LEGEND OF THE NAMELESS ONE

BOOKS 1-3

ANGELA J. FORD

© 2020 Angela J. Ford

Legend of the Nameless One Books 1-3

Angela J. Ford

Nashville, TN

angelajford.com

Editing for Realm of Beasts: Shayla Raquel, ShaylaRaquel.com

Editing for Realm of Mortals & Realm of Ice: JD Book Services, JD Book Services

Cover Design: Amalia Chitulescu Digital Art, amaliach.com

Dragon Illustration: Wojtek Depczynski, Wojtek-Depczynski.art

Legend of the Nameless One Books 1-3 is under copyright protection. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Printed in the United States of America. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Created with Vellum

ALSO BY ANGELA J. FORD

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The Four Worlds Series

The Complete Four Worlds Series Boxset (Books 1-4)

The Five Warriors

The Blended Ones

Eliesmore & the Green Stone

Eliesmore & the Jeweled Sword

Tales of the Four Worlds

Prison in the Sky

Myran

Legend of the Nameless One Series

Legend of the Nameless One Boxset - Books 1-3

Citrine’s Monsters (prequel)

Realm of Beasts

Realm of Mortals

Realm of Ice

Realm of Rulers

Night of the Dark Fae Trilogy

Pawn

Fated

Noble

Tales of the Enchanted Wildwood

Queen of the Wildwood

Sacrifice of the Woodcutter (coming soon)

Lord of the Castle (coming soon)

To the fans of the Four Worlds.

CONTENTS

Realm of Beasts

1.  Realm of Mortals

2.  A Stir of Drama

3.  Sunshine at Last

4.  Mortal Fears

5.  The Storyteller

6.  Kai’s Secret

7.  Dark and Cold

8.  Home

9.  Realm of Night

10.  Bone-White

11.  Buried Skull

12.  Wind Lady

13.  Lavender and Lemon

14.  Kai’s Folly

15.  Capture the Fool

16.  Trapped

17.  Air of Clarity

18.  Nameless One

19.  Lights of the Village

20.  Mysterious Future

21.  Bright and Snappy

22.  Laws of Balance

23.  What Citrine Knew

24.  Hall of Wonder

25.  Silver-White Heart

26.  Strawberry Dawn

27.  Into the Forest

28.  Origins

29.  Monsters and Mayhem

30.  Mission of Mercy

31.  New Enemies

32.  Mythical Beings

33.  Milky White

34.  Flashes of White

35.  Realm of Beasts

36.  The Bone Tree

37.  Agrim’s Army

38.  Control

39.  Lair of the Master

40.  Winner Takes All

41.  Green Grass Dying

42.  Fade from View

43.  A New Quest

Realm of Mortals

1.  Imbalance

2.  Market Day

3.  Follower

4.  Without Consequence

5.  Burn It Down

6.  Warrior and Hunter

7.  Terror Unleashed

8.  Bloody Fingerprints

9.  Mad Mind

10.  A Shock

11.  Manipulation

12.  Night Visit

13.  Disturbance

14.  Illiterate

15.  Seeking Wisdom

16.  Hide and Seek

17.  Questions and Demands

18.  Spilling Secrets

19.  Indecent Acts

20.  Don't Worry

21.  Reckless Behavior

22.  Bloom of Light

23.  Blood and Pain

24.  The Udi

25.  Awakening Knowledge

26.  Hook Line Sinker

27.  Dungeons and Danger

28.  Bane of the Water World

29.  Unfriendly Suggestions

30.  On Shore

31.  Dire Choices

32.  A Worthy Cause

33.  Attack of Shadows

34.  Shadow Beasts

35.  Death at the Tower

36.  Forced Control

37.  Citrine's Failure

38.  Duplicity

39.  Fooled Again

40.  Danger to All

41.  To Kill a Beast

42.  Harvest Festival

43.  Distance Yourself

Realm of Ice

1.  Orenda

2.  Memory

3.  Beings

4.  Trick

5.  Truth

6.  Snowflakes

7.  Arrows

8.  Defiance

9.  Resilient

10.  Chaos

11.  Revulsion

12.  Dead

13.  Anger

14.  Responsibility

15.  Sore

16.  Therian

17.  Balance

18.  Wait

19.  Terms

20.  Deal

21.  Revelation

22.  Ice

23.  Birthright

24.  Numb

25.  Hollow

26.  Traitor

27.  Truth

28.  Vibration

29.  Volcano

30.  Run

31.  Pressure

32.  Wild

33.  Storm

34.  Power

35.  Alone

36.  Buried

37.  Emerald

38.  Stone

39.  Pieces

40.  Beast

41.  Devastation

42.  Rubble

Afterword

Also by Angela J. Ford

Acknowledgments

About the Author

REALM OF BEASTS

LEGEND OF THE NAMELESS ONE BOOK ONE

1

REALM OF MORTALS

SUMMER. YEAR 965.

LAND OF LOCK. THE SOUTH WORLD.

WHO AM I?

Where did I come from?

What is my name?

Three questions buzzed around his head like vultures over a fresh kill as he crept toward the gut-wrenching smell. His nose wrinkled. A rotten scent wafted through the air, ruining the pleasant flavors of nature with the stench of death. His pulse pounded as he crawled through the golden-yellow grass waving above his head, his movements silent like the wild cats that stalked the forest and open lands.

If you want to know who you are and where you came from, go to Daygone.

The words rang in his memory as if it were yesterday. Ten years ago, he had said goodbye to the green giantess who raised him and spoke those words. He knew she was not a giant, but that’s how he preferred to think of her, for her true name was a harbinger of death. The word Daygone rang in his head like a bad omen—a place where dreams went to die. A darkness flashed in the giant’s eyes when she said the word. Daygone. He could almost detect the bitter mystery that turned rotten, much like the scent he breathed now.

He twitched his nose as a swarm of gnats rose, droning around his face as if fighting an invisible war with one who dared invade their haven of grass. Pausing on all fours, he took a deep breath, fighting back the sneeze until it erupted out of his throat. Ka-choom!

A guilty cough followed as he glanced around, scanning the green meadow with his dark eyes to see if he had disturbed anyone.

An ear-splitting screech made him jump as a flock of buzzards rose in the air, flapping their dark wings and screaming at each other. Torn bits of flesh hung from their claws and blood covered their beaks. He squinted. Whatever kill they were devouring had been dead for a few days.

“Torrrrrr Lir . . .” A sing-song voice called in warning and a creature pounced on him, knocking him flat on his back. He grunted in annoyance as the creature sat on his torso, pinning him down while pounding on his chest.

“Why did you leave?” she demanded, poking him none too gently. “It took me days to find you. If I wasn’t skilled in tracking, I might not have found you at all.” The liquid-gold eyes of the female Jesnidrain moved with animation as she scolded him and jabbed his ribs with her sharp fingernails.

“Lelia.” He cut her off abruptly as he held up both hands in surrender. He felt peeved she’d been able to find him so quickly. “What are you doing out here? You’re not supposed to leave the forests of Shimla.”

The five-foot-tall creature paused mid-sentence and a swift look of anger came over her heart-shaped face. Her jeweled eyes narrowed and her pointed ears turned red as they quivered. “You can leave, but I can’t?”

“I am not an Iaen.” Tor Lir trailed off as Lelia scowled down at him. Her nose twitched, yet she looked lovely, glaring down at him while smelling of the jasmine gardens of Shimla. Giving into weakness, he let his thoughts drift, inhaling her scent and enjoying the warmth of her body pressed against his. Her pert breasts stood out and if he reached out a hand, he could squeeze them and rub his face between them as he’d done often in the past.

“You are an Iaen,” Lelia insisted, emphasizing her words with one last jab. “Besides, if you can leave Shimla, so can I.”

He propped his upper body on his elbows, slightly dislodging the Jesnidrain. Keeping his expression calm, he attempted to explain. “But you cannot come with me. It could be dangerous.”

“You lie.” Her anger dissolved into laughter. “What could be dangerous in this world? There is nothing to fear.” She wriggled her hips, clutching his body with her thighs as if he were a horse.

“You don’t know and neither do I,” he disagreed, ignoring her attempt at foreplay. He was strong enough to leave the seduction of the Iaens of Shimla once, and he would do so again. “It’s our first time leaving the shelter of Shimla, a world within worlds. We don’t know what it’s like out here in the realm of mortals.”

“Why are you out here in the realm of mortals?” She crossed her arms over her chest, her ruby lips drawn down into a frown.

He sat up, sliding her further off his body. He moved his face closer until their noses were mere inches apart. “You know why I have to go. I am the balancer of good and evil. The past twenty years were calm, but I sense the seeds of unrest have sprouted. Where there is mischief, I must restore the balance. Where there is need, it is unsafe. You cannot come with me. You are not strong enough.”

“But you are.” All the same, the Jesnidrain’s words came out sullen as she met his gaze and tilted her head, begging for a kiss. “You can protect me.”

“Not if the balance calls for death. It’s best to stay away. If peace comes and I can return, I will.” He kept his tone solemn as he looked her in the eye, neither moving nor blinking.

After a moment, Lelia shivered and stood. Backing away from him, she rubbed her hands over her bare arms. Her straight black hair swished around her waist and the intoxicating scent of jasmine faded.

He studied her, examining her lithe form as he waited for the truth to sink into her mind. When he was young, he’d noted the uncanny vibe he gave off. It was an aura of cool aloofness. When he slowed down his words and stared into someone’s eyes, they felt cold like the breath of an icy winter coming for them. The first time he’d used the odd power was on the green giantess, and occasionally he used it when the minor annoyances of the Iaens—the immortal creatures of Shimla—grew too alluring. He already regretted trysting with Lelia the Jesnidrain. In the future, he would control his urges lest a flock of unwanted females followed wherever he went.

“I will walk with you until nightfall,” Lelia decided, her steady voice leaving no room for questions.

He shrugged, torn between conflicting feelings. Lelia was a slight seductress in her own way, but she was smart and her company was not completely unwelcome. Turning his back to her, he took a few steps forward. “Do you smell that?”

The corners of Lelia’s mouth turned down and the perfect skin in between her brows creased into wrinkles. “It smells foul . . .” She trailed off and strode forward while the grasses parted for her muscular calves.

He eyed her and followed a few paces behind.

She slowed down as she reached the spot where the buzzards had flown. Tilting his head, Tor Lir spotted the birds circling above, waiting for peace so they could return to their interrupted meal.

A high-pitched shriek jerked his head back down. Lelia stood rigid, frozen in terror as she screamed. Tor Lir watched her with lidded eyes, keeping the smirk from crossing his face while the words I warned you danced on the edge of his lips. Genuine horror made Lelia’s face red as the beets that grew on the outskirts of Shimla while her round eyes looked as if they would pop.

When her first fright had passed, she spun around. Eyes blazing, she stalked back to him with her hands on her hips. Scorn was written across her face and her jaw tightened as she glared up at him. Before he could react, she lifted a hand with lightning speed and slapped his cheek. The sound rang out, echoing across the quiet meadow. His hand flew to his face, more surprised than hurt at her reaction.

“I’ve always known you were full of tricks!” She spewed her words at him. “You play with power and make sure everything that happens is according to your desires, but this is too far! I am done with you, Tor Lir of Shimla. You are no longer welcome in my Jasmine Gardens and I’ll make sure every Jesnidrain knows to stay away from you.”

Tor Lir snorted as she marched away, spreading the thin wings on her back, gaining speed. Although she had wings, she couldn’t fly. Her kind lived with a misfortune. Some of them had the ability of flight while others did not. He supposed she meant her words to be damaging, but he felt grateful the danger in the realm of mortals turned out to be true. No longer would he be saddled with her delicious yet annoying company. He made a note to be careful who he had sex with, for beauty and pleasure were fleeting.

Free of distractions, he strutted over to gaze at the dead creature the buzzards had been eating. The sight made his blood run cold, and he took a step backward, almost tripping over his own feet.

A male lay headlong in the grass. Dark sockets where his eyes used to be gazed at the cloudless sky while clotted blood covered his body. His flesh was in various stages of decay due to the warmth and new blood that spurted from the holes where the buzzards pecked away.

Death was a word he knew yet had never seen, and revulsion shook his body. It was clear something killed the male in a ruthless and painful manner and then left him to rot. His soul would have trouble passing to the Beyond without a proper burial. Thoughts swirled through Tor Lir’s mind.

Who did this?

Where are they?

Why?

2

A STIR OF DRAMA

THE FRAGRANCE of white lotus hung heavy in the air. Novor Tur-Woodberry knelt in the warm soil, examining the gray vines worming through the bright garden of marigolds and poppies. A cluster of gray weeds grew up around the base of the flowers, threatening to choke the life out. They hissed as he tossed them aside and patted the rich dirt back down so the vivid yellow and dark-red flowers could blossom. The low melody of bumblebees hummed around him and he stood, surveying his handiwork and stretching his broad shoulders in the sunlight.

A nearby oak tree reached its lengthy boughs toward him, inviting him into the shade. A wide smile covered his bearded face as he nodded in acknowledgment. Taking a deep breath of the scented air, he felt a potent sense of peace. For the first time in hundreds of years, there was no nagging suspicion that a great evil would befall the world. The troublesome vines in his flower garden seemed a brief nuisance considering the calamity that had overcome the world the past one hundred years.

“Novor Tur-Woodberry! Novor Tur-Woodberry!” an exhilarated voice shouted from below.

