Melanie Card

Kaelyn woke with a start. She wasn’t supposed to have fallen asleep. She’d sat on the bed and leaned back, vowing she’d only close her eyes for a minute. And now something was wrong. She had no idea what, but something had woken her and every instinct she had screamed at her.

She grabbed her sword, fighting the dizziness of getting up too fast, and raced into the hall. Cat sprawled, a dark shadow on the wood floor, between her and Wyndham’s rooms. He looked at her, blinking his glowing green eyes, as if telling her that all of her rushing around was unbecoming. She strode past him and eased open Wyndham’s door. His lanky form was stretched out on the bed and his shock of blond hair was bright on the pillow, catching the little light from the candle sconce in the hall.

Her heart skipped a beat. There was something about him, something comfortable yet still edged with attraction. It was different from the desire Talar inspired and she couldn’t tell which had more appeal. She hadn’t had the courage to ask him more about their relationship since Mythnar, although she tried to convince herself it wasn’t a matter of courage, but timing. She had no right to ask about herself when so much more was happening. The kingdom was in danger and so were their lives. The thought of pressing him with questions about another life seemed petty in comparison.

Read More of Chapter Fifty

Heavy mist clung to Kaelyn, soaking through her clothes and dripping from her hair. It had been days since they’d crawled from the passage in the catacombs.

With a sigh, Wyndham squatted in the shelter of a low-hanging pine bough. He patted the ground beside him and she huddled close. It reminded her of the last time she’d been soaked through, sitting by the Lord of Newalden’s fire, trying desperately not to stare at Talar.

Heat swept over her, leaving her cold and unsettled. She didn’t want to think of Talar, nor of Wyndham next to her. She didn’t want to think at all. Her life had somehow become something that bards might actually sing about. Adventure and intrigue, an Oracle, a prince, and taverns and cities burning down. Too bad the thought of living a life that bards sang about didn’t thrill her.

She’d wake at night sweating, scared, and scanning their small, dark camp for Wyndham, unable to relax for hours. The reaction was probably a good thing. After all, Aric was probably still looking for them. While stealing a homespun shirt for Wyndham and new breeches for her at a nearby village, they’d heard whispers from the townspeople about the massacre at Mythnar. The story was that the royal guard fought valiantly against a clansman army, but they knew different. And if the tales reached Vitreah before they did, war was a certainty.

Read More of Chapter Forty-Nine

Talar pressed his back to the wall of a rickety three-story building and glanced out the alley, gasping for breath. His side ached and he couldn’t seem to gulp enough air.

“We’ve lost them?” asked Bledig, his chest heaving from their run.

People yelled and screamed, but no one rushed down the street, pitchfork in hand, to kill them.

“I think so.” Talar leaned over, pressing his arm to his side. “What in the name of the Goddess happened?”

Bledig ran his hands through his hair and stared at the sliver of dark sky between the eaves. “They’re dead. All of them.”

“Who’s dead?” But ice filled Talar. He had a feeling he knew who was dead. If the first man to run into the pub had said Mythnar had been attacked by clansmen, whoever was responsible likely wouldn’t want any clansmen around to deny that.

“They slaughtered everyone in the delegation. I couldn’t get into the keep to see if the elders in the delegation were still alive.”

“Only by the grace of Her will,” said Talar. He said it out of habit and for Bledig’s sake. Her grace was still a matter for debate.

Read More of Chapter Forty-Eight

Kaelyn squeezed her sword hilt with sweaty hands and glanced down the corridor. Two boys, no more than ten years old, lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Her gut roiled and she sucked air, fighting the urge to throw up. They just had to get out of Mythnar. She could be sick as much as she wanted once they were safe.

“Ancient Father. It’s Henry,” said Wyndham, his voice low. He rushed to the boy, but she grabbed his bare arm and jerked him back.

“They’re dead and we’ve got to keep moving.” She sounded so callous in her ears. Please let him see it as the practicality necessary for the job at hand. She didn’t know who this Henry was, but he was a child and hadn’t deserved this. No one did.

Many hard-soled boots clattered through the hall. Someone, many someones, were close. She couldn’t take the risk of whoever they were being the men who’d slaughtered these boys. Blood wept from the gash in her leg, seeping into her breeches. They needed to go. She needed to bind her leg. She wanted to be sick, to scream and cry. But now wasn’t the time.

Read More of Chapter Forty-Seven

Mac tipped his chair back and leaned against the wall. He only half listened to Jillyn’s story about the happenings at Court, but Gerid sat forward in rapt attention, his mug held close to his lips, forgotten. Given a little time, Mac suspected the young lord would approach Jillyn’s father and both families would celebrate another marriage. That would be at least one marriage he’d be joyous for. The upcoming nuptials between Wyndham and that clanswoman was just heartbreaking. Neither seemed interested in each other, yet both were willing to sacrifice themselves on the altar of duty. And Adelicia and Gregor were no help.

Not that Mac had tried particularly hard to get either’s attention. Both looked happy, and happy with each other–and he could tell there was more to it than just the finalization of a peace treaty. They were truly in love.

