Melanie Card

Kaelyn held her breath. She’d dreamed of Wyndham asking her to go with him, leave their lives, and be together from the moment she knew she could never have him.

“Where are you going?” she asked, certain he could hear her heart racing.

“North.”

A chill filled her. She didn’t want to go north. North meant responsibility, meant worship and being something she wasn’t. “You know I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t let the clansmen continue to think of her as an embodiment of their Goddess.

“The clansmen have the utmost respect for you.”

“They think I’m an avatar.”

“Is that so bad?”

“How can you say that? Have you suddenly accepted all the responsibilities and limitations of being a prince?”

“I have.”

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Mac gasped against the pain in his chest and staggered under Gerid’s weight. It was just a little farther to the healing tents, but he didn’t know if it would do any good. Blood caked Gerid’s temple and ran down his neck, soaking into his borrowed leather jerkin, while more seeped from the gash in his side down his leg.

“Come on, boy. Just a little farther.”

Gerid mumbled. His head raised a faction, but his legs buckled.

Black specks dotted Mac’s vision. He staggered forward. Just a few more steps. Damned mace. He should have seen the stupid hunk of metal coming. He would have in his youth. Of course, if he hadn’t been on his knees desperate to breathe, he wouldn’t have seen Gerid fall. A hilt to the temple and a blade through the chest.

Jillyn rushed from a tent. Blood smeared her face and smock, and wisps of hair haloed her face. She gasped and wrapped Gerid’s other arm across her shoulders, taking some of his weight–but not nearly enough for Mac’s aching chest. They staggered into the healing tent and laid him on the closest cot. Mac sagged to the ground beside it. God and Goddess, he couldn’t breathe.

Read More of Chapter Fifty-Four

Kaelyn, Wyndham, and a dozen knights rounded another curve in the pass of Gentle Crossings. They’d traveled hard to get there as fast as they could, but the roar rumbling around them said they haven’t arrive in time.

“The battle’s begun,” said Wyndham. He spurred his horse into a gallop.

“Wyndham, wait.” Kaelyn urged her mount to follow. The captain of the knights yelled at them, but Wyndham didn’t slow. They rounded the last turn in the pass and crested the hill. Before them the plain was filled with men, fighting, dying, screaming, yelling. Blood and bodies littered the scrub and new grass.

Bile burned the back of her throat. A few feet away, on a rise, stood Harcourt, his General, and a handful of soldiers. Wyndham leapt from his horse and scrambled up the rise.

Kaelyn followed. The fool was going to get himself killed. It was Harcourt who’d started this whole thing. What did he expect? His brother would just give up?

She rushed after him, hand on the hilt of her sword.

“It’s about time,” said Harcourt, without taking his eyes from the battle before him. “What took you so long?”

“It’s over. Call your men back,” said Wyndham.

Harcourt jerked around, his eyes wide. “Wyndham? You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Call your men back.”

Harcourt snorted. “It’s hardly over. How are you going to stop me?”

“Reynold knows the truth.” Wyndham stepped forward and Kaelyn’s stomach churned.

Read More of Chapter Fifty-Eight

Talar rolled over on his bed, but couldn’t find a comfortable position. Mac hadn’t spent long with the Divine Voice and elders, and the preparations were well underway. There was nothing left for Talar to do but get rest. But he couldn’t get his thoughts to still. They kept whirling around and around, always flying back to Kaelyn, safe . . . with Wyndham.

He supposed it was fate, the way things were supposed to be. He just didn’t want to accept that. How could she be happy as a Princess?

He snorted. What woman didn’t want to be a princess? She just hadn’t struck him as the type to play court games. Which is what she’d have to face as Wyndham’s wife.

He jerked out of bed, dragged his shirt over his head, grabbed his sword and belt, and stalked out of the Inn. He didn’t want to think of her as Wyndham’s wife.

Read More of Chapter Fifty-Seven

Moonlight glinted off a dozen blades, surrounding Mac.

Shit.

“You’re out numbered,” said the soldier Mac had disarmed.

Mac shrugged. “Not a problem.”

The soldier snorted. “Not even you can defeat all of us.”

“You really want to kill a national hero?”

The man glanced at the others beside him. Guess he hadn’t thought of that.

“If it comes to me or you. . . .” He almost seemed apologetic.

“I get it.” What a pathetic way to meet his end. Although Harcourt hadn’t said kill him. Just stake him out and break his legs. Not an impossible situation. He’d faced worst. Of course that had been years ago, when he healed better.

Read More of Chapter Fifty-Six

Harcourt riffled through the parchment on the war table in his tent.