“Oy!” Novor Tur-Woodberry rumbled, his dark-blue eyes spying the creature that moved in a blur through the grass. The gift of speech blessed more than half the creatures in the South World. His land teemed with life, speech, and the constant sound of music echoing off the rolling green hills of Locherenixzes. It was a true Paradise where the plants, animals, and mortals dwelt in peace and harmony without fear. Now and then, a disagreement or minor unpleasantness would arise, causing a stir of drama and gossiping tongues, until Novor Tur-Woodberry scolded everything into its place. Often, new inhabitants caused discord, but it had been at least ten years since the last seeds of calamity swept across the land. Novor Tur-Woodberry was content to let the peace continue.

“Novor Tur-Woodberry, there’s trouble!” A black weasel with patches of white fur stood on his hind legs, his whiskers quivering and his nose moving as he spoke.

“Not on my land.” Novor Tur-Woodberry chuckled. “Come along, show me.”

“This way.” The weasel went on, dropping to all fours and making rivets through the grass. The green way parted before them as they moved northeast. “I was foraging for food. I have babies, you know. And the wife need not be out in the wild, looking for food.”

“Nor need you,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. “My Fúlishités will bring you any provision you need. What with a new family, you must be hard-pressed to find enough food.”

The weasel gave a squeak and paused, twitching his nose as he eyed Novor Tur-Woodberry, a sheepish expression coming over his face. “Don’t tell the wife, will you? I need time away from the litter to run wild. Food is my only excuse.”

“Aye, your secret is safe with me.” Novor Tur-Woodberry winked at the weasel, eyes twinkling. “Carry on with your tale.”

“Where was I?” the weasel asked himself as he leaped forward, leading the way once again. “Ah. On my way, I bumped into Toad, who was headed down to the marshes. I don’t know what he was doing out in the pastures, but he claimed the dragonflies lured him out.”

“Dragonflies,” Novor Tur-Woodberry mused, turning the word over on his tongue. “Aye, they usually stay by the marshes. What are they doing out here in the grasslands?”

The weasel stood upright and held its tiny paws up to the sky. “I did not consider it odd the dragonflies were out, not until Toad showed me what I’m about to show you.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry stroked his beard, an old habit. As a powerful Duneíthaír, trouble ceased to worry him after the war between the mortals and immortals ended. There was no one left to stand against him. “Have you showed anyone else?”

“Nay. I searched for the Fúlishités first, but they must be in the northern reaches of the land.”

“Oh ho,” Novor Tur-Woodberry rumbled. His Fúlishités were a tribe of ten little men, often called Singing Men, for they roamed the land, singing of the legendary greatness of Novor Tur-Woodberry while helping him tend the land. They were happy and loyal and often stuck together, their voices carrying through the air when they came upon something Novor Tur-Woodberry needed to investigate. “Wait.” Novor Tur-Woodberry held up a finger and sniffed as a new scent entered his land. He noticed the familiar tug of excitement, almost as if someone had walked across an invisible portal and triggered an alarm. “There is someone new in the land,” he told the weasel.

“Must you go to them?”

“Nay, let’s explore the lagoon and then I will visit them. I believe they will be amenable.”

“No one new has come here since the Tider with the odd eyes,” the weasel pointed out, his tail bouncing behind him as he jumped.

“Citrine.” Novor Tur-Woodberry nodded fondly. The curious young female held a strange aura, yet she’d been living on his land the past three months without mishap and all who met her accepted her. “Usually we have more visitors. The land is at peace. The people groups settle and rebuild, yet I expect more Crons will come through this land, seeking adventure and knowledge.”

“Almost there,” the weasel called out, in a haste to get back to his family. “The wife will wonder why I’ve been gone for so long.”

A snake hissed as they neared the marshes and blue dragonflies scattered overhead. A fog rolled over the lagoon and the weasel paused, its nose quivering as it pointed a shaking paw. “Have you seen this before?”

A darkness spread beyond the marshes, and the ground changed from nasty brown into black, like a fever of poison spreading. Novor Tur-Woodberry crossed his arms, frowning as his eyes took in the sight, and his senses alerted him to a deeper knowledge he’d long forgotten. At length, he turned back to the weasel. “Go home to your family. Leave me to worry about this.”

“Aye.” The weasel waited for Novor Tur-Woodberry’s low rumble of laughter, but as there was none forthcoming, it turned and scampered off.

Alone, Novor Tur-Woodberry squinted and surveyed the land. A blue dragonfly flew above him, the gentle hum of its delicate voice drifting through the stale air. “Novor Tur-Woodberry. What is the blackness? Is it death?”

“When did you first see it?” Tur-Woodberry asked the dragonfly, noting its brilliant wings that buzzed ceaselessly back and forth.

“Hum . . . ho . . . a week or so.”

“You did not tell me?” he asked without blame, for the land was odd and did not always require his attention.

“Hum . . .” The dragonfly buzzed. “We thought it would go away, and then it didn’t, so we told Toad. It wasn’t this bad before. Are you going to fix it? Isn’t the blackness trespassing on your land?”

Novor Tur-Woodberry stroked his beard. “It is. I will inspect the borders.”

3

SUNSHINE AT LAST

CITRINE PRESSED the herbs to her nose and spread them across the table. She stroked their vines and leaves, one by one, as if she were their lover. Enticing scents imbued the air, securing the soulful bond between herself and nature. Leaning over, she eyed the instructions on the parchment held open by a gray rock and a white candle. Three key ingredients were missing from her concoction. Perhaps the gardens near the Standing Stones had the plants she sought. She stood. Humming.

“A spell of protection. A spell of disguise.

A spell to hide from prying eyes.

A spell of deflection. A spell of desire.

A spell to hide from seeking eyes.”

A wave of guilt made her shudder, and she rubbed her arms together. Golden sunbeams flickered over her worktable, reminding her that time was passing. Three months she’d hidden, working in what seemed to be Paradise. A glorious haven that belonged to a friendly giant called Novor Tur-Woodberry. Tossing her cutting knife down, she huffed in frustration as she moved to the bed. It was taking too long for her to recall the spell. Too long to find the memories that took her back. She needed to rewrite the book of spells, but safety and protection for her beasts were top of mind. Turning over blankets, she searched for the yellow scarf she used to carry herbs and flowers.

Tying the handkerchief around her waist, she flung open the door and hurried out. A gentle breeze made goosebumps stand up on her bare arms. Rolling green hills seemed as if they moved up and down, like waves on the shore. Despite her conflicted feelings, golden light surrounded her and its buoyancy calmed her. Spreading her arms wide, she breathed in the glorious air while the sound of delicate music danced by her ears on the breeze.

“Sunshine at last,” she whispered.

The past week, it had rained in the glorious land of Novor Tur-Woodberry and although it was a delicious rain, she missed the sunshine all the same. A smile came to her face as she recalled the relief she felt at being welcomed by Novor Tur-Woodberry and the peaceful people of the land. It was hard to believe she did not dwell in the realm of the immortals, although she had forsaken her beasts. A frown broke the smile on her face. She’d promised her beasts a home. Instead of bringing them with her, she entered Paradise alone. She chewed on her bottom lip and played with the frayed ends of her handkerchief.

The emerald-green hills rolled as she walked, holding a hand out as if she could touch the grace and beauty in the air. A sprouting oak tree grew just outside her cottage, and she walked up to it, placing a hand on its slim trunk. “Are you home?” she whispered. “Your roots are growing strong, drinking in the rainwater—come out and see, sunshine is here.”

A silvery shimmer came over the air. The tree moved, stretching its small branches until it seemed as if the tree were a mirror and there were two trees, breathing in the golden light.

“Citrine,” a high voice called and suddenly there were two trees no more. A green Trespiral—the spirit of the tree—appeared, standing with willowy grace as it beamed at Citrine.

She reached out a hand in awe, twirling as the Trespiral caught her fingers in one of its branches and spun her around.

“I feel refreshed and anew, but I must go back inside to grow while the sunshine is here,” the Trespiral admitted.

“You’ve grown since the rain. There’s silver on your branches, and I see new buds.”

The Trespiral laughed, a silvery tinkle that matched the underlying cadence of music across the land.

“Will you tell me your name?” Citrine asked. “We talk each day, but I still don’t know your name.”

The Trespiral’s bark-brown skin stood out in contrast to the golden light. Leaf-green hair trailed around her shoulders. “I am too young for a name. When I am older and understand my purpose, then my name shall be revealed.”

“Is that the custom of trees? They give us mortals our names a few days after birth. Name day is what we call it.”

A tranquil breeze drifted across the grassy hillock and the Trespiral swayed in it as if it were the beginning of a dance. “Mortals are reckless with names. Immortals understand the potency of giving a name to another.”

Citrine snorted. “It’s not that important.” She sobered at the Trespiral’s indignant expression. “I only meant . . . your ways differ greatly from mine. I am not making fun, merely seeking to understand.”

“I can feel wafts of knowledge drifting past me, which is why I say what I do. Tell me, do you know your purpose?”

A memory flashed through Citrine’s mind. White bone. Dark eyes. The smell of death. Guilt gnawed at her core, reminding her of the promise she’d made but hadn’t fulfilled. Serenity drained from her face, replaced with a flash of anger. “Yes.” Her tone came out flat. “Right now, I am going to the Standing Stones to gather herbs.”

“Ah, I see I have made you unhappy. No one should be unhappy in the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. Go. Forget my words. Find joy.”

“I am not unhappy,” Citrine protested. “Memories of my life before I came here are not pleasant. Enjoy growing. I’ll come to visit you during the moonlight when you have more time.”

“The realm of night,” the Trespiral whispered as she sank back into the tree, closing her eyes to meditate and grow.

Citrine continued up the invisible path that curved back and forth over the hills, leading into the heights. At one high point, she saw stone cottages with thatched roofs dotting the hillsides. The wild and tame animals of the land gazed in peace, moving from the hilltop to the valley to find the greenest grass. Following the path, she reached the pond with the well beside it where she drew fresh water for baking. She waved at the long-legged pink birds. Lily pads floated in the water, nosed aside by curved beaks as the birds hunted for the tiny fish. They nodded at her in acknowledgment, their beady eyes focused and intent.

Leaving the pond behind, she continued to climb until a flowing stream appeared, singing a quiet song. Orange koi as big as her face with great whiskers swam through the crystal-clear waters. Green roads and vine-covered bridges rose before her, showing off the enchantment of the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. Flowers added bright colors to the lush greenery of the land—red roses, orange marigolds, white lotuses, red poppies, and violet irises. Citrine allowed herself a brief smile as she held her hands over the waving grass that came up to her waist. Despite her contentment with the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry, she found an unsettled restlessness growing within her. Three months and she’d found a home, and it wasn’t enough.

Citrine.

A voice filtered through her thoughts. It was not the voice she expected, and she felt something within her stiffen. It was not fear, only respect, and a quiet peace rose as she replied. Morag. And waited.

The Master of the Forest has a request.

Citrine froze, one foot hovering in midair. The Master of the Forest was a dark creature and, in her anger, she’d made a deal she assumed was meaningless. That was before she’d come to this land and found people she cared about. Narrowing her eyes, although Morag was far from her, she replied. I thought the Master of the Forest did not want to see me again.

The Master of the Forest requested your presence in the Boundary Line Forest. You will not meet with him.

Citrine gave an exasperated sigh and her fingers twitched, yanking at the frayed ends of her handkerchief. She wore a short dress, improper compared to the long skirts most females wore. However, she preferred the freedom to move her legs versus the modesty and fashion of present time. She frowned. Suddenly, the birds singing in the distance and the blue skies seemed to laugh at her plight. For a moment, she wished it were raining. Morag, I thought you were in my service. You belong to me, not the Master of the Forest.

Ignoring the Master of the Forest will make life in the woods difficult for me. If you care about me, you will do as requested.

I do not respond to threats! You are strong and powerful. What can the Master of the Forest do to you?

That is a question you know the answer to. You have seen the Master of the Forest and you continued to flee until you found sanctuary. You made a promise to us. Paradise. Will you fulfill that promise?

A flash of annoyance and anger came over Citrine and she bit her lip, her hands trembling. Dare you throw my words back at me? The promises I make, I keep. Tell me, when and where does the Master wish for me to appear?

This evening in the glade, just past twilight, something is waiting for you there.

Will I see you?

Do you wish to?

Of course, my quarrel is not with you. I will summon Ava, Zaul, and Grift.

My lady.

The threads of communication snapped and left Citrine alone, scowling at the bluebells in the wild green grass. Thoughts of a past life rose before her. Chocolate-brown eyes. A cottage in a village. A garden filled with herbs. A keen longing and a deep sorrow rose in her heart. Instead of giving in to the emotions, her scowl deepened and she marched across the land, smashing the grass with each footfall.

4

MORTAL FEARS

A MENACING GROWL SWEPT over the meadow and the sudden overwhelming smell of rot wafted through the air. Tor Lir took a step back from the decaying body, covering his nose and mouth as the sulfuric smell grew. His eyes shifted, taking in the grass-covered rolling hills, and a muted-gray blur in the distance, a forest.

Turning around, he eyed the meadow, searching for life. In the distance, he thought he could see the quickly retreating form of Lelia as she headed back to Shimla. The past seven days, he’d walked through a haze of greenery in scenery different from his homeland, Shimla. A vague sensation tickled his thoughts with a truth he did not want to decipher. Faint words echoed in the back of his mind, words that grew stronger the longer he stayed in Shimla. Long may you live. Long may you prosper. A foreboding sat deep within him and he brushed it away, jolting out of dark possibilities as the growl came again, louder this time. Tor Lir stepped away from the body toward the gray wood, keeping his emerald eyes wide, watching for the creature roaming the green meadow.

