given Ronor one as well, though Ronor had given his back to the king at the moment of their last farewell. Gavin would be damned if he let Celónd get away with a lie. “I was told you bartered it for information. Now you’re trying to barter it again?”

“I’m merely trying to help you avoid a costly mistake.” Celónd put the rune into his pocket.

“Give me the damned rune.”

With an angry scowl, Celónd slapped it into Gavin’s outstretched palm. “It appears we’ve gotten off to an unfortunate start. Naome and I will visit again later, when we’re all in a more cordial mood.” He started to leave but stopped and pulled a folded paper from his vest. “This bill for a mail hauberk was mistakenly delivered to the wrong address,” he said, shoving the bill at Daia. Without another word, he took Naome by the arm and led her to the carriage.

“You haven’t dismissed him,” Daia murmured. “You could call him back and make him wait.”

Gavin chuckled. “I won’t win a contest o’pompousness with him. Come on.” He turned his back on the lordover and went inside.

Feanna had returned and was sitting with Edan at the table, talking and laughing. Her eyes brightened when Gavin approached.

“The Lordover Tern gave me a peace offering,” Gavin said as he sat. He held up the Rune of Protection. “He’s trying to buy his way back into my good graces.”

“Is that what I think it is?” Daia asked. She took her seat beside Edan and poured herself some wine. “The summoning rune?”

“No.” Gavin picked up Feanna’s hand and placed it into her palm. “It’s for protection against magical attacks. I want you to keep it with you. If you need to use it, say its name: Kiloenth.”

“You’ll need this, won’t you?” she asked.

“It won’t help me.”

“Of course, that’s not all he wanted,” Daia said. “Didn’t I warn you?”

Gavin told Feanna, “He brought his daughter.”

“Oh?” Her face flushed, though she tried to hide her discomfort with a smile. “I’ll bet she’s beautiful.”

“Yeh, she was comely enough, but I’m betting it took an hour to fix her hair.”

Daia said, “More like three. It’s painstaking work to get the ringlets just so.”

“No! Gavin, stop!” he said in a falsetto. “You’ll mess up my hair.” Everyone laughed. “I prefer a woman who looks as beautiful with her hair brushed and styled with a simple clip.” He looked pointedly at Feanna then leaned toward her to say in a low voice, “And to be clear, I mean you.”

Feanna smiled. “Are you always this charming?”

Daia shook her head regretfully. Gavin gaped at her in disbelief. “When am I not charming?”

Her expression told him the answer to that was obvious.

Chapter 40

The evening Gavin spent with Feanna was inspiring in more ways than one. He was certain that she was the woman he wanted to spend his life with and make queen for the country he loved. To do that, he first had to defeat Ritol, and the first step in doing that was to talk to King Arek. The sooner he got what he needed, the sooner he could expel the thing and seal the rift. The sooner he did that, the fewer who would die from beyonder attacks... and the sooner he could wed his lady.

Gavin sat in his room in the dark, running his thumb over the carving in the rune Bahnna had made for him. The Rune of the Past.

Visit the previous Wayfarer to find out where he left the Rune of Summoning Rarga made.

Chances were good that King Arek died with the Rune of Summoning in his possession, but his bones were trapped in the palace with Ritol. If what he’d written was true, then back-traveling to take it from Arek’s corpse while the demon was unaware wouldn’t be possible.

I take with me only what I back-travel with, and I have no power over life and death.

There were two runes of summoning. Crigoth Sevae had the other. Finding that one would be as good. Any information King Arek could give him about Sevae and where he lived would help put him on that path.

He put on his sword, grabbed a candle and slipped out of his room. A guard started to rise from her stool at his approach, but he waved her back down. “I only need a flame.” He lighted his candle from her lamp then went to Daia’s door and tapped. When she didn’t answer, he pushed on it and found it unbolted. “Daia,” he whispered.

She shot out of bed and into a fighting stance before she realized it was him, then grabbed the blanket to cover herself. The candle light wasn’t bright enough for him to see her anyway, so she needn’t have bothered. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I need you to read me the parts in Laemyr’s book about the Rune o’the Past.”

“Now? It’s the mirknight.”

“I can’t sleep.”

She sighed, then rustled some cloth. “All right. Would you light the lamp?”

He found the oil lamp on her table and lighted it, then dialed up the wick and blew out the candle. “Sorry to get you up. It’s important.”

“Is there a reason this couldn’t wait until morning?”

“I want to be back by the time Feanna wakes.” Thinking of her made him smile. He wondered what she looked like in the morning with her hair tousled and her eyes barely open.

“You’re quite fetching when you’re smitten.” Daia gave him a teasing nudge.

“The first thing I’m going to do as king,” Gavin said, “is to outlaw describing the king as fetching. Read.”

“Curmudgeon.” As she sat on the bed, taking the book with her, she gestured to the stool near the table. She bent her head and started to flip pages. “Let’s see. Back-traveling... no power over life and death... best suited for gaining information... All right, here we are. To journey between the present day and times gone by, I simply hold in my hand the Rune of the Past. As I step into the vortex, I use intent to place myself in the correct time. I cannot bring lost items back from the past, nor can I travel to a nonspecific period such as when man invented the wheel or first tamed a horse, or when my wife misplaced her pearl earring.” Daia paused and read silently for a moment then looked up. “That’s as specific as it gets. It goes on to talk about how the rune was made.”

Gavin nodded. “Awright. Guess I’ll have to try it myself and see.”

“In the morning?”

“Now. Put your boots on, and let’s go to the palace gate.”

The city was quiet as they trotted their horses through the moon-lit streets, with only an occasional beggar moaning or coughing from the dark shadows. The horses’ hooves clomped loudly on the pavement and echoed against the stone buildings as they passed, threatening to wake the citizens or alert the city guard. Most of the cressets had long burned out, but the few remaining flames jerked and sputtered in the warm breeze.

Daia cast an occasional glance into the night sky as they rode. “Are you sure this will work?”

“Don’t worry,” Gavin said. “I’ll protect you from the bats.” He laughed and moved Golam closer so he could tickle the back of her neck, knowing she was terrified of the critters.

She slapped at his hand. “You’re such a comedian. Listen, what if there’s no vortex near the palace?” Daia asked.

Gavin grinned. “That’s why I have you.”

“I don’t understand. King Arek wrote—”

“Yeh, I know, but he didn’t have a mystical conduit by his side. To see the vortexes, he had to go where the world’s heart beat more loudly, or so the Elyle told me. With you helping me, I can see them anywhere. That’s what I was practicing on the way to Tern.”

“Then we could’ve done this back at the inn.” She glanced around at the sky above.

Gavin supposed she could have stayed at the inn, since he’d have been able to find her and draw her strength from there, but he preferred to have her with him his first time. “I don’t want to gamble on the Elegance Inn being two hundred years old. I’m guessing I shift time but not location. I want to start off somewhere safe, somewhere that’s surely existed unchanged since King Arek’s time.”

Daia accepted his answer with silence. As they neared the palace, he heard the distant roar of the waterfall from Mount Athraya that fed Tern’s main water source, the River Athra. The sound concealed the excited beating of his heart, though if Gavin was honest with himself, he’d have admitted he was a bit nervous as well, for he was soon to meet not only the man responsible for his predicament but hopefully King Arek himself.

The moonlight reflected on the calm waters of Lake Athra. On an island in the center of the lake sat the palace, dark and foreboding behind a tall iron fence. Moonlight glanced off the slate roof and disappeared in the overgrown bushes and weeds below. Shards of broken glass still hanging within the window frames gleamed like wicked fangs. Gavin had seen the palace many times in daylight and thought the sight of it unsettling. Now it looked downright wicked.

“Where do you want to do this?” Daia asked. “It would be a good idea to be out of sight when you enter the vortex. A man walking out of nothingness might upset people.”

Gavin looked around. Behind the short brick wall retaining the water’s edge were many old stone buildings. He imagined they’d once been sturdy and beautiful, but in recent years, only the poor and the mad were willing to take up residence near the palace with its gloomy air. Regal Street ended at the base of a stone and wooden bridge that arced over the front of the lake. The bridge wasn’t passable due to rotted wood and would need to be repaired soon. The rusted iron gate on the other side of the bridge was chained shut and secured with three heavy padlocks. “Under the bridge,” he said. Beneath the lowest slope of the bridge, the ground was dry. Close to the water’s edge, a few mushrooms had sprouted from the moist dirt.

“How long are you planning to stay?” Daia asked.

Gavin shrugged. “As long as it takes.”

“It’d be nice to have some idea whether I should wait here for two hours or two days.”

“Give me three hours. If I can’t get what I need this time, I can go back later.” They dismounted, and he handed Golam’s reins to Daia. “I wish you could come with me.”

“As do I.” She absently pushed Golam’s face away when he tried to nibble her ear. “Be cautious. We don’t know how anyone will react to you. Your style of dress will probably mark you as a beggar.”

“Aww, hell. I ha’n’t thought o’that. I got my sword, though. It doesn’t look like a beggar’s weapon.”

“A beggar with a jeweled sword might find himself in gaol. Maybe you should leave it with me.”

He shook his head. Leaving Aldras Gar behind would be like leaving his right arm. “I’ll manage.” He gave her a measuring glance. “You going to be awright here alone with the bats?”

“Leave off, Kinshield. I’m not as frightened of them as you seem to think.”

He pulled the rune from his coin pouch. “I’m thinking I should get there in the morning a week afore the king died. Does that sound awright to you?”

Daia drew her brow. “I knew I should’ve paid better attention in my history lessons. If I remember it correctly, King Arek was hunting Sevae until a few days prior to his death. Maybe the eighth of Nevebria is a good bet, since he died on the tenth.”

A tickle in his memory told him she was right. “Got it.” He shut his eyes and focused first on drawing strength from Daia, then on finding the vortex. After a few minutes of forcing himself to relax, he saw it. It was getting easier with practice, but he still felt like a boy attempting to do a man’s work with neither the strength nor skill the job required. He closed his fingers around the rune.

Nine o’clock in the morning o’the eighth o’Nevebria, in the year fourteen thirty-one.

With the date and time firmly planted in his mind, Gavin whispered the name of the rune, stepped through the vortex when it was blue, the color of his own realm, and felt his stomach somersault.

Chapter 41

Gavin braced himself against the underside of the bridge until the dizziness passed. Around him were sounds of a lively market — the clopping of horses’ hooves on the stone streets, voices of merchants crying their wares, and something Gavin didn’t hear often on the streets of Tern: laughter. The bells of the nearby Spirit of the Savior Holy Temple began to toll. He stepped into the sunlight hoping it would take the chill off, but the cold Nevebria air seeped relentlessly into his blood. He cursed himself for forgetting to bring a cloak. A light dusting of snow covered the bare tree branches and browned grass. He supposed that his first visit to the past was bound to be plagued with mistakes. Hopefully none of them would land him in gaol or worse.

On the street, he drew the eye of many, undoubtedly due to his summery white cotton tunic with sleeves cut above the elbows. A few whispered behind their hands as they watched him standing there, shivering in the cold. Only the mad or very poor would be out in this weather dressed as he was. Everyone else wore dark cloaks of thick wool or fur-lined leather with hats and gloves. Nothing to do now but get inside and warm up by a fire. He scanned the street, weighing his options. The palace was across the bridge, and he didn’t know where he’d find the nearest inn.

“You poor dear,” an elderly woman said as she hobbled toward him. “Get inside before you catch your death. Do you need a coin to buy a warm drink?”

“Your generosity is appreciated, my lady,” he said, “but I’ve only underestimated the weather today. I’ll be fine once I reach the palace.”

“Well, do hurry, dear. I’d hate to learn the news of your untimely death from the chills.” She patted his arm with a kindly smile and shuffled away.

With his shoulders hunched against the cold, he started across the bridge. As he approached the other side, two armsmen dressed in mail beneath thick, black cloaks looked at each other with raised brows before turning back to Gavin. They widened their stances and gripped their polearms as if prepared to use force to turn him away. Refusing to be so easily cowed, Gavin continued walking toward them.

“Your business here?” one asked him.

“I need to see Ronor Kinshield.” It occurred to him that his family name might get him inside. “I’m Gavin Kinshield.” By now, the cold had seeped into his bones, rattling his teeth together.

The second armsman said, “You must be Ronor’s younger brother. I see the resemblance now. Let me secure your weapon, and you can proceed.” He pulled a strip of blue cloth from a hook and motioned him to turn around. Gavin felt some light tugging on his sword as the soldier tied Aldras Gar into its scabbard.

The armsman clapped his shoulder. “Go on up. Marton will see that you get warm while you wait.”

“My thanks.” Gavin grinned as he continued up the broad walkway leading to the tall double doors of the palace. Though his father’s and grandfather’s features were strong in his face and in Rogan’s, he didn’t think he could bear any resemblance to such a distant ancestor after so many generations. His amusement faded with every footstep as he neared the palace. Its red-brick walls looked clean and new, and the glass in the windows sparkled in the sunshine. His heart began to race as he neared the doors, so tall and wide. Even at twenty paces, he could make out the beautiful detail carved into the dark cherry wood. The enormity of what he was doing hit him. Gavin paused to catch his breath. King Arek was in this building this very minute.

The right-side door opened, startling him. A young man with barely a beard to grow, well-dressed in blue and gold, bowed crisply. “Welcome to Chatworyth. Goodness! What are you doing outside without a cloak? Come in, come in.” He took Gavin by the arm and urged him inside. “You must be nearly frozen solid. Come with me to the fire and get warmed up.”

Gavin was not prepared for what he saw on entering. All his life, he’d known the palace as an ugly, old building covered in bird shit and choked by ivy and weeds. Now, its beauty stirred a memory from long ago when it was so familiar to him. It was gorgeous, from the polished marble floors to the sculpted crown moldings and brass chandelier. At the top of the four steps leading to the upper foyer were two wide doorways. Inexplicably, Gavin knew what he would find in those rooms, as if he were remembering a home from his childhood. Two armsmen stood beside the front doors and two more at the foot of the twin staircases that curved outward as they led to the upper story. Their faces looked oddly familiar, as though he’d known them many years past. Maybe he had.

The servant led Gavin through the doorway on the left and into a room the size of Rogan’s house. Shelves, filled with leather-bound books, stretched from floor to ceiling along two of the walls. At the far end, a fire blazed in the ample hearth. Plush chairs and sofas of deep red invited him to sit in luxurious comfort. The warmth of the room took the hard edge off Gavin’s chill, and he approached the fire with his hands extended, relishing its heat.

“Now,” the servant said, hands clasped before him, “how can I assist you today?”

“Are you Marton?”

The man bowed. “I am, but I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

Feeling both awkward and self-conscious, Gavin wasn’t sure whether to extend a hand or bow. He settled for a bow. “I’m Gavin Kinshield.”

Marton’s eyes widened in recognition. “But of course. You have those Kinshield eyes. I presume you’re here to see Ronor?”

Seeing his ancestor, the man who’d gotten him into his current predicament, was something he’d hoped to avoid, but he didn’t think waltzing in and asking to see the king would be proper. He was confident he could talk Ronor into getting him an audience. They were basically the same man, after all. “If he can spare a moment.”

“Please,” Marton said, gesturing to a chair, “make yourself comfortable. I’ll have hot cider brought in.” He bowed and left.

Gavin brushed off the seat of his trousers before sitting. When his arse sank into the pillowy depths of the cushion, he flinched and wondered whether he would ever get used to furniture like this. Staring into the fire, he considered what he would say to Ronor Kinshield. He imagined twisting his fist into Ronor’s shirt collar, screaming, “You took an oath, you bloody bastard!” Except that Ronor knew it. He’d always known it. He just hadn’t had the courage to fulfill his promise, and that was why he was here now, contemplating facing himself two hundred years in the past.

He’s me, Gavin reminded himself. It was his own damned fault. He had no one to blame but himself. It was no different than chastising himself as a youth for disobeying his father in the woods that fateful day. As a boy, Gavin hadn’t known his father would die because of it. How could he?

When he heard footsteps approaching, he stood. Marton came into the room and bowed. Another servant, a woman in a blue and gold dress covered by a white apron, followed him in. On a table beside his chair, she set a tray with a cup of steaming cider and plate of four tarts. “Ronor is in a council meeting,” Marton said. “I’ve let him know you’re here, though it might be a while before he’s free. Please relax and enjoy some refreshments while you wait.”

He waited until Marton and the serving woman left before picking up one of the tarts. The scent of it made his stomach rumble. It was so warm and delicious, he devoured the first one in two mouthfuls before remembering Daia’s complaints about his table manners. He chewed quickly and swallowed, then made an effort to take smaller bites of the second tart and chew with his mouth closed.

Now warm and sated, he relaxed in the chair and took in the stone hearth. On the wall above the fire was a painting of some buck with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. His old-style dress consisted of a high frilly collar and sleeves, not the kind of thing a battler would be caught dead in, though the man wore a decorative sword on his hip. He couldn’t quite remember which former king it was, but the color of the man’s hair and eyes reminded him of Brodas Ravenkind. That was when he realized that King Arek and Brodas Ravenkind shared their distinctive coloring.

Beneath the painting was a clock. Gavin stood to inspect its old-fashioned mechanics. One vessel of sand hovered over another, which tipped a bar as the lower vessel became heavier. The internal workings of the clock weren’t visible, but the faint glow emanating from behind the clock’s face suggested it was also powered by magic. The time read seventeen minutes past nine.

“Ah, Ronor, there you are,” said a voice behind him. Gavin turned to see who was addressing him. “I want to talk about the plan for— Oh. You’re not Ronor.”

Gavin’s heart stopped beating, sputtered, then began to race. It was King Arek, the man whose death he bore responsibility for.

Chapter 42

“No, my liege.” Gavin sank to one knee. He bowed his head in reverence and to hide the tears welling in his eyes. King Arek had been his idol, his hero, his best friend lost to him across more than two centuries, all because of Ronor’s failure. “My name’s Gavin Kinshield.”

“Rise, son.” He took Gavin by the arm and urged him to stand. Gavin wasn’t sure he’d have been able without the king’s help. At his full height, he towered over King Arek by a good eight inches. “Sit with me and explain what I don’t understand,” King Arek said, sitting. He waved away the two guards who’d entered behind him. They bowed and stepped out, shutting the wide oak door behind them. “I see by your haze that you’re Ronor Kinshield, yet I see with my eyes that you’re not. How can this be?”

Gavin sat obediently, thankful for the invitation. He hesitated to meet King Arek’s eyes, knowing what he’d done so many years ago, knowing he’d failed to protect and obey as he’d sworn to do. To avoid the eye contact would be rude and disrespectful, so he slowly lifted his gaze to meet the king’s. King Arek’s azure eyes, as brilliant as he’d remembered, bore into him. His hair, blackest black and still untouched by gray, was a stylish collar-length, as it had been in Gavin’s most distant memories. Rather than the stiff, regal suit he’d been wearing for the portrait that now hung in the museum, the king looked comfortable in a black long-sleeved overshirt and black trousers with a golden braided belt.

Gavin took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. “I was Ronor Kinshield, my liege. I’ve been several men in the last two centuries — two centuries that lie ahead o’you. It also happens that Ronor was my great- great-grandfather’s great- great-grandfather.”

King Arek was silent for a moment, though judging by the way his eyes held Gavin’s own, the king was trying to make sense of it all. “How did you come to know you’re Ronor reborn?” he asked.

“I have old memories o’things he did, my liege, buried deep in my mind. Memories of my time with you, o’things to come in the days that follow.”

“Curious. These memories come to you how? In dreams?”

“I get help from a mystical conduit. When I ask—”

King Arek’s eyes widened. “You know a vusar?”

Gavin was fairly certain the Farthan mage Jennalia had used that word to describe Daia. “Yes, my liege. She’s a good friend and valuable ally.”

“I can imagine.” King Arek smiled. One of his eyebrows hunched in such a way as to stir another of Gavin’s lost memories. “If only I could borrow her for a few days, she would make the task ahead...” His voice trailed off, and a serious, pensive expression changed his face. After a moment, he seemed to return to the present. “I presume by your presence here that you’re now Wayfarer, and you’ve back-traveled for information. I wish I could ask you questions about the future.”

“Ask me anything, my liege.”

King Arek chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, if only I could. I’d love to know whether Calewen carries a son or a daughter, or how a Kinshield came into the throne, but the future isn’t for me to know. Is this, perchance, your first time back-traveling?”

Gavin wondered how the king would know that. “It is, my liege.”

“Please, there’s no need to address me so formally. You’re also King of Thendylath, are you not?” When Gavin nodded, King Arek said, “Then let us talk as equals. Call me Arek, and I’ll call you Gavin, if you don’t mind... my liege.”

The heat of embarrassment burned in Gavin’s face. While he understood King Arek’s position, he didn’t feel worthy of addressing the man so informally, but he’d do it if it meant Arek would never call him ‘my liege’ again. “Yes, my— Arek. Gavin’s fine.”

“Let me give you a few words of advice, if I may.”

“Please do.”

“Back-traveling is for information only. You cannot change anything that happened, or at least, nothing that would affect the future. I learned that the hard way. If you try through your actions, you’ll be completely ineffective, as if you weren’t there at all. If you try through your words, you’ll end up back in your own time with a terrible headache that might keep you in bed for days. If you trust me, heed this warning.”

“But me being here has already changed what’s happened, hasn’t it?” Gavin asked.

“It’s easy to think so, but from the perspective of the future, your visit has already occurred. Your history books will say that I received a visit from a mysterious stranger today. If I were to write down our conversation and preserve that writing, you might have read it in school as a boy, not realizing that stranger was you.”

Maybe all children went to school during Arek’s reign, but only the wealthy did in Gavin’s time. Instead of explaining that, he grinned. “So I could’ve brought it with me and showed you what you would write?”

“Then we’d have to ask ourselves which came first, the writing or the written?”

“The chicken or the egg?”

Arek laughed. “Precisely. It’s good to know you’ve a better sense of humor than Ronor has. It serves you well as king, doesn’t it?”

Gavin’s smile faded, and the urge to weep fell upon him. As Ronor, he’d spent many months lamenting the loss of his king and friend. Now here he was, sitting with King Arek as though none of those horrible events had ever taken place. He cleared his throat and swallowed the lump that threatened to snag his words. “I ha’n’t been king very long, my— Arek. Only a couple o’weeks now.”

“Curious. You’ve recently come into the throne and your first time back-traveling was to come here, to my time. So tell me, Gavin Kinshield, descendant of the man whose soul you bear, what information do you need?”

Gavin gestured toward the large painting over the mantle. “Who is that?”

“My father’s father, King Ivam. I don’t remember him well. He died when I was about six years old, not too long after that portrait was done.”

“Your father was an only child?”

“He had a younger brother, Stefram, who had two children. Sadly, my cousin Hent suffered a head trauma as an infant and now sweeps floors in the church. My cousin Corla never married.”