“Where is it?” He slammed the documents down and glared at Mac.

Mac kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t the first time Harcourt had lost his temper, and Mac doubted it would be the last. He’d left a trail of mutilated bodies, strung up to trees, of the soldiers who’d somehow failed at their duties, and now that they were camped at the northern mouth of the pass of Gentle Crossings his mania had grown. Mac had no idea how Harcourt had come to this. It was hard to believe the pensive middle son, named after his father, would have murdered half his family for his ambitions. But he had.

According to all reports, Adelicia, Gregor, and Wyndham were dead. Killed by their guard. Everything Mac had lived for–and suffered for–was gone. In the blink of an eye. And he hadn’t said what he’d needed to say.

Mac swallowed at the lump in his throat. What he really wanted was a drink. Screw being sober.

Read More of Chapter Fifty-Five

Kaelyn stood. She guessed the sneer and the overdramatic drawing of his weapon was supposed to scare her. Foolish man. She’d just realized she could never have the man she loved. There wasn’t much else to live for at the moment.

“I’ve had a really long day.” She dropped her hand to the hilt of her sword.

The man snorted. “Don’t worry, it’s going to come to an end soon.”

“Listen. Just turn around and leave camp and I won’t say anything.”

“You won’t be in any condition to talk to anyone if I stay.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

With a grunt, he lunged at her. She sidestepped his attack, drew her blade, and sliced the muscles in his sword arm. He yelped, dropped his weapon, and hugged his arm to his chest.

“You stupid bitch.”

“I’m not sure you’re in a position to call me names.” She whipped her sword around, aiming to injure a leg and slow him down.

He staggered out of the way and drew his dagger. She swung again, keeping him off balance. He stumbled back, tripping through the flap into the square.

Read More of Chapter Fifty-Four

Clouds hung an ominous grey, threatening, but not giving, more rain. Which was a relief from the constant drizzle since they’d left the sorcerer’s house. Kaelyn’s clothes were damp and itchy and her feet hurt. She snorted. With all the walking she’d done, she would have thought she’d be used to it by now. But her boots had rubbed one of her heels raw and the scab over her wound ached and pulled.

Wyndham hadn’t said more than a few words to her and she couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or not. By the time she’d finished her conversation with the sorcerer, Cat had left, having told Wyndham his brother Harcourt was responsible for the slaughter at Mythnar along with the merchant barons–although he couldn’t name anyone else. Cat hadn’t thought Reynold was involved, which was at least a small blessing.

She couldn’t begin to imagine what Wyndham was thinking, only that from his expression it wasn’t pleasant.

A solider stepped from the underbrush, sword drawn. “State your business.”

Read More of Chapter Fifty-Three

Kaelyn woke with Wyndham’s arms wrapped around her. Pale morning light streamed through the window and the feel of his body pressed against her drew a tingling heat over her. But the sensation of peace was deceptive. Cat wasn’t a cat, but a spy, just like Aric hadn’t really been a friend and everyone else had been lost in Mythnar. All she had left was Wyndham.

She hugged his arms to her chest. If only she could lie like this forever. In between time and duty. But that wouldn’t make either of them happy. He had a responsibility to his family and kingdom, and she supposed she had a duty to him. She’d been wishing that a lot lately–to be still, frozen in a moment–and it was always followed by a ‘but’. But maybe there was still hope. Maybe they could be more of the everything and less of the nothing he’d said they’d been.

But that could only happen after the situation was resolved. Reynold had to be warned about the guard at Mythnar and he had to be told that the clansmen had nothing to do with the attack–if, in fact, he could be trusted. Which meant she had to confront Cat and find out what he knew.

Read More of Chapter Fifty-Two

Talar crested the final rise of the pass of Gentle Crossings and stopped to catch his breath with Bledig, Jillyn, and Gerid. He’d returned to Carthway twice in one year. This was becoming a habit he hadn’t wanted to develop. A really bad habit.

With the festival over, the city should have been a muddy field with the sprawling Inn and the towering Goddess’s Seat, but the Clan Council was in session. While the elders awaited word about the peace treaty, the clans had gathered. Colorful tents littered the area, men, women, and children went about their lives and the livestock grazed, unpenned, on the new grass.

“Are you sure the elders will be at the Goddess’s Seat?” asked Gerid, hands on his thighs, head hanging, gasping for air.

“Looks like it.”

A cloud drifted across the sun, easing the spring glare as they started down the hill. What he wanted was to lie down and rest for a week. And he would, just as soon as he talked to the Divine Voice. After that. . . .

Read More of Chapter Fifty-One