A sniff with a prolonged, snorting bellow made the grass quiver. The meadow beneath Tor Lir’s feet shook as a creature he could not see yet thundered toward him. Unsure what to do or how to handle incidents in the realm of mortals, he stood his ground, though he had no weapons.

In the forest of Shimla, Iaens brought creatures to reason with a show of aggression. They were wild through and through, their tempers rising and falling without a sense of normality. When disputes broke out, it was the strong who won.

Balling up his fists, Tor Lir gritted his teeth and prepared to show his dominance, yet the creature that appeared from the grasslands made him regret his choice. He should have run as soon as he heard the growl.

A monstrous beast clamored toward him on four short legs. Its body was low-lying like a reptile and a protective, tough, green hide covered its back. It had a long snout where a row of white curved fangs stuck out from its mouth. The creature moved with surprising speed through the waving grass, shattering the serenity of the prairie. Tor Lir stuck out a hand, palm facing the beast as if imploring it to stop. A lump formed in his throat as he realized how ill-equipped he was to deal with beasts in the realm of mortals.

At the last moment, the beast turned its body and swung its outstretched tail toward Tor Lir’s legs. The tail smacked into his knees with such force it tossed him into the air. He gasped as the wind left his body and he fell heavily on his side, sending a jolting pain rocketing through his arm. Starlight marred his vision and when he could see again, the creature lay in wait a few feet away, as if egging him on, encouraging him to stand again.

Intelligent dark eyes flickered at him. The yawning mouth with a row of glittering teeth opened as the beast snapped at him. A growl bellowed out of its belly and shattered the pure air with the reek of sulfur and rot.

Choking on the horrific smell, Tor Lir clasped a hand over his nose as he stumbled to his feet. Trying to calm his rising panic, he backed away from the creature with one hand out. A knowledge settled in his core and internal alarm bells rang. He had nowhere to run. His goal would be to see how long he could stay alive before turning into the creature’s next meal, for surely this was the beast that killed the male, turning him into a rotting corpse.

A thought flickered through Tor Lir’s mind. The Dance of the Dead. If he could block and dodge the creature’s attack, eventually he would wear it out and perhaps he could find safety in the woods. Throwing his head over his shoulder, he took the risk to glance behind, gauging how far the forest was. The beast took advantage of his moment of weakness and charged.

“Wait!” A cry flew from Tor Lir’s lips as the beast leaped up and slammed into his stomach with his snout, flinging Tor Lir through the air.

Searing pain surged through his stomach from the sucker punch, and he crumpled into a ball—even as he flew, his face contorted in pain. Misery. The realm of mortals is pure misery.

A pressure built in his head as if powerful jaws were clamping down on him and through a blur of darkness, he felt his body being dragged through the grasslands. As soon as he regained air, he stuck his feet out and kicked, hindering the process somewhat. The last thing he needed was for the beast to drag him back to some lair, likely to be dinner for its offspring who would rip him to shreds alive.

Lifting his arms, he reached for the thing clamping down on his head and was rewarded with sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. He snatched his hand away, yelping. A quick glance showed the bite was not deep and only drew a thin trickle of blood.

“Let me go,” he cried out. “I have no quarrel with you!”

The pressure disappeared and Tor Lir sat up, spinning around on his haunches in one fluid movement. The creature stood before him at eye level with its rounded snout open. Its black eyes blinked once, then twice, and the yawning mouth opened. Because of his close view, Tor Lir saw chunks of rotten meat in the beast’s mouth while the fangs that stuck out were curved and sharp with hints of redness on them. Tor Lir noticed, with some trepidation, one fang was missing, leaving a bloody gap. Something trickled down his face, and he realized it was blood from where the creature had gripped him in its jaws.

Holding out both hands, palms up, Tor Lir crawled backward on his knees. From the corners of his eyes, he saw the gray forest was closer than before. With a burst of speed and luck, he might be able to reach it before the creature attacked again.

The beast did not move as he backed away, and slowly Tor Lir rose higher until he was on his feet once more, his body bruised and shaken from the beating he’d taken. Keeping his eye on the creature, he moved sideways toward the forest while decay drifted away and a pure wind blew. The musty smell of pine and old wood drifted past his face. His nose wrinkled as his eyes watered, but when he took a deep breath, he almost doubled over from the pain in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut to dull the sensation of agony. When he opened them again, the beast was running toward him, growling as its eyes lit up in glee. It was in that moment Tor Lir realized the beast was just playing with him. Death was inevitable. He lifted his legs, turned his back to the beast, and ran toward the forest as fast as he dared.

His sides ached as he fled, his feet tearing through the grass, chunks of mud spraying out behind him. His heart thumped in his chest and his throat felt raw and ragged. The gray forest, which had seemed so close, now seemed miles away, as if it were taunting him. Balling up his fists, he willed himself faster while a mixture of sweat and blood poured down his head. Adrenaline surged through him and, when he saw the dark coolness of the forest, the creature slammed into him from behind. The tail wiped around, slammed the back of his feet, and Tor Lir fell headlong, smacking his head into the trunk of a tree.

A cry rose on his lips, forgotten as teeth closed around his ankle and he lost himself to the grip of oblivion.

5

THE STORYTELLER

THE AIR GREW cool and crisp as Citrine approached the Standing Stones. She sighed, letting the unhappy news drift into the past. She’d worry about the message that evening, when she ventured into the forest again. For now, she let herself relax as she observed the audience gathered at the Stones.

Triften the Storyteller sat cross-legged on a boulder in front of the three waterfalls. The dull roar carried his voice across the churning cascades, amplifying his words to those who listened. Kai, the miller’s daughter, sat at his feet, her hair the color of sunshine. She was soaking wet as the waterfall’s spray danced around her. The attempts of the sunshine to dry her off were a laughing failure. Citrine smiled, reminded of herself when she was young and impulsive. The children of the village gathered around Triften. They were young, only five or six, their cheeks still round with baby fat, their eyes wide and innocent.

Five. That’s how old Citrine was when the war ended. Memories of her younger years were vague, mapped with emotions. The joy on her parents’ faces when they learned the war was over was something she never forgot. The cries of happiness and the words to Song danced through her memory. It was over, and fear was banished from the lands.

“Why do you tell stories?” Kai asked Triften, kicking her feet in the shallows of the crystal stream, soaking the hem of her skirt. She wore her long, light hair in two braids, the ends trailing almost to her waist.

“Because I must.” Triften placed his hands on his knees, leaning forward as an eager blush spread over his face and his words twirled with passion across the waters. “Stories are the key to unlocking truth and looking to our past will inform our future. Just as the original Mermis spread the stories of Heroes of Old, I tell you what I lived through, stories I must pass down in history.”

“The war?” a little boy asked, his wet hair standing straight up in the air. He held a hunk of bread in his grubby hands, switching between tossing some to the koi and chewing the rest. “You lived through the war?”

“Aye.” Citrine watched Triften’s piercing blue eyes grow cloudy in remembrance as he spoke. “The War between the Mortals and Immortals. And now I give you these stories so you will remember what they did to make these realms free in the name of what is good and right. Remember those stories and when your time comes, you will continue the tradition and pass these tales down to your children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We cannot forget those who were brave when no one else was, who stepped out of hiding and faced a foe we cannot imagine. The Heroes of Old are the ones who gave you your freedom and allowed you to live in this land without fear.”

Triften paused and held up a finger. He was a slim male, only five and a half feet tall. Despite his small stature, he had the ability to command attention. Citrine mused as she listened; perhaps it was his confidence that first drew her attention to him.

“There’s another reason I give you the gift of stories. Tales give us empathy and help us see from other points of view. When you listen to a story, you gain a perspective on the world. Perhaps one you’ve never considered. When you hear a story, you realize anything is possible.”

“Tell us the story about the wind lady.” Kai interrupted Triften’s lecture and clasped her hands together, her eyes shining.

“Ah . . .” Triften smiled. “Look who joined us.”

Citrine realized she’d been spotted as Triften’s beaming face turned in her direction. He was a Cron—a people group with a light complexion known for their restlessness and love of adventure. Aside from his aura of authority, he had arched eyebrows, full lips, a square jaw, and a long nose. All things considered, he was attractive, but it was his eyes that gave her pause. Considering her past, she had a weakness for eyes. Triften’s were deep and soulful, almost as if he’d seen too much and there was nothing left but a calm kindness wavering behind them to observe the coming calamity.

Her innate desire to flirt died in his presence and although she approached him in a coy manner, his mannerisms were surprising. Most males leered at her with malicious intent, thinking of nothing but what was between her legs. Disparaging gestures and inappropriate remarks often followed. Citrine was well aware the way she dressed and walked only encouraged them. It also gave her plenty of opportunity to work out her sharp tongue and get abusive if the situation demanded it. She used to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh until . . .

She let her memories melt away as she walked into the circle of waterfalls.

“Go on with your story,” Citrine encouraged Triften, watching the white-and-orange koi brush past her, their whiskers tickling her bare legs. Their mouths opened and closed as they eyed her, but they scattered away when they discovered she held no treats.

“Citrine!” Kai shouted, patting the slick rock she sat on. “Sit with me.”

Patting the children on their light heads as she passed, Citrine joined Kai, tucking her legs under her as Triften continued his tale. The children of the village smiled at her, their faces bright with laughter and eyes wide with wonder as Triften weaved a tale. Citrine knew he’d had the great honor of traveling with Eliesmore the Great Conqueror who saved the Four Worlds from the rule of darkness. Triften told a tale of enchantment and horror. He spoke of a great beast who threatened the Torrents Towers—a city of towers in the west—and how the One coaxed the gates to open and rippled the land from the hold of darkness without casualties. He told of the wind in the Monoxie Meadows and how it enchanted a captain of the guards and stole him away from the army.

When his tale was done, the children sat hushed. Citrine felt Kai’s fingers creep into hers, squeezing her hand. Straightening her back, Citrine slid a foot back into the cool waters as a wishful sensation crept through her. The desire for a child was not a future dream, yet her friendship with Kai made her wish, sometimes, for a different path in life.

“Citrine.” Triften stood and joined her as the children scattered. “Will you walk with me back to the village?”

“Aye,” she agreed, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop herself. The fingers of her free hand twitched over her handkerchief, a reminder she needed to gather herbs. She brushed the flicker of worry away as she fell in step with Triften.

“You look concerned.” His voice was smooth and tender as he peered at her, curiosity beaming out of his somber eyes.

“Nay, I heard you were back. What brought you here?” Citrine shook off his intrusive question.

His lips turned down and his eyes slithered away, glancing toward the Standing Stones while the children dashed ahead, giggling, making their way back to the village. When Triften was in the land, he gathered the children from each hut and amused them with stories before walking them back to the village around midday.

“Something mysterious?” Citrine teased, reaching out a finger to poke his shoulder.

Triften turned his eyes back to her, one of his lips tugging itself up into a half smile. “I have friends in the west who made a choice I disagree with.” He sighed. “I came here because this may be my last chance to talk any sense into them.”

“They are coming here?” Citrine glanced around the land, looking for signs of an intruder. She couldn’t help but think of all newcomers as intruders, with Triften being the exception.

Triften called the fortress in the southeast home, yet he seemed to roam the lands like a nomad. He gained friends everywhere he went, and traveling across the Jaded Sea to lands of the west did not faze him. Citrine could sense the patience in his calm and intentional steps and the way he paused before he spoke, thinking through his thoughts and concisely responding.

“Aye, at least they told me they would—this being their last stop on their way out.”

“Tell me, what did they do? Why don’t you agree with them?”

Triften chuckled, his eyes crinkling with laugh lines. “You will meet them. I’d like you to have an unbiased opinion when you do. Tell me about yourself. How is life in the land? I recall my first visit here—you’d just come through the dark forest.”

Citrine frowned, anxious about the request of the night. “My time runs short today. I came to the Standing Stones to gather herbs, but I must be away. Perhaps tonight there will be time. Will you dine at the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry?”

Curiosity danced through Triften’s light eyes as he gazed at Citrine, but the words that came out of his mouth were calm and polite. “Perhaps, if he invites me, I will go.”

Citrine blinked. “I will be sure he extends an invitation.”

Triften turned his body toward her, an odd look coming over his face. “You dine there often?”

“Yes, I am a guest,” Citrine blurted out, her defenses rising.

“I meant no harm, only, it is unheard—”

“Don’t pretend you know everything about Novor Tur-Woodberry. He has kept these lands for hundreds of years—”

“Ah.” Triften lifted a hand, squeezing Citrine’s shoulder. “I mean no harm. Until tonight then, my friend. We shall dine at the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry.”

Citrine nodded, moving away from Triften and the children to return to the Standing Stones where she could gather herbs in peace.

6

KAI’S SECRET

“CITRINE.” Kai trotted up to her, waving her arms to push the tall grass aside. “Where are you going?”

Citrine spun around, putting a hand on her head to shield her eyes from the brilliant beams of light. “Kai.” She paused. Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land was vast, and the village was close to the middle of the land. It would take the better half of the day to walk to the Boundary Line Forest. Unless she called one of her beasts to take her. She toyed with the idea before forgetting it. Her beasts had never entered the sacred land of Novor Tur-Woodberry, and Citrine had never ridden on one. Riding her beasts seemed to desecrate their freedom. She’d never asked.

“I have to meet someone. I have to go,” she explained, avoiding Kai’s compelling gaze.

Kai snatched up Citrine’s hand in her tiny one. “But I have a secret. I have to show you. You’re the only one who will understand.”

“I will be late,” Citrine complained, glancing down at the impetuous child. “Can it wait?”