“Hent never had children, then?”

Arek looked at him with something like embarrassment on his face. “I suppose that story is only scandalous in present times. Thankfully time has a way of dulling the shame of such things. I’m glad the story hasn’t lived on in legend. Hent raped his sister and got her with child. Corla gave her baby to one of the lordovers to be raised as his ward and now lives a quiet life at the convent in Lavene.”

Gavin thought of Brodas Ravenkind. “Could a descendant o’that child have a legitimate claim to the throne?”

Arek laughed, shaking his head. “An illegitimate child has no legitimate claim to his father’s property or titles, so no such claim could be handed down. Did you come today to ask about my family history?”

Gavin took this in for a moment, glad that he had another way to thwart Ravenkind’s attempt to seize the throne. Facts made strong weapons. “No, I came to learn how to craft the Runes o’Carthis, in partic’lar the summoning rune.”

Arek’s eyes snapped open wide. “Oh, my.” He stood and paced for a moment, rubbing his chin. Gavin stood as well, not wanting to remain seated while the king was not. “That one the Elyle refused to teach me. After Crigoth Sevae summoned the monster, I’m sure you can understand why. That rune should never have fallen into the hands of someone like him to begin with — another shame upon my family that I hope is forgotten in time.”

“Maybe it was,” Gavin said. “I don’t know that story.”

“I hope you aren’t going to ask me. I’d prefer it stay forgotten.”

“No, but I would like to ask about back-traveling.” When Arek nodded, Gavin continued. “Can I move from realm to realm and time to time, or do I always got to return to my own realm and my own time afore going elsewhere?”

Arek put on a pensive expression. “I haven’t tried traveling from one time to another without returning to the present first, but I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. I can travel from one realm to another, whether in the past or the present.”

“Could I return to this time? This very moment the two of us are talking?”

Arek started. “I— I don’t know. I suppose it would work because you’d be traveling back to your own past.”

“It wouldn’t make two o’me? The one that’s here now, and the one that back-travels here the second time?”

“I don’t believe so, no. Perhaps nothing changes except your memory of the event.” Arek fell silent as he rubbed his chin with a knitted brow. Gavin tried to think about it, but his thoughts tumbled into confusion and threatened to give him a headache. “It’s an interesting notion,” Arek said. “I’ll make a point to experiment.”

Both of them were startled by a knock at the door.

“Yes?” Arek asked.

“It’s Ronor, my liege. Marton said I have a visitor. May I enter?”

Gavin looked at Arek with wide eyes. This was the moment he’d fancied for most of his life, yet now he found himself dreading it.

“Do you want to meet him?” Arek asked with a mischievous smile.

Gavin shook his head frantically, but the door had already begun to open.

The first thing Gavin noticed about Ronor Kinshield was, of course, the eyes. He saw immediately why people so readily accepted him as a kin to Ronor. Like Gavin’s own eyes and those of his father, brother and three nephews, Ronor’s eyes were dark brown and deeply set under a heavy brow. That was where the similarity ended. Older by at least ten years, Ronor stood under six feet tall and had a stocky build, though one could plainly see he was well-suited to his task of protecting the king. He wore his brown hair long and tied back behind his neck. What stood out to Gavin most of all was the lack of scars on Ronor’s face. The two long furrows in his cheek that had become the distinguishing feature to live on in songs and paintings for the next two hundred years had not yet been carved. To Gavin’s surprise, that fact annoyed him. Gavin had lived with his scars since he was twelve — a constant reminder of Ronor’s selfish refusal to honor the vow he’d sworn. That Gavin might not have been born at all otherwise was a fact he dismissed in favor of his annoyance.

As well, Ronor measured Gavin with a glance as if to assess him as a foe or a friend. “I was told a Kinshield was here, but I don’t know you,” he said. His voice wasn’t as deep as Gavin’s, but it had a gritty quality that Gavin heard in his own voice from time to time when he was angry.

Arek approached his champion. “Gavin meet... What am I doing? Ronor needs no introduction to you. Ronor, meet Gavin Kinshield.”

“My liege,” Ronor said, clearly addressing Arek although his eyes bore into Gavin’s, “I don’t know what this man has told you, but don’t be fooled. My family isn’t so large that I wouldn’t know a cousin, however distant he claims.”

Arek chuckled. “There’s a good reason you wouldn’t know him. Gavin’s back-traveling. He’s a future King of Thendylath.”

Surprise flashed on Ronor’s features. “Has he proven it as fact?”

“How would one prove such a thing?” Arek asked.

A distant memory brushed Gavin’s mind like a fleeting scent upon the wind. If he could reach Daia across the boundary of time and use her conduit to remember, maybe he could prove it. Focusing through the gem in his ring, he followed the thread to where she waited beneath the bridge with the two horses. With a touch of his haze, he felt her take the connection.

The memory became instantly clearer, the moment when Ronor confronted the mysterious visitor in Arek’s library. His distrust had been unusually strong, and he’d demanded to know what they were talking about. He remembered being annoyed with himself that the man had inspired such misgiving for no apparent reason. After all, if Arek had accepted his claim of identity, then who was Ronor to dispute it? Something about the man had struck a chord within him, though, one he neither understood nor liked.

“I know why you distrust me,” Gavin said. “It’s because there’s something about me that resonates with you in a most peculiar way, reminding you o’the mystical crap Arek does every day that you don’t understand. I was a lot like you once.” He chuckled at his jest.

Arek laughed too, clapping his shoulder. “I do like your humor.”

Ronor, feeling like he was the target of sport, grew more irritated. “What have you been discussing, then? Something about my family I should know?”

“Nothing like that, Ronor,” Arek said. “Gavin’s here for some kingly advice.”

“Marton said he was here to see me. Here I am. What do you have to say to me, sir?”

It was a strange moment for Gavin, both remembering what the mysterious stranger had said, and knowing those were his own words. “Just do your best, Ronor. It’s all we can ever do. And for what it’s worth, I forgive you.”

Saying those words aloud, Gavin felt a tremendous weight lift from his heart. All the anger and resentment he’d borne for Ronor — for himself — dissipated. All that remained was sadness for the pain and sorrow Ronor would both endure and cause during the coming years and lifetimes.

Ronor’s face reddened, and his hands balled into fists. “What could I possibly have done that warrants your forgiveness?”

“It’s for what you will do,” Gavin said.

Ronor opened his mouth to speak, but Arek silenced him with a raised hand.

“Gavin, before you say anything more, remember my warning. Perhaps, Ronor, you should leave us now, and we can get back to the matter we were discussing.”

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone with him, my liege,” Ronor said. His eyes went to Aldras Gar, whose hilt peeked out from behind Gavin’s head over his left shoulder. “He’s armed. In fact, it appears he has some of your gems.”

Arek’s eyes went to the sword, perhaps for the first time. “They do look familiar,” he said thoughtfully, “but they’re no longer mine. Leave us now. Gavin means me no harm.”

Ronor glared at Gavin, an unspoken warning, before he left.

Arek’s eyes sparkled as he took his seat once more. “That was interesting. Is he as you remembered?”

“Shorter,” Gavin said pensively as he sat. “Not as handsome.”

Arek laughed. “You were saying you want to learn how to craft the Runes of Carthis. Did you use the Rune of the Past given to you by your mother or father?”

“No, I got it from an Elyle in the midrealm.”

“Oh, good. Then you know by now that only the kho-bent can craft them, and they aren’t always easy to negotiate with. Learning how to make them will save you a great deal of aggravation.”

Gavin briefly wondered what unpleasantness Arek had been subjected to for his knowledge. “Since you can’t teach me how to make the summoning rune, maybe you can tell me more about Crigoth Sevae. Where did he live?”

Arek nodded slowly. “You’re hoping to find the rune he used to summon Ritol. For years, he lived here in Tern while he served first my father and then me as Royal Mage. When I discovered his betrayal, he fled to a house several miles east of Calsojourn. I would draw you a map, but the house is no longer standing. We burned it to the ground. I doubt you’ll find the rune in the charred remains and rubble. We’ve already searched for it.”

Gavin slumped, dejected. What now? He had rested all of his hopes on King Arek’s help.

“I don’t know anything about your circumstances, and I’m not meant to know,” Arek said, “but I would caution you against summoning a champion from another realm to aid you. Those strategies have a way of turning around on you in ways you least expect. Perhaps it’s best if you don’t find the rune.”

“I wish there were another way,” Gavin said, his head hung.

Arek put a reassuring hand on Gavin’s arm. “Listen. I have an idea. I can’t do it now since I’m planning to venture into Ritol’s realm and summon...” He waved a hand dismissively. “Of course you would know about that. You’re Ronor. You helped me devise the plan. When I’m done with my rune, I could leave it for you, hidden so no one would happen upon it, but somewhere you’ll know to look. Come back in a week or two and we’ll agree on a hiding place.”

Gavin felt the black hand of guilt squeeze his heart. He didn’t want to let Arek know he’d be dead in two days, and to object to this plan might suggest the king’s imminent demise. “Awright then. I’ll come back.” He met Arek’s intelligent blue gaze and wondered if Arek already knew.

“I’m not meant to know the future, but can you tell me who or what you mean to summon?”

Gavin remembered Arek’s warning, but he didn’t think this information would necessarily change the course of history. “Ritol,” he intended to say. His voice didn’t make it out of his mouth before it was whisked from the air. His ears never heard it. The room spun, and without warning he felt himself falling backward. His arms flailed. He landed on his arse, surrounded by darkness. His hands hit dirt. The smell of lake water and horseshit assaulted his nose. A dull ache squeezed his head.

He was under the bridge. A few yards away, Daia climbed to her feet and approached, leading the two horses.

“Welcome back. I felt you connect with me a few minutes ago and figured you’d return soon.” She offered her hand and helped him rise.

“I was right there, talking to him and suddenly I was here. Damn it!”

“Talking to Ronor?”

“No, talking to King Arek,” Gavin said. Despite the increasing pain in his head, he couldn’t help but show the excitement in his voice. “I was sitting in the library, talking to him in front of the hearth like in the old days. It was so real and normal, like none of it had ever happened. And I killed him. I let him die!” He grabbed his head in both hands and bent over, unable to take the pain now stabbing him behind the eyes.

“Gavin, what’s wrong?” She took his arm and tried to help him stand upright.

“Give me a minute.”

After a while, the pain faded enough that he could stand. He wiped the drip from his nose. In the moonlight, he saw it was dark. Blood.

“By Yrys, you’re bleeding. What’s happening?”

He felt light-headed. “I don’t know. Let’s get back to the inn afore I faint.”

Chapter 43

Brodas paced the length of the floor, his footsteps echoing on the brick walls of the cellar below. The stress in his shoulders was becoming unbearable. Perhaps he would have Cirang massage the knots out. He rummaged in the pantry for a large bucket, filled it with water from the well down the street, and struggled to carry it back without sloshing its contents all over himself. A long soak in a hot bath would have provided temporarily relief, but without a large enough tub or a serving girl to fill it for him, he would settle for a sponge bath.

“Let me get that for you, my liege,” Cirang said, rushing to help him. It embarrassed him to let a woman carry something he found heavy and awkward, but her muscles bulged and rippled beneath her cotton tunic, a woman as strong as most men, if not stronger.

“Thank you,” he said. “What I wouldn’t give for a hot, scented soaking bath.”

“I would prepare it if you asked it of me, my liege,” she said over her shoulder as she carried the bucket inside.

From behind came the thunderous beat of a galloping horse. Red rode around the corner at speed, waving. “He’s here,” the swordsman said breathlessly, pulling his mount to a stop. “Big buck with a scarred face arrived at the inn with a dark-haired swordswoman.” The horse pranced anxiously from its spirited run.

A thrill ran through Brodas. The wait was over. He could begin negotiating for the release of his throne.

“They were escorted by two of the lordover’s soldiers,” Red continued. “The armsmen saw them to the inn and left.”

Why would the Lordover Tern send an escort for Gavin unless he thought Kinshield was king? Damn that bloody usurper! Of course he would start to spread news to the lordovers that he’d deciphered the runes so he could convincingly claim the throne. For a peasant to think he could lead the people was the height of arrogance. The anger boiled in Brodas’s veins and heated his face. Although part of him reveled in exacting revenge, he needed to show Gavin that Brodas was in charge, that Brodas held the power.

He spent the night considering how best to accomplish this. Cirang tried to convince him that trading Gavin’s brother’s life for the gems in his sword would be the more prudent course. Although Brodas recognized there was some wisdom in that, it was a weak approach. What he needed to do was show Gavin he would not back down. He would have what was his by rights. Obviously, the death of a cousin hadn’t made that point strongly enough. He rose with the sun, the decision cemented by his dreams.

“Let’s get Rogan up here,” he told Red and Cirang. He removed the gargoyle figurine that had locked the hatch securely during the night.

Rogan climbed the ladder at the threat of Red’s sword. Cirang drew her weapon as well. “What now?” Red asked.

The cries of the wife and children were obnoxiously loud. Brodas shut the cellar then set the gargoyle carving back on the hatch. “Let’s continue outside.”

As it rose, the sun cast an ominous red glow across the sky as if it knew what was about to happen.

All traces of anger had fled from Rogan’s features, replaced with fear and sadness. “Please let my family go. They ain’t done anythin’ to you. Your quarrel is with my brother, and I accept that I got to pay for it. My wife and sons are innocent.”

“Have you said your goodbyes?” Brodas asked.

Rogan looked at Red with his red-rimmed eyes. “Let them go,” he whispered. “Please. On your honor as a swordsman, see them set free.”

Red snorted. “A worthy effort.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Kinshield,” Brodas said. “Their lives are already forfeit.”

Rogan turned to Cirang next. “As a Viragon Sister, you dedicated your life to helpin’ others and protectin’ the innocent.” He went to his knees. “I beg you. Please. Protect them from harm.”

Judging from Cirang’s drawn brow, he was stirring feelings of compassion within her. If she knew what was good for her, she would abandon any notion of heroics and betrayal and do her job. “Shut him up and be done with it,” Brodas said. He went inside to find a crate. In the second bedroom, he found one stuffed with clothing. After dumping the contents onto the floor, he picked up a few abandoned articles for packing material and went back outside.

Rogan was still on his knees, but now instead of blubbering, he was trying to hold his guts in with both hands while blood seeped through his fingers. Red lifted his sword for a decapitating strike.

“Wait.” Cirang sheathed her weapon and stepped back. “My liege, any mercy you show him now will elevate you in the hearts and minds of your subjects later.”

Red paused, waiting for Brodas’s response.

“You cannot rule a country with mercy, Cirang. You do it by instilling fear. Fear commands respect. Above all, a king must keep his word.” He nodded at Red. “Do it.”

At one time, Brodas might have looked away, but since Gavin had first betrayed him, he’d developed a stronger stomach for blood. He watched with satisfaction as Red’s blade severed Rogan Kinshield’s head from his body. Blood sprayed outward. Cirang jumped back to avoid it, but a few drops landed on her boots and the hem of her trousers. The head rolled down the incline to the street, while the body fell forward onto the dirt with a thump. A few drops of blood seeped out of the neck wound. Red went over and picked up the head by its hair. The eyes were still partly open in the slack face, and Brodas left them that way. He didn’t want to touch it to close its eyes.

Cirang went around the side of the cottage out of sight. The sound of her retching made him roll his eyes. “Wrap it in this,” Brodas said, offering a shirt. Red bound the head in the cloth then set it into the crate. Brodas stuffed the other cloth around it. “See if you can find a lid while I pen a message.”

As he sat at the table with his quill and ink, smoothing a leaf of paper he’d torn from the back of his journal, he noted that he hadn’t felt as gratified as he’d thought he would. Gavin would be more distraught over his brother’s death than his cousin’s, but Brodas wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing the pain in his face when he opened the box. Strategically, it had been the right action, for he knew that sometimes a leader must do distasteful things for the greater good.

“There’s something else, sire,” Red said as he entered the cottage with the sealed crate. He looked at Cirang, who entered behind him. “Do you want to tell him about the woman, or should I?”

Cirang narrowed her eyes at Red resentfully before turning to Brodas. “Someone else is staying at the Elegance Inn, my liege. A woman and four children.”

Brodas scowled, partly from learning she’d withheld information from him and partly in confusion. “What woman? What children?” He didn’t think Gavin had remarried, but he supposed it was possible.

“Her name’s Feanna. The children are orphans she’s taken in. She says Gavin’s courting her.”

“Well, well,” Brodas said with a grin. “This is interesting news, indeed. Bring her to me.”

Chapter 44

A disturbance in the hallway woke Feanna from very pleasant dreams. At first, she turned over to fall back to sleep, as it was still dark outside. Then she came more fully awake when she heard Daia say, “Don’t drop him. We’re almost there.”

“He’s even heavier than he looks,” another woman said.

Feanna tiptoed to the door and opened it to see what was going on. Three Viragon Sisters were carrying Gavin up the stairs. Daia shuffled backward clutching one of Gavin’s arms across her shoulders. Tennara had his other arm, and another Sister, whom Feanna didn’t know, was between his legs, one knee in each hand. Her heart sputtered. “Oh, heavens! Is he hurt?”

“He’s not injured,” Daia said, glancing over her shoulder. “He only fainted.”

“Has he been drinking?”

Daia snorted. “No, he’s been traveling. Let’s get him onto the bed and I’ll explain.”

Feanna opened the door to Gavin’s room and grabbed the lamp from inside. She used the lantern in the corridor to light it, then scooted past the women as they shuffled along the hallway with Gavin’s limp body between them. At last they managed to get him onto the bed.

Then Feanna saw the blood. It had been streaming from his nose, wetting the front of his shirt. “My goodness!” She poured some fresh water into the washbasin on the dressing table, wet a cloth and began to wash his face. “What’s happened to him?”

Daia wiped sweat from her forehead. “Sometimes when he uses his magic abilities, he faints.”

“Does he always bleed like this?” Feanna rinsed the bloody cloth in the water and continued to wipe up his face and neck.

“Not usually, no. He has an amazing ability to heal himself, so I wouldn’t be too concerned. I’m sure he’ll be fine with a few hours’ sleep.”

When she’d gotten his face cleaned up and the bleeding appeared to have stopped, she took his boots off and arranged him so he would rest comfortably. His breathing was steady, and his face had color. She supposed Daia was right. He would sleep it off and awaken feeling better. She kissed his forehead, smoothed back his soft, wavy locks and extinguished the lamp.

“You said he was traveling?” Feanna asked as she pulled the door shut behind her. “Where did he go?”

Daia gave her a sheepish grin. “He went into the past. It’s a long story, and I’ll let him tell us all about it when he wakes up. It’s still the middle of the night, so if you’ll excuse me, I wouldn’t mind finishing my sleep as well.”

“Of course, Miss Daia. I’ll see that the innkeeper has food ready for Gavin when he wakes. Let me know if you need anything from me.”

Feanna returned to her bed, but for a long time, she lay awake, fidgeting with worry. Until Gavin awoke, she wouldn’t be able to sleep, though she did doze by fits and starts. She debated dressing and sitting by his bed, but she didn’t want him to think her a fusspot. Since Daia didn’t see cause for concern, perhaps she should relax. Perhaps she could ease his morning with a special gift.

Her mind drifted to the coffee shop she’d passed earlier in the day. The rich aroma was the most alluring scent she’d ever smelled. The shopkeeper had offered her a sample, and although she’d thought it quite bitter at first, the second sip lured her tongue into taking a third, and by the fourth, she’d decided she loved it. The shopkeeper assured her that a cup of this beverage on rising each morning would assure alertness and good humor. Perhaps she would run out this morning, purchase the ground beans, and prepare a cup for Gavin. The shop was only a half-hour’s walk, and if she left shortly after dawn when the market opened, she might be back before he awoke.

The girls were already dressed and at the table eating when she got downstairs. “What are you three doing up so early?” she asked them.

“Jilly was hungry,” Iriel said. “So Miss Tennara got us some bread and jam.”

Feanna kissed the top of Jilly’s head. “Next time, wake me. The guards have jobs that don’t include cooking for guests of the inn.”

Jilly nodded.

“Is Trevick awake?”

They shook their heads.

“I’m going to the coffee shop. Would you rather stay here or come with me?”

“Come,” Tansa and Iriel said. The three girls climbed out of their chairs.

As they left the inn, Feanna let Tennara know where they were going in case Trevick awoke and inquired. Tennara offered to send a guard with her, but she declined. Though it was early, there would be plenty of people on the streets to intervene if someone tried to rob them. Besides, no one apart from the Sisters knew who she was.

The early spring morning was still cool enough that she felt perfectly comfortable with a light shawl around her shoulders as she walked briskly down the street while the girls skipped alongside her. The early risers were bustling about, hurrying to market to get the first selection of goods for the day.

The coffee shop had just opened when she arrived. The scent of ground beans and the shopkeeper’s hearty greeting welcomed her in. “I’m glad you came back, m’lady,” he said beneath a thick mustache. Behind the counter, he worked a grinding machine from which rich, dark ground beans trickled with every crank of the handle.

Feanna inhaled through her nose. “It smells wonderful. How many cups will a small bag make?”

“It depends on how strong you like it. Anywhere from twenty to fifty. I suggest one spoonful per cup. Have you ever made coffee before?”

Feanna shook her head. “I’ve never tasted it before yesterday.”

“It’s easy to do. You take a square of cotton, put your spoonful of ground beans in the center and wrap it into a ball. You can use a bit of string to tie it, if you’d like. Then boil the ball in a cup’s worth of water for a bit. When the water is deep brown, it’s ready to drink.”

He showed her several types of the beans, but she didn’t know one from another. Feanna paid for a small bag of the coffee she’d tried yesterday and started back toward the inn. She hoped Gavin would like the flavor. It might help him feel more spirited after his difficult night.

The canter of two horses approached from behind. It was still early, but it wasn’t prudent to run a horse in the city streets like this. “Girls, come close.” She pressed her back against a building and gathered her children close to avoid being run down.

“Miss Feanna! Thank Yrys I’ve found you.” It was Cirang, breathless and sweating. She held the reins of a second mount.

“Cirang, what’s the matter?” A deep sense of dread filled Feanna.

“Something’s happened at the inn. That man Lord Gavin was avoiding has found him. He commanded me to find you and take you to safety.”

Feanna’s mouth went dry. “Take the girls. I have to get Trevick.” She picked up her skirt and began to run toward the inn.

“He’s safe,” Cirang called. Feanna stopped, uncertain. “Tennara got him out. Please, Miss Feanna, come with me.”

Using a stepping stool in front of a merchant’s shop, Feanna managed to climb onto the back of Cirang’s second mount. Cirang lifted Jilly to her, who sat on the saddle in front. She put Tansa on the front of her own mount and Iriel on the back and squeezed herself between them. Once Iriel had a good hold around Cirang’s waist, they started at a slow trot, with Cirang holding the reins of both horses. She realized that at some point, she’d lost her shawl.