Which left him with what? The knowledge that he’d wasted his life pining for a woman who didn’t love him. He knew in his heart, Adelicia had affection for him. But he’d never asked how much and propriety had kept him silent when others might have proclaimed their love.

Read More of Chapter Forty-Six

Wyndham’s footsteps came closer and Kaelyn’s blood rushed in her ears.  Now that she was here on the window ledge outside his room, she had no idea what she’d say to him.  Maybe she shouldn’t have come.  If the rumors were true and they were in love it was cruel of her to visit him on the night his betrothal was confirmed.  At least she couldn’t remember anything.  But he knew it all–which was the problem.

His face appeared in the small view she had of the room and he sat on the edge of the bed.  He looked tired–everyone of late seemed tired–with dark shadows under his eyes.  He dragged his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons, revealing a narrow, well-muscled chest.

The candle flickered, rippling light through his pale hair, hinting at a halo trying to break free.  He didn’t deserve any pain she might bring him, even unwittingly.  There would be others who could tell her who she was.  What she wanted of him was unkind.

He leaned over to blow out a candle, and glanced at the window.  She eased back into the shadow, her heart pounding.  Please don’t let him have seen her.  But the sigh of bare feet on the stone floor drew near.

“I thought you’d come,” he said.

Read More of Chapter Forty-Five

A numbing haze filled Kaelyn, as if the fog in her memory became physical and wrapped about her.  Everything dulled: thoughts, emotions, sensations, even the passage of time.  On behalf of everyone, Mac accepted the Oracle’s offer to spend the winter in the sanctuary and they were assigned individual rooms.  Kaelyn slept and ate and answered any question asked directly of her, but nothing more.  The sun rose and set day after day, but it could have been the same day.  The day after.  Over and over again.  All she wanted was to be alone.  But Jillyn wouldn’t let her hide in bed.  So, every morning Kaelyn rose, dressed, and escaped her nagging admonishments, spending the rest of the day hiding in the sanctuary’s maze of rooms and halls.

When all of her hiding spots had been discovered, she bundled up, braving the cold and walked for hours through the woods, following a narrow, nearby river, or winding, snow-packed paths, or nothing at all.

On these outside excursions she would take her sword, claiming she was practicing, but she never did.  Never wanted to.

Every so often, she thought about how difficult it must be for her friends.  After all, she’d brought them here, and now she was avoiding them.  But she couldn’t bring herself to contemplate something other than the deep, encompassing nothing within her.  A part of her was surprised at her reaction.  She’d been so unaware of how important restoring her memory was.  And no matter how many times she told herself it didn’t matter or that there were other solutions to try she couldn’t seem to shake the lethargy.

Then spring arrived.

Read More of Chapter Forty-Four

The Oracle sat on the stone floor at the back of the massive chamber.  She was young–much younger than Kaelyn expected.  Although Kaelyn wasn’t sure what she had expected.  Certainly not someone of an age with her.  A fat candle, stuck to the floor with melted wax, sat in front of her, supported a tiny flame.  It illuminated her dark hair and eyes and round face.

“Thank you,” she said to Kaelyn’s escort and she motioned for Kaelyn to sit on the other side of the candle.

Kaelyn eased down.  The flame flickered with her movement then stilled.

“You seek the Oracle.”  The woman’s voice was airy, melodic.  It trembled over Kaelyn, drawing gooseflesh.  “And what it is you would ask?”

“I–”  Kaelyn bit her lip.  This was it.  Everything could change in the next moment.

Read More of Chapter Forty-Three

It was midday and Kaelyn’s feet were cold–and she was sure if they weren’t cold they would hurt.  It seemed like she’d been walking forever, but then, according to everything she remembered, she pretty much had been.  Whatever sage had said the journey was what really mattered hadn’t walked halfway across two kingdoms in the snow.

Mac had claimed today was the last day, but a part of her didn’t believe him, couldn’t believe him.  Her entire definition of herself was this journey and she wasn’t sure who she’d be when it came to an end.

But of course, she’d be herself again.  That self she didn’t remember, the person Wyndham knew but didn’t mention.

The end lay so close.  And yet, the path still twisted between snowy pines and sheer granite walls.  Even the overcast day pressed down at her, making her feel small and insignificant.  Who was she to demand her memory back?

Who was she not to?

Read More of Chapter Forty-Two

Reynold snorted at the ridiculous thought.  If the rumors about his brother and Kaelyn Wintherford were true, then without a doubt he’d be searching for her.  The real question was, how did he know that she wasn’t in Norwell?

Ancient Father above!  Where was his Councilor when he needed him.

He shoved out of his chair and strode to the window.  The sun sat high in the sky, a blazing sphere that made the air shimmer from the city’s rooftops.  The streets were quiet.  Only the slaves were out in the heat and only those of the lowest status.  In an hour or two, the city would come alive again, canopies would be drawn to shade entranceways and wares, and the voices of hawkers would ring out.  All in a sticky, itchy, dusty haze.

Read More of Chapter Forty-One