“Please.” Kai tugged on her hand, her light eyes going wide, her lower lip stuck out.

A hint of silver glittered in the child’s eyes while Citrine fought with indecision. On one hand, she knew she should head toward the forest before dusk trapped her in the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. She was unsure how the Master of the Forest handled lateness and she was loath to find out. Discovering Kai’s secret was more exciting, and she knew she’d give in, even as the next question left her lips. “Will it take long?”

Kai shook her head, sending her wet braids twisting back and forth on her back. Drops of water sparkled on her eyelashes. “Come with me to the mill.” She ran, her fat legs thumping through the grass as she balled up her hands by her side.

Citrine trotted beside her, bare feet digging into the warm soil. A smile came to her cheeks. The wind whipped through her vibrant hair and her heart rate increased as she sped over the rolling hills. A blue bird flew over them, calling out a symphony of melodies, and Citrine let all aggravations fade away in the splendid arms of nature.

The village sat against the swell of lush rolling hills, each one rising higher than the other, creating a myriad vision as they ran toward it. Standing at the top of the Standing Stones, one could see the village covered in a gray mist in the morning and sparkling with light in the daytime. The two lights in the sky, the sun and the Green Light, caused a mystifying glimmer across the land. The inhabitants of Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land called it Mouth of Heaven because of the beauty and peace that surrounded it like a beacon of hope.

Thatched-roofed cottages dotted the countryside. They could see sheep and goats grazing in the distance. Brown-spotted cows and pale-pink pigs roamed the hills, rooting and rutting while the fresh scent of herbs rose, faint at first and growing stronger as they neared.

A dirt road, wide enough for a horse and rider, climbed through the center of the Mouth of Heaven, curving to meet the doorstep of each cottage. The people groups worked in the fields, tending to the orchards and their abundant crops, preparing for the coming winter. Citrine was certain they did so with ease, for it seemed nothing went wrong in the blessed land of Novor Tur-Woodberry.

“This way!” Kai shouted, her little legs hidden by the lofty grass. Her arm came up and waved at the mill set in the distance, the windmills slowing down in the lull of the breeze.

A laugh echoed through the air and Citrine spun, her eyes roaming across the prairie.

“What are you doing?” Kai shouted, noticing Citrine was no longer at her side. “Come on!”

“I thought . . .” Citrine cupped her hands around her ears. “I thought I heard a voice in the wind.”

“It’s because Triften told us the story of the wind lady,” Kai teased, her bright eyes squinting as she scrunched up her nose in mischief. “You are thinking of it now and you imagine there is life in the breeze. I think so too. I wish the wind lady would come here and grant all my wishes.”

“Kai.” Citrine touched the child’s shoulder, encouraging her to continue. “The wind lady doesn’t grant wishes—at least, I don’t remember that from the story.”

Kai ran again, her breath coming short and fast as she shouted. “Yes, she does,” Her words rushed together in one breath.

“If you had a wish”—Citrine slowed down as they reached a hill and walked up it, trailing their fingers through the long blades of yellow-green grass—“what would you wish for?”

Kai paused, her chest heaving up and down as she wiped wisps of hair from her shiny forehead. “I’d wish to go on an adventure. A real one. Like Triften the Storyteller.” Her eyes lit up as the word adventure left her tongue. Her eyes sparkled with intense animation as she tilted her head to catch Citrine’s gaze. “Don’t you want to go on an adventure?”

“Aye,” Citrine muttered, unwilling to spoil the child’s joy.

Kai grabbed her hand, her soft fingers wrapping around Citrine’s callused ones. “That’s why I want to show you the secret,” she beamed.

The mill perched before them, a beast humming with a life of its own. The rush of water crashed through the air like the crescendo of an orchestra while crickets chirped in the meadow. A cool breeze floated past, turning the mills on the round white stones. The smell of wheat and grass drifted through the air and a sense of longing gripped Citrine. She squeezed Kai’s hand as she headed toward the dark coolness of the building.

“No, not in there.” Kai tugged Citrine’s arm, leading her to the river that curved through the land, rushing over rocks and stones.

Citrine followed the sparkling river, watching the mist leap off the bank and twirl on the shore. Blue flies buzzed around their heads and the song of the river could almost be deciphered. Every living being and creature in the land seemed to sing, plants and animals alike. A cadence whispered through the air at all times in a song of worship and respect. Deep down inside, she knew what it was: a song for their Healer, Protector, Friend, Guide, and All-Knowing Being. They sang of Novor Tur-Woodberry and his benevolence, generosity, and kindness. Citrine understood the ache deep in her heart, and she longed for a land such as his. A Paradise for her beasts. It was why she wanted to be around him, soaking in his knowledge and asking about his power. How did he create such a haven and how could she create one for her beasts? She hummed under her breath:

“A spell of protection. A spell of disguise.

A spell to hide from prying eyes.

A spell of deflection. A spell of desire.

A spell to hide from seeking eyes.”

A stone wall ran across the river. When it narrowed, Kai led Citrine, splashing through water, to the yawning mouth of a cave perched at the base of the hill. “In here.” Kai laughed, flinging drops of water off her legs.

Kai held a finger to her lips, eyes sparkling as they entered the cave. Citrine stepped inside, sniffing the wet mud and flavors of water life. Somewhere, a frog croaked and the dragonflies droned on outside, moving away from the damp darkness of the cave. Motes of white light floated past the opening, disappearing into the radiant light of day.

“What is this place?” Citrine lifted her face to the cave ceiling that stretched into blackness, hiding the strength of its size from her.

“I found it playing hide-and-seek with the woodworker’s sons, Aydin and Evyn. But they don’t know the secret. If you listen, you can hear it.”

Citrine closed her eyes, allowing her ears to take over and listen to the new sensations around her. In the distance, she could hear the wheel of the mill, moving water on down the river so it could grind and crush the wheat into flour. The quacking of ducks fighting over fish burst through the air like ruffled feathers. Closer there was a new sensation. It glided across the hair on her arms, making goosebumps rise on her skin. A deep vibration emitted through the air, like the purr of a multitude of cats basking in satisfaction.

Kai crept through the cave with an air of mystery surrounding her. Her cheeks glowed with pride as she led Citrine around a corner and a light lit up their path.

Citrine’s hands flew to her cheeks as she gazed in awe. A white orb hung suspended in midair, touching none of the walls of the cavern, as if it hung from an invisible thread. Bubbles of white light made up the orb, and it pulsed like a heartbeat as the light threaded its way through the cave walls. Citrine gaped in shock at the brilliance and beauty it contained, and a thousand questions flew to her lips. Glancing down at the child, she asked, “Who else knows about this?”

“No one.” Kai eyed the ball of energy and put a finger to her lips. “It’s our secret. Isn’t it amazing?”

“I wonder,” Citrine murmured to herself, “if Novor Tur-Woodberry knows about this . . .” She trailed off as she stepped closer, for it seemed the light called to her.

“I call it the Silver-White Heart,” Kai went on, the white light of the orb dancing in her eyes as she stared, spellbound.

Citrine listened to the voice calling out to her from within the light. Reaching out a hand, she moved it up to caress the round body of the orb. As her fingers wove across the pattern of light, a profound sensation of peace gripped her, like arms holding her firm. It pulled her toward the source, imbuing her with the sense of warmth, yet there was also something solid immersed within and full of love.

A pulse shot through her veins, encouraging her to stretch her roots like a plant and grow. It was time for her to take her place in the unending cycle of life, death, and rebirth. The power within compelled her to give back to the heart of the land and use her gifts to bring great blessings upon it. Entranced, she let the light draw her in while voices whispered in her ear.

Pictures flashed before her, visions of either things past or things to come. A voice thrummed deep within her, coursing through her veins as it spoke. A voice mixed with doom and hope rose in a singsong voice.

Behold. A future will come when the mortals must flee and run to the caves and canyons to hide from the domain for the immortals. For those without death will rise, and the Creators will have free will to enact their reign of chaos. Even now, changes are taking place in the universe that will have fatal effects for the Four Worlds. It all began with the liberation of the Green Stone instead of its destruction. The release of uncanny power will be the ultimate downfall of the mortals.

The words floated around her head as unreal as the experience. They dropped from her memory, forgotten as soon as they appeared. Yet the Silver-White Heart pulsed with need, a strong desire, and the power of Novor Tur-Woodberry protected it. Yet as Citrine drew farther in, she saw the tiniest blemish among the purity of the light. A drop of blackness pierced the middle of the heart, like a bad seed in a perfect fruit. A strange feeling of fate came over Citrine and she pulled back, reaching out for Kai.

“Kai.” Her voice sounded old and far away when she spoke. “I don’t know what this is, but I have to go.”

Kai said nothing, only reached out a hand, stroking Citrine’s arm for a moment before clasping her hands in front of her and staring into the silver light.

Citrine turned from the enchanting place, her feet unwilling to leave, yet knowing she would be late to the meeting in the Boundary Line Forest. As she fled into the sunshine, the memory of doom echoed in her mind.

7

DARK AND COLD

A POUNDING headache woke Tor Lir. He turned over and retched into the ground. He opened his eyes as best as he could, the stream of filth pouring from his mouth. He realized, with some grim relief, he was still alive. When the last of the bile left his quaking stomach, he stood to see where he was, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and rubbing the rest on his jerkin.

Great pine trees rose above him, thick and old as if they had countless stories to tell—only they were asleep. He could almost see their spirits with his naked eyes, long faces with old bodies and dark moss from age, their eyes closed with sleep, for it was too late for them. He turned without making a sound, for his days in the forest of Shimla had taught him to move with stealth. As he eyed his surroundings, he saw a wall of trees rising on all sides with a carpet of pine needles beneath his feet. There was no sign of the beast who had chased and wounded him.

He lifted a hand to his forehead and came away with muddied dry blood. His cuts had closed, although his ankle gave off an old sensation of pain. He hobbled on it, but it was nothing too intense so he decided he could travel on with it. Yet as he glanced around, he could not decide which way to go. The forest closed in on all sides and there was no signal or signs that pointed where to go. Although he wondered, where did he hope to arrive? The sensation of danger that had dragged him from the safety of home in Shimla had faded, leaving him with a vague suspicion that something was wrong. Since leaving the forest, he traveled south, hoping he might discover what was next for him, while the ominous word, Daygone, rang in his mind.

Shaking it off, he took a step in a random direction and a flash of white caught his vision. He froze, looking around the forest floor for a kind of weapon. Suddenly, he felt unprepared and naïve in the realm of mortals. He wished he’d studied the ways of the mortals and understood their weapons before he left. He needed help now, and a fear sunk into him, a feeling he had not known for a while. He knew he was immortal, yet it did not mean he was impervious to death. It seemed too soon to die, for his life had just begun and he knew, with certainty, his days held a great purpose. He needed to stay alive.

The flash of white appeared again and, as noisily as a panther stalking its prey, a bone creature appeared beside a pine tree, staring at him. It was a spirit—he could tell that much from his days among the Iaens—and suddenly he wished he knew more lore of the world. Knowledge was lacking among the Iaens. The green giantess who had raised him made it clear: if he wished to know the depths of knowledge, he’d have to search for it. A curiosity awoke within him as he examined the creature.

It was a female made of cold white bone. Her limbs were skeletal and slender. Silver hair, as thin as the gossamer of a spider’s web, trailed down her back. Her face looked as if someone carved it out of ivory with deep-set eyes, thin lips, and a chiseled nose that stuck out far too much.

She stared at him out of somber eyes, the color so rich he could not tell whether they were black or brown. Her cheeks were shallow, but he could see a flicker of pain in the sharp features of her wasted face. She took a step toward him, wearing nothing but moss that seemed to grow and twine around her bone body, holding on to the last lingering taste of life.

“Oh,” she whispered, her voice high and breathy as if she were trying to keep from crying out in distress.

As she moved toward him, he sensed her aura and saw shades of it flicker around her like a cloak. She did not come to harm him.

“Where am I? Who are you?” he asked, tilting his head, trying to ignore the eerie bone whiteness of her body.

She stared at him, blinking as she moved closer. “You are in the realm of the Master now. Who I am is inconsequential.”

Chewing his sore lip, he tried a different method. “Who is the Master? Why am I here?”

“You know why you are here.” Her eyes moved to his feet as if she searched for an anchor to reality.

Understanding her meaning, Tor Lir plunged on, hoping at some point he would ask the right question to unlock the answers he sought. “On some level, yes, a beast chased me here, but I suspect for some bigger reason.”

“So you will not interfere with the Master’s wishes, but I sense you are strong.” The creature glanced at his face ever so quickly before dropping her gaze once again.

Tor Lir shrugged. He did not feel very strong, especially after being beaten by the beast. “I’m sorry, but your answers are vague. Will you speak plainly?”

“I may not say.” The creature lifted her face and a flash of anger rippled over her eyes.

“Can you tell me which way to go?” Tor Lir huffed with minor impatience.

“It depends on where you want to arrive.”

“I would like to seek the Master.” He scratched his head, wondering what he was getting himself into.

“He does not want to see you.”

“How do you know?” Tor Lir stepped toward her, showing his aggression.

“I do his biding. I know his wishes.” The creature fixed him with a look he could not decipher, although her aura vibrated and a keen fear pierced the air.

“I wonder,” he murmured. “Why do you obey the wishes of the Master?”

She gave no answer, only watched him until he spoke again.

“I would like to leave this place.”

“Then leave. There is no one stopping you.”

“We are talking in circles. This is my first time in the realm of mortals. I am not sure where to go,” he admitted.