Cirang took them to a quiet neighborhood in which all the buildings had suffered damage from what must have been a terrible fire, as well as water damage from subsequent rains. A shiver of apprehension traveled down Feanna’s spine. The streets were empty. The houses were unoccupied. Except one.

A dark-haired man stepped out from a cottage less damaged than the others with his hands clasped before him. He smiled as they approached, but that smile didn’t reach his cold blue eyes. Feanna gasped. On the ground outside the cottage lay a headless body surrounded by a heavy spatter of blood. Feanna covered Jilly’s eyes and looked away in horror but not before she recognized the poor man’s big, bloody hands, hands she’d admired many times over the last seven years. Oh, Rogan! Feanna burst into tears. Hopefully he’d died quickly without suffering.

Tansa screamed, her eyes riveted on Rogan’s body.

“Look away, sweetheart,” Feanna begged. For the first time in her life, she was deeply and truly frightened.

Chapter 45

Daia sat in the dining hall beside Edan and picked at the grapes in the basket before her. Tennara sat in the chair across from her, eating a meal of eggs, duck and bread with gusto now that her shift on guard duty over. “I doubt a fall down the stairs would’ve awakened him,” Daia said with a grin.

Tennara chuckled, gesturing with a piece of bread. “I was thinking, ‘Couldn’t we have gotten a smaller man as king?’ He must weigh three hundred stones.”

“None of it fat, though,” Edan said. “He’s a giant muscle from head to toe. You should’ve awakened me. I could’ve helped.”

Daia shrugged. “We managed.” In truth, she didn’t think Edan, with his wiry build and indoor lifestyle, was any stronger than Tennara or Ragetha or herself. No matter who was doing the carrying, getting an unconscious man the size of Gavin Kinshield up a flight of stairs was going to be difficult.

Trevick came downstairs and approached Daia. “Pardon, Miss Daia. Do you know where my mom is?”

“She went to the market for something,” Tennara said then looked out the window at the bright sunlight and gloomed. “She’ll be back soon, hon.”

Daia cocked her head and formed a silent question with her eyes: what’s wrong?

Trevick nodded sleepily and climbed the stairs. When the boy was out of earshot, Tennara said, “She should’ve been back by now. I hope she didn’t get lost.”

Daia rose to her feet, feeling apprehensive. “Did she say where she was going?”

“She took the girls to the coffee shop to buy a gift for Lord Gavin. She estimated the walk to be a half-hour there and another back. She’s been gone for nearly an hour and a half.”

Having grown up in Tern, Daia knew the city well. “I’ll find them.”

“I’ll come with you,” Edan said, standing.

“If anything’s happened to her, it’s my fault,” Tennara said. “I wanted to send Taria with her, but she’d toured the city for days and convinced me she’d be safe. What do you want me to do?”

“Stay here,” Edan said. “Wait for her in case she comes back before we do and goes to her room. We wouldn’t want to organize a search unnecessarily.”

As they walked to the stable, Daia said, “There are only two coffee shops that I know of. If she’s been taking the children to Canopy Park, then it’s likely she’s gone to the one nearby. If you’d like to check the shop by the city gate, I’ll head south to the shop nearest the park.”

“Will do,” Edan said. “Meet back here in half an hour if you don’t find her, and we’ll organize a more thorough search.”

Daia quickly bridled and saddled her mare and trotted down the street in the direction of the park, though soon she had to slow to a walk due to the number of pedestrians, horses and carts on the road. Whenever she got the opportunity, she heeled Calie to a trot as she scanned the faces for Feanna’s. When she arrived at the coffee shop, she dismounted and went inside.

The shopkeeper put on a smile. “Good morning, Lady Sister. Can I interest you—”

“I’m sorry. I’m looking for a woman who might have been here earlier this morning. This tall...” She held a hand to the top of her ear. “...about my age, golden-brown hair.”

“Yes, she was here earlier with three girls. Bought a bag of my morning roast. Lovely woman.”

“Did you happen to see which direction she went when she left here?”

He rubbed his chin. “I saw them walk out and turn right, heading north, but ten minutes later, I could have sworn I saw them go past on the backs of two horses.”

Daia stiffened. “Was she with a dark-haired man?”

“I didn’t get a good look, but I’m fairly certain she was with a Viragon Sister.”

“You didn’t think to call the lordover’s guard?”

“She was with a Viragon Sister,” the man said defensively. “I assumed you’re all honorable people.”

Daia couldn’t argue with that logic. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been most helpful.”

She mounted again and headed south, looking for possible clues. Ahead in the street, lay a small burlap bag, trampled nearly flat with its brown granular contents spilled and scattered. “Callibisters,” she muttered. All she could tell was that Feanna and her abductor had gone this way. She asked a few shopkeepers along the way if they’d seen Feanna and the girls. One boy, standing on the corner trying to sell apples, said he’d seen the horses trot past to the south. Daia flipped him a pielar and continued southward, searching and calling out for her. Eventually she entered the southernmost district that abutted the mountain slope. Her sense of foreboding increased when she spotted a pale green shawl lying in the street, either discarded or lost.

A fire had raged there a year or two ago, and many families were displaced. No one had bothered rebuilding. Was it possible Feanna was being held hostage in one of these abandoned buildings?

The main streets in Tern were paved with large stones, but here most of the paving stones had been pilfered, leaving a hard dirt surface. A disturbance in the dirt, possibly caused by a cantering horse, led her further south and east. A rat skittered into the street, paused to look at her, and continued across. The neighborhood was eerily quiet. Homes that had once been filled with laughter and love stood like phantom soldiers. Footsteps approached from behind. She wheeled around as she reached for her sword.

A big man with wild red hair and a thick mustache, his cheeks bristly with a two-day beard, grabbed Calie’s bridle with his left hand. In his right, he held a sword. “Don’t do it. I’ll slit your mount’s throat then yours. Unbuckle your scabbard and toss it down.”

Although she was fairly certain she could best him, especially mounted, Feanna’s life might be in danger. For now, she thought diplomacy and cooperation were her best options. “You’re making a mistake.” She held her palms out to show she hid no weapon.

“No, I ain’t.” He smiled and sucked his teeth.

“I’m here on behalf of the king. If it’s money you want, I can pay you handsomely.”

The swordsman laughed. “It ain’t money. Your weapons. Now.”

“I’m only looking lost friend.”

“Well, I found a lost friend. Do I got to slay this fine horse o’yours?” He pressed the point of his sword against Calie’s neck. The mare stepped back and tried to pull her head away, but he held fast.

Daia unbuckled the scabbard around her waist and tossed it to the ground. “Look, you can have my steel. Let me find my friend and I’ll be gone.”

“The knife too.”

She withdrew her dagger slowly using her thumb and forefinger and tossed it near the sword.

“That’s good. Now get off.”

She dismounted slowly, keeping one eye on his blade. When he picked up her weapons, she casually slipped the ring off her finger and into her coin pouch so he wouldn’t notice its blue gem and claim it as his prize. The dagger he slipped into his belt behind his back, and the sword he held in his left hand, releasing the bridle. He motioned to the east with her sword. “That way.”

He steered her toward a cottage at the base of the mountain slope. On the ground outside lay the headless body of a man. The image of Gavin’s cousin’s head in a wooden crate came to mind. Oh, no. Rogan? She couldn’t stop staring at the corpse as she approached. Whoever it was had been a big man, possibly the size of Gavin’s brother, with dark hair on his forearms and big hands. As she walked by it, a figure in the doorway drew her attention. The sight of Ravenkind’s black hair and blue eyes made her blood freeze.

Gavin awoke feeling like his skull was caving in. Every time he moved his head, an unseen pickax pounded the back of it like someone was trapped in there, trying to get out. Distantly, he wondered how he’d gotten into bed. He was fully clothed, though he usually slept nude, except he was barefoot. The last thing he remembered was riding back to the inn after a journey through time. The sun was shining through his window, but the light stabbing his eyes hurt so much he thought they might bleed. He stumbled over and shut the blinds. Better. He groped for Aldras Gar leaning against the wall and fell back onto the bed. With the hilt against his chest, he concentrated on pushing his healing magic through the gems. The relief was instant, like cool water poured over a sunburn.

After a few minutes, he was able to rise again without the urge to push the sword through his chest and end it all. Then he remembered that Feanna would be downstairs. The last thing he wanted to do was go down in a foul mood because of a headache. He spent a few more minutes pushing his fluttering white healing energy through the gems. As long as he didn’t turn his head too quickly, the pain was barely noticeable.

He wiped himself clean with a wet cloth and changed his clothes, then set his soiled garments in the hall outside his door. He didn’t know whether the innkeeper’s wife would be able to get the blood out of his tunic, but it was worth a try. Taking slow, even steps, he made it downstairs without the pain returning. In the dining hall, Edan was talking quietly with Tennara and stopped when he entered.

“Where is everyone?” he asked as he joined them at the table.

“Gav, sit down.” Edan’s expression was taut with worry and anxiety. He’d never seen his friend look so grim.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Miss Feanna went out this morning to buy a gift for you,” he said.

“Oh, hell. Where is she? What happened?”

“She never came back. Daia and I went to search for her, thinking she’d gotten lost.”

Gavin’s first thought was that she didn’t want a relationship with him after all. “She went back to Saliria?”

Edan shook his head. “Trevick’s still here. She also left her horse and wagon. There’s more.”

Gavin took the nearby bottle of wine, uncorked it and took a long draw. “All right,” he said. “Tell me.”

“Daia hasn’t come back yet. If Feanna met with foul play, I worry that Daia has as well.”

“Seven hells!” Gavin rose, ready to begin a search.

“Wait, Gav. It gets worse. Sit down. Please.”

“How the hell could it get worse?” Gavin sat back down.

Edan drew a piece of paper from the pages of a book. “This message arrived a few minutes ago.” He read from the paper. “I have them all: Liera, her three sons, your lovely friend Feanna and her darling little orphans, not to mention Dona and Nasharla. If you want to see them alive again, send Daia Saberheart alone to the city center at noon with the jeweled sword and a signed note relinquishing any claim you think you have to the throne. She’ll receive instructions from there. If you follow her, I will execute one member of Rogan’s family. Every hour you delay, I will cut off a finger. It might be a nephew’s, it might be your freckle-faced sister-in-law’s, it might be your bride-to-be’s. If Daia doesn’t arrive by nightfall, then someone will die. Truly, BR.”

Gavin felt the room close in. The air became thin and hard to breathe. This couldn’t be right. How could Ravenkind have them all? They’d been safe, guarded. How would he have known about Feanna? “Wait. What about Rogan? He didn’t mention Rogan.”

Edan pressed his lips together in a mute expression of sorrow. His eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m sorry, Gav. Rogan’s been slain.”

Gavin shot to his feet. “What? Don’t you tell me that, Edan. Don’t you dare.”

Edan rose too. “I wouldn’t torture you with such a thing if it weren’t true.”

Gavin looked at Tennara, and she confirmed it with a sorrowful nod. His eyes began to burn. “Where is he? I want to see him.”

“Gavin, no,” Edan said. “You don’t want that image forever haunting your dreams. Trust me. Your brother’s gone.”

He grabbed Edan by the shirt collar and hauled him up close. “Where the hell is he?”

Edan’s eyes, full of understanding and regret, held his steadily. “Tennara, would you mind?”

The swordswoman left the room. Gavin let him go. He didn’t know what to think. His mind grew numb. Tennara returned carrying a square wooden crate. No. He felt the blood drain from his face. For the sake of King Arek, for the sake of everything good in all the seven realms, let that not be what it appeared. She set it on the table.

The lid was loose, and with trembling hands, he lifted it away. As if in a dream, he saw his hands move the fabric aside. He saw the curling dark hair that resembled his own. He reached in and felt the hard, round object and the small protrusions on the sides like... ears. He lifted it and found himself looking at his brother’s pale face, the expression relaxed but stiff, the eyelids half closed and the deep brown eyes gazing forever downward. No. Rogan, no. It couldn’t be. He stared harder, trying to see it as a stranger, as anyone but Rogan.

A sharp pain ignited his chest as he sank to his knees. His vision blurred. When he blinked to clear it, drops of water trickled down his cheeks. How could he have let this happen? First Arek, then his father, his wife, his daughter, and now his brother. He clutched Rogan to his chest protectively, as if he could shield his brother from harm. His fingers clenched the soft hair. He pressed his lips to the top of Rogan’s cold skull, whispering, “I’m sorry, Rogan, I’m sorry.” What kind of world would it be without him, his only anchor to happier times? It wasn’t until he felt Edan’s arm across his shoulder that Gavin realized he was sobbing. The pain in his chest was excruciating. He could barely breathe. “It’s my fault,” he said in a voice so hoarse he wasn’t sure he’d spoken aloud. “He died because o’me. He would’ve been safe in his home, but I made him come here.”

“You didn’t kill him, Gavin,” Edan said quietly. “Ravenkind did. He probably would have done it no matter where Rogan was. The sooner we find Daia and Miss Feanna, the sooner we can bring him to justice for his crimes.”

Those words were like a splash of water in Gavin’s face. Justice. Yes. No more deaths. No more. He stood and set Rogan gently back into the crate, then covered him with the cloth and the lid. He wiped his palms over his face to dry it. Maybe later he’d feel embarrassed about weeping in front of Edan and Tennara but not yet. He focused his grief into purpose: find Ravenkind and kill that bloody whoreson once and for all, then worry about Ritol. “What’s the plan, then?”

Tennara leaned on the back of a chair. “My liege, we believe Miss Feanna went south to the coffee shop near Canopy Park. Daia started her search in that direction. Perhaps we should go and question the shopkeeper. We should be able to find their trail.”

“If we’re going to Ravenkind’s lair, we’ll need all the Sisters with us. He has Daia, which means he’s more powerful than ever.”

Chapter 46

“Red,” Brodas said, smiling broadly. “You’ve outdone yourself. Welcome, Daia Saberheart. I didn’t expect you so soon. Where’s the sword?”

Red handed him Daia’s sword. “This was the only one she had with her.”

He let the smile fall. “My instructions were clear. You were to bring the jeweled sword and the letter.”

“I merely came looking for someone,” Daia said. “I know nothing about any instructions.”

Could she have left to find Gavin’s lover before the message had been delivered to the inn, he wondered. In that case, he’d gotten her for free. Gavin wouldn’t know where she was, wouldn’t know where to begin looking for her. True, he didn’t have the gems or the abdication, but once Gavin Kinshield was dead, he would essentially have both. And with Miss Daia’s precious power, Kinshield would be dead very soon.

“Put her with the others.”

Red used the point of his sword to guide her into the cottage. Brodas followed them in and removed the gargoyle from the cellar hatch. The other women and six children, sitting on the floor against the walls in the dark, looked up. All wore expressions of defeat. The childrens’ faces were puffy and streaked with tears. Rather than lowering the ladder so Daia could climb down, Red told her to jump in. She sat on the edge of the floor with her legs dangling in.

“Is anyone hurt?” she asked. “Children?”

Feanna shook her head and clutched two of the girls closer.

The older girl’s eyes brightened. “Miss Daia will save us.”

“Daia,” the swordswoman Nasharla said. “Is King Gavin all right?”

“King Gavin?” Liera asked in a shrill voice. “Gavin’s the king?”

“No, he’s not the king,” Brodas snapped. “Now, get down there.”

“Yes, he is the king,” Daia said, “and as far as I know he’s fine.” She put her hands on the edge of the floor, scooted her arse off while turning, and hung from her hands. She let go and dropped the remaining few feet to the cellar floor. The older girl threw her arms around Daia’s waist. “How did you get here?”

“A Viragon Sister named Cirang,” Feanna said.

Brodas motioned to Red to shut the hatch. He didn’t care to hear them compare their sad stories of how they wound up in the cellar together. He had a throne to claim.

“Red, go get Cirang,” he said. She’d gone to the city center to await Daia, and Brodas would need her here. He would need both of them.

He retrieved the summoning rune from his satchel then sat with Sevae’s journal open before him. Closing his eyes, Brodas concentrated on what he knew: the rune’s name was Whemorard, and the object of his summoning was Ritol. Soon. Very soon.

When he stilled his thoughts and focused his spirit sense, it was naturally drawn toward the cellar, toward that source of power that Daia possessed. All he had to do was push past her defenses and seize it.

Through the closed hatch door, only tiny slivers of light illuminated the cellar, but after a few minutes Daia’s eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“I’m sorry about Rogan,” Daia told Liera. She made out the shapes of her sons huddled around her, sniffling with grief and fear.

“This is all Gavin’s doing, isn’t it?” Liera asked sharply. “It’s his fault we’re in here. It’s his fault my husband is dead.”

Daia understood her need to blame someone, but she also had a duty to protect Gavin. Liera didn’t know all the facts. “Ravenkind killed him. What Gavin did was keep Ravenkind from becoming king. You can’t blame him for doing the right thing.”

“How can the right thing mean a dead husband and father? Rogan’s never done anything wrong. He was a good man.”

“I know,” Daia said. “I’m sorry. Gavin tried to prevent this very thing. It’s why he assigned guards to protect you.”

“A fat lot of good that did,” Liera said. “Look where we are. We’re all going to die!” She burst into tears and hugged her boys closer.

Daia knew there was nothing she could say to comfort this distraught family or protect them — or Gavin for that matter. Once he realized they were missing, he’d storm in here with the remaining Sisters to fight Ravenkind. And when he did, he would need Daia’s help.

A vile feeling like creeping fingers of tar reached for her conduit. Ravenkind.

Brodas felt the strain of pushing in his temples and realized he was getting nowhere. He’d nearly had her a few weeks ago in Sohan. She was stronger now. He was weaker. What was different? He’d had the gems in Gavin’s sword. That was it.

He rose and went to his chest, pulled out a few gems and sat back down. They weren’t like Gavin’s gems, but they were better than others he’d worked with in the past. After shrugging a few times and loosening his neck, he shut his eyes and tried again, this time focusing through the gems.

He could see her power with his false eye, a fiery tendril of strength. He reached for it with the source of his magic, but he couldn’t grasp it. It flickered and danced like a flame, easily escaping his every attempt to take hold of it. The gems in his hand cracked from the stress he put on them and crumbled into pieces.

Frustration knotted the muscles along his spine. He was getting nowhere. With the crown so close, he paced the length of the floor, waiting for Red and Cirang to return. Everything hinged on his ability to use her conduit. There had to be a way to lower her defenses. The drumming of hooves approaching was a welcomed sound. He went out to meet them.

“Red,” he called. “I need you to get Daia out of the cellar then knock her unconscious.”

The big man handed his reins to Cirang and followed Brodas inside. Brodas unlocked the cellar hatch, and Red pulled it open, sword ready. “Time to come out and play, Daia.”

She stood and dusted off her hands.

“Daia, don’t go,” Liera said. “He’ll kill you.”

“No, he won’t. I have something he wants, but he won’t get it.” She climbed confidently up the ladder. Red shut the cellar door again and pushed her in front of him. “Whatever you’re hoping to accomplish,” Daia said to Brodas, “you’ll fail. You can’t use me, and Gavin’s much stronger than you can—”

Red struck her on the side of the neck with the edge of his hand. She crumpled to the floor. Brodas checked her neck for a pulse and found one. Good. Now he should be able to get somewhere.

Cirang came in examining something in her hands. Brodas recognized the shape of Sithral Tyr’s horrid little cat figurine. “Where did you get that?” he snapped.

“It was in Daia’s saddle bag. Do you know what it is?”

Proof that Sithral Tyr was dead. He wouldn’t have parted from it willingly, especially after Brodas had held it captive for nearly two years to secure Tyr’s service. “It contains the soul of the Nilmarion Sithral Tyr. You’d be wise to bury it somewhere and forget it.”

After retrieving another gem from his cache, Brodas took his seat and shut his eyes. He took hold of Daia’s lovely orange tendril of power, gripping tightly. Strength surged into him with such force, he gasped.

“My liege?” Cirang asked. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. More than fine. Quiet now, let me concentrate.” In truth, he was practically giddy. Never had he dreamed an unhindered connection with a mystical conduit could be so exhilarating. It took a moment for him to calm down enough to focus. When at last he was ready, holding three gems in one hand and the summoning rune in the other, he whispered, “Ritol, I summon you to me by the power of the rune Whemorard.”

Something in the air shifted suddenly, like a wind being jerked. A slit formed in the room, like those he’d found and opened to let beyonders in. But this one was different. This one was bright in comparison and blue rather than red. At first, he was afraid he’d mistakenly summoned something else, something other than Ritol, the prince of beyonders, but when he saw the black foot come through with its four obsidian talons, he knew he’d done it. The monster crawled completely into the cottage, and the slit snapped shut. Brodas’s ears popped.

Ritol smelled like a piece of meat that had been left to rot in the sun for hours. Its face was hideous to behold, with eyes the very definition of terror and a mouth that opened to reveal death itself. It was smaller than he thought it would be, and it didn’t stand on two legs as Sevae’s journal had described. Instead, it slumped on the floor, quivering like a dog nearly dead from starvation. Again, Brodas wondered whether he had erred. This thing looked too weak to hurt a field mouse, let alone battle Gavin Kinshield and his forces.

Red and Cirang both stepped back, their faces filled with terror and disbelief.

Brodas stood. “Don’t be afraid. It’s completely under my command while it’s in this realm. Ritol, welcome. It’s an honor to have your service.”

“I... hunger...” it said in a tritonal voice that was discordant and horrific. The sound twisted the very soul, making Brodas want to slink away to avoid ever hearing it again.

“And you will be fed.” Brodas plastered a smile onto his face that felt more like a grimace. “Red, fetch one of the swordswomen from below.”

Cirang’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.

“What about that one?” he asked, pointing at Daia.

“No. She’s more valuable to me alive. I’m done with her for now. Put her back in the cellar.”

Red and Cirang took Daia by the arms. When they started to drag her toward the cellar opening, she groaned and opened her eyes. “By Yrys,” she whispered. She jerked her arms out of their grasp and began crawling like a crab backward, away from Ritol. “You fool! What have you done?”

Red grabbed a handful of her hair and hauled her to the cellar’s edge. None too gently, he pushed her over, and she fell in with a thud and a grunt.

“Daia, are you hurt?” someone asked.

“I’m all right,” Daia said. She sat up, rubbing her head.

“What’s that smell?” the youngest boy asked.

“That’s what evil smells like,” the swordswoman Nasharla said, glaring up at Brodas.

“That one,” he said. “Bring her.”

Chapter 47

Once he’d mounted his warhorse, Gavin gazed at his ring with his hidden eye. Its thread stretched toward the southern-most district, the part of Tern that had burned a couple of years earlier. He searched for Daia with his hidden eye and found her amidst several other hazes, hazes he recognized. “She’s in the Garnet district.” He heeled Golam to a trot and set off toward the south.

