Chapter 1
Lord Quendin, First of the Horde, bowed his head, and dropped to one knee in front of his master. Right now, he wished he were elsewhere. If only he could have sent one of his lackeys to meet the mage, let someone else face his wrath. Mucking out the stables was better than confronting Jahkon, Mage of Remarne, when he was angry, and right now the mage’s rage simmered like a cauldron of oil coming to a boil. That fury showed in the ice blue glitter in his eyes and the fine tremor in his fingers.
Quendin stared at the floor, careful not to say or do anything to provoke the man in front of him. One snap of those twitching fingers could conjure a fireball that would melt the skin from his bones. Sweat morphed across his forehead. Carrying good news to the mage made Quendin’s blood creep. Delivering bad news left his knees weak and his guts loose.
“And where is Danika now?”
Quendin flinched at the gentle voice. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow. Staring doggedly at the floor, he avoided meeting the eyes of the other man. The expressionless face of the mage would give goosebumps to the Dark One himself.
“I . . . I don’t know, my Lord. She sent me away and left with Calia.”
“Calia again? Well then, find her, Quendin. Or do you think I should play nursemaid to my sister?”
Jahkon, High Mage and Lord of House Remarne, moved away from the narrow stone window and stared at his second-in-command. The dewy sweat on Quendin’s brow became a river, leaking down his face, filling his eyes with stinging tears. His fingers convulsed at the start of a three-fingered sign against the Dark One. Catching himself, he made a fist of the wayward hand.
“No. No, my Lord. I will find her,” Quendin stuttered.
He bobbed to his feet and turned to go. The mage didn’t issue orders twice. He expected his commands to be done at once. Quendin risked a quick look over his right shoulder. Jahkon had already forgotten him. Instead, his eyes were focused on the town square below. It was a hanging day in the old city of Laurana. Quendin straightened and stepped towards the door, his customary arrogance restoring the swagger to his walk.
“And Quendin?”
Quendin cringed under the whip of the harsh voice. Slowly, he turned to face the mage.
“I believe Calia becomes a problem. You will rid us of her.”
“How, my Lord?”
“I am sure the miandrogas will provide you with a solution. That way, you will make a small profit for your efforts. You will do this quietly, without disturbing my sister. Danika must learn to obey.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Quendin sketched a bow and slid through the door, closing it silently behind him. Once outside, he blotted his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. Face-to-face meetings with Jahkon left him rattled. He, who prided himself on fearing nothing, was shaking like a beaten horse after a two-minute encounter with the dark mage. Taking a deep breath, he glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed his slinking retreat. There was no one about. Straightening to his full height of six and a half feet, he turned his thoughts to his orders as a smirk tugged at his lips.
It seemed he had a miandrogas to find. It shouldn’t be hard. There was always one of the nasty little blighters somewhere within reach of the dark lord. Getting rid of Calia would be a pleasure. It would teach the girl to respect her betters.
***
“Calia, wait!” Danika lifted the edge of her skirt and ran after her maid, cursing the flutter of fabric around her feet. She longed for the soft leggings she always wore when they went on an adventure. Today she hadn’t had time to don them.
“Danika, I see it. The caravan is coming. Quick, look.” Calia stopped at the edge of the broken stone and waited impatiently for Danika to catch up. “You’ve gotten slow over the winter,” she taunted. “You must move faster if you want to get away from here.”
Danika stopped at Calia’s words. What if someone heard?
“Wait,” she called again, softly. “Let me catch up.”
She ran and stumbled on a loose fold of her dragging skirts. Bending to untangle her toes, she glanced around, searching for signs of hidden ears. Relief flooded her. She and Calia were alone.
“Calia!” she said sharply. “You mustn’t say that!”
The other girl’s bright laughter peeled over the twitter of the birds in the branches above. “There is no one out here. Just us. Come on.”
Danika gave the trees another long look. Calia’s words stole the joy from the moment. The girl was a fool to believe there was anywhere safe to let your tongue fly. The lord of Remarne had spies everywhere—spies who delighted in running to Jahkon with what they overheard. In Laurana, knowledge gained from eavesdropping and interrogations meant power for those who caught the mage’s ear.
Danika reached the crest of the hill and looked in the direction Calia pointed—towards the great forest. The forest was Calia’s true home, and according to her, a place she never wanted to return.
The spread of wooded land covered much of the terrain to the east. Those who dwelled there, like Calia, were black-haired and gray eyed. They were nothing like the blue-eyed, blonde-haired inhabitants of Danika’s world. Calia was the first person she had met from the forest. Its occupants stayed close to the trees and their ancient magick. It was rare for them to venture as far as the great cities. Danika still did not know what had brought Calia to Laurana.
Standing next to her friend, she watched the winding caravan of wagons and straining oxen pass below. The caravan was the first of the spring traders, a reason to celebrate the day. The past winter was long and cold, making the return of the sun especially welcome.
“Why so gloomy on such a fine day?” Calia teased, dropping to sit cross-legged on a straggly patch of grass.
Danika shook her head. “You speak before you think. That is a dangerous thing. You do not understand how far voices carry.”
“Bah! You worry too much. Your brother and his henchmen are far away. Besides, they have no interest in me. You can protect me. You are the lady of Remarne.”
Danika shook her head sadly. Calia couldn’t understand what she didn’t know. Lady of Remarne was a title, nothing else. Danika was a chattel to her brother, a pawn to further his influence. In Laurana, it had always been that way. Now with Jahkon’s power growing, there was nowhere it was safe to speak freely. Jahkon could read Danika like a book. No. She couldn’t keep Calia safe if she insisted on running her tongue like a fool.