“Once you discover what you seek, you will know where to go.” Bending her head, the bone creature took a step back, displacing the pine needles around her feet.

“Are you a spirit then? You speak with a tact and wisdom beyond your years.”

Startled, the creature stared at him, although her face hid her surprise. “I used to be once, before they extorted me. I may not speak of this.”

“What can you speak of?” Tor Lir asked, his curiosity piquing around the mysterious circumstances. “What was the beast that attacked me? What forest am I in? How will I know what to seek? What is your name?”

The creature tilted her head down and to the side, a white finger coming up to stroke her chin as if considering what risk she would take.

Suddenly, she reached out, her cold fingers locking around his wrist as her face contorted. “Never tell a name,” she hissed. “To give a name is to give power. I’ve already made that mistake and paid dearly for it.” Just as quickly, the hostility in her face faded away and letting go of him, she placed a finger to her lips. “Stay here. I must complete a task for the Master. When I return, I will lead you out of this restless maze.”

A shudder passed through Tor Lir as her touch vanished from his arm. He watched as she backed away and off in the distance, he thought he heard a piercing cry. Anxiety settled deep in his bones and a strong premonition gripped him. The balance was off, swinging the wrong way, and he needed to fix it.

8

HOME

NOVOR TUR-WOODBERRY LIFTED the jug of sparkling liquid and refilled his mug, watching the bubbles pop as they fizzled in the bottom of his cup. Around him the Fúlishités pulled their chairs up in a circle, the roaring fire crackling in the background although it was summer. The warm circle of the hut was often cool in the evenings and the fire provided warmth as they eased their muscles from a glorious day spent tramping through the land. Some lit pipes of tobacco, the musky flavors floating through the air, while others poured their mugs full of ale or wine, relishing in the fruit of the labor of their hands. A somber air rested over the home—not one of fear, only of the understanding of a challenge.

Novor Tur-Woodberry took a long sip, watering his throat before he spoke. “A change is coming over the land, a problem we haven’t had before,” he told his Singing Men.

They nodded, their eyes sharp and intelligent, although they often hid their words behind songs of praise and lore.

“This morning, I was made aware of a darkness creeping into the land. As far as I know, it began in the marshes and has not spread farther. I inspected the borders but need your assistance with it. If there is anything or anyone out of the ordinary, they must be brought to our attention. We will deal with them as we do best. There is something new in the land, a favorable presence, but it has not made itself known. I will look into it tomorrow. Are there any other reports?”

“The Storyteller returned.” Ash, one of the Singing Men, blew a cloud of smoke out of his mouth as he spoke. His eyes were black like berries and sharp as they shifted back and forth. He was stout with thick muscles on his arms and legs. Wiry brown hair—which was thinning—stuck out of his head and he often scratched it.

“Ah, he is harmless enough,” Teak, another one of the Singing Men, chimed in. “Although methinks he has an agenda, showing up here so often.”

“Aye, he should move into the village with the others.” Balsa nodded into his mug of ale. His eyelashes were long and light while his face had somewhat of a sleepy look to it.

“Inhabitants of the land are free to come and go as they please,” Novor Tur-Woodberry remarked. “It’s not his presence I mention but one of another species, a sort of spirit. Tomorrow, I must go seek the wisdom of the land, with the sudden darkness I am curious about the fulfillment of an old prophecy.”

“What prophecy?” snapped Jatoba. He bristled on the outside, yet he was one of the more softhearted Singing Men. His hair was a copper color, and he kept his beard in two braids that almost reached his waist. “I thought we were done with prophets and visions after the rise of the One . . .” He trailed off, muttering into his ale.

“Nothing is certain in life.” Novor Tur-Woodberry grunted. “The land has rested well after the Great Conqueror, but there is always mischief and mayhem that follows. It is our job to rise to the challenge and not let it defeat our spirits. Nothing is certain yet, but we must prepare for what comes. Let us eat and drink and discuss as we do and make no certain claims until we have more information on the morrow. I sense something is happening in the world that will affect us all—what it is, I can’t be sure—but something went wrong during the days of the war between the mortals and immortals. Something went wrong, and we will reap the repercussions of that mistake.”

“Every action invokes another action.” Ash nodded his wise head. “Do you think it has anything to do with Citrine? She is hiding something.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry chuckled. Citrine was spunky and full of spirit, yet he doubted if the changes of his land were due to her presence. “She is not powerful enough.” He shook his head, glancing into his mug. “Unless I’ve missed something.”

“And you miss nothing,” Ash said.

“Aye, what’s that?” Jatoba spoke up again as a banging sounded at the door.

“It’s Triften,” the person on the other side of the door called out.

“Who invited him?” Jatoba frowned.

“Oh ho, that’s not how we treat guests in this land,” Novor Tur-Woodberry boomed. “Let him in,” he addressed the house.

Triften the Storyteller strode into the house and stopped short, his eyes examining the gathering around the fire. His arms and legs were so long and limber he often appeared taller than he truly was. His blue eyes widened and his shoulders relaxed with relief.

Novor Tur-Woodberry held out a hand toward a chair. “Come. Seat yourself.”

About twenty or so years ago, Triften made his first appearance in the land. He was quite young, still in his teen years and had an air of devotion about him. Everything inspired him with awe until the incident. Something took place over ten years ago, and Triften came limping back to the land, his innocence replaced with the bitter tang of loss. Sorrow inspired him to find a purpose, and he grew into a confident leader with one goal: to seek knowledge.

“Citrine isn’t here?” Triften’s eyes danced across the room and then he sat down, a slight smile coming to his lips.

“Nay, have a drink.” Novor Tur-Woodberry waved a tankard of ale over to Triften. It moved on its own accord, perching on the arm of the chair Triften sat in.

Triften shrugged. “When we spoke earlier, she mentioned dining here tonight.”

“Are you concerned?”

“To be honest, aye. Her actions bother me. Have you noticed anything peculiar since she appeared here?”

Novor Tur-Woodberry put down his drink and reached for his pipe, tapping tobacco into it. The speculations coming out of Triften’s mouth were not surprising, but Novor Tur-Woodberry sensed Triften had a unique motive for bringing it up. Declining to play games, he turned the conversation back on Triften. “What concerns you about her?”

“Her motives. She did not come to the land to dwell in harmony with others. I sense something is stirring and there is a darkness at the edges of the land. She works with herbs and runes. I can’t help but assume it is her doing, but this is your land. I do not want to overstep my welcome here.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry hummed as he inhaled. The smoke from his pipe billowed in his mouth and wisps of peace snaked through his body. An uncanny brightness followed Citrine, but she did not have the ability to inflict change on his land. Sitting back in his chair, he closed his eyes, listening to the flicker of the fire and allowing himself to sink into the river of knowledge he’d gathered from his years in the South World.

He held a distinct awareness of the comings and goings of every living creature on his land, and at the moment, he could tell Citrine was not there. She’d gone somewhere earlier that evening, east, to the Boundary Line Forest. When he first met her, she was limping and dirty, as if she’d wrangled with those in the forest. He gathered there was something there she cared about, yet she did not offer to come clean about her past dealings.

Novor Tur-Woodberry pursed his lips into an O and blew out a cloud of smoke. It hung above his head in a white haze. Perhaps there was something he’d overlooked and Citrine held answers. Considering the darkness creeping over his borders, he needed to speak with her soon. He’d send the Singing Men to ensure she came to dinner and could relate her tale. She harbored a weakness for him. That much was clear in her strange eyes and the way her lips smiled at him.

“I will speak with her,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. “What else lies heavy on your mind?”

“The wind lady comes with a gift. I don’t agree with her intentions, but your knowledge is greater than mine. She decided her time here is done, and she is leaving to seek the Beyond, but she has children. I don’t understand why she desires to leave them.”

Triften’s parents abandoned him during the days of war—it was a scar Novor Tur-Woodberry knew he’d never healed from. Peace in the land allowed families to dwell together without fear of being ripped apart by evil. Someone might see Triften’s intentions as interfering with others’ freedoms.

“Your thoughts are respected, but I remind you, it is not my purpose to interfere with others’ choices, unless they impact the safety of my lands and its inhabitants.”

Triften nodded and took a long sip of ale, gulping down the liquid as if it would give him strength. His lips were moist when he sat the tankard down. His blue eyes glistened as he moved to the edge of his seat. “Have you heard whispers about the new breed?”

Visions of peace evaporated and Novor Tur-Woodberry took the pipe from his mouth, frowning at the unexpected question. “The new breed? What do you speak of?” he demanded, although he knew, repetition seeped through history and something was overlooked during the war. “Tell me, why do you speak of a new breed?”

Triften’s eyes glinted with curiosity. “I was hoping you might tell me.”

9

REALM OF NIGHT

“AVA,” Citrine whispered, skipping between the beams of silver light as she entered the Boundary Line Forest. Afraid of being late to the unwanted meeting, she’d asked one of the wild horses of Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land to give her a ride to the forest. The white steed was delighted with adventure, and if Citrine’s thoughts hadn’t been churning with a dark foreboding, she would have enjoyed the fierce gallop through Paradise.

As she slipped into the wood, she noted a distinct shift in the air, the pure beauty of Paradise marred by the dense secrets of the gloomy forest. It seemed as if evil fingers reached out to squeeze her heart. Citrine shivered, but not with fear. Her first journey through the Boundary Line Forest had been unforgiving, a mix of adventure and terror playing mischievous games as they chased her out. All she had was hope that things would be different. “Ava,” she whispered again, strands of moonbeams swaying around her like knives.

A rustling in the leaves drew her attention and hurling out of the darkness, scales flashing in the light, appeared a beast. Her fierce head looked like a wyvern with a long snout and a row of curved sharp teeth. A puff of smoke drifted from her nostrils, quickly dissipating into the night. Her lengthy neck was thick, much like a sea eel, while the rest of her body moved on four clawed legs, stout like the monsters of the night. A hard coat of scales and feathers covered her blue and green body.

Citrine. A voice resounded within Citrine’s mind.

Ava. You’re beautiful. Look how you’ve grown.

Reaching up, she placed her palm on Ava’s snout. Ava arched her neck, bringing it down to rest on Citrine’s shoulder, a purr-like hum rumbling through her body.

Have you come to take us away? Ava asked.

Citrine bit her lip. Perhaps . . . I came because I missed you and . . . there is a request. Have you spoken to Morag?

We see him from time to time. Ava’s golden eyes shifted. Methinks he is associated in some nasty business with the Master of the Forest.

Is that so? Can you follow and confirm for me? I don’t like being summoned here as if I were a mouthpiece without my own mind.

I can kill him for you. Ava hissed, her forked tongue flicking in and out as her odd eyes glowed.

Citrine grinned, the idea of mischief stirring within her like a spark. That’s the spirit, but no. We need Morag—he’s one of us, new as he is. And I am curious to know what the Master of the Forest wants. Observe and report. We’ll meet again here, one week from now under the moonlight. As usual. Where are Zaul and Grift? Have you been with them?

Ava tossed her head, withdrawing to the darkness. Grift went south. There is a village beyond the forest, close to the shore, with, perhaps, the best fish in the world. You know how Grift likes fish. He claims he can see the story of the waves when he bites into the flesh of a sea creature.

Citrine rolled her eyes. Grift is always thinking up strange ways to gain knowledge. A simple conversation would suffice instead of biting into anything to see if it has a story.

You asked. Ava retreated farther, her eyes gleaming.

Where are you going? Citrine ignored the beast’s sarcastic response. Ava was impatient and impulsive, and if restricted, she complained.

You gave me a mission. I must go find Morag.

Citrine watched the glowing eyes fade into the trees and the monstrous form of Ava disappear from view. Her beasts were odd. They came to her from dark and shadow, binding themselves to her and her wishes, because their eyes were the same color. Citrine. They were dangerous, yet she had a strong desire to protect them. She’d failed before and needed the spell so she would not fail them again.

Ava. Be careful.

There is nothing but risk in all we do. The link to Ava faded like seeds disappearing into soil. There. But unseen.

Citrine put her hands on her hips, tapping her foot as she waited in the glade. She turned around and gasped at the creature that appeared from behind a tree trunk. The creature was lithe with silver hair as if she stepped from a moonbeam. Her brittle bones were thin and her eyes high and sunken. Her skin was pale, and she held out a skull before her in both hands like a present. “Are you the one they call Citrine?” the waif asked, her voice high and thin.

Citrine looked the creature up and down, a strong feeling of unease settling in her bones. “Aye.” She gave a sharp nod, hesitant to speak to the creature. “And who might you be?”

“I am supposed to give you this.” The creature glanced down at the skull. “To bury in the middle of the land they call Paradise.”

Citrine snorted. “Why? You can’t expect me to go bury a skull in the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry!”

The waif dropped her eyes. “It is not I who does the asking . . .”

Citrine paused, understanding dawning. “Ah, you are the messenger from the Master of the Forest.” She dropped her eyes to the skull to examine it. At first, she’d assumed it was the skull of a mortal like herself; however, it seemed to be the skull of a beast with a misshapen head and a long snout. The sockets for eyes were wide and round like antlers or horns sawn to the nub. A deep foreboding gripped Citrine’s belly, and she stepped back, suddenly feeling lightheaded. She shook her head at the shining creature. “No. I refuse. I’m not taking that foul skull to Paradise.”

The creature took a step closer to Citrine, her white form glowing in the moonlight like the undead. Her face appeared wasted, but her eyes glowed with an arcane luster as she pressed the skull into Citrine’s stomach. “You can—you don’t have a choice. Your beasts will die in this forest unless you follow the wishes of the Master.”