“How do you know it’s her?” Edan asked, riding up alongside him.

“Her haze is different from everyone else’s. Whatever it is that makes her a conduit, I can see in her haze. Everyone’s with her — Feanna, Liera, the children, Dona and Nasharla. There are three others too, but I don’t recognize their hazes. I’m betting one’s Ravenkind.”

“Let’s hope they’re unharmed.”

Ravenkind better hope not even a hair is out o’place on their heads.

Tennara cantered ahead of the group, shouting, “Make way!” to clear a path for Gavin, Edan and the remaining nine Sisters to ride at a trot. Townsfolk scrambled to move their horses, donkeys and carting dogs to the curb, many cursing and gesturing rudely in complaint.

From a popular brothel emerged the blond warrant knight, Adro Fiendsbane, who watched in surprise as Gavin and his contingent thundered past. A few minutes later, someone behind Gavin shouted his name. Adro galloped on his mount to catch up. “Gavin! Do you need another sword?”

Gavin waved him forward. “We could use another strong arm. Join us if you will.” Adro was an excellent fighter and would be a welcomed addition to their force.

“What’s happening?” Adro asked.

“Brodas Ravenkind’s holding hostage my sister-in-law and nephews, three Viragon Sisters, my lady Feanna and her children.”

“He has Miss Feanna?” Adro’s expression turned angry. “Hell’s teeth!”

Gavin felt a surge of jealousy and protectiveness. He knew well Adro’s penchant for seducing women, even at the cost of his honor. It was the reason behind the brand on his forearm.

As they continued south for several blocks, the activity on the street thinned. Soon, evidence of the fire became apparent in the scorched trees and blackened walls. Homes were empty, businesses abandoned. They were getting close.

A sudden pressure in the air made Gavin’s ears feel as if they were stuffed with cotton. “What the hell?” Something was horribly wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Edan asked.

“Do you feel that?” Gavin wiggled a finger in his left ear, trying to lessen the pressure. A moment later, it was gone, and his ears snapped back to normal.

Aldras Gar!

“I don’t feel anything. What is it?”

He saw a new haze join the others. It had the dark, violent energy of a beyonder except magnified a thousand-fold. It reeked of vileness. It embodied the very definition of chaos. Looking at it was like staring at his own death. A deep sense of dread rippled through his body. His instinct told him to flee, though he knew he could never escape it. It would come for him, hunt him relentlessly until it killed him and devoured his soul and King Arek’s magic with it.

Ritol.

Aldras Gar!

“Stop,” he said, reining Golam in. “We’re too late. It’s here. Somehow he set it free.” He heard the tremor in his voice. No doubt about it, he was terrified.

Edan and the Sisters stopped their horses. “Gavin? What’s wrong? What are you talking about?”

“Ritol’s not trapped in the palace anymore. Ravenkind must’ve had the other summoning rune. It’ll be coming for me.”

On Tennara’s lead, the Sisters drew their weapons. Edan nocked an arrow in his bow.

Beside him, Adro followed suit. “What’s our plan?”

Gavin ran through the options in his mind: try to fight an immortal being long enough to tire it out and hope it flees until they form a better plan, or return to the past and beg Arek to give Gavin the summoning rune. He would have to convince Arek to bring the rune to the Garnet district and hide it somewhere in the rocks... and hope that the next two centuries wouldn’t disturb it. No. What if the rune Ravenkind used was the one he’d found in Arek’s hiding place? Then the answer shone in the front of his mind, clear and bright as the morning sun. There was one place Brodas Ravenkind couldn’t go.

“I got an idea,” he said. “Wait for me here.” Edan and the Sisters would obey his command. He looked at Adro. “Don’t try to fight that thing. You won’t win.”

“Gav, what are you going to do?” Edan asked.

“Something I should’ve done two hundred years ago.”

Gavin dismounted and pulled the Rune of the Past from his coin pouch. With his haze, he reached toward Daia. She took hold of him and fed him her strength. He took some comfort in the fact that she knew he was trying to help them.

Thinking back to his visit with Arek, he estimated he’d been in the palace roughly a half-hour, but his timing had to be perfect. He’d glanced at the clock shortly before he’d been swept away. Had it said nine forty? He didn’t know if his memory was accurate, or the clock for that matter, but it was his best guess. Maybe try a few minutes earlier to be sure.

Nine thirty-five on the morning o’the eighth o’Nevebria, in the year fourteen thirty-one.

He opened a vortex and went through.

A wave of dizziness spun his mind. The room swerved out of focus, and he blinked to rein his vision back in. He found himself sitting before the comforting fire in the palace library.

Arek put a reassuring hand on Gavin’s arm. “Listen. I have an idea. I can’t do it now since I’m planning to venture into Ritol’s realm and summon...”

He’d done it. This was only moments before he’d been kicked back to his own time under the bridge.

“...hidden so no one would happen upon it,” Arek was saying, “but somewhere you’ll know to look. Come back in a week or two and we’ll agree on a hiding place.”

Gavin’s voice nearly caught in his throat. “Awright then. I’ll come back.” He met the king’s intelligent blue gaze and wondered if he already knew.

Four-twenty on the afternoon o’the tenth o’Nevebria, in the year fourteen thirty-one.

Gavin followed the thread of his ring and found Daia’s haze, connected with her, and opened another vortex.

“I’m not meant to know the future,” Arek said, “but can you tell me who or what you mean to summon?”

Gavin took a breath as though he was about to speak and stepped through.

The hearth that had been so warm and comforting a second ago was dark and cold, the room eerily silent. The chill in the air reminded him that Arek had sent everyone away. No fires burned in the hearths. The palace, usually bustling with people doing their jobs, was quiet and empty like a tomb. Either he’d timed it well or he’d soon meet Ritol face to face.

Shivering in his summer clothes, Gavin noted that his armor hadn’t come with him. He hadn’t been wearing it when he went to visit King Arek. He went to the library door and peered out, listening. Distantly, he heard footsteps coming from the direction of the cellar. If he’d come to the right time, that would be Arek returning from the vault with the gems he would put into the Rune Tablet. As quietly as he could, Gavin snuck up the main staircase, listening for a sign he’d been discovered. The cellar door creaked shut, and then the bolt rattled across it. Gavin paused momentarily until he remembered the king’s private library was to the left. The footsteps began to ascend the back staircase.

With his heart pounding and his breath icy in the cool air, Gavin slipped into the room and looked around. His eyes settled on the burgundy and gold curtains, the only hiding place big enough to conceal him. He hid within their velvety folds, which were still settling into place when he heard someone enter. Gavin peered out. It was Arek.

Relieved and excited, Gavin waited for the right time to make his move. He watched while Arek began to create the tablet that would haunt Gavin’s dreams for the next two centuries.

Ronor burst into the study. He stopped short when he saw the king, hunched over the wide oak table. Sweat soaked the rounded collar of Arek’s tan tunic. His hands shook as he chiseled a rune into the surface of the stone tablet.

When Ronor went to the window, Gavin held his breath and stood perfectly still. He didn’t remember noticing anything unusual about the curtains, but he’d been preoccupied with the events that were unfolding, events that were now vivid in Gavin’s memory: seeing Ritol dashing through the streets of Tern toward the palace, Arek urging him to take the tablet with the gems in it. At the time, he hadn’t known what it was for. Now, he understood exactly what Arek had done, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether his visit two days earlier had been the reason for Arek’s change of mind.

“It is my magic, not my life, that you must protect now,” Arek was saying.

“My lord, no,” Ronor said. Gavin mouthed the words with him, for he’d said them a hundred times in nightmares over the last dozen years.

“I have been proud to call you a friend, Ronor.”

A lump rose in Gavin’s throat. “As have I, my liege,” he whispered, echoing Ronor’s words.

“You mustn’t let Thendylath fall into chaos. You have been at my side for thirteen years. Promise me you’ll pick up where I left off, if it comes to that.”

“Your majesty, we will not fail. We will prevail—”

Arek gripped Ronor’s arm. “Swear it. Swear it on your immortal soul!”

“I swear.” When Ronor spoke those fateful words, Gavin shuddered. It was here that his nightmare truly began.

“There’s no time, Ronor,“ Arek said. ”You must keep the tablet safe.”

“My liege, I have sworn to protect you.”

“You have sworn to obey. Take the tablet and go. Now!”

Yes, he’d sworn on his immortal soul that he wouldn’t leave Thendylath without a king. But he’d also sworn to protect King Arek. A promise to a king shall transcend death. The time was close now, and his timing was crucial. He had precious few seconds to do what he’d come to do.

“You’ll be trapped,” Ronor argued. “Trapped inside the palace with it.”

“GO!” Arek shouted.

In one quick movement, Ronor ducked his head, wrapped an arm around Arek’s thighs and hoisted the king over his shoulder.

“Ronor, no,” Arek said. “It’ll kill us both. You must get the tablet to safety.”

Ronor fumbled to lift the stone tablet with his other hand and clutched it to his chest. Gavin heard him run from the room, his heavy footsteps loud on the marble floor.

“King Arek,” a tritonal voice boomed. “At last we meet.”

Gavin crossed the study as quietly as he could and made his way to the door. He heard Ronor’s footsteps on the stairs then a painful “Ooof” and the thumping of bodies tumbling down them. He remembered the pain, but most of all, he remembered the look in Arek’s eyes as they silently bid each other a final good-bye.

Gavin peered around the corner and saw the beyonder Ritol, huge and glistening black, from behind. It stood at the top of the staircase, looking at Arek and Ronor. Then it started down the steps. He crept along the wall, inching closer, trying not to even breathe. His heart pounded so loudly, he was afraid Ritol would hear it. He followed the thread from his ring and connected with Daia. Then came the moment he’d waited for. Ritol raced down the remaining steps and slashed at Ronor’s face. Ronor hit the wall and stumbled, caught himself and sprinted through the dining hall. Ritol went after him, desperate to get the tablet.

Now! Gavin thought. He ran down to where Arek lay twisted and broken. The king’s azure eyes flew open wide.

Gavin opened a portal to the midrealm then picked Arek up under his armpits and dragged him through.

Chapter 48

The swordswoman Nasharla put her hands on her hips. “Come and get me.”

Red looked at Brodas, unsure what to do. He wasn’t stupid enough to go down there with three Viragon Sisters, even if they were unarmed.

“Cirang, blow about half the bag of serragan powder in there first,” Brodas suggested. “Then grab the little blond girl and we’ll see how cocksure she is then.”

Feanna gasped. “No, please.” She clutched the wailing child tightly to her.

“No,” Nasharla said. “I’ll go.”

Cirang lowered the ladder. “Smart.”

“Daia?” Nasharla asked as she took hold of the ladder. “Anything new from King Gavin?”

“He’s trying.” Daia stood and embraced her fellow Sister. “It’s been an honor knowing you.”

Nasharla returned it. “The same. I wish you luck. Please tell him I’m sorry.”

Daia put her hand on Nasharla’s shoulder. “You aren’t to blame. He knows that.” Dona embraced Nasharla as well.

“Hurry up,” Brodas said. He tapped his foot impatiently.

Nasharla looked at Liera. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect your family.”

Liera burst into tears.

Nasharla climbed the ladder. When she reached the top, she lunged for Red’s dagger. He elbowed her in the face and knocked her away. She stumbled over a low table and fell to the floor, hitting a stool on her way down. “A worthy effort.”

“Move her up close to Ritol,” Brodas said.

He grabbed her by the arm and half-dragged her on her knees to Ritol. “Now?” Red asked. At Brodas’s nod, Red shoved his blade into Nasharla’s back. Its tip tented the fabric in the front of her tunic, staining it red. She fell to the floor without even a whimper.

Ritol sucked in its breath. Its triangular head grew deeper in color — blacker, if that was possible, with a bit of a shine. The beyonder uncurled its body to sit upright and became more alert. “Yes. More.”

Brodas motioned to Red. “Another should suffice. Get the other swordswoman first — Dona, was it?”

Dona bid the others a courageous good-bye, though her chin quivered, then climbed up. Cirang put the cat figurine down for a moment to pull up the ladder and set it along one wall. Red held his blade ready in case Dona tried to fight or flee. The swordswoman was plainly terrified. Her entire body trembled, and sweat covered her face. Red gripped her by the back of the neck with his free hand.

“Your country appreciates your sacrifice today,“ Brodas told her. ”You can die knowing that the rightful king will soon be on the throne.”

Red pushed Dona forward. Her heavy feet shuffled across the wood floor. She leaned her body away, obviously not wanting to get any closer to the beyonder prince. Without waiting for Brodas’s command, Red shoved his sword into her back. She let out a groan and slumped to the floor.

Again, Ritol took a breath. It rose taller now, unfolding itself fully. Indeed, it climbed to an impressive height on two legs, almost hitting its huge head against the ceiling. Its black eyes glittered alertly. It stretched its long arms as if it had just awakened. “More.”

Brodas grinned, pleased that his champion was becoming the powerful being he’d hoped for. He could almost feel the weight of the crown upon his head now. “Red, bring Miss Feanna.”

“You came... back,” Arek whispered.

A half-dozen Elyles, sitting around a cookfire gutting and roasting fish, gasped at their sudden appearance, clicking and whistling their awe and wonderment. “It’s the Wayfarer King and the champion,” one of them said.

Gavin knelt beside the king and tried to ignore his audience. “I told you I would. Lie still now while I heal you.” He laid his hands on Arek’s legs and concentrated on the fluttering whiteness of the healing magic.

“Take the rune... from my pocket.” Arek coughed. Blood dotted his lips. “Its name... is Whemorard.”

“Whemorard,” Gavin repeated, disrupting his concentration. “Got it.” He focused once more on healing Arek’s many injuries, but the king’s eyes became glassy, his stare distant. “Arek, look at me. I can save you.”

“You... already have, Ronor.” Arek’s eyes closed. His haze drifted away.

“Wait,” Gavin said. “I can heal you.” He groped desperately for his healing magic, refusing to give up without trying. “Arek, no. I got to save you.” He pounded his fist repeatedly on Arek’s chest. “Beat. Come on. Beat, damn you!” He couldn’t lose Arek. Not again. “Help him, please,” he begged the Elyle. They stood but made no effort to help. He tried breathing into Arek’s mouth and hitting his chest again. “Come on! Please. Just... beat.” His fists grew heavy, and he sat wearily in defeat beside his king’s still form. Arek was gone. He bowed his head. I’m sorry, my liege.

“He is dead,” an Elyle said. “Arek the Wayfarer is dead.”

“We’ll have a new wayfarer now,” someone else replied.

Searching the dead king’s pockets was the most disreputable thing Gavin had ever done, but he had no choice. He needed to save the kingdom. He found it, a rune that looked alien — one he’d never seen before — and knew this must be it. But where to put it?

As in his realm, he was on an island in the middle of Lake Athra, except that in this realm, there was no palace, only grass and rocks and raptors circling above. Somehow he needed to get to the other side of the valley, where he could get to the summoning rune in his own time. To walk, or even run, would take at least two hours.

“Hey, do you have a mount I can borrow?” he asked the onlookers.

They clicked and whistled their lack of understanding.

“A horse or other animal I can ride to the other end o’this valley?”

“No, we don’t, Emtor,” someone said. “I’m sorry.”

Gavin searched his ancient memory for a time he might have known Arek to travel great distances by magic. Nothing came to mind, but something else occurred to him. He was only limited by time, not by realm, not by location.

After dropping the rune into his coin pouch and making sure it was securely tied to his belt, Gavin waded into the icy lake and began to swim to the opposite shore. His muscles threatened to stiffen with the cold, but his will was stronger. He climbed out, dripping wet and shivering, and looked around at the landscape to estimate where Regal Street should be.

He focused his hidden eye on the gem in his ring and followed its thread to the south, through time, to Daia. He connected with her power, opened the vortex and stepped through.

The streets of Tern were still and quiet. Residents heeded the king’s warning to stay inside their homes. Behind him, the palace loomed darkly with Ritol trapped inside. In the distance, Ronor rode hard through the city, his horse’s hoofbeats pounding the pavement as he sped toward Saliria and on to the cave where he would find Queen Calewen already slain. If only Gavin could return to an earlier time to save her, but he pushed the impossible from his mind. It was time to save his kingdom.

Cold and wet, he shivered violently from head to toe. He spotted a public stable and ran toward it. The nearest horse in the stable was a white mare, who lifted its head and snorted when Gavin ran into the stable. It didn’t mind the bridle, but it did whinny in surprise when he hopped onto its bare back, threw a leg over and guided it from the stable.

“Hey!” a woman shouted, running out of a neighboring house. “What do you think you’re doing? Come back here!”

“Sorry,” Gavin muttered as he heeled the horse to a gallop. The empty streets were a blessing. He ran the horse all the way across town to the Garnet district, or at least what would one day become the Garnet district. Now it was a field of tall grass where several horses, cows, goats and sheep grazed. The animals looked up at Gavin’s approach and indifferently watched him ride to the far southeast. This would be about the right place. He dismounted and let the horse join the other lifestock while he scanned the field as it sloped more steeply upward.

As quickly as he could, he followed his ring’s thread to Daia, opened a vortex and returned to the midrealm. Here, the rune would be safe from Ravenkind until Gavin could return for it two hundred years in the future. Rocks and boulders littered the ground. In particular, a boulder that must have been twice his height caught his eye. It wouldn’t easily move.

He jogged to it, crunching the rocks and gravel beneath his feet. First, he pushed on the boulder from the slope above to judge whether it was truly stationary. It didn’t budge. Next, he examined it, committing its shape to memory. With his knife, he scratched a cross into the uphill side. Immediately below his mark, he dug a hole the depth of his forearm. Finally, he placed his coin pouch with the summoning rune inside into the hole. He hoped this would work and that someone wouldn’t find it between now and when he retrieved it. Although he would be digging it out in a few minutes, more than two hundred years would have passed by then. The notion was enough to twist a man’s mind into madness.

He supposed to return to his own time, he’d use the same technique of intent. He hoped so, anyway.

Back to the present time.

He connected with Daia, opened a vortex and stepped in.

Before Red could take a step to retrieve the next victim, Ritol snatched him by the neck.

“No! Not that one,” Brodas shouted.

“I hunger,” Ritol said as it squeezed its fist around Red’s throat. Blood gushed from the holes made by its two-inch claws. His arms went limp, and the sword fell from his grasp to land on the floor with a thud. Ritol sucked in air, then tossed the lifeless body aside. Red struck the wall and crashed to the floor, leaving a large, crumbling dent.

“No, you fool!” Brodas yelled, furious. “You’ll feed when I say. You’ll kill whom I say.”

Ritol turned its head toward him and advanced. “I hunger.”

For the first time, Brodas felt a glimmer of apprehension. He took a few steps backward. “No. Stop.” Ritol continued toward him. “I’ve plenty for you to feed upon in the cellar. Be patient.” He circled the room, heading back toward Cirang.

She tried to flee. Ritol was faster. It seized her with both hands, digging its claws into her shoulder and hip. She let out a piercing scream. The porcelain cat figurine fell to the floor and shattered. Ritol twisted her body with a wet crunch and drew a sharp breath.

Ritol faced Brodas again, seeming even larger now, and shinier, as it dropped Cirang like a piece of trash. For one brief and awful moment, Brodas thought he saw her eyelids flutter and her chest rise as if she’d taken a breath.

“Come no closer.” Using the three gems in his palm, he thrust a wave of power across the room to repel the monster. The gems crumbled to pieces.

Ritol flew backward and slammed into the wall with Cirang’s body and bits of porcelain. It disentangled itself, climbed to its feet and came toward him again. “A useful spell, and I shall have it.”

“Stop,” he cried. “I’m your summoner. I called you forth as my champion. You’re bound to me.”

“You are mistaken,” Ritol boomed. Its voice felt like three claws shredding his eardrums. “I am bound to Crigoth Sevae. You do not command me.”

Brodas felt his bladder empty, and warmth flowed down his thigh. “But Sevae’s been dead two centuries. I’m your summoner now.”

“Crigoth Sevae never released me. I was trapped for endless days without sustenance. Now I am free, AND I HUNGER!”

A clawed hand shot toward Brodas’s throat. He felt an excruciating burning. The air was wet and heavy. He couldn’t breathe. The last thing he saw were those terrible eyes shining in anticipation of the creature’s next breath.

Gavin stood on the mountain slope, but there was no boulder here. Around him were the burnt shells of what used to be people’s homes. The warm spring air calmed his shivers. At least his armor was back on. Thank Arek for that.

Aldras Gar!

From his right came a piercing scream. His blood went icy. Someone was dying. He peered around a corner in time to see Adro break away from the group and gallop down the street toward the source of the scream. Damn it, Adro! He was going to get himself killed.

Edan shouted, “Adro, wait!” A couple of the Sisters’ horses took reactive steps in pursuit.

Gavin hoped to hell this would work. He connected with Daia and returned to the midrealm.

To his relief the boulder was in the same place. The cross he’d scratched into it had greatly faded but was still visible. Excited, he began to dig, trying not to speculate about which of the innocent people in that house, people he cared about, had screamed. They could be dying right now. Hurry. He dug as fast as he could to the depth of his elbow, but there was no sign of the pouch. The mark on the boulder was directly above his hole. Maybe the new hole was slightly farther away from the rock than his first. He grabbed handfuls of dirt deep in the hole along the side and pulled them out. His fingertip brushed something soft. The pouch. Digging his fingers into the moist dirt around it, he was able to get a firmer grip on it and pull it free. He withdrew his arm and opened it, now dark with the stain of earth. He muttered a curse in relief when his fingers brushed the cool stone. The summoning rune was right where he’d left it.

He had no time to spare. After opening another vortex, Gavin stepped in when it was a deep, angry red.

They’d all heard Ravenkind choking, heard the monster take his soul with its breath, heard the lifeless body thud to the floor. Feanna didn’t need to touch anyone or shift to sense the terror that gripped Liera, the children, and even Daia, the swordswoman used to staring down her own death. It was the same fear that shook her own body. That thing in the cottage would soon kill them all. If only she’d had the chance for one last good-bye to her parents, one last apology for not giving them the grandchildren they’d wanted. She hoped the monster would take her first so she wouldn’t live her final moments listening to these poor children scream before their lives ended with the same stomach-turning crunch that had surely ended Cirang’s. She bowed her head. Asti-nayas, I humbly submit my life to you. Please take these innocent children into your loving embrace before this demon slays them.

It approached the edge of the cellar and looked down at them. Everyone froze, staring back at it. Tansa and Jilly stopped crying. Feanna held her breath, knowing what would happen next and wishing with all her heart that by not breathing, she could pause time itself.