“You don’t understand us. You must guard your words. Freedom is an illusion.”
“So gloomy, Danika. If I wanted to be told what to do, I would have stayed in the forest.” Calia shrugged and returned to her study of the lead wagon. “Look.” Her gray eyes glowed as she glanced back at Danika. “It’s the cloth merchant. What do you think he brings? Silks, satins, lace? New gowns.” Calia jumped to her feet and danced a little dance.
Danika shook her head. “You are such a child, Calia.”
“I am three years older than you are.”
Danika rolled her eyes. That might be true, but it meant nothing. Danika, born into the ancient house of Remarne, was old in the ways of power and society. Her brother, the great mage, said she held an untapped well of magickal skill, that with time, she would be powerful. Jahkon would expect her to be practicing those skills, not sneaking off with Calia to watch the wagons roll by. The thought sent an icy chill through her.
“We should go back,” she said.
Calia stopped her dance, and the laughter drained from her face. “What is it? What do you feel?”
“Nothing. I worry you laugh at what you don’t understand. You must watch your tongue. There is no place safe to speak so openly.”
Calia shrugged. “You worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry enough.”
Silence dropped over them. They watched the cumbersome wagons roll by as the harsh calls of the wagon masters and bellows of the oxen battered their ears. The caravan’s arrival signaled that at last, spring had reached Laurana. As the heavy snows and winds loosened their grip on the land, the sun greedily gobbled it up. In the great forest, rumor bushes bloomed, their red flowers heralding the fat purple fruit they would soon bear. Rumor berry wine would once more fill the goblets at the tables.
Danika sighed and looked towards the citadel of Remarne. Its heavy granite walls rose higher than the old trees. The generals had built the walled city of Laurana and its castle to keep intruders out and its people safe—or prisoner. Danika looked away.
The ancient castle was a remnant from the Meeachon Wars, a time when brother killed brother and the earth bled. Laurana was the last bastion in the fight, a place the old generals marshaled their forces and retreated from the forest. The power of man built the great ramparts and heavily fortified walls. The magick came later when General Darone turned his life towards the dark arts. Long after the wars, as the strength of the mages soared, the power behind Remarne changed and darkened.
The caravans were closer, and the calls of the wagon masters flattened and softened as the bellows of the oxen quieted. Danika sighed, listening to the change in tone. The city of Laurana evoked fear. The visiting caravans came to trade, but they also carried a hefty fortune in gold to pay for the privilege of doing so. Jahkon’s power was so great even the rich merchants bowed to House Remarne.
Sighing again, she lifted one hand to block the sun from her eyes and looked towards the tower windows of Jahkon’s wing. Was he there, staring down at her? She lifted her chin and waved cheerily. Jahkon took himself too seriously. He needed to step away from his lofty heights and live life.
The staccato pound of hoofbeats reached her. Turning slowly, she looked towards the base of the hill. Quendin, the First of the Horde, yanked his black destrier to a rearing stop. He sat on the back of the massive horse as if born there. A gust of wind caught his heavy leather cloak and sent it flapping over the wide flanks of the powerful horse.
Calia nudged Danika’s arm and smiled. “Look,” she said. “The tooling on Quendin’s cloak matches the face cover on his stallion’s nose. Who do you think is prettier?”
Danika couldn’t hide her smile. Quendin liked his pretty things. The horse flipped its head and snorted.
“Lady Danika,” Quendin called. “My lord requests your presence.” He shook his head, mirroring the horse’s gesture, as he added disapprovingly, “You should not be out here unattended.”
Danika rolled her eyes. Quendin was a pompous ass.
“I am not alone. I am accompanied by my friend,” she answered civilly, managing not to tack the word fool onto the end of her sentence.
“That one?” Quendin snorted like his horse. “She is nothing but riffraff from the forest. She feeds off our good fortune.”
Calia tossed her long black hair from her eyes and slid in front of Danika. Smiling, she struck a sultry pose.
“I did not hear you speak these words last night when you were prowling after me in the great hall. In fact, I believe you pledged me undying love. How fast you change your words when others are around.”
Quendin flushed an ominous red. Danika hid her smile behind her hand. He deserved Calia’s words, but he wouldn’t forgive them.
She intervened. “What is so important that my brother calls me to his tower?”
Quendin scowled at Calia and answered. “That information is not for the ears of her. She is not fit to be in your presence. A fact that will—.” He stopped, took a deep breath, and continued, “You will come now, Lady Danika.”
Calia laughed and tossed him another seductive smile. “Poor Quendin. So powerful and strong yet sent to call Lady Danika like a junior stable boy. How that must vex you.”
Danika interrupted. Calia was playing with fire. Quendin would use brute force to get what he wanted. By mocking him, Calia was putting herself in danger, and Danika couldn’t let that happen. The other girl was the only friend she had ever had. The role of lady of Remarne was one of duty. Every moment of her day was planned by Jahkon and filled with obligations and study. Calia didn’t understand Laurana’s rules. She had arrived at the castle gates with the final caravan of last year’s season. Even half-starved, with the scars of a lashing fresh on her back, Calia laughed at life. It was something Danika couldn’t do.
“The Lord waits,” Quendin said edgily.
Danika waved her hand abruptly. “And he will wait a few minutes more. I have no intention of appearing before him dressed like this.”
“Better in that than the leggings favored by the forest wench.”
Danika didn’t answer. She stared at the caravan below, watching it roll soundlessly by. Was it a spell that deadened the noise? Or did men and beasts tread warily out of fear of provoking the mage?
“Come, Calia. We will prepare for a visit to my brother. I dismiss you Quendin. I do not need your help.”