“Are you threatening me?” Citrine demanded, her fingers wrapping around the cold skull despite herself. “I will call my beasts and leave—”

The waif held up a hand, hushing Citrine, her eyes burning brighter. “You called your beasts, and did they come? One did, but the others scattered because of the Master. Now go, bury the skull before you must bury one of your beasts.”

A wail of fury rose within Citrine and her face turned hot and red. She glowered at the creature, her fingers tightening around the skull, willing it to break and shatter.

“The skull is resilient. You cannot break it.” The waif glared at Citrine and the light went out of her eyes.

Citrine stepped back a few paces, a chill coming over her like a shadow of death. Her heartbeat increased as liquid pooled around her body, rising to her neck as if she’d fallen into a lake. A hand gripped her head, pushing her down into the liquid until it poured into her mouth, invading her lungs. She opened her mouth to breathe and nothing but fire poured down her throat, eating her innards alive. Voices whispered through her head, the malicious meaning made clear. Do as I tell you, or your beasts will suffer. Just like the creatures of flesh.

Her eyes flew open as the odd simulation left her and she took deep breaths, turning her back to the waif so it wouldn’t see her fear.

“Citrine.” The creature grabbed her wrist with fingers like frost. The strange glow in her eyes faded. She appeared pale, lost, and tired. “Beware. The Master of the Forest is cruel and powerful. He is coming for Paradise because the balance has swayed and none can stand before him. Do not underestimate him.”

10

BONE-WHITE

TOR LIR SLUMPED against the base of a tree, listening to the occasional silence of the wood. The wind rushed through the treetops while animals rustled through the deep thickets. A malicious intent hung in the air, a sharp reminder of impending danger and how different this forest was from the forest of the Iaens.

He waited patiently, calming his mind with the practice of unconsciousness. It was something he’d learned from the Iaens. After discovering he did not need to sleep like mortals, he still liked to maintain a sense of rest by stilling his mind and turning off his churning thoughts. The concentration was something like meditation, allowing him to empty his mind and focus his energy on something specific.

There in the forest he focused on healing his body, his mind sensing each limb, searching for the brokenness and fixing it. The blood under his bruises spread out, new blood filtering through his veins. The cuts on his face closed with new skin forming over them. He stretched his ankle, letting the bruises heal while the knots in his stomach faded, leaving a vague sensation of hunger and thirst. He brushed those aside, hoping his needs would be met soon. For now, he had to wait.

“You’re still here.” The bone-white creature crept toward him.

Tor Lir started and stood, resting a hand on the rough trunk of a pine tree. “I waited, as you instructed,” he told her, noticing her aura. A heaviness surrounded her, and she felt both sorry and guilty about something.

“Where were you?” he dared to ask.

“Nowhere that concerns you.” Her voice melted into the silence of the night, her head downcast as she moved beside him. “Follow me.”

She led him through the trees, moving with a surprising quickness as he strode silently behind. She glanced back now and then with an anxious look in her eye, checking to ensure he really was behind her.

They moved like those in a dream, while the beasts of the night hunted and fought, departing from the realm of hunter and hunted on to safer passages. Blackness hung over the forest like a blanket of death, and a rottenness hung in the air, making it dense and musty.

Finally, they came to a place where the trees thinned, and it surprised Tor Lir to look up and see the moonlight hanging in the night sky like a silver slice of light. He paused, waiting for the bone-white creature to speak. When at last she turned to face him, liquid filled her dark eyes.

“Go now, back to whence you came,” she cautioned him. “The less you know, the better.”

He reached out a hand, a wave of compassion coming over him for the beautiful, lost spirit. “You still have empathy—you still have a heart,” he told her, although he did not know her. Something inside him called to her. There was a reason he’d met her in the frightful wood. “I can help you, if you will let me.”

She bowed her head. “You are kind, yet you know nothing. Go back. Go home. Forget this wild day and what you saw and heard here. Your very life depends upon it.”

He reached out a hand, cupping her thin cheek, whispering words into her ear. “Why did you help me? Perhaps there is a way I can repay your kindness.”

“It was not kindness,” she said, a sharpness returning to her eyes. She pulled away from his touch, shuddering. “It was mercy.”

11

BURIED SKULL

THE SCREAM of panic died in Citrine’s throat when she took in her surroundings. The wide-eyed fear faded from her eyes and her heartbeat slowed. Gentle sunlight filled her eyes, and the breeze blew over her face. She patted the ground with her fingers as she took in her location. It appeared she’d slept in the heart of the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. She stood up, her bones aching in discomfort as she brushed dried mud off her hand. What happened? The question flittered through her mind. The sky was blue and empty while the whispers of joy hushed through the land. What did I do?

Citrine. The connection to one of her beasts filtered into her consciousness.

Grift! Where are you?

You seem panicked and worried. Is it happening again?

I think so. I can’t remember everything that happened last night. After the waif and the skull, my memory is hazy. But I know the Master of the Forest is coming for Paradise. We have to run!

Citrine.

You don’t agree?

You know I will always do what you ask, but we can’t always run. The world will box us into a corner, and there will be no other choice but to stand and fight.

Is that wisdom you learned from the fish?

Sea creatures travel far and wide. They know many things and were kind to sacrifice their lives to share their wisdom with me.

Grift.

You may not agree, but it is truth. Knowledge is the key to unlocking desires. Once you know the secrets of one’s heart, you can gain anything and everything you desire. Knowledge will make you invincible.

What are you suggesting?

I suggest you face this challenge head-on.

Grift.

I know you have reservations, but we can’t always run. At least, not from the chaos we create. We must make things right.

We did not start this.

Perhaps. But we caused it. I know not what you learned when you spoke with the Master of the Forest—

No, that thing, that creature has a strong desire, and I made a promise I cannot break without risking the life of you and me.

Don’t forget who you are.

Citrine fell silent, the words stinging like a slap in the face. Do you think I deserve to be happy again?

I think you deserve what you want to deserve.

Chewing her lip, she studied the intricate pattern the grass weaved, a circle within a circle, spiraling out in four directions: north, south, east, and west. A star seemed to twinkle within the circle, yet as she studied the pattern, she became sure it was just an illusion. The command to bury the skull came drifting back, and she squinted before kneeling in the grass. Running her fingers through the thick blades, she tried to find the place where she had ripped through the dirt, tearing it to pieces so she could bury the skull. There was no sign of digging. The grass rippled over the knoll without ceasing.

Placing her hands on her knees, she tapped her fingers as scenarios ran through her thoughts. Unpleasant memories rose in her mind, a blur of visions and smells. There was a reason she’d been driven away from her past life—a mixture of truth, lies, and secrets had ruined her potential. Her assumed journey of life took a nasty turn. She rose to her feet, her brow furrowed with concern.

Grift.

You have a request?

Only a question. Have you seen Zaul recently?

Nay, are you concerned?

Slightly. I’ve heard from you and Ava but not Zaul. I might have to find him.

I can look—

No! Do not risk your safety and freedom. I want you with me, here in Paradise. I asked Ava to do something dangerous for me and now I am concerned about her. Don’t look—just come to the land.

Ah . . . you want to face this challenge head-on?

Yes, I will face this challenge, but first, I must speak to Novor Tur-Woodberry. He owns these lands and he should know who I am and what I have brought here.

You care about what he thinks.

Citrine crossed her arms, pulling a face at Grift’s remark. I am a guest in his land. Of course I care what he thinks, she retorted.

The connection to Grift faded, an empty roar as Citrine lifted her face to the sunlight. Ever since she’d stepped foot in the land, a deep love for nature coursed through her veins. She doubted she could handle it if anything happened to the Paradise she’d discovered. For a moment, she wondered if she should return to her cottage to freshen up before hastening to the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry. She bit her tongue in contemplation as she eyed the sun. Novor Tur-Woodberry was sure to be out surveying his land. He seemed to work tirelessly yet could always be found at home when evening fell. If she took the day, she still had time to gather herbs and complete the spell.

“Citrine,” a familiar voice called, an unspoken question ringing out.

Citrine spun like someone caught stealing, her face turning bright red. She hid her hands behind her back, hoping he wouldn’t notice the dirt on them, the wrinkles on her dress, or the way her hair hung wild and uncombed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the leaves of a dandelion tangled in threads of her hair. She snatched at it as she spoke. “Triften?”

“Aye, I am surprised to find you here. Although, I must admit, I’m not sure of your daily habits. I went to the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry last night, but you weren’t there.”

“Ah.” Citrine kept her expression blank as she met his eyes. “Something came up.”

“Oh.” His eyes traveled over her body, taking in her shoddy appearance. “Is something wrong?” His eyes creased with worry.

“Nothing at all,” Citrine snapped. “I lost track of time and must hurry on now. Perhaps I’ll see you tonight.” Turning her back to him, she ran in the opposite direction, away from the questioning words, too quickly to see the look of complete and utter befuddlement come over Triften’s face.

12

WIND LADY

NOVOR TUR-WOODBERRY STOOD in the grove, watching the breeze frolic through the heavily adorned branches. A mischievous laugh sprinkled through the green leaves and white blossoms while the woodland animals came out of their homes to watch the show.

“Visitors,” whispered a chipmunk to a shrew rat. “The visitors are here.”

“Where?” a wet-nosed weasel asked a bright-eyed hedgehog. “I see nothing unusual at all.”

“It’s in the trees,” a bright-eyed bird told a grasshopper, and then, realizing the grasshopper was a dumb beast, ate it whole.

The wind whistled through the age-old oak trees as if it were the beginnings of a cyclone. Novor Tur-Woodberry alone stood unmoved as the winds rushed over him. His baritone voice lifted in laughter as he called out, “Welcome, visitor to my land. Don’t be bashful—show yourself!”

A sharp snap rang through the grove as if someone broke a thousand tree branches at once. The wind circled Novor Tur-Woodberry, who planted his feet and crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest. “Oh ho, why resist? We are all friends here.”

“Friends?” The cyclone whirled, turning into a solid mass and revealing the newcomer to the land. Wild hair trailed around her shoulders, bouncing up again as if coasting on an invisible breeze. Her arms were bare and brown and her eyes were bright and inquisitive. She glanced around the grove, noting the creatures who scurried in attendance, noses quivering as they observed her. Placing a hand on her hip, she smiled, her voice low and sensuous as she spoke. “Legend tells of your land, Novor Tur-Woodberry.” She dipped her head as if bowing to a higher being. “Long have I desired to come here and bring you a gift—the only thing missing in your land.”

“A gift is quite generous of you.” Novor Tur-Woodberry chuckled. “I sense a deeper discussion must take place. Come along and dine at my home.”

The lady held up a hand, her eyes narrowing as she shook her head, a laugh spilling from her lips. “Is that your way? Invite all guests to dine at your home? A magical realm I suppose where you pull thoughts and ideas from the heads of your guests and spin them into tales of your own creation? Just because legend speaks of you does not mean I am ready to enter your home. First, I wish to walk your land, to ensure it is as great and as good as legend tells. Only then will I reveal my gift.”

“Ah.” Novor Tur-Woodberry’s eyes twinkled. “You come with a challenge, yet I felt your presence in the land yesterday. What have you learned since you arrived?”

“Many things, but not enough. All I have seen lies on the surface. I must go beyond what is seen and understand the deeper mysteries of your land.”

“Some mysteries are not meant to be discovered,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. “But come, I will show you the land myself. Walk through it. Speak with the inhabitants. Everything lives and breathes with life here, kept with my powers. The secrets you wish to find shall be revealed to you, while others will remain locked away. There should always be a limit to knowledge.”

The lady smiled. “Perhaps. You will always speak your version of the truth, but you are not the only one powerful enough to control this land.”

“Ah, you speak of things which should be discussed with a pint of ale and a pipe of tobacco. This conversation would be welcomed around my table.”

The lady raised a hand, brushing his words aside. “No doubt, but you forget. Your land is missing someone vital, and you haven’t realized your great need. The greatest Duneíthaír in all the land had something else.”

“You speak of the power of life and death—a power known to only the greatest Healer of the past?”

“Ah, so you know the tales.”

“You doubt my knowledge. I know that you are the wind lady and my guess is that you have come to grace my land with the gift of wind. One of your twin daughters?”

She smiled then, showing off a row of perfectly white teeth. Wind seemed to rush around her, caressing her hair and tugging at her sky-blue dress. For a moment, she blended into the grove, almost invisible with the sky and land.

“I am the wind lady, come from worlds apart. I come because my days are numbered. My winds are blowing eastward and an impossible call is pulling me onward, yet my heart belongs here in this land.” She cast her face to the side, eyes down as a pensive look came over her. “I will inspect your land before I reveal why I need your help.”

Compassion covered Novor Tur-Woodberry’s face, and he nodded. His tone was gentle as he spoke. “I hear you and I encourage you. Go through my lands, speak to those who live there, and let your mind rest at ease. There is nothing but welcome here for you.”

Although she appeared cryptic, Novor Tur-Woodberry knew her story. She’d captured the heart of a captain and spirited him away in the Monoxie Meadows. They lived happily for a time, giving birth to two daughters. Novor Tur-Woodberry guessed the wind lady left one of her daughters to roam the Monoxie Meadows while the other she hoped to leave in his land. From there, she and Captain Elidar would begin their final journey to the Pillars of Creation.

The moment shattered and a voice shouted, “Novor Tur-Woodberry! Novor Tur-Woodberry! We need your help!”