One of Ritol’s clawed hands stretched out toward them. A powerful gust pushed them into the back wall, away from the monster. Then the wind reversed, pulling at them. They held each other, trying to keep from being sucked toward the demon. Jilly began to slide across the floor toward it. She screamed. Feanna held one arm, and Daia grabbed the other and braced her foot against the cellar wall. Jilly’s legs lifted off the ground as the monster tugged harder, stretching the girl’s body between them. Feanna remembered the Rune of Protection Gavin had given her. “Hold on, Daia.” She let go of Jilly long enough to withdraw it from her pocket, then took hold again and prayed it would work. “Kiloenth.”

The wind stopped.

Together, Jilly and Daia collapsed back onto the dirt floor. Jilly scrambled into the comfort of Feanna’s waiting arms.

“If you will not come to me, then I shall come to you,” the demon said in that horrible voice. The ladder slid to the edge of the floor and tipped down into the cellar. It lowered until it hit the ground with a thunk. Everyone huddled into the corner farthest from the ladder. A loathsome sense of anticipation emanated from the monster, like malicious glee.

It felt emotion.

The realization startled her. If it felt glee, it could feel fear.

The ladder slid to the edge of the floor and tipped down into the cellar. It lowered until it hit the ground with a thunk. Everyone huddled into the corner farthest from the ladder.

“Daia,” Feanna whispered, holding out her hand. “Take my hand. I’ve an idea.”

Confusion flashed across the swordswoman’s face, but she didn’t hesitate. When they touched, Feanna felt everyone’s fear acutely. Sweat broke out all over her body. She began to tremble from the fright, swallowing hard to rein it in. Her impending death loomed even larger in her mind with ghastly images of the children’s bodies covered in blood, their faces twisted in horror. She shifted, which increased the feelings tenfold. Her heart pounded. Her stomach roiled. The pressure in her throat tightened so much that the scream bubbling up from deep within her lungs couldn’t escape. They would all die. Their screams would be cut short one by one as the monster snapped their bodies and drew its dreadful breath, devouring their lives. The terror of the moment consumed her thoughts. Her mind painted images of lifeless bodies thrown about, of blood spraying the rest of them as they screamed, huddled together during their final moments.

The thing’s claws, red with blood, gripped the sides of the ladder as it began to descend. Jilly screamed, loud and shrill, and Feanna joined her.

“Feanna!” Daia cried, gripping her hand more tightly.

Hearing her name shocked her out of the throes of panic, disrupting her terror long enough to shift again and push the collective fear at the monster.

It stumbled on a rung, nearly losing its grip, then scurried back up. The screams quieted. Everyone watched in stunned silence.

If only she could touch it, the physical contact would increase the effect and pass it the entire depth of the horror everyone in the cellar was feeling.

“I... hunger.” It started to descend the ladder again but stopped, cringing. “I devour souls of the zhi-bent.” Its voice, though hideous and grating to the ear, sounded pathetic, as if it was trying to inspire courage within itself and failing.

“Everyone, come to me. Touch me,” Feanna said. One by one, hands lay on her shoulders, arm and opposite hand. The feeling of fear intensified, and she fed it to the demon. Not only the fear but also the feeling of failure she received from Daia and grief from Liera and her sons. She shuffled forward a step. The monster let out a sound like a whimper and recoiled into the corner, out of sight. She didn’t know how they would get away, but for now, holding the thing off was enough.

Gavin expected the beyonder’s realm to be dark and gloomy with gray skies and scorched earth. In reality, it was identical to the midrealm but for the eerie quiet. No birds twittered from the trees, no bushy-tailed rodents scrabbled up their trunks to safety. The breeze ruffled his hair and bathed his sweat-covered face and neck, but something about it was different. It was tiresome rather than refreshing. It tugged at his haze, sapping his strength, as though it was trying to tear it from his body. Every step was heavier than the one before, every movement took more energy. He had little time. Soon the inhabitants would notice his presence and come for him.

He climbed down the slope to a flatter stretch of land to give himself room to run. He didn’t know how long it would take for Ritol to arrive once he spoke the name of the rune, but if he needed to flee, better to have flat ground than a rocky slope beneath his feet. Grass and weeds drew toward his boots, like they, too, hungered for the zhi-ness within him.

Aldras Gar.

He spun as he drew his sword, looking for the danger. To the north, he spotted a silvery form closing in. That didn’t take long. Concentrating on the gem in his ring, he searched for Daia through the boundary between the realms. With his hidden eye, he glimpsed her orange tendril and reached for it. Once he had enough of a connection that he could open a vortex, he saw more clearly the hazes on the other side. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Daia was infusing Feanna’s haze with power. From Liera and the children tiny granules of what to his hidden eye resembled sparkling salt flowed into Feanna and out at the ugly black haze that he took for Ritol. Everyone was huddled around Feanna with Daia powering her, while Feanna held Ritol at a distance with a steady stream of granules.

At once, Gavin realized that Feanna needed Daia’s strength to keep Ritol at bay, yet he needed Daia in order to summon Ritol to him. If Daia cut Feanna off to feed Gavin, Ritol would slay them. Daia was already giving him some of her power to enable him to hold the vortex open, but the majority was going into Feanna. To take away that power would leave them vulnerable. It could mean the end of them all.

Another haze moved in. Though he didn’t recognize it, he knew it had to be Adro. Now was his chance. If Adro could distract Ritol long enough for Gavin to summon it, the others would be safe. He had to try, but not here, not so close to the vortex that the monster could come back through with him. He ran about twenty paces away, enough distance to give himself a running start. With every ounce of his energy, he gripped Daia’s orange haze. Taking the connection away from Feanna, he knew he had little time to pull Ritol away. With the summoning rune in his fist, he held Ritol in the front of his mind and focused his eyes on the gems in his sword. He hoped to hell this was how a summoning was done. “Whemorard,” he whispered.

A sudden pressure in the air squeezed Gavin’s eardrums, dampening his hearing. A blue slit opened in the air about five feet away, widening like a mouth about to devour its prey. A clawed foot, as black polished ebony, stepped through.

Aldras Gar!

He shoved the rune into his pouch as he sprinted for the vortex. He dove for it. Something slammed into him, knocking him onto his side. Aldras Gar flew out of his hand. The jaws of the silvery beyonder clamped onto his head. Its teeth ripped painfully across his scalp as he twisted away. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ritol step completely through the opening, which then snapped shut behind him — and the vortex along with it.

When Gavin grabbed the connection, ripping it away from Feanna, Daia thought their song had been sung. Though Feanna needed her, he needed her more. She focused all her energy into holding the connection with him through the vortex and magnifying his strength. In her mind’s eye, she saw him standing in a grassy field with a mountainous backdrop, sword in hand, practically glowing with magical energy.

Then the connection was severed. Ritol was gone, but so was Gavin. No! Where was he? She had to get him back. She groped for him, not knowing how to find him across the boundary of the realms but knowing she had to do something.

Distantly, she heard cheers erupt around her. Hands patted her shoulders. Voices congratulated her.

“It’s over, Miss Daia,” Feanna said. “We’re safe.”

“No!” she cried. It wasn’t over, not for Gavin, and if it wasn’t over for Gavin, it wasn’t over for her either. She tried desperately to reach him by focusing her gift on the ring, hoping he wasn’t dead. She pushed that fear from her mind. He would find her. He would come home.

A battler with long blond hair stood at the top, looking down. “Is everyone all right?”

“Adro!” Feanna cried. “Thanks to Asti-nayas you’ve come.”

“Adro!” Jilly cried.

“You’ve saved us!” Liera exclaimed.

“Where’s Gavin?” Feanna asked.

Daia gritted her teeth. He was alive. He would find her. She’d wait here forever if she had to.

Adro shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s get you out o’there.” He gave everyone a hand as they climbed up one by one, first the children, then Liera, followed by Feanna. After he pulled Feanna up the last two steps, he took her into his arms as if they were lovers. Feanna kissed his cheek.

Edan and the other Sisters stormed in with weapons drawn but quickly saw the danger was gone. He asked two of the Sisters to move Rogan’s body out of sight until they could give him a proper burial. The children spoke over each other to tell them what had happened.

Gavin, damn it. Where are you? Daia felt along the ring’s thread with the core of her conduit strength, hoping he would see it and take the connection.

“Come up, Miss Daia,” Feanna said, looking at her from above. “It’s all right now.”

“No, it’s not,” Daia said. “Gavin is—” She couldn’t say it.

Feanna pulled Gavin’s warrant tag up by its thong and wrapped her hand around it. “Oh, no!”

“Gavin’s still there?” Edan asked.

“Still where?” Feanna asked. “What’s happened?”

“He can’t find me,” Daia said. “The vortex closed. He’s trapped there.”

“What can I do to help?”

Daia didn’t know if it would do any good, but she had an idea. She climbed up the ladder and sat on the edge of the opening with her feet dangling. “Give me your hand. If you sense Gavin, tell me. Edan, can you try to quiet everyone while we concentrate?”

Feanna tucked her skirt, sat on the floor and took Daia’s hand. Together, they searched for Gavin.

Ritol stood tall and stretched. “Come, my children!” it cried, its voice echoing off the mountain cliffs around them. “Feast!”

Gavin grappled with the silvery beyonder while also reaching for Aldras Gar with his left hand. It slid across the grass into his palm then rose as if it had a will of its own. It chopped the monster on top of him. Though its blade cut deeply, it wasn’t a killing blow. Hot liquid, stinking like a decaying cadaver, spilled across his upper torso. Gavin had to breathe through his mouth and fight the urge to puke. Get OFF! he thought. A wave of power shot down his arm and through his sword as he swung it again. The thing went sailing over the grass. It landed hard about ten paces away, tumbled and lay still.

Gavin rolled to his feet, holding his sword at ready. He focused on his ring, found Daia at the other end, and connected with her.

“Wayfarer,” Ritol said. “Welcome to my realm.” It advanced on two legs, towering at least a foot over him. “Now witness my power!” It made a motion to strike him, though it was a good eight feet shy. Gavin watched the ground fall away under him as he sailed through the air. The connection with Daia was ripped away.

He had the presence of mind to tighten his grip on Aldras Gar but lost it when he hit the ground. His left ribcage felt like it had been crushed. The white fluttering magic set to work on it, mending his injuries while he struggled to rise. He snatched up his sword and sank into a fighting stance again, though his muscles burned with pain and exhaustion.

Get away, he thought. He held up one hand, palm outward, and shoved with the last of his strength.

Ritol flew backward a dozen paces and landed hard on the ground. It tumbled and stopped, then started toward him again, roaring with rage.

Gavin focused on his ring, followed the thread toward Daia. There she was—

Again it motioned with its arm, and Gavin went sailing through the air. He landed on his right hip and shoulder on the rocks further up the slope. The pain was crippling. The air pulled at him and burned the breath within his lungs, drawing his strength instead of empowering him.

Daia, he thought, following the thread of his ring. I need you. He groped for her orange tendril. All he saw was darkness, like a veil had been dropped over the world. It sucked at him hungrily. This was Ritol’s haze, he realized, enveloping him, attempting to devour his soul even while he still lived.

He scrambled to his feet, tried to run and found himself pounded again to the ground amidst the rocks of the mountain slope. Pain shot through his legs and knees, his sword arm and shoulder, his chest, and his spine. Blood trickled from a cut in his right eyebrow. The healing magic couldn’t keep up with his injuries. The plants beneath him grasped at his limbs as he tried to crawl away. His hidden eye was blinded by Ritol’s haze. He couldn’t see Daia’s orange rope, let alone open the vortex. He reached for Aldras Gar, which lay five paces away. It shivered and started to move toward him.

Hands grabbed him. Claws snapped the rings of his mail and dug painfully into his flesh. Gavin screamed. Ritol lifted him over its head and hurled him again into the rocks.

He landed so hard, he heard something crack. Pain exploded in his side. “Daia,” he whispered. The pain lasted only an instant before blackness engulfed him.

Daia concentrated on the last image she’d had of Gavin surrounded by magical energy, hoping that the connection would flicker in his gut, that he would find the strength to take hold of her again. She focused, pushing past her fear, and followed the thread of silk that started in the gem on her finger.

The image began to crumble. A seam ripped open and widened to reveal blackness so profound that it touched all the senses. She saw Gavin entombed by a vast hunger where he lay like a battered animal washed ashore after a storm. His voice echoed in her mind as he called to her one last time before the light in his eyes dimmed and blinked out.

It was the image from the stairs, the one at Ravenkind’s house she’d glimpsed while Gavin was healing the paralysis that had left her vulnerable to Ravenkind’s attack. The realization felt like a slap: she’d seen into the future. She knew what that blackness was now: Ritol. It was the monster’s haze suffocating Gavin’s own, trying to feed upon his soul before he was even dead. No, no, no, no! Her mind railed against it. This couldn’t happen. They couldn’t lose. She had to reach Gavin. She knew where he was, but she couldn’t connect with him. All she sensed at the other end of the ring’s thread was Ritol.

It was a huge risk, but if Gavin didn’t survive, Ritol would become Wayfarer and they would all die. All she needed to do was give Gavin time to find her and come home. “Be ready,” she told Feanna.

Daia connected with Ritol.

The shock of its wretchedness nearly made her recoil. Her throat thickened and her stomach lurched with the strong urge to retch. It was pure evil. She knew no other way to describe it. It was the very definition of darkness and chaos. It was hatred. It was destruction.

“Daia, no!” Feanna cried. She jerked her hand back, but Daia held it tightly.

“Hit it hard. Now!”

Feanna pushed her fear at Daia. Daia let it flow through into the connection, into the monster. Ritol recoiled, but only for a moment. Feanna’s fear wasn’t enough. Her personal terror had passed, and all that remained was a deep concern for Gavin’s wellbeing. It ignored the feelings, instead drawing on Daia’s conduit to strengthen itself. “No, the other way. Think of your children and what you feel for them. Think of Gavin.”

Feanna’s fear ebbed, and pleasant feelings began to flow past. Daia felt them all as Feanna pushed them to her — the love, the admiration, the acceptance, the loyalty. Ritol tried to block them, and when it couldn’t, it tried to shake off her connection. Daia persisted. “It’s working.”

“Everyone, come inside,” Feanna cried. Little by little the voices outside quieted as people ambled to the cottage’s doorway to see what was going on. She stood and beckoned them with her other hand. “Touch me. We must help Gavin. Share your good feelings with me.” GJ came over and put his hand in hers, followed by Jaesh and Tansa. From Feanna flowed their gladness, relief and love. Twelve adults and seven children clustered around her, squeezing together as they lay their hands on her arm, shoulders, back and head. Everyone was laughing and talking, thrilled to be alive, happy to have won.

Their feelings flowed through Feanna, through Daia, and into Ritol.

Daia felt a jerk in her gut. The connection with Ritol was severed.

When Gavin regained consciousness, Ritol was standing over him like a statue, poised with its claws ready to grab him and rip him into two pieces. He rolled out from under it and staggered to his feet. With his hidden eye, he saw Daia’s orange tendril connected to Ritol’s haze, force-feeding it sparkling crystals like what Feanna had done earlier. He didn’t know what the crystals were, or what they would do to him, but it was his only chance. He snatched up Aldras Gar and seized Daia’s power for himself.

Love, peace and excitement filled him. Immediately, all these feelings flooded him and more. His heart was filled with serenity, respect, gratitude and gladness. The emotions empowered him. He gripped Daia’s tendril harder, entwined his haze around it, and fed.

Ritol raised its arm to bat at him again. Connected to Daia, Gavin overpowered the soul-sucking force of the beyonders’ realm. He shoved a wave of repelling power down his sword arm. Aldras Gar magnified it as it shot out the end. It lifted Ritol from its feet and hurled it two dozen paces backward. To the north, a cloud of dust rose from the ground as dozens of beyonders raced toward him, hungry for his death.

Time to go, he thought. He opened a vortex, waited a few seconds for it to cycle to blue, and dove through it head first.

Chapter 49

Gavin tucked and rolled, dimly aware of the pain upon impact with the ground. He slammed into a wall — a crumbling burnt wall of plaster and wood. Home. The sounds of laughter and voices echoed off the buildings and rocks of the nearby mountain slope. He lay for a minute on the ground amid the rocks and debris to let his healing magic repair his most painful injuries, and to catch his breath. He’d done it. He banished Ritol back to its realm and escaped with his life and the magic of Wayfarer intact.

And he’d saved Arek. Perhaps not from the injuries that had killed him, but he’d saved his king from death by Ritol’s claws. He took a moment to wrap his thoughts around these facts. It was over.

He slowly stood and made his way toward the sounds of celebration. Rounding the corner of a house, he saw them exiting a cottage. The children began reenacting the battle, taking turns being Adro, Feanna, Daia and the monster. The adults were congratulating Adro. They were alive. Liera and his nephews had survived. The orphans were unhurt. Even Adro, who’d run into the cottage and foolishly engaged Ritol, looked none the worse for wear. Gavin’s heart started to drop as he searched the crowd for Feanna.

She came out and looked around, followed by Daia. Gavin slowed, taking in the sight of her. Alive. Unharmed. Looking for him. She and Daia saw him before the others did.

Feanna picked up her skirts and ran toward him. “Gavin!”

He hurried his pace, though still limping from the injury to his knee. In moments, she was in his arms. He buried his face in her neck, her soft hair, and breathed in her scent. They said nothing at first, just held each other. Then he realized her love for those children was ultimately what had saved him. He held her tighter and knew he could have no other as his bride.

When the others gathered around, Gavin moved Feanna to his left, though he still clutched her protectively against him with his arm around her waist. The front of her dress was wet from where she’d pressed against him, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Edan approached first. Gavin offered his hand, but Edan gave him a brotherly embrace instead. “Gav,” he said, his voice thick. “Damn am I glad to see you.”

“Ravenkind?” Gavin asked.

“Dead. Ritol took care of him for us.”

Gavin laughed with both gladness and relief. “A fitting end.”

Edan handed him a round, flat stone with the rune Whemorard carved on one side. “Found this near his body.” Gavin nodded his thanks and dropped it into his coin pouch with the other. As soon as he got the chance, he’d pound both into dust.

Liera hugged him fiercely and kissed his cheek. She didn’t say anything. Her bloodshot eyes, filled with tears, said it all. He hugged his nephews and Feanna’s children and checked them over, satisfied they’d been unhurt.

Tennara, Galiveth and the other swordswomen shook his hand in turn, welcoming him back. They probably didn’t know what part he’d played, but he looked as beat up as he felt.

“Good of you to join us, Gavin,” Adro said. “You look like you’ve been in a tavern brawl.”

Gavin snorted. He’d never known Adro to bank a fire with someone else’s hands, but now he seemed to wear the hero’s mantle as he looked down upon Gavin, even while looking up.

“Adro saved us from the monster,” Iriel informed him.

“Is that so?” Gavin asked.

“Yeh. He slain it and sent its arse back to hell.”

“Iriel!” Feanna said.

Gavin caught Daia’s eye and gave a tiny shake of his head, warning her not to correct the child. Not yet. Adro’s intervention had possibly saved their lives, and he wouldn’t strip the man of his glory in front of the others.

Daia stepped through the crowd, now refocused on Adro and his heroism, and offered her hand. “My thanks, Kinshield.”

He gripped it tightly. “No, my thanks to you. Without you...” He looked at Feanna beside him. “...without both o’you, I’d prob’ly be dead. We all would.” With a chuckle, he added, “I seem to remember saying those same words a few weeks ago.”

Daia bowed her head at Feanna. “This time, I had help.”

While those who’d been taken prisoner claimed their horses from the pen behind the cottage, Gavin went inside to confirm with his own eyes that Ravenkind was dead.

In the cottage was a horrific scene. The body of a dark-haired swordswoman lay against the wall near the door. Both Dona and Nasharla were dead from a mortal stab wound, their corpses jumbled near the northern wall. Ravenkind’s body, covered in blood, lay twisted and lifeless in a corner not far from a red-headed swordsman. None had a haze — except the swordswoman by the door.

Her haze was unlike any he’d seen before. It had a vicious darkness about it, like a beyonder’s haze but without the indescribable other-worldly quality. It hovered around her body as if refusing to give up. He put a finger to her neck and felt a slow, weak pulse. She wasn’t one of his fighters, but her face looked familiar. A leather thong circled her neck and disappeared under her tunic. He fished it out. On the end was a black onyx like the one in the ring Ravenkind had used to control the Viragon Sisterhood. He wondered whether the magic of the necklace had saved her from Ritol — or darkened her haze. Gavin tossed her weapons aside, settled onto his knees, and healed her injuries.

Cirang opened her eyes and blinked a few times as if to clear her vision. She flinched when she met Gavin’s eyes. “You!”

He stood and hauled her to her feet by the upper arm. “You can thank me later. Now, you’re going to gaol.” He took her outside and called for Hennah and Vandra to bind Cirang’s wrists and take her to the lordover’s gaol. Then he told Tennara and Ragetha to bring Dona and Nasharla so they could get a proper burial.

Daia jogged over. “Cirang’s alive? We thought Ritol killed her.”

“She was badly injured but alive. Who is she?”

Daia glared at Cirang as the two battlers escorted her past, bound to the saddle of a horse. “She forsook the Sisterhood when you freed the other Sisters from Ravenkind’s magic. She used her former allegiance with the Sisterhood to lure your brother and everyone else here. She murdered one of my fellow Sisters and framed me for it, and she undoubtedly had a hand in the deaths of your brother and cousin.”

“Did you see her kill anyone?”

“Well, no.”

“She’s wearing Ravenkind’s necklace. Maybe she was under his influence like the others were. I’ll let her explain herself before I judge and sentence her.” He watched Cirang ride off, wondering why the smirk on her face looked so familiar.

Gavin searched the cottage’s cellar for a blanket, which he used to wrap Rogan’s stiff body. He put his brother on his brown draft horse and went to Liera.

“Jaesh,” he called. “Asia, GJ. Come here a minute.”

The boys jogged over, and Gavin put his arm around Jaesh’s shoulder and Asiawyth’s, but he looked at Liera. “I’m sorry about what I did, letting Rogan die.”

“You didn’t—” Liera started.

“I did. It’s my fault, and I’m sorry. If I’d killed Ravenkind straight away, none o’this would’ve happened. I thought I could put him off for a bit longer, but I was wrong, and you suffered for it.” He looked each of them in the eye. “I can’t take his place as your father or your husband, but I got a place for you to live. I’ll see to your needs and make sure you live at least as well as you would’ve if Rogan hadn’t been slain.”

“You mean we could live with you in the palace?” Asiawyth asked.

“Yeh, that’s what I mean. If you want to. If you’d rather go back to Saliria, that’s fine too. Whatever you want. I’ll provide for you.”

Liera nodded. “Let’s take time to think about it, boys. We don’t have to decide right away.”

Gavin scratched his temple. He was hoping they wouldn’t take too long to decide. “We need to bury Rogan. If you want to return to Saliria, we’ll bury him there so you can visit his grave whenever you want. Otherwise, we can bury him in Tern.” They had to get the rest of him from the inn, but they needed to inter him soon. With the weather as warm as it had been, the decomposition process would be fairly quick, and he would begin to smell. “I don’t want to rush you, but it’s best if that decision isn’t delayed too long.”

“Let’s bury him in Tern,” Liera said. When her voice caught in her throat, she put a hand to her mouth. A pair of tears dribbled from her eyes. Jaesh put his arm around her. “Bury him here so we’ll always be close to him.” The five of them collapsed into a circle embrace. Liera and the boys shed tears. Gavin cried on the inside.

With the smaller children riding double with an adult, they formed a procession to the Elegance Inn, where Tennara ran in to retrieve the crate containing Rogan’s head. They hitched Feanna’s wagon to Nellie, and a relieved Trevick joined them as the group continued to the cemetery. Between them, they barely had enough money to pay for a grave plot, but after Edan had a private conversation with the sexton, the cost was reduced to a single pielar, which GJ insisted on paying himself. Tennara likewise paid for two graves for the fallen Sisters.

Gavin took the shovel from the gravedigger and began digging. Daia asked for another and Edan another, and together they dug Rogan’s grave. The Sisters offered to take over, but this was Gavin’s responsibility. He wouldn’t stand around and watch while someone else buried his brother. He accepted help from Edan and Daia because they were friends, and because the job went faster with their help. The Sisters borrowed the last two shovels and dug graves for Dona and Nasharla.

The sexton donated plain caskets and a temporary grave marker, which Gavin intended to replace later with something Liera and the boys picked out. For now, it would do.

He and Daia laid Rogan into the wooden casket, and Gavin positioned his head where it belonged, then draped the blanket over him to hide the neck wound. One by one, they said good-bye to Rogan, and Gavin nailed the lid onto the coffin. Using ropes beneath the box, they lowered it carefully into the ground.

Gavin stood over the grave, looking down at the plain wooden box, dusted with crumbs of dirt. He cleared his tight throat. “My brother left a lot undone...” His voice was quiet and strained. “...and things he never had a chance to begin. I’ll continue what he started — to see his boys grown into men. I promise.”

His throat choked off his words, and he couldn’t deliver the eulogy he wanted. Edan, the ever-present shoulder for him to lean upon, spoke to the group about what Rogan had meant to them as a husband, father, brother and friend. At last, they began to fill the hole. With each shovelful of dirt Gavin tossed on Rogan’s coffin, his heart shattered into ever smaller pieces. He wished he could share an ale with his brother once more and talk about what Rogan wanted for his family, what he hoped to see his sons accomplish before he died.

Maybe someday he would.

Everyone crowded around the dining tables at the Elegance Inn, pushed end to end to accommodate them as they ate their fill. Though the mood was somber, they took a collective breath and turned to the future. They each told their stories — how they ended up at the cottage and what happened while they were there.

Gavin began his story when he left to save Arek. When he described how he’d used the rune to summon Ritol, Adro bent his head. Had they been alone, Gavin would have teased him for having exaggerated his own heroism, but he wouldn’t shame the buck in front of everyone. He continued the story to when he found his way home again.

To his credit, Adro raised his glass to Gavin. “Outside of this room, I won’t admit it,” he said, “but I blinked just when my sword was about to strike the monster. When it vanished, I thought I hit it so hard that it fled back to hell.” Everyone laughed. “The truth makes more sense, though. A toast to our king. The man with hero’s blood.”

Gavin looked out the windows at the people going about their lives in the warmth of the afternoon sun, feeling more relaxed than he had in years. Though he had a lifetime of anxiety yet to suffer, the task that had plagued him for so long was finished. He was too relieved to feel apprehensive about assuming his role as king. In fact, part of him was excited to start rebuilding the country and improving people’s lives. “Who wants to come with me to explore the palace?”

At once, the room erupted in a chorus of “I do!” and “Me!” Chairs scraped on the slate floor as everyone rose, ready to see the inside of a building no living person had ever entered — except, of course, for Gavin.

Feanna rode atop Golam on Gavin’s lap, snuggled against him. He imagined they made quite a sight as they began their pilgrimage from the inn to the palace. People stopped to watch, no doubt wondering what was going on. Several of the lordover’s soldiers joined them as well, perhaps to see what they were up to and intervene in any mischief.

The bridge from Regal Street to the island was rotted and impassable. They crossed through the water on horseback, lifting their feet to keep them dry. They made several trips to retrieve everyone in the wagon and gathered around the gate. The heavy lock on the gate was old and rusted. The key Daia had given him from Rogan’s old chest didn’t budge it, and hitting it with Aldras Gar had no effect.

A crowd was gathering on the other shore. People murmured about what they were doing. Some speculated whether one of them could be the king.

The Lordover Tern rode up, flanked by several soldiers, and parted the crowd.

“Perhaps you’re looking for this?” Celónd asked. He held up a key.

Gavin groaned, wondering what he would have to do to get it. To his surprise, Celónd handed the key to a soldier who then led his horse into the lake and across to the island. Everyone moved aside for him. With a few wiggles of the key, the lock clicked open. He removed it from the iron bars of the gate, and Gavin pushed the gate open with a rusty squeal. There was no spark or ripple in the air to signify the barrier was gone. It simply was.

They left the horses to graze on the overgrown grass and weeds while they walked up the crumbling path to the front doors. It wasn’t the same vision he’d had the day before when he’d walked this path to the grand entrance, but in his mind’s eye, he could see the wood polished, the grounds manicured, the windows sparkling as they had in happier times. With some care and work, the palace would return to its former magnificence.

He pulled open the double doors. The scene that greeted him nearly broke his heart — the chandelier lying mangled on the floor, the banisters of the twin staircase in splinters, doors ripped from their hinges, furniture and rugs shredded, glass shattered. As his companions stepped carefully around the debris on the floor, Gavin caught GJ by the shirt and handed him the ornate key. “See if this opens anything.” The boy smiled brightly and dashed off. “And be careful not to trip over anything.” Gavin took it all in, shaking his head. “King Arek would be devastated to see it like this.”

Feanna placed a comforting hand on his chest. “With a little toil and oil, it’ll be beautiful. You’ll see.”

“As long as you’re in it.” Gavin knew this wasn’t the most romantic time or place, but the hope in her eyes and warmth of her touch inspired him to fall to one knee. “Being king is something I got to do, but there’s no other woman I’d rather have as my wife. It’s prob’ly not the life you dreamed o’living, but maybe together, it’ll be easier for us both to bear.” He took her hand. “Feanna, will you marry me?”

Being king was Gavin’s fate, but Feanna didn’t have to become queen. She could return to her farm, perhaps accept her neighbor Harv’s courtship and marry him, have a baby or two, but she wouldn’t be fulfilled emotionally. Life with Gavin would undoubtedly be harder, but it would be fulfilling. There was no question in her mind that he would accept and love her adopted children and that he would give her more. He would love her, truly love her, and that was what she wanted more than anything.

Being queen would also give her the ability to help many more children by ensuring the orphanages had what they needed. It was an opportunity for her to do real good in the world.

The raw emotion of the moment choked her. The word, however much she wanted to say it, would simply not come. Tears fell from her eyes, and she nodded instead, choking back a sob. “Yes,” she managed to whisper. “With all my heart, yes.”

He rose and took her into his strong embrace, and for the first time in her life, she felt completely safe. When his mouth came down upon hers, she opened her lips eagerly, welcoming his kiss and the delicious, erotic feelings that it inspired.

Someone giggled. They turned to find not only the children watching but Edan, Daia, Liera, Adro and ten Viragon Sisters as well, all with a dreamy smile on their faces, and some with a gleam of moisture in their eyes. Edan began to clap, and the others joined in, laughing.

“My work here is done,” Liera said proudly.

“Looks like we have ourselves a king and a queen,” Edan said.

“A queen the people can relate to and love,” Daia said.

“I have one request, though.” Feanna wiped her eyes. He nodded, encouraging her to name it. “We marry quietly, before you announce to the world that you’re king. I don’t want to be a pointing-stock for everyone to gossip about in judgment. If we’re already married when the people learn who the king is, they won’t appraise me like I was a prize hog at an auction.”

“You don’t want a big wedding with the lacy gowns and flowers and music?” Gavin asked.

“No. Or the jugglers or bards or an audience of thousands.”

“Don’t you want to ride away in a carriage o’gold drawn by horses with fancy braids and curls?”

“Give me big, sturdy Golam and your lap with my children riding in the wagon beside us, and I’ll be the happiest woman in the world.”

“Make that ‘our children’ and we have an agreement.”

Feanna’s heart clenched. What a fine thing for a man to say. She gazed into his beautiful brown eyes and thought she was living a dream. I love this man. The thought startled her, but only for a moment. She embraced it, wrapped her arms around his strong arm and nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Shall we find a cleric then?” Edan asked. “We have plenty of witnesses to speak for you.”

Feanna looked down at herself. “I wouldn’t mind wearing a clean dress to marry you in. And having a bath. I’m afraid I perspired a bit in that cellar.”

“Fair enough. I have the stink o’beyonder entrails on me.”

She took him by the hand. “Shall we explore first? I want to see this grand palace of yours.”

“Of ours,” Gavin said as he helped her step over the debris on the floor. “Everything I have is yours. No secrets, nothing held back.”

“Likewise,” she said. Then a thought came to her. She’d twice heard him deflect questions regarding his lost eyetooth. “First secret — how did you lose the tooth?”

He blushed. She never thought she would see it, but there it was, deep crimson from neck to hairline. “No secrets aside from that one.”

Feanna laughed. “No you don’t, sir. Tell it to me, and I’ll take it to my grave.”

“You swear?” His expression was deadly serious.

“I swear.”

“A promise to a king transcends death, you know,” he said, his voice a low warning.

“Just tell me.”

He pulled her into the first room on the left — a library, with a huge painting over the fireplace. Its canvas had been ripped by the monster’s sharp claws, and its frame hung askew on its hooks, but the azure eyes and stately expression left no doubt that its subject had been a king.

Gavin closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked at her so intently, she feared that perhaps this was one story she didn’t want to hear after all.

“When Edan and I were young men, we went drinking one afternoon. Got a hold o’some ale and wine stronger than we were used to, and it made us both bolder and stupider than usual. At our age, that was damned bold and damned stupid. Anyway, we got to bragging and arguing over who was better with our weapons — him with his bow, me with my sword. I told him with my sword I could slice an apple in half on the palm o’his hand without making him bleed.”

Feanna slapped a hand to her mouth in horror.

“He said he could core one if I held it in my teeth, stem out. So we set about proving it to each other.”

“Oh, no!”

“You swore you wouldn’t tell.”

“I won’t.”

“He went first and missed. Well, he hit the apple, but not in the center. Got it a bit on the side. The arrow went all the way through and hit my tooth. Sheared it clean off. A mouthful o’blood was enough to sober me up. Edan’s never quit feeling bad about it.”

Feanna smiled and took his arm. “I thought it would be embarrassing. That was mighty foolish but no more so than anything else boys do to prove their manhood.”

“Yeh,” Gavin said, “but Edan’s a champion archer. If this truth ever came out, the sportsman’s league could strip him o’his titles — which he won fairly.”

“So you keep the secret to protect your friend from losing a title that ultimately doesn’t matter to anyone but him?”

“And to protect his reputation as a man o’good judgment. Besides, it’s more fun making up stories.”

Feanna laughed, charmed by his devotion. “You’re a fine and true friend. Come, darling. Let’s see our new home.” She leaned close to his ear, and he bent his head to hear her. “I want to see where you’ll be making love to me every night.” Feanna felt herself blushing, but she couldn’t deny the thrill the notion gave her.

He responded with a big, sloppy grin. “Yeh. Let’s go see.”

Epilogue

Two months later...

Gavin stood still while the tailor fussed over his blue and black suit trimmed in gold brocade, adding stitches here and loosening threads there. The design was simple yet elegant — a short jacket with an off-center button closure, standing collar, and long, sculpted sleeves that were neither too baggy nor too fitted. It had a split tail in back which was stylish and formal but completely impractical. He’d have to hold it out of the way if he needed to take a crap. The black trousers were simple as well, creased in the front and loose enough to hide his thick thighs. The boots, on the other hand, felt stiff and confining, though they were handsome. He thought he might develop a blister on his heel by the time this was over.

“Lift your arm, please, my liege,” the tailor said. Around his waist, she fastened the ceremonial scabbard’s belt, which held Aldras Gar. He was long-legged enough that the sword didn’t drag the floor as he walked, but during the rehearsal, its tip had struck the dais when he stepped up.

He was too nervous to be impatient. If he were one of the thousands crowding into the Spirit of the Savior Holy Temple of Asti-nayas, he would want his first glimpse of the new king to be memorable. He let the woman work. Curon Naredus, the tall, square-shouldered Lordover Lalorian, stood beside Gavin while his tailor did the same.

Gavin wished Rogan could have been there, or his father. Lord Naredus, the closest man to a father he had, was a fine substitute, though he’d insisted Gavin call him Curon going forward.

Behind them in the temple offices, people scurried around making final adjustments. The horn player had a cough, the bard a black eye from the brawl he’d gotten into, three of the artists were arguing over who was to sit where, and the head usher needed Edan to make a decision. Gavin wondered if his life was always going to be as hectic as this. He might strangle them all.

“Don’t worry,” Curon said. “It gets easier after a while.”

“Does it?”

Curon laughed. “Well, you get used to it, anyway. You’ve chosen your counsel well, though I’ll have to replace him in my own hall.”

“Sorry to have left you without, but Edan was the best choice.”

Curon waved it away. “That’s the truth. I’m relieved for both of you.” A twinkle lit his eye. “And I’m so very proud of you, Gavin. I know your father and brother would have been as well. I always knew you’d save the world.”

Gavin grinned. “All those years, I thought you were teasing me.”

Curon showed him his thumb and forefinger spread a hair’s width apart. “Perhaps a little.”

Edan came in and clapped his hands together once. “Well, we’ve squeezed everyone into the temple we could. The temperature from all the bodies is rising, so perhaps, if you two are ready, we should begin.”

“Where’s my wife?” Gavin asked.

“She’s taken her place. Do you need her?”

He’d hoped for one last good-luck kiss. The three he’d gotten already would have to do. “No, let’s get this over with.”

Curon clapped Gavin’s shoulder. “Such a momentous occasion should be savored like a fine wine. Try to enjoy it. You’ll never see its equal again, since you’ll be dead when your heir is crowned. Are you ready?”

He was two hundred years late, but at last, with friends beside him he could count on and lean on, he finally felt ready. Gavin took a deep breath and nodded.

Curon went out first. Gavin hung back, out of sight behind the door, while the tailor checked that his suit was free of lint. Edan stood in the vestibule, watching his father stride up the center aisle to the altar. By the way the murmur of the audience quieted little by little, Gavin could tell when the lordover reached the dais. Gavin’s hands twitched, and he clasped them, hoping that by stilling them, he could also quiet his thundering heart. From the front of the temple, a man cried, “Announcing the holder of the King’s Blood-stone, decipherer of the King’s Runes, Gavin Rothyr Kinshield.” The horns blared and drums rolled. When Edan turned to him and nodded, indicating the lordover had taken his place, Gavin took another breath to steady himself and stepped out. Everyone in the pews rose to their feet. Another hundred or more lined the walls. They watched him, many leaning or standing on tiptoe, trying to get a glimpse. He heard a few quiet gasps as he began his long walk, but as he met the eyes of people first on one side then on the other, he saw not the shock or disdain he expected but excitement, joy and maybe even acceptance. It seemed to take hours for him to finally reach the altar, but he had the presence of mind to step onto the dais with his left foot first so Aldras Gar didn’t strike it. At last, the musicians ended their march with a raucous fanfare.

“Be seated,” Curon said. His voice projected well in the high-ceilinged temple. “I am Curon Naredus, Lordover Lalorian and current Chairman of the Council of Lordovers, and it’s my life’s greatest honor to perform this ceremony today.” Holding a sheet of paper before him, he turned to Gavin and began to read. “The Rune Law passed in the one thousand four hundred thirty-ninth year of the Sacrifice by unanimous vote of the Council of Lordovers states that ‘He who claims the King’s Blood-stone shall reign as king.’ Gavin Rothyr Kinshield, have you claimed the King’s Blood-stone?”

“I have,” Gavin answered.

“Please tell us, for the record, how you came to possess the King’s Blood-stone.”

The Temple fell into a hush of held breaths and still hands.

Gavin swallowed his nervousness. He’d never spoken to more than two dozen people at a time, and that was outside the Rune Cave after claiming the King’s Bloodstone. The Temple was silent, everyone waiting for him to speak. “I deciphered the five runes in the Rune Tablet. The gems came loose from the tablet when I did.”

The audience uttered a collective “Ah!”

Curon said, “To dispel doubt, are there any present who witnessed the event?”

“I did, Your Excellence,” Daia said.

“I did, Your Excellence,” Edan called from the back of the Temple. Heads turned to see him.

“I did, Your Excellence,” said a young Viragon Sister standing along the eastern wall. Gavin met Brawna’s eyes and gave her a nod.

Several rows back on the left, a short man with a long, black beard stood. “As did I, Your Excellence,” said Risan Stronghammer. Gavin smiled and nodded at the blacksmith. Risan bowed deeply. When he straightened, he wiped his eye as he took his seat beside his new son, Dwaeth.

The blond boy said, “Me too.” Gentle laughter rippled across the Temple.

Curon opened the ornate box beside him. “On behalf of the Council of Lordovers and the citizens of Thendylath...” He removed the golden, jeweled crown that GJ had found in the palace vault. “...before these witnesses I hereby proclaim you, Gavin Rothyr Kinshield...” He placed it atop Gavin’s head. “...King of Thendylath.”

The temple erupted in cheers. The band played another fanfare, but their music was largely drowned out by the crowd. Gavin looked out at the people and saw smiles and tears, mouths shouting in celebration, fists raised into the air, fingers in mouths to whistle, people embracing each other. Curon let it go on for a bit, a suppressed smile trying to break free on his face. Finally, he gestured with his arms for the crowd and the musicians to quiet.

Gavin held a hand toward Feanna, standing at the front pew. She picked up her skirts, blue and gold to match his suit, and stepped onto the dais. He cupped her elbow to assist her. She took her designated place beside him, facing the crowd. He offered his arm and felt her tremble as she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“Lordovers,” Curon said, “will you join me in pledging fealty to King Gavin and Queen Feanna?”

Curon went to one knee and bowed his head. The other lordovers, one by one, followed suit. The redheaded Lordover Tern with his blazing blue eyes hesitated so long that Gavin wondered whether he would storm out of the temple instead. Judging from the whispers rippling through the crowd, he wasn’t the only one who thought so. Celónd’s wife, seated in the pew directly behind the lordover, whispered something fiercely enough that her tone, though not her words, echoed throughout the nave. At last, Celónd lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head.

“I swear upon my honor, my life and my soul that I will, from this day forward, serve my king and queen, to never allow harm to come to them, to take up arms to defend their health, honor and right to rule, and to serve them in good faith and without deceit.” As Curon said these words, he paused to give the lordovers time to repeat them. Finished, they rose and retook their seats.

“People of Thendylath, will you pledge your fealty as well?” Curon asked.

Edan, at the rear of the temple, and Daia, beside the dais, were the first to bend the knee, as if they were racing each other. The crowd lowered itself almost as one and repeated the words as Curon guided them. Gavin’s face tingled, and his hands shook. These were his people now. He was responsible for their welfare. He swore to himself silently that their trust in him would not be misplaced.

Once everyone had retaken their seats, Curon put a hand on Gavin’s shoulder unexpectedly. “You may not know your king, but I do. Let me take a moment to introduce the man I’ve known for a dozen years.”

Gavin started. This wasn’t in the script. They hadn’t rehearsed this. What the hell was he doing?

“When Gavin was a boy of twelve, he became an orphan. Two years later, while living in Lalorian with his elder brother, he happened upon my son being beaten in an alley by a pair of murderers. This fourteen-year-old boy, armed with a battered, old sword, took on two grown men and saved my son’s life. Gavin refused every offer of reward except one — the opportunity to train as a battler in my garrison. By the time he was seventeen, he was a master swordsman, skilled enough and mature enough that I appointed him Captain of the Guard. Two years after that, he struck out on his own as a warrant knight. In the last seven years, he has apprehended or branded over two hundred criminals and saved dozens of lives. These acts of heroism don’t even begin to compare to his latest. A little over two months ago, while grieving the murder of his only brother, he risked his life to face the most dangerous foe ever known, and ended the beyonder invasion with the help of his champion, Daia Saberheart, and his wife, Feanna Kinshield. Citizens of Thendylath, this is your new king.”

People shot to their feet, cheering wildly.

When Gavin gave Curon Naredus a glare that promised retribution, the response was a wink and a smile. Feanna squeezed his arm. “They love you,” she said, though he barely heard her above the cheering. To his left, Daia stood with her hands clasped before her, grinning with satisfaction. Even the Lordover Tern was on his feet, clapping with a thin smile on his face.

Gavin gestured the way Curon had to quiet the crowd, though they seemed bent on expressing their approval of his most recent feat. He hadn’t slain Ritol, but that didn’t matter. The beyonders were gone. In truth, he was happier about that than anyone. With his arms signaling them to sit, he finally managed to silence them. This bit hadn’t been rehearsed, and he honestly didn’t know what to say, but his first utterance to the people of Thendylath should be something heartfelt.

“We have a lot o’work ahead to recover from the last two hundred years o’chaos. You may not agree with how I do things, but I’ll do my best. To the people of Thendylath, this I swear.”

The End

About the author

I grew up in the mid-western USA and in Hawaii, and earned a B.A. in Russian from Florida State University (go ‘Noles!). After a year in Taiwan teaching English and studying Mandarin Chinese, I lived in the Arizona desert where I founded a Rottweiler rescue organization, studied karate, went backpacking, tried sky-diving, did some downhill skiing, got a couple motorcycles, wrote software, and spent time on the shooting range. In 2010, I retreated to cooler, greener Georgia. I earn my living as a full-time writer.

As an independent author, I don’t have a team of publicists and marketing specialists to spread the word about this book. I’m just a writer sitting at my keyboard searching for readers like you. If you enjoyed the story, please tell a friend! If you are so inclined, a review or rating on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, Shelfari, or LibraryThing would also be greatly appreciated. If there's enough interest, I'll write another story with these characters.

If you’d like to contact me, visit my web site at http://www.kcmay.com or email me at k.c.may@live.com — I welcome your emailed comments!

Acknowledgements

I have an extremely supportive network of friends and family, who not only encourage me to write but share my excitement about the books themselves. I’ve also made more friends in the online writing community who freely offer valuable guidance and advice. My special thanks go to my brother, Kirk, who always has great feedback and asks the hard questions that get me to think and rethink; to my friend Carol Scarr, whose keen eye for detail keeps me honest; and to my esteemed writing teacher, author Carol Davis Luce, for her help in bringing out the best in the story. Most of all, thanks to you, my readers, who inspire me to keep writing!