13

LAVENDER AND LEMON

CITRINE FLUNG open the door to her cottage and slammed it shut, leaning against it as she caught her breath. Shaking her hair out of her face, she stumbled into the dark, making her way to the fireplace where day-old ash had gathered. During the night, the wind had thrust its way down her chimney, scattering soot and ash across the cool stone floor like a thief searching for treasure. High windows let in glimpses of daylight, making patterns in the floor. As much as Citrine loved the sunlight, sometimes she preferred to work in dim light.

Striking flint against a stone, she caught a flame and laid it on the fireplace among the charred wood from yesterday. Reaching for her basket and some additional sticks, she drew up short when she discovered her basket of herbs was not hanging by the fireplace. She tossed the sticks in hand into the fire, letting it sputter and flicker to life. She huffed, peering through the darkness to find her basket. “I had it yesterday,” she swore, running back through her memories and coming up with nothing. The strange waif who had given her the skull seemed to have taken her memories.

Stumbling to her worktable, Citrine riffled through herbs scattered there, an increasing sense of discomfort coming over her. It seemed someone had searched her cottage. Nothing was in its place. The herbs, parchment, rock, and candle were gone.

Soot smudged her fingers and when she tried to brush them off on her clothes, she turned them black. It was a moment before she noticed someone was pounding on the door.

Snatching up a lemon rind, she sucked on it as she made her way to the door, her mind distracted with the ingredients of the memory tea she needed to make. Flinging open the door, she peered down at the four-foot-tall creature who stood before it. It was one of Novor Tur-Woodberry’s Singing Men. If she recalled correctly, his name was Teak.

His cheeks turned rosy at the sight of her disorderly appearance. “Milady Citrine.” He almost gave a mock bow but paused before dipping his head, grinning rather rudely at her. “Seems I’ve interrupted you. Nevertheless, I was asked to check on you. You were missing at dinner last night and apparently you were expected.”

“Apparently.” Citrine bit her lip. Novor Tur-Woodberry had never sent someone to check on her before. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.”

She slammed the door on his imprudence, glancing down at her wrinkled and now torn dress. She’d have to change. Her belly rumbled with hunger as she made her way through her disorderly cottage. The fire smoked into the room while she searched for the kettle to prop up on top. Her heart beat with a fury at the idea someone had entered her home and riffled through her personal effects.

She spit out her lemon rind at the sound of a thump on her door. Tossing it into the fire, she made her way back to the door, yelling, “I said I was fine. Leave me alone!”

She jerked open the door to Teak’s judging face. This time, she noticed a few of the other Singing Men in the distance waiting. “Errr . . . yes, I know.” He scratched his head sheepishly as if embarrassed to ask. “You are invited to dinner tonight at the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry. Will you attend?”

Citrine frowned. “I might be busy,” she admitted, although she was reluctant to miss an evening. As much as she wanted to speak with Novor Tur-Woodberry, she needed to figure out her situation, which was unraveling. “I have a question.” She narrowed her eyes at Teak, who had backed away.

“Eh?”

“Have you or Novor Tur-Woodberry or any of the Singing Men ever had a wife?” She spit out the words, her ears burning with the daring question.

Confusion crept into Teak’s eyes. “What do you speak of? We run the land. There is no time.”

“But you eat, drink, and relax every night,” Citrine insisted, unsure why she pressed the embarrassing question. “Undoubtedly, there have been visitors that caught your eye.”

“Perhaps there have been. We have lived many years, but all stories are told at the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry. You know this. So come tonight if you want to know more.” Teak stepped back, gave a jolly laugh, and turned to join the Singing Men. With a shout, they were off, marching through the land without a care in the world. As they faded from view, Citrine heard a song drift over the rolling hills, voices lifted in praise and admiration of the greatness of Novor Tur-Woodberry.

“Useless Singing Men,” she muttered. “If I had people sing about my greatness all day, I’d do something more with my life.” A hot surge of jealousy whizzed through her as she slammed the door, returning to search for her missing herbs.

A sprig of lavender appeared, and she lifted it, cradling the leaves as the teakettle boiled. Search as she might, she could not find any more lavender. With a sigh, she tossed her wrinkled clothes on the floor and poured herself a cup of tea. Brushing ash off the hearth, she sat cross-legged in front of the fire. She placed lavender leaves in the cup and hunched over it, breathing in. She needed to relax and clear her mind before she hunted for more herbs. She needed ginseng to bring back the memories of last night, plus the ingredients for her spell of protection were gone. She had to start over.

Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and rocked back and forth as the scent of lavender seeped into her skin. Waves of panic floated around her, and she reached down a finger, drawing patterns in the debris from the fireplace.

Her past life flashed before her. Chocolate-brown eyes. Tender kisses. Laughing in the light until she thought her heart would explode from happiness. The herb garden and her beasts, secrets, lies, and joy wrapped together in one bundle until everything exploded. Impatiently, she brushed the angry thoughts away, destroying the rune she’d written in the ash. She needed to focus if this would work. Why couldn’t she remember? What if she had done something evil? Was the Master of the Forest coming for her? She’d kept up her end of the bargain . . .

A knock came at the door, breaking her concentration. Citrine stood, glancing around for some clothing to cover herself before shaking off the urge to dress. She strode across the floor, furious at the interruption. Heaving open the door, she shouted, “I told you to leave me alone!”

But there was no one there. A faint smell of sulfur slapped her in the face and looking down, she saw a long, curved fang. It looked like it was from a beast, ripped out of its mouth so hard the pink gum was still attached, flowing with fresh blood. Bending down, Citrine touched the solid tooth, her heart thumping in her chest. Her vision went dizzy. She squatted on her doorstep, tears gathering at the back of her eyes as a truth struck her so deep she didn’t want to believe it. “Zaul,” she whispered.

14

KAI’S FOLLY

KAI SNATCHED two slices of bread and a thick slice of cheese off the table, tying it into a bundle as she headed for the door. Mother was busy selling loaves of fresh bread, and Father was at the millhouse, dealing with his customers. They were both exuberant about these tasks, Mother talking too much and Father proud of the technical way the millhouse worked. He was brilliant with inventions, and Kai wanted to show him something special and unique.

Her memories returned to the shining orb. Citrine seemed pleased and excited, yet she ran off before Kai could ask her more questions. What if it was an invention, a power she could use the way Father used the waters to create grain from wheat? What could she create?

Hastily draining the cup of goat milk, fresh and warm from the pasture, she left the house. Each afternoon, she went to tend the goats with the other children. They would not miss her if she took a few seconds away to make sure the orb was still there.

She splashed through the cool waters, her toes clutching the rocks as she skipped toward the cave. Her cheeks bulged with bread and cheese. Before she entered the cavern, she peered back at the village, but Triften was knocking on the millhouse door and the villagers seemed to mind their own business. Satisfied they would not discover her, she swallowed the last of the bread and cheese and crept into the darkness.

The walls seemed to pulse, holding out invisible fingers as they welcomed their friend. She hummed as she moved, spellbound, toward the light, her heart lifting in awe as she stood before the beaming ball of light. It seemed to call to her, filling her mind and thoughts as she moved closer. Creeping forward, foot by foot, she held up a hand, daring to touch the orb like she’d seen Citrine do the day before.

The light pulled her in, shining brighter until she thought she saw tiny specks floating in the brilliance. What were they? Creatures of light? She brought her face as close to the orb as she could, listening to the hum of pleasure, almost like the purring of a beast. Gratitude spun around her like a warm blanket and she lifted a hand, questions rising on her tongue as she reached out to touch it. As soon as her hand touched the orb, it went numb and a suction pulled her in, close to the glowing beings as visions flashed through her mind.

Waves of light moved past her body like a current, pulling her in deeper. Glorious beings danced before her eyes and she heard a sound as sweet as morning dew above the purring hum. It was the song of the land, the tune that all living things carried through the ever-growing and flourishing land of Novor Tur-Woodberry.

A smile came over Kai’s face and a peace settled in her heart as she listened. An understanding filled her mind and she felt as if two hands reached out and pulled her into an embrace.

Come, child, a voice whispered.

Anticipation mounted, and Kai opened her eyes wider as the floating specks took shape. The true mystery of the orb was about to be revealed to her. Just before the form took shape, she saw a black speck hovering in the distance. It hurled out of the light toward her face, and just as her mouth opened wide in a scream of terror, the spot turned into a fist and slammed into her forehead.

The blow hurled Kai against the cave wall where her head thwacked into stone. She crumpled to the floor, eyes closed with a trickle of blood flowing from her head.

15

CAPTURE THE FOOL

MORNING DAWNED like a gift as Tor Lir walked south, hiding in gray clouds of fog. His skin was cold and clammy from the chill of the night, and he brushed his dark hair from his forehead, finding it wet with dew.

He’d walked for a while that night after his bone-white companion forsook him, blending back into the shades of the forest as if she’d never appeared to him. An eerie puzzle lay before him. A strong premonition told him this was why he’d left the calm of the Shimla: to discover what mysteries lay in the realm of mortals and to fix them. The danger he’d told Lelia of was real, and he pressed on, searching for food, weapons, and a friendly person to talk to. He needed more information if he was to set free the bone-white creature and understand the motives of the Master of the Forest.

The life of the land flowed around him peacefully as if ignorant of the torn body in the meadow and the struggles of the dark forest. It was, perhaps, midday when he came upon a wonder that made him stop in his tracks.

The white mist of the morning parted and before him rose vibrant green rolling hills. They reached to the height of mountains with rich colors glittering in the sunlight. Green bridges covered in vines melted with the enchanting blue of a sea-swept sky as he gazed upward. He swore he could see cottages perched on each hilltop and a windmill in the distance. A promise of Paradise hung in the air and the birds sang with the clarity of a pure sweetness.

Tor Lir shuddered at the powerful joy that hung over the land. His skin tingled at the idea of entering such a place. The potency differed greatly from the ambiguous mysteries of Shimla and the horrors of yesterday. He took a step, his foot landing in a patch of murky water. Scowling, he peered down and saw his reflection looking back at him, but what disconcerted him were the other faces he saw. Admittedly, there was the scurrying of footsteps across the land, and he’d heard them yet ignored them, assuming they were grassland creatures. Mice, rabbits, and weasels were common in the land, and he saw a red fox slink by. He’d thought nothing much of them. He minded his business and they minded theirs, but this time, he’d let his guard down.

“Get him!” a cry issued forth and a bearded male face rose, swinging a thick club.

“Wait,” Tor Lir hissed, lifting a hand, aghast at his terrible luck.

The club smashed into his skull and bright motes sparked before his eyes as the green land turned upside down and his limbs went numb. “Why?” The question floated in his mind and burst out of his lips as bearded faces surrounded him.

“Bind his hands,” one ordered.

“He’s not out. Should we hit him again?”

“No, we aren’t violent.”

“Give him a moment.”

Lavender hung heavy in the air and a bullfrog croaked in the marshes as Tor Lir’s body was lifted. His neck fell back, and his eyes rolled up into his skull. He let the blackness take his vision while a low hum rose from the ground.

16

TRAPPED

THE WOODLAND CREATURES gasped and the wind lady whirled into a volley of twigs and leaves as the shouts interrupted their conversation. Novor Tur-Woodberry turned to meet the creatures who had cried for help. “How may I assist?”

Two foxes, with their pointed ears laid flat, trotted up as if they’d been running flat out for a while. One had rust-red pelt, gleaming with beauty. The other had a rather dirty white coat with burrs hanging off his pelt. His feet were brown as if he’d waded through wet mud and it dried over, messy and crusty.

“Novor Tur-Woodberry.” The red fox bowed his head in acknowledgment, deferring to the authority of the owner of the land.

“Where is Citrine?” the white fox interrupted, forsaking formalities. “I have a message.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry considered a moment, although the foxes did not seem menacing. Now and then, some dark creature would appear and find themselves powerless. The unspoken treaty of the land allowed no one to be harmed. “Try the cottage near the Standing Stones,” Novor Tur-Woodberry told the foxes.

“I tried last night,” the white fox rejoined. “It was empty.”

The red fox stepped forward. “Have you seen her recently?”

“No.” Novor Tur-Woodberry reflected on the fact that Citrine did not come to dinner the evening before. He’d sent a few of his Singing Men to request her attendance that evening. His thoughts turned suspicious: What if she had something to do with the impending darkness? He’d had questions before, but now he had many more. Perhaps she knew exactly who she was.

“I have an urgent message. If you see her, will you pass it along?” The white fox went on, its voice hard.

“Aye, go ahead.” Novor Tur-Woodberry crossed his arms.

“Tell her. . .” The white fox paused, head down as he recited the message: “Zaul is trapped. The barrier is down. The Master of the Forest is coming.”

“Humm. Trapped. Anything else?” Novor Tur-Woodberry scratched his beard. The title Master of the Forest rang like an ominous bell.

“That is all.” The white fox dropped his head, sniffing the ground. “I must return to the forest. I have an exchange to make. Deliver the message. Don’t forget.”

The white fox turned tail and trotted off while the red fox pawed the ground.

“You have something to tell me?” Novor Tur-Woodberry prompted.

“The grass near the forest is . . . err . . . well . . . I think you should take a look,” the red fox almost whispered. Then he, too, turned tail and ran off.

“As you were.” Novor Tur-Woodberry waved to the expectant faces of the woodland creatures surrounding him. Taking his ax, he turned and headed toward the border.

17

AIR OF CLARITY

MIST SPILLED out of the boiling kettle like lavender fingers, pouring through the runes traced of ash. Citrine wrapped a cloth around the kettle and poured the water into a bowl, dropping leaves of lavender into it. Replacing the kettle over the fire, she dropped the fang into it. It fell with a hiss, dripping as it touched boiling water. Steam drifted through the air, causing the hair on her arms to curl up as she kneeled over the bowl. Bringing her face close to the heat, she breathed in while her breasts hung heavy and her nipples grazed the dusty floor.