The Venom of Vipers

In a future where humans teeter on the brink of extinction, hope lies in the genetic experiments of Katie Marsh. A brilliant young scientist, Katie is hard at work perfecting a new species of humanoid resistant to the devastating virus afflicting mankind. But not everyone wants Katie to succeed. Certainly not the Human Purification Initiative, whose members seek to destroy all that Katie and her colleagues have accomplished.

Confined to the lab that created him, Ryder Stone wants to live as a free man. But Ryder, whose unique physiology may provide the cure for this viral malady, must tread lightly, for in his world, friends can sometimes be foes, and the helping hand of people close to him may very well turn out to be... the venom of vipers.

If you enjoy science fiction, you might also enjoy The Venom of Vipers. Read what people have written about it:

"In all, I had a very, very good time with The Venom of Vipers. It’s a poignant and fast-paced melding of science fiction, drama, and mystery. KC May solidifies herself as a writer to look out for in the future. She has something to say, she’s not afraid to say it, and she’s damn good at telling her story."
Author Robert Duperre on his blog The Journal of Always

"When I started reading K.C. May’s The Venom of Vipers, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The book does not fit neatly into a specific genre. It has a little science fiction, a little mystery, and a little thriller aspects to it. May neatly combines elements of those genres to develop her story that stands out in its own right."
Greg Arnett on his blog Kindle Books Reviewed

"K.C. May offers readers a fast paced plot. The plot flows smoothly with never a glitch. ... The characters are likable and well developed. ... This is a fascinating book that will please fans of sci-fi and fantasy."
Readers Favorite

"K. C. May has spun another captivating tale. With this second novel, she once again proves that she knows how to string a story to maintain reader interest. The story flows along cleanly, and the transitions are smooth and do much to carry the reader along. The storyline itself is quite engaging. The idea that a virus could be slowly killing off the entire human population is not too out of the realm of possibility, and some of the ideas the author introduces in this tale are quite amazing, yet believable. It was a compelling read that was able to sweep me away."
Grace Krispy on her blog Motherlode

"The Venom of Vipers is a fast paced read with an interesting kick, exciting characters, and a unique story. I really enjoyed the pace and the believability of a future time and place in our possible history. In addition to being a futuristic thriller with a bizarre twist, the book is a great read that will keep you turning the pages and following the characters."
Blog Critic

"I was delighted at how seamlessly The Venom of Vipers tied the real science in with the science fiction. You could almost even call it science future since the theory behind the concept is real (transgenic organisms). I was also thrilled with how the author incorporated the science content- the conversations were believable and the science was explained well enough that someone without a science background wouldn’t be lost."
Goodreads reviewer MG

Here's the first chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1

Monday, June 5, 2023

Protesters marched up and down the public sidewalk outside the Center for Human Genetic Advancement, chanting “Free the saphers.” Most waved signs that read, Freedom for all! or Saphers are human, too! A few pushed in front of the news camera, shouting their concerns. The reporter asked a question and tilted the microphone to them.

Katie Marsh got out of her car and hurried toward the building’s front entrance. The enclosed campus, with its twenty-foot brick fence topped with electrified barbed wire, would be a haven once she got inside.

The reporter rushed to intercept her. “What’s your business here?” He shoved the microphone at her.

“No comment.” Katie quickened her pace, one hand up to shield her face from the news camera.

The news crew’s interest caught the protesters’ attention. Several swarmed her, jostling one another trying to reach her. A boisterous man grabbed at her elbow, shouting about the cruel imprisonment forced on the innocent people within those walls.

“Is it true they’re performing experiments on children?”

Clutching her purse tightly to her side, she lowered her head and pressed forward. If they learned her identity, this peaceful demonstration could turn ugly.

One fellow pushed his way through the crowd and grasped at her navy jacket sleeve as he matched her pace. He carried no sign. “Can’t you help me?” His bloodshot eyes watered profusely, and his skin was raw and cracked. A couple of pustules on his cheek were about to burst. Although the symptoms of advanced Moliomyositis were unpleasant to look at, he wasn’t contagious. Poor guy might live another three weeks, four if he was lucky.

“There’s no cure,” she said, hating the finality of those words. “I’m sorry.” She reached the glass door and mashed the doorbell a few times. A man in a dark gray uniform approached from within the lobby.

“I’ll be a guinea pig,” the sick fellow said. With a handkerchief, he dabbed at the white pus that leaked from the cracks in his skin. “Try experimental drugs on me. Anything. Here’s my card. I’ll sign whatever waiver you want. Please.” He slid a business card into the pocket of her blazer.

The lock clicked, and the guard opened the door. “Your identification, please?” He held out an identity scanner. Once she’d pressed her right thumb onto the pad, the scanner blinked, and her name and image appeared on its screen. “Thank you, Dr. Marsh. Come in.”

She ducked inside, eager to escape the crowd.

“Did you hear that?” someone asked. “She’s Henry Marsh’s daughter.” That prompted a chorus of impolite shouts.

The guard pulled the weapon from the holster at his hip. The crowd instantly quieted and took a collective step back. “Get off the grounds,” he shouted to the protesters. “You’re not supposed to demonstrate on the property. Want me to call the cops?” After hurling a few insults, they began to retreat to the public sidewalk.

When the door closed and locked with a satisfying click, Katie relaxed her shoulders, releasing the tension. She cast a final, sorrowful glance at the sick fellow outside. He would become one of the unfortunate millions Molio would kill this year. It was for him, and for all who would come after him, that the scientists in this building worked toward a cure, or as her father often put it, “a contingency plan.”

“Please check in.” The guard gestured at the reception desk several yards away.

The receptionist was on the phone and tapping his computer screen as she approached. Once he disconnected the call, he continued tapping. “Welcome to the Center. How may— Katie!”

“Hi, Pump.” She held out her hand. His name was Glen, but she couldn’t remember ever calling him that. “Good to see you again.”

Pump stood to shake her hand. His six-three frame, well-packed with muscle, gave him the look of a bouncer, but his dark brown shirt and khaki trousers looked like they came out of an ad for men’s business casual-wear. “So you’re our new reproductive scientist,” he said. “Everyone’s thrilled you’re joining us.”

Probably not everyone. “Hopefully I’ll be able to make a difference.”

“I’ll call Human Resources and let them know you’re here.”

She looked around the visitors’ lounge while Pump placed the call. Not much had changed since she’d first started accompanying her father here after school as a child. In fact, the chrome-trimmed orange and gray faux leather furniture had decorated the airy lounge since before she’d left for college thirteen years earlier.

“Someone will be down in a few minutes,” Pump said. “I guess I should get used to calling you Dr. Marsh now that you’re an employee.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Two Dr. Marshes might be confusing. Katie will do fine.” Her father, the world-renowned, Nobel prize-winning scientist who’d first engineered the saphers — the Homo sapiens heredis — had been working at the Center since before she was born. After her mother had died of Molio, Katie had practically grown up here. Her new colleagues would be hard-pressed to see her as an adult, let alone call her Dr. Marsh.

He reached down to unlock a drawer. “Let me get you a visitor’s pass.” After activating the temporary badge from his computer, he handed it to her. “Later today, you’ll get your permanent badge, which will also give you access to the parking garage, so you don’t have to deal with them anymore.” Pump nodded his head at the demonstrators in front of the building. She clipped it to her lapel and made small talk with Pump while she waited.

At last, he gestured at the security screening portal and the locked glass door beyond it. On the other side of the glass security partition, a semi-circular desk sat near the elevators, manned by a uniformed guard. A woman wearing a yellow pantsuit stood by, hands clasped before her. “You can go through the scanner now. She’s ready for you.”

Katie stepped into the security portal. When its green indicator lit up, the lock mechanism clicked, and the door slid open.

The human resources representative showed Katie to her new office, three doors down the hall from her father’s. As eager as she was to get started with her work, she had forms to fill out, volumes of legal documents to read and sign, and colleagues to meet. The facilities manager came by to set up her building access. The computer system administrator gave her an authentication device to provide network access.

Finally alone, she sat at the veneer-topped metal desk, kicked off her shoes and leaned back in her chair. Her office was quiet and stark, but with some soft music playing, a few pictures on the walls, and some colorful drapes over the dull beige blinds, the place would warm up. She inserted her Fed card into the computer and began filling out the benefit and tax forms, submitting them with a tap on the screen.

A knock on her door drew her gaze up. Her father leaned in and pushed a lock of hair, now more salt than pepper, from his eyes. “Hey, Sweet. Glad you’re here. We have a problem in the infirmary. Can you give us a hand?”

“You bet.” Grateful for something more interesting to do than new-hire paperwork, Katie put her Fed card into her purse and shoved it into a desk drawer. “What’s wrong?” She stood to take off her suit jacket and laid it across the back of her chair.

The crease between his eyebrows deepened. “It’s one of the girls.”

Outside, Katie and her father climbed onto the rear-facing seat of a solar-powered golf cart waiting near the back door. The driver, clad in a white jumpsuit and straw hat, removed his sunglasses to clean them.

“Where to, Dr. Marsh?”

“To the infirmary. Hurry,” Dad said.

They raced across campus, narrowly missing a couple of staffers going about their business, and hurried into the infirmary. Eagerness and anticipation knotted Katie’s stomach. If luck was on her side, she would delay — or prevent — a miscarriage today.

Inside, a girl lay on an examination table with her feet in metal stirrups. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. The age of consent had been lowered for the sake of repopulation, but girls this young weren’t equipped to handle the heartache of what she might face today. Her bare legs, draped with a gown, were spread wide. Seated on a stool between her knees, Dr. Barnes readied a uterine evacuation instrument.

Damn it. She was too late. Katie grabbed a surgical gown from the supply cabinet and pulled it on over her clothes. “Stephen, have you tried administering twenty cc’s of diaphrenepalon directly into the uterine wall?” After years of addressing him as Dr. Barnes, calling him Stephen felt strange, but they were colleagues now.

Stephen scowled at her. “That won’t do any good, Kate. She started bleeding last night but didn’t tell anyone until this morning. There are no signs of life.”

“I want the medicine,” the girl said, sitting forward. “Please, save my baby.”

“Lie back, Jessica,” the doctor said.

Near the door, her father talked in hushed tones with one of the nurses, a young man whose vantage point robbed Jessica of her privacy.

Katie pulled the modesty curtain around them and picked up the girl’s hand. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s too late. There’s nothing we can do.” She looked familiar, maybe one of Evelyn’s friends.

Jessica hunched forward, stifling a scream. Her claws dug into the back of Katie’s hand. Sweat stuck her coarse, black hair to her face and neck. After a moment, she collapsed back onto the table. “It hurts so bad.”

“I know, hon.” Katie dipped a cloth into the pan of warm water on a nearby table, wrung it out and wiped the girl’s brow. “Your body’s trying to expel the embryo. Dr. Barnes is going to help.”

“Jessica, you’re going to feel a slight pressure now,” the doctor said.

Jessica shook her head violently. “No, no, no. Please.”

Katie bit her lip, wishing she’d been hired last week, wishing Jessica had come to the infirmary when the bleeding started. There might have been the smallest of chances to fix it before the embryo dislodged.

The instrument hummed its low, quiet dirge. Jessica cried, and Katie held her hand. When it was over, the doctor gently removed her feet from the stirrups, patted her knee and stood. Jessica threw her arms around Katie and sobbed. “I loved her. She was going to be so beautiful.”

For a long moment, Jessica clutched her and cried, while Katie ran her hand across the spiny crest, which now lay flat against Jessica’s back. Finally, Jessica pulled away. Her golden irises looked brilliant contrasted with the bloodshot whites. Her pupils were thin slits under the bright lights of the examination room. “Will I ever be able to have a baby?”

Katie squeezed Jessica’s shoulder. “Sweetie, of course you will. It’s why I’m here — to help figure this out.”

“I don’t want to keep going through this if I can never get past seven weeks. What’s the point?”

“It hurts,” Katie said gently as she rubbed Jessica’s back, “and you feel hopeless now, but we can’t stop trying.”

Jessica lowered her head. “I’m a failure. My stupid uterus is a piece of trash.” She pulled her knees to her chest, crossed her arms over them and bowed her head.

Katie felt like she’d been punched in the chest. “Oh, Honey, if you could see yourself through my eyes, you’d see a strong, beautiful, young sapher woman. You’d see how important you are to the future of Homo sapiens. You’ll get through this, Jessica. It’s not your fault. It’s a flaw in the genetic code, and it’s my job to find it and fix it.”

Jessica shrugged, head still bowed.

Inspired, Katie stepped over to the gynecologist, who was extracting the receptacle containing the embryo and placenta from the instrument. “Stephen, could I have the em— the baby?”

He looked at her as though she were stealing his favorite marble. “It belongs to the immunology lab. They use it—”

“I just thought Jessica would like to say goodbye.”

He blushed. “Oh. Yes, of course. I misunderstood. Here.” He handed her the smooth, white receptacle. It had rounded edges and a circular opening with a black release knob. “Let me know when you’re finished.”

Katie carried it to the exam table and gently touched Jessica’s arm. “Would you like to say a few words to her?”

Jessica lifted her head and gazed at the receptacle. “She’s in here?”

“Yes.”

Jessica cradled the receptacle in both hands as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I love you, baby, even though you’re gone. I wish I could’ve held you in my arms, smelled your baby smell, and looked into your pretty eyes to tell you this. My body’s broken. Now my heart is, too. I’ll have this special love for you in my heart forever.”

“That was beautiful, Jessica.” Katie took the receptacle.

Jessica sniffled. Katie handed her a tissue, and she blew her nose. “Would you pick a name for her, Dr. Kate?”

Katie blinked in surprise. Her eyes welled with tears, and a lump formed in her throat. The face of the sapher she’d given birth to fourteen years ago came to mind: Evelyn, a sweet, innocent girl in her first pregnancy. She would be facing a similar fate if Katie couldn’t figure this out and fix it. “How about Raquel? It means ‘the innocent.’”

Ryder Stone rose with his uniformed escort fourteen floors to the top of the administration building. Was he about to meet with Katie? What was she doing at the Center? Did she have Molio?

When the doors opened, they walked past several administrators’ offices to the big one in the corner. Two huge windows drew Ryder’s eyes when he walked in. From this floor, he could see the vast desert stretching toward the mountains in the distance. The muted greens, grays and browns of the squat bushes and tall multi-armed Saguaro cacti contrasted with the brilliant greens and colorful flowers of the manicured Center grounds. He’d lived his entire life, almost thirty-two years, in Phoenix and had never seen a Saguaro cactus up close.

“Hello, Ryder.” Dr. Marguerite Hamilton looked much younger than her fifty-one years. Her flawless skin was deep brown, and her hair shone like polished ebony. When she’d first been hired as a scientist, her wardrobe had been nothing but old-lady flowered polyester. Now, as the Executive Vice President, she wore a dark gray tailored suit with matching shoes and a flashy scarf. She even had her nails done in a shade of red that matched her lipstick. “You’re looking well.”

The guard stepped out and closed the door, leaving Ryder and Hamilton alone.

“What’s Katie Marsh doing here?”

Hamilton cocked her head and looked at him from behind her vast desk.

“The news camera caught her entering the building this morning,” Ryder said. “Nobody mentioned she was coming. What’s going on?”

“I’m sure she’ll explain when she gets a chance. Please have a seat.” She gestured to one of the two chairs in front of her desk.

Ryder sat uneasily. “Is she sick? Does she have Molio?”

“No, Ryder. She’s not sick. Now, I wanted to speak to you about a new program we’re starting.”

He breathed his relief and leaned back into the chair. He was still eager to know the reason for Katie’s visit, but at least he could stop worrying. “Another new program, huh? Okay, let me guess. You want me to sell it to the other saphers.”

Hamilton gave him a vague smile. “No, I want you to lead it.”

Someone knocked on the door and opened it without invitation. A Caucasian man entered, a thick-waisted guy with dark hair combed over the top of his bald head and a diamond stud earring in his left earlobe. “Sorry, Bill’s meeting ran over,” the newcomer said as he unbuttoned his navy suit jacket. He swung the other guest chair around to face Ryder and sat.

Hamilton gestured to Ryder. “Tom, this is the one I told you about, Ryder Stone. Ryder, meet Thomas Berk, our new Vice President of Marketing and Public Relations.”

Public Relations, Ryder thought. This ought to be good.

Berk leaned forward and offered his hand, which Ryder shook, pressing a little too hard and prompting a slight wince on the man’s face. His claws left small red marks on the back of Berk’s hand.

“I’d just started telling Ryder about our program. Why don’t you take it from here?”

Berk gave her a slight nod. “Ryder,” he said, “we want to start introducing heredis to the public in a personal, controlled way. Let people really see you. The more folks see that you’re like us, the more easily they’ll accept you into society.”

Ryder scrunched his face in disgusted disbelief. “Like you? Are you out of your mind? Look at us. We have slitted pupils, a spiny crest running down the back of our necks, and claws instead of fingernails and toenails. When we smile, you step back in fear. Who in their right mind is going to think we’re like you?”

“If people see you, talk to you, get to know you, we hope this will alleviate their fear of you and what we’re trying to accomplish at the Center.”

“Trying to accomplish? Look around. You’ve already done it. The place is crawling with saphers. I’m almost thirty-two, and there are at least a dozen older than I am. Why didn’t you start this PR shit thirty years ago?”

With a subtle hand movement, Hamilton drew the two men’s attention. “Our focus in the early years had to be on the science of creating healthy saphers and raising you to adulthood. I agree more effort in public relations would have been beneficial. We’d unfortunately lost sight of where we were going with our program. I assure you my mission is to get back on track as quickly as possible without endangering any lives in the process.”

Ryder knew he needed to look at this rationally, not emotionally. He leaned back and exhaled, trying to relax. He put on a passive expression for the humans. Admittedly, the direction of the conversation intrigued him.

Berk nodded. “We want to introduce you to the public in small doses at first, then increase the length and exposure gradually over time. The more people who get comfortable with your presence the better, and the more freedoms we’ll be able to give you.”

Ryder snorted. “Spoken like a true jailer handing out freedom like candy bars to the well-behaved inmates.”

Berk’s face and bald pate reddened. “I didn’t mean it like that, Ryder.”

“I’ve never petted a dog or felt the ocean rush over my toes. I don’t even know my way around the city I live in. Do you know why? Because I’m a prisoner, Mr. Berk.”

Hamilton held up her hands defensively, nodding. “I know how you must feel, Ryder. We’ve needed to keep you safe, but the way we’ve done it has alienated you from the human population. That’s what Tom and I want to correct. Humans and saphers share values, hopes and dreams. We want the public to see that.”

“They already do,” Ryder said. “Haven’t you seen them demonstrating outside your front door? They want us freed.”

“Freedom for All Peoples is just one organization,” Berk said.

Hamilton said, “While some people may be curious about saphers and concerned about your well-being, it doesn’t mean they’ll accept you or open their homes and hearts to you. What about the Human Purification Initiative and its offshoots? They protest your very existence and would like to see the entire Homo sapiens heredis subspecies exterminated. Until heredis is granted human rights, I can’t simply open the doors and let you rush into human society.”

She stood and walked around to the front of her desk. “Imagine for a moment being able to walk among humans in complete harmony, perhaps having them smile and nod at you. Imagine a child running up to have her photo taken with you.”

While Ryder liked the image, he’d seen enough sapher-as-monster movies to know this was a fantasy he couldn’t buy into.

“Eventually you could come and go from this facility at will, participating in activities when it suits you and being a mentor to young saphers, while living in your own home. That’s where we’re headed, but it won’t happen overnight. We need to start somewhere, and we need to be cautious.”

“Is this where you tell me that by the time I can walk as a free man down the street I’ll need a cane?”

Berk shot him an impatient look before taking over again. “For this program to be successful, we need saphers people can relate to. That presents a bit of a dilemma for me, you see.

“On one hand, you’re a handsome fellow, less intense-looking than other males. From an appearance standpoint, you’re the ideal sapher to get us started.

“On the other hand, you have a history of being somewhat volatile. You speak your mind and don’t care whom you offend. You wear your anger like a badge. Frankly, I’m concerned you won’t be able to represent saphers or the Center in the best light if someone is even the slightest bit confrontational. And Ryder, people will be confrontational.”

Ryder wanted to fire back a retort about his anger being justified, but that would just prove Berk’s point. Instead, he sulked. Berk wasn’t giving Ryder the credit he deserved; he could control himself.

“We also have Dane Samuels,” Berk said, “a physically intimidating example of heredis males but a soft-spoken and agreeable one. Once people get past his appearance, we think he’ll be a very popular guy.”

Damn it. Ryder couldn’t help but feel jealous of his best friend. Dane was taller and more muscular, but those were not the qualities Ryder coveted. To look upon Dane was to make no mistake he was a sapher. The bony crest, starting at the base of his neck and running down his spine, stood at attention whenever he got hyped. His jagged, conical teeth made his smile look like a snarl. The skin on his hands was thick and rough, and his strong claws were curved and black.

Ryder’s features were softened, more human-looking. Though his pupils were slitted, his irises were green and not as shocking as Dane’s golden ones; his nails were slightly rounded and grayish white, more like deformed human nails than reptilian claws. If Ryder wore sunglasses and a baseball cap with the bill turned backwards, he could easily pass for human if he didn’t smile. “You want me to be the face and Dane to be the voice.”

“Almost.” Berk outlined his plan: to introduce Ryder first through public service announcements on television and short public appearances where he could be seen waving and smiling at onlookers. Dane would be brought in after a while, and they would be shown shooting pool, playing basketball or building something together. Gradually, Dane would be permitted to give interviews while Ryder looked on. Then they could make the transition to having Dane as the Homo sapiens heredis representative.

“Your mascot, eh?” Ryder said, slightly offended at the notion that he wasn’t perfect for the job. “Why not use a female? Even the ones with the most pronounced features look less intimidating than Dane does, and most are more docile than I am.”

“Good question, Ryder,” Hamilton said. “Because men are innately more aggressive than women, we believe seeing two male saphers interact in a peaceful way would go further to convince humans that saphers are like them than seeing two females have tea. Our Tokyo campus has recently started a similar program with promising results. We think it will work here, too. Will you help us?”

Ryder rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He wasn’t fond of Dane supplanting him as the star of the Center, but he liked the overall idea of it and agreed it was a good plan. Anything that got him closer to his freedom was worth a try. “Yeah. I’ll help.”

And if he could contact the Freedom for All Peoples organization, he might break free of this hell hole.

Katie stripped off her scrubs and washed up while her father discussed the outcome with the gynecologist. She knew that for most doctors here, Jessica’s experience was an everyday occurrence. For Katie, it was a tragedy that rubbed her raw as a professional and as a woman. What had she gotten herself into? These people had wrestled with the problem so long, it had stopped bothering them, and she thought she could fix it? She must be flipping insane.

When Dad approached, Katie shot him a look, warning him she didn’t want to talk about the miscarriage. Not yet.

He put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “Let’s stop by and see Evelyn on the way to lunch. She’s over halfway into her ninth week and on bed rest.”

“Ninth?” Katie asked. “But I thought none have gone past seven weeks.”

“Yeah, she’s our little mystery girl, and you’re the lucky lady who gets to figure it out.”

This news lifted her spirits. If Evie was in her ninth week of gestation, then either one of the treatments was working, or something in her physiology held the key to successful sapher reproduction. “Dad, why haven’t you told me before?”

He grinned. “Because you just signed the non-disclosure agreement an hour ago.”

Outside, they climbed onto the waiting golf cart. Dad directed the driver to the dormitory. As the driver backed out of the parking spot, Katie hung onto the rail beside her.

The garden-like campus sprawled across forty acres in what was originally developed as an expansion of the Arizona State University in north Phoenix. The green lawns between the buildings looked lush and inviting, and the mature royal empress trees provided plenty of shade from the bright sun, but the landscape was a rose bush, its thorns the oppressive heat that made Katie wilt.

“I’m not used to this weather,” she said. The hot breeze caused by the movement of the golf cart felt like a blast from a furnace. “It must be a hundred degrees out here, and it’s only eleven thirty.” Saphers and human staffers alike were walking from one building to another with purposeful strides, no doubt eager to escape the sun.

He laughed. “You’ll re-acclimate soon. A few air conditioners were replaced in the spring. We shouldn’t have many surprises this summer.”

“It’s a good thing. I don’t want my girls getting overheated.”

Once inside the comfortably air-conditioned dormitory, they took the elevator to the fourth floor. The gray carpets, bright lighting and security cameras recessed into the ceiling gave the hallways an institutional atmosphere rather than homey. Dad pressed the doorbell outside apartment 414B.

When the door opened, a gray-haired human woman gestured them in. “Dr. Marsh, thank goodness. Can you talk some sense into this child?”

The layout was identical to the apartment where Katie had spent time with Ryder when they were teenagers. This one was furnished with a bland brown recliner, matching couch, a fake wood coffee table and an end table. The picture window and overhead lamp provided plenty of light. Muffled sounds from a television drifted in from the bedroom.

Fourteen-year-old Evelyn, in blue denim shorts and an orange tank top, stood in the kitchenette with a slack-jawed expression of shock and guilt. She was a bit taller than when Katie had last seen her and her figure more womanly. She had Ryder’s green eyes and straight nose.

“Evie, what the hell are you doing?” Dad asked. “Get back into bed.”

Evie’s chin immediately began to quiver. Moisture filled her eyes.

“Dad, let me get this,” Katie whispered as she stepped around him. “Hi, Evie.” She slid an arm around Evie’s shoulders and gently ushered her toward the bedroom. “How wonderful to see you.”

“Katie. Oh, my gosh,” Evie said. The surprise in her voice trumped her despair at being admonished. She turned Katie’s guidance into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were pregnant and came to help.” Katie steered Evie to the bed and sat her down. “And I’m told you’re on bed rest.” She lifted Evie’s legs and swung them onto the bed.

“But I’m so bored. This is killing me.” Evie dropped her hands dramatically to her sides.

Katie sat on the edge of the bed. “I understand, but sweetheart, it’s important for you to stay in bed until we’re sure the baby isn’t in distress.”

“It’s not,” Evie said. “I would know.”

At the doorway, her father stood with his arms crossed, frowning.

“Dad,” Katie said, “would you mind if I had a little girl-to-girl chat with Evie? I’ll meet you in the cafeteria in a few minutes.”

“Sure, Sweet. I’ll see you in a bit.”

When he was gone, Katie put a loving hand on Evie’s cheek. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to snap at you. He’s concerned about you. We both are. Start by telling me about your diet.”

The smell of sawdust filled Ryder’s nostrils as he pressed the block of wood slowly and carefully against the whirring blade of the band saw. It would be a Golden Retriever this time, leaping for a Flexi-Disc. He would stain it reddish gold, then paint the little eyes black. Not that he knew what a real Golden looked like, but from the pictures he’d seen, this might be pretty close.

The blade caught the side of his claw and yanked his finger forward, just skimming the blade. Blood splattered the machine as well as his t-shirt. “Ahh! Shit.” He put his finger into his mouth, sucking on the blood and letting his saliva bathe the wound. The humming sensation in his chest started immediately, along with the familiar tightening in his throat. Gradually the tang of blood dissipated. When he examined his finger a minute later, the wound was closed. He returned to his carving, concentrating more closely on his work.

Gradually, a high-pitched beeping seeped into his consciousness. His watch. He checked the time: eleven-fifty-eight. Shit. He was going to be late.

He turned off the saw and wiped his blood off, then put his supplies into his locker. He brushed sawdust off himself as he jogged to the dormitory. Rather than waiting for the elevator, he took the steps two at a time up four flights. When he reached Evie’s apartment door, huffing from the run and sweating from the heat, he punched in his access code. The lock clicked open, and he let himself in.

The human nurse, gray-haired with sagging jowls, was asleep in the recliner with her mouth hanging open. Ryder had the urge to sneak up and scare the crap out of her. Would serve her right for sleeping when she should have been watching his daughter.

He rounded the corner to Evie’s bedroom and stopped short. Katie. He took two steps and stopped. No. She wouldn’t return the embrace. He would feel like an idiot.

The two women looked up at his entrance. Evie’s bright, jagged-tooth smile never failed to warm him with love and pride.

“Daddy,” Evie said. “Look who’s here!”

Katie stood. “Ryder, hi.”

“Hi, Pup. Yes, I see. Hello, Katie. What’s it been, two years?” Her chocolate-colored hair was longer now, past her shoulders. Still slim like her dad but womanly. Mature. Damn, she looked good.

“Not quite.” Katie took a hesitant step toward him with her arms partly raised as if she was going to hug him. Instead, she stuck out one hand. “It’s nice to see you, Ryder.”

He shook her hand, but it felt awkward and unnatural. They’d been friends. More than friends. “Ah, screw this.” He let go of her hand and wrapped her in a strong embrace. Her neck smelled faintly of lilac. Memories came flooding back to him, stirring his body. She pulled away first and smiled shyly.

He leaned down to kiss his daughter’s forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sick and tired of lying here.” She reached up and brushed a few sawdust crumbs from his hair, and her gaze fell to his chest. “Goh! Dad, is that blood?”

Ryder pulled his gray t-shirt away from his chest and studied the blood spatters. “Oh. A little accident in the wood shop. Nothing to worry about, see?” He held up his finger, fully healed, for her to inspect. Aside from the misshapen claw, there was no sign of injury except a faint scar.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Katie.

“Well, I have an announcement. I’ve quit my job in Boston and moved back to Phoenix.”

Evie gaped at her, then broke into a big smile. “Really? Oh, wow. That’s knocked up.”

Katie laughed. “Knocked up? As in pregnant?”

Ryder said, “Around here, pregnant is good. Dope. Fly. Cool. It’s knocked up.”

Evie nodded enthusiastically. “So you can visit us on the weekends.”

“Better than that,” Katie said. “When my dad told me Dr. Wong retired and Dr. Hamilton was the new executive VP, I called her and begged for a job. I’m working here now. I’ll be able to see you every day.”

Now Evie squealed. “Daddy, did you hear that?”

Ryder smiled patiently. “Yep, every word. Awesome.” He had to admit he was excited about her being back for good.

“You mean knocked up?” Katie asked, grinning.

Ryder and Evie laughed.

The nurse came into the doorway. “Hello, Ryder. Didn’t hear you come in. I’ll be back in a bit with your lunch tray, Evie.”

“Get some coffee for yourself while you’re there, huh?” he called after her.

Evie chattered for a minute about things they could do together, the meals they could share, the long talks.

All the while, he watched Katie in silence. He was also thinking about things they could do together but doubted she would want to hear what he had in mind. She was here for work. That was all. Sometime between their secretive lovemaking as teenagers and her fancy degree in genetic engineering, she’d forgotten the promise they’d made to each other. He had to remind himself she wasn’t his friend any longer. She was Dr. Marsh.

“Are you planning to do experiments on my daughter?”

Katie startled. “No, Ryder, but Evie is the only sapher ever to get this far into a pregnancy. As the Center’s new reproductive scientist, it’s my job to discover what’s different about her physiology and use that information to help the other females.”

“Reproductive scientist, eh? Does that mean you’re going to be telling me who I can screw?”

“Eww, Dad!”

Katie blushed. “Determining the best genetic matches isn’t my area of expertise. I’ll be trying to solve problems in the womb.”

“Like a gynecologist or obstetrician?”

“Not quite. I’m more of a troubleshooter. When things go wrong, I advise physicians on exploratory treatments using gene and cell therapies and pharmaceuticals. Together, we sort of renovate the womb to fix problems as they arise.”

“Your job is to keep Evie pregnant until she delivers?”

“I’ll do my best.”

A thought occurred to him then. Katie could make sure his grandchild survived if she removed the embryo from Evie’s womb and implanted it in her own. He didn’t understand the science part, but it should work. After all, the Center had paid her well to be Evie’s gestational carrier. The money had covered her college tuition.

Ryder didn’t want to bring it up in front of Evie, but he’d talk to Katie about it later. If she really wanted to do her best, if she cared about Evie, she would do this.

At the end of the day, Katie logged out of the Center’s computer network, grabbed her purse and locked her office door. As she walked to the elevator, she waved at the hallway camera eyeing her silently from the corner. If someone was watching, she wanted to make a pleasant impression on her first day.

“Good night, Dr. Kate,” a male voice said through the intercom. “Will you be leaving through the basement door?”

“No, I parked in the visitor’s lot today.”

“I’ll send someone to let you out.”

Pump had already left for the day. A guard, a thick-lipped, loud-breathing fellow with sleepy eyes, met her at the security portal and let her out the front door. The way he leered at her was like a clammy hand on the back of her neck. The news crew and all but a couple of protestors had gone. The two men were standing beside their vehicles, talking. Neither looked her way when she exited the building.

Katie reached her car to find one of the tires completely flat. “Damn it,” she said under her breath. She should have moved her car as soon as she’d received the access card for the underground garage. A quick survey of the remaining tires gave her the good news: they were fine. At least she wouldn’t need a tow truck. Changing a tire in a suit and heels would surely ruin her clothes, if she could figure out how to do it.

She started digging into her purse for her roadside assistance membership card. Hopefully, it was still valid.

“Need some help?”

Startled, Katie fumbled her purse, and her compact fell out. A redhead bent to pick it up. When he straightened, she saw he was a nice-looking fellow with a square jaw and mustache. “I’ve got nothing to say,” she said, taking her compact from his hand. The mirror inside was probably shattered.

“Well then, let’s take a look at your tire.” He squatted in front of the front left tire and ran a finger over its black surface. “Looks like someone slit it.”

Katie crossed her arms. It must have been him. “What a mean thing to do.”

He looked up at her with mischievous green eyes. “It sure was. How’s your spare?”

Why was he being so nice? He was one of those rabid protestors. “You don’t need to bother with that. I have roadside assistance.”

He stood and dusted off his hands. “Yeah, but they’ll put you on hold for ten minutes, then take an hour to send someone out here. I could have it done before they even answer the phone.”

He seemed nice enough. She shouldn’t have assumed he’d been the one who’d slit her tire. “That’s awfully kind of you to offer. I’ll give you a few dollars for your trouble.”

He walked around to the trunk and motioned for her to unlock it. “No, don’t do that. I like being the gallant hero, saving damsels in distress. Taking your money would cheapen it for me.”

Katie unlocked the trunk, and the man started to fish inside for the spare tire and jack as though they’d been friends for years. She didn’t know whether to be insulted or thankful. When she pictured herself squatting in her skirt and heels, fumbling with the jack and tire, she decided his take-charge attitude was just what she needed. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate your help.”

“Mike,” he said, extending his hand.

She shook it. “Katie.”

He removed the spare and rolled it to the front of the car. “So were you just visiting the Center?”

Crap. It figured he would broach the subject now that he had her captive. Maybe she would turn the tables on him and set a few of his misconceptions straight. “No, I’m an employee.”

He looked up in surprise. “No kidding. Let me guess: you’re an executive of some kind. Maybe a lawyer?”

Katie grinned. “What makes you say that?”

Mike looked her up and down while he loosened the lug nuts. “Because you’re too pretty to be a scientist and too well-dressed to be clerical help. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not,” she said with a teasing lilt. “I happen to be a reproductive scientist.”

He assessed her once more before returning to the lug nuts. “Well, it’s not the first time I’ve been wrong about a woman.” He fiddled with the jack and began to pump the car’s weight up off the tire.

She hated standing around not helping, but she didn’t know what else to do. Harmless conversation seemed like a reasonable alternative to getting in his way. “What do you do when you’re not saving damsels in distress or protesting outside my office?”

Mike chuckled as he pulled off the flat tire and set it on the ground beside him. “Usually working or volunteering at the pet rescue league.”

Katie gaped at him. “Really?” She didn’t often meet people who gave of themselves so readily.

“When someone dies of Molio, a pet often becomes homeless. The first thing we do is get it spayed or neutered, then try to find a new home for it.” He picked up the spare and lifted it onto the wheel.

“That’s wonderful. Are you a veterinarian?”

“No, computer systems technician at Incorp Electronics. If you’re a Center employee, why’d you park out here?”

“Today was my first day, and I didn’t have a garage access key at the time. I was practically assaulted by your Freedom friends on my way to work, I’ll have you know.”

To her surprise, Mike said, “I’m sorry. Although it’s a non-violent organization, I know some of them get a little crazy and in-your-face. I’m not one of them, don’t worry. I respect what you’re trying to accomplish, even if the means are questionable.”

Katie had to admit this smart, good-looking philanthropist intrigued her. “Why do you support Freedom for All Peoples if you don’t oppose the Center’s work?”

He froze for a moment and turned his head slowly to her. For an instant, a chill thickened the air between them. Then a smile warmed his face. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I believe the saphers deserve a life outside of that complex, living free in the world and choosing for themselves.” He picked up another lug nut and began to screw it on. “But I don’t think the research you’re doing there is unethical.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Believe me, every time someone dies and leaves a dog or cat homeless, I thank Henry Marsh for making the saphers in the first place. They’re our only hope against Molio, you know? A vaccine from their blood or something. It’s something to dream about, anyway.” He lowered the car onto the spare and began to tighten the lug nuts.

“A vaccine wouldn’t work.”

“I keep hearing that, but I don’t get it. Why not?”

“Because of how moliovirus functions. Our immune system fights it just fine. The problem is that the virus releases lethal toxins when it dies. We don’t have a defense against them.”

“Listen, Katie,” he said, standing. “I was on my way to grab some dinner. I’d love it if you’d join me.”

She checked the time on the integrated chronometrical-cellular technology device — the inccet — on her wrist, trying to think of a reason to decline without being impolite.

“You could think of it as repayment for the tire,” he said.

Damn him. “Okay, sure. I’ll meet you somewhere and buy your dinner.”

“No, no.” He put the flat tire and jack into her trunk and closed the lid. “I didn’t mean to suggest you should pick up the tab. I hoped you could explain the virus stuff to me. I wouldn’t let a lady pay for my meal. Call me old-fashioned.”

Oh, please. She probably earned twice what he did. “Where to?”

“How about Lucky’s Grill on Bell Road?”

Her stomach growled, urging her to accept. “All right. Meet you there.”

As she navigated the barren streets to the sports lounge to meet Mike, Katie scanned the empty husks of dead businesses: the pizza restaurant where she’d gotten her first job as a teenager, the gas station where she’d gassed up her scooter on the way to school, the Dairy Queen where she and her friends had gone to escape the hot summer days.

Phoenix was such a different city now, thirteen years later, because of Molio. She passed a street where her first boyfriend had lived. He’d been only seventeen when he died. More than half her high school graduating class was dead now. The world population was down to three and a half billion, and most projections estimated Homo sapiens sapiens would be extinct by 2075. She saw this in the thousands of obituaries published every day, in the darkened, vacant homes on her street, in the boarded-up businesses littering the city, and in the faces of those who’d lost their loved ones to this disease.

She parked in the restaurant’s sparse lot and went inside. Mike wasn’t there. She checked her inccet. If he didn’t show up in five minutes, she’d leave.

The dim lights in the pub only added to the dreariness of the near-empty lounge. Several televisions suspended from the ceiling were tuned to a sports channel. Katie didn’t care for sports but found herself drawn to the cheering, the crowd, the fantasy that all was well with the world. The waitress, dressed up as a referee, hustled across the floor, carrying with her the smells of beer and burgers.

A car pulled into the lot and powered down. A man got out and jogged to the door. Mike walked in and smiled when he met Katie’s eyes. “I was afraid you’d ditch me.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” she said with a grin.

They took a seat in a quiet booth and ordered sandwiches and soda, making small talk about the Diamondbacks baseball game playing above them while they got settled.

“Forgive my ignorance,” Mike said, resting his forearms on the table between them. “I didn’t pay much attention in science class, so I never understood Molio and how it works. I hope you don’t mind me bombarding you with questions. I haven’t met a real scientist since my high school chemistry teacher.”

“I don’t mind. I’m not much of a teacher, but I’ll try.” She spent the next ten minutes explaining how viruses located receptive human cells, injected their DNA and used the cell’s own natural reproduction system to multiply and spread.

Mike’s lip curled. “That’s nasty.”

Katie nodded. “Viruses are scary little buggers but fascinating. Our bodies have a defense for this, though: our immune system. Human T-cells are designed to run around our bloodstream looking for invaders like the moliovirus. When they find the invaders, they destroy them.”

“That’s where the toxins come in?”

“Right. When moliovirus dies, it releases three toxins that attack our organs, including the skin, causing Moliomyositis.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, “but it seems like we could use drugs to suppress the immune system and avoid getting Molio at all. I’d rather be blind than dead.”

“When moliovirus is allowed to run rampant, it eventually heads to the lymph nodes where it mutates, causing a hematologic cancer, a cancer of the blood. Believe it or not, Molio is a less painful, more humane death.”

“Oh, damn. I never knew that. So we really are doomed.”

The waitress arrived with their sandwiches and refilled their drinks. “Holler if you need anything else,” she said before scurrying away.

“Why don’t the saphers have this problem?”

“We substituted reptilian DNA to remove the protein the moliovirus sticks to. Because saphers don’t have any cells with the target protein, the virus is practically inert. When the virus particle gets into their bloodstream, their immune system destroys it like ours does, but the toxins aren’t in great enough quantities to do any harm—”

“Because the virus hasn’t been reproducing!” Mike said, slapping the table.

“Exactly,” Katie said, pleased her student grasped the material.

“Finally, I understand. You’re a great teacher, Katie. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Thanks. I taught an undergraduate biology class while I was working on my master’s degree, but that was a while ago.”

“So now we come to the big question. The one you knew I was going to ask.” He winked as he shoved a french fry into his mouth.

Katie slumped in her seat. Here it comes. “All right, let’s get it over with.”

“If the saphers can’t cure us, what good are they?”

That wasn’t the question she was expecting. She cocked her head. Was that malice in his tone? “Homo sapiens sapiens is projected to be extinct in about fifty years. If there’s a sentient species remaining, one that could continue to work toward eradicating the virus, they could bring us back.”

“Can they be gestational carriers for humans like humans are for them?”

It was an excellent question. “We don’t know yet.” If the reason the females kept miscarrying was due to a defect in their reproduction system, the answer would be no, not until the problem was identified and fixed. Answering that question was part of her job.

“Well, if they can, why would they? They’d have the whole planet to themselves.”

“That’s true,” she said, “but if no sentient species remained, then there’s absolutely no hope for us. Saphers could at least pick up where we left off, even if we never returned. Our existence wouldn’t simply be forgotten.”

“If we’re not around to remember, who cares?”

“Don’t you want to leave a legacy? Leave your thumbprint on the world?”

Mike smiled a funny, private smile. “You say the saphers are a sentient species, but you keep them caged like animals.”

The back of her neck prickled. “No, the Center provides a very pleasant living environment for them. It’s like a college campus with a dormitory, recreational facilities, administrative offices and classrooms. In fact, their education never stops because we have so much collective knowledge to impart before we hand them the keys, so to speak.”

He took a bite and continued talking, covering his mouth with his fist. “Sorry. I don’t mean to offend you. I think keeping them imprisoned is unjust, and I’m the kind of person who has to speak out against injustices.”

“Perceived injustices,” Katie said.

“All right, I’ll grant you that, but until I see for myself, I have to go by what I read, and what I’ve read is that saphers don’t want to be imprisoned.”

“What you’ve read is propaganda distributed by Freedom for All Peoples. If you saw the saphers and talked to them, you’d know they’re happy at the Center.”

“Say,” he said, eyeing her mischievously. “Could you arrange to give me a tour? I’d give anything to meet a sapher in person.”

“I doubt it,” Katie said. “We’ve got rules and protocols to follow. We have to assure the saphers’ and the public’s safety above all else.”

“You have some public relations issues with all the demonstrating and bad press you’ve been getting lately, right? Letting a Freedom volunteer in to see the facility and talk to saphers wouldn’t be a bad move. What if I went back to the leaders of Freedom and told them what I saw? Told them how the saphers live and whether they seem happy?” He leaned forward with bright, dancing eyes, clearly excited about this idea.

Katie raised her eyebrows. He definitely had a point, and he seemed more reasonable than most who protested the Center's work. “Remember today was my first day on the job. I don’t have any pull there.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?”

“I guess not. They’ll probably say no, but I’ll ask.”

“You’re a gem. Thank you.”

“It’s getting late,” she said, “and I do have to work in the morning.” She thanked him for the meal and conversation as he walked her to her car. The sky was dark gray-blue with a smattering of stars unclouded by the lights of the shrinking city around them.

“Let me give you my number.” He held his inccet near hers and transmitted his contact information to her, and she gave him hers as well. “It’ll be under M for McLoughlin.”

“As will mine — for Marsh.”

Mike’s eyes went wide. “Are you related to Henry Marsh?”

“He’s my dad.”

Mike gasped. “I had no idea I was in the presence of royalty. Forgive me, m’lady. You’ve bestowed upon me a great honor by blessing me with your loveliness for these two hours. I shall phone you soon.” He took her hand and placed a soft kiss on its back.

Katie pressed her lips into a smile. The words were romantic but something in his tone sounded less than sincere. “Good night, Mike. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The pleasure was mine.” He bowed and stood back while she got in her car. As she drove out of the parking lot, he waved.

A gust from the air conditioner sent a chill across her flesh.

Table of Contents

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

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Epilogue

About the author

The Venom of Vipers

Table of Contents

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

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Epilogue

About the author

The Venom of Vipers