“Air of clarity,” she murmured, her lips almost kissing the trembling surface of the waters. “Grant me mercy. Allow me to see the memories taken. Give me eyes to see beyond. Recall the depths of the unknown.”

She took a deep breath, slow and steady, allowing the scent of lavender to imbue her senses and let the worry drift away. Zaul. Ava. Grift. Concern regarding her beasts faded. Visions of herbs rose only to disintegrate even though she did not have the right concoction for the strongest potion. Closing her eyes, she let her senses envelope her. Fragrance filled her nostrils, and her eyes grew wet from the steam. A throbbing pulse drilled into her mind. One moment she was kneeling in her hut, the next she was back in the forest.

She held the skull in both hands while a bone-white creature led her between burned trees and a wasted forest. A drumbeat echoed in the distance and creatures howled in a mix of merrymaking and terror. Everything around her seemed hazy and blurred, and she thought she recalled swallowing something, perhaps when her head was underwater. She saw flashes of white and a leaping orange fire sang a song as it consumed the glade. Horned creatures danced, sharp teeth, red lips, and slobber flying out of their open mouths. The stink of rotten flesh offended her senses, yet she felt consumed and bewildered as she stumbled into the group of devilish creatures.

The creatures came to a halt when they saw her and the drums paused mid-beat. They peered at the skull she held in her hands, the terrible thing that made her feel cold with dread. A creature lifted a stick high in the air and howled, a terrible, high-pitched shriek that made her ears ring. They backed away, pointing from her to something amid the creatures, a hollow tree. It seemed they wanted her to go into it and despite her misgivings, her disobedient feet led her toward the tree.

The trunk led down into darkness, a passageway of a sort, and even as she stepped foot onto the entrance, she knew where it would lead. She turned around in protest, but the bone-white creatures egged her on, stepping closer and shaking their sticks at her. Eyes darkening with veiled threats. Stretching out her leg, she took another tentative step . . .

The memory faded like a ripple across the pond, disappearing into nothingness. Citrine came to with a start, her legs burning from kneeling and water dripping off her face. Ignoring the bodily pain, she took a deep breath, understanding what happened. If she had to guess, she assumed the tree led underground into a labyrinth that connected to Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land. Yet how she ended up in the middle of the land without the skull remained a mystery. She needed stronger herbs to bring back her memories, but in the meantime, she needed to speak with Novor Tur-Woodberry. An old ache began, closing her throat as she set back, cupping the bowl of now warm water in her hands. The last time she’d come clean and told the truth about herself, she’d lost everything. Love. Home. Life. Everything.

Novor Tur-Woodberry had been nothing but kind to her, but he might banish her if he discovered she had brought chaos into his land. She was unsure of his power—waves of it touched every inch of his land—but should he choose, he could make her life miserable again. For a moment, she regretted choosing to fight the Master of the Forest. It would be better for the villagers if she sneaked away in darkness, taking her beasts and fading into oblivion.

She poured the bowl of warm lavender water over her head, rubbing the scented liquid over her body as she washed away the grit. Standing, she wrapped a gown around herself, belting it at the waist and pulling on a light cloak. The arms were gone from the cloak, yet a wide hood hung down the back. She cast around for a knife. Finding her blade gone, or stolen by whomever had burglarized her hut, she flung open the door and strode out into the sunshine. She set her face with grim determination.

18

NAMELESS ONE

NOVOR TUR-WOODBERRY PLANTED HIS AX, blade down, in the grass, and leaned on the long handle, his meaty hands twitching as a frown came over his face. A carpet of death stretched before him, ending in a patch of forested area. Angry trees marked the end of Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land and the beginning of the Boundary Line Forest.

In all his years, Novor Tur-Woodberry had never seen such a sign as the one that marred his vision. The blades of once green grass were black and frozen as if someone had turned them to ice. Stepping on one shattered it into sharp shards, and dried blood hung on broken pieces where a creature had dared to walk and instantly regretted its folly. “So . . .” Lifting one hand, Novor Tur-Woodberry stroked his bushy brown beard, softened by the gentle oils he used to keep it shiny. “It has begun.”

“Novor Tur-Woodberry, we’ve found a suspect.” Jatoba’s harsh tone carried across the bend. Novor Tur-Woodberry turned to meet the newcomers.

Five of his Singing Men strode toward him, two with firm grips on the bound arms of a youthful male. As Novor Tur-Woodberry’s eyes fell on him, an understanding dawned. Visions of the future flickered through his mind, ever shifting as if they were not set in stone yet.

The male held a slight air of familiarity; he stood well over six feet tall with a slender, muscular body, unused to the trials and toils of mortals. His hair was obsidian black and hung rather long around his neck, hiding the pointed tips of his ears. His eyes were hard and flicked with an unhidden haughtiness. It was clear he disdained those who captured him. It was not an emotion Novor Tur-Woodberry could blame him for; there was no evidence against him causing the darkness in the land. Besides, as Novor Tur-Woodberry met his emerald-green eyes, he recognized who the male was.

“A suspect?” Novor Tur-Woodberry repeated the words of Jatoba.

“Aye, we found him wandering near the marshes, close to where we saw a dead body a few days ago.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry glanced to the male who blinked, unsaid words lingering behind those stubborn eyes. Novor Tur-Woodberry noted the male’s lack of vengeance to defend himself. It was an uncommon trait. Mortals were quick to blame and point fingers at others, accepting none of the responsibility, even if they were part of the problem. They never offered solutions. Mortals seemed locked in an intense battle to live life however they wished, free from repercussions and responsibilities. It was one reason Novor Tur-Woodberry had been sent to guard the land and keep it free from the ever-changing whims, chaos, and mischief of the mortals. The village was a new development, which became necessary after mortals settled on his land, content to live in Paradise after the hundred-year rule of the Black Steeds and the war between the mortals and immortals.

Novor Tur-Woodberry frowned. “Release the captive. We are on my land—there is no need for bounds.”

“Aye, Novor Tur-Woodberry.” Ash lifted a short knife and chopped the rope from the male’s hands.

The male barely seemed to notice, his cold eyes fixed on Novor Tur-Woodberry as his arms dropped by his side. “Power surrounds this land. Is it yours?” the male asked, unaffected by the Singing Men’s accusations.

“Oh ho,” Novor Tur-Woodberry rumbled. “I am Novor Tur-Woodberry, and you have entered my land.”

“Your realm, you mean,” the male interrupted, his eyes moving toward the blackness of the grass. “You don’t seem surprised to see me. In fact, if I could guess, it seems you recognize me. Why is that? And what has begun?”

Novor Tur-Woodberry felt rather than saw his Singing Men turn toward him, surprised at the line of questioning yet waiting, out of respect, for his guidance. “Ho now.” Novor Tur-Woodberry held up a hand, slowing down the male’s questions. “You have many questions, and I have many answers for you. But my Singing Men have accused you of the crime of murder. Do you have anything to say about it?”

The male appeared thoughtful, his brows knitting together as he considered. “It's coincidence or a kind of setup. There are things in the forest”—his eyes turned toward the Boundary Line Forest—“and I’m curious to know more, but something is blocking me. Perhaps you know. What has begun?”

“Humm.” Novor Tur-Woodberry turned his gaze back over the rigid grass. Blades stood frozen like a hand of ice waved over it, bringing an early winter. “The time of the immortals is over,” Novor Tur-Woodberry rumbled on. “The war is over, a balance is coming to the world, and it is too much for me to stay here. My time is over. It is time for me to go.”

The Singing Men turned toward the male, nodding as if they’d known all along. They were loyal without question, ready for the next phase in their immortal reign of the land.

“Where will you go?” The male’s tone broke the tension in the air. “As I understand it, this is your land. Isn’t that so? Who will own the land when you leave?”

“No one.” Novor Tur-Woodberry lifted his ax from the ground and swung it over his shoulder. “But that is a discussion for dinner. Tell me, do you have a name?”

The male’s emerald eyes became guarded, his voice dipping into a gentle tone. “No. I have no name. Although I am called Tor Lir.”

“The Nameless One.” Novor Tur-Woodberry nodded as the pieces came together. For a moment, he felt a small nostalgia for the days of peace. He should have known, in all his wisdom, when Citrine set foot on his land, the days of peace were over. “Evening will be upon us.” He motioned toward the impending sunset. “Come along—join me at my home for dinner. I would like to speak to you about your future.”

The male called Tor Lir blinked. “My future.” His gaze shifted to the black bladed grass. “I assumed we would discuss your land and what is happening in the forest.”

A sudden merriment returned to Novor Tur-Woodberry’s bright-blue eyes. “Aye, so we will, but you have a curious future. I have been waiting for you to appear in my realm for some time because I need to warn you. Someone wants to kill you.”

19

LIGHTS OF THE VILLAGE

THE FLICKERING LIGHTS of the village drew Citrine’s gaze. She saw them dancing high up, beyond her cottage in the shallows. She recalled the day Novor Tur-Woodberry showed her the village, offering her a temporary home until she regained her feet and moved on, as she desired. He made it clear there was no rush, yet she understood that one did not impend on his charity by staying in his home far too long. The notion of living with eleven males, no matter how gentle and jolly they were, did not sit too well with her.

Reluctantly, she asked for a home set apart where she could have privacy. Her original thought was to practice her art with herbs and runes. She needed time to gather ingredients and cast a spell of protection over her beasts so they could join her. Thoughts skated around the possibility of hiding them in the gardens as she once had. But it was clear that would not happen anymore. At the thought of her creatures, her mind set out a thread of communication, searching, hoping they were within reach.

Ava. Zaul. Grift.

There was no response. Chewing her lower lip, she eyed the lights, surprised to see them glistening when daylight still graced the land. The fireflies were larger than average and shone around twilight when the twin lights in the sky graced the land with an unknown splendor. Regardless, the village was on her way to Novor Tur-Woodberry’s home, and she wanted to see the strange orb Kai had shown her.

“Citrine.”

She jerked to a stop, spinning around, her heart thumping in anticipation. She relaxed when she saw it was only the budding oak tree that grew just outside her door. The Trespiral had left her shell again. Her slender body swayed back and forth in the late afternoon breeze. “I hoped you might come to visit me again.” This time there was no joy in the Trespiral’s face. “I’ve heard something odd today. A dissonance in the land.”

“I know.” Citrine nodded, a sigh passing from her lips. “I can’t stay. I have to talk to Novor Tur-Woodberry.”

“Then you already know about the tree?” the Trespiral asked.

Citrine cocked her head. “What tree?”

The Trespiral waved a shimmering hand in the direction Citrine had just come from. “One raven brought me word about a bone-white tree. It grows in the middle of the land. There’s something odd about it.”

Citrine felt as if two hands gripped her neck and squeezed. Her heart raced, and bile boiled in her belly. “In the middle of the land,” she whispered.

“You look ill. Are you all right?” the Trespiral asked, bending forward with concern.

“Yes. N-no,” Citrine stammered, her easy grace gone. “I have to go.”

She gathered the length of her cloak in hand and turning her back to the village, ran, bare feet pounding through the grass. Shoes were not something she enjoyed wearing—even the soft leather boots that encased her feet like a blanket felt too controlling. She preferred her feet to be free to touch the true nature of the land and burrow herself in its arms.

Bile rose in her throat when she arrived at the place where she had woken and where, supposedly, she’d buried the skull. As she slowed down, her pulse pounding like the drums from her memory, she saw something white glimmering among the wild yellow-green grass. It was bone-white, a dirty beauty, soiled yet standing tall, a few inches above the tallest strands of waving grass. It had sprouted two tender arms, one reaching west while the other reached east.

Citrine’s breath caught as she crept toward it while anxiety settled in her belly. Nubs on the tree showed where branches would appear, pointing north and south as they grew. They looked like tiny hands, lifting and pointing toward the sky, thanking it for life.

“I curse you,” Citrine hissed, lifting her foot to kick it. Before she struck it, she thought better of her action. Leaning down, she gripped the slender trunk with both fingers and pulled, intending to snap it in half.

Nothing happened.

The cold of death folded into her fingers as she tugged. When at last she gave up and stepped back, her fingers shook from exertion and the tree stood as if she’d never touched it.

“I don’t understand.” She glared at it. “I am strong. I can break bone with my fingers. Why can’t I break you?”

A piercing scream rent the air. Citrine leaped to her feet and spun around. She was sure the scream came from the village. Heart pounding, she dashed toward the sound, sprinting past her cottage and the bewildered Trespiral. Following the path that led up to the Standing Stones and on to the Mouth of Heaven, she let the echoes of the cry lead her on. Mischief. Chaos. It was all her fault.

20

MYSTERIOUS FUTURE

A JOLT PASSED through Tor Lir, and he shivered. As soon as the giant spoke his name, Tor Lir recalled he’d heard of the legendary land of Novor Tur-Woodberry, the great and powerful Duneíthaír, from songs the Iaens sung. His flight from Shimla made sense. His purpose was to help the Duneíthaír keep his land and the people of his land safe, yet Tor Lir was unsure what role he was to play. He squeezed his fingers into fists as he asked, “Who wants to kill me? How did you know about my existence?”

“Come to dinner.” Novor Tur-Woodberry strode away from the blackened border. “We shall discuss . . .” His boisterous voice echoed back and there was a laugh in his throat.

A peacefulness came over the countryside, as if it had been holding its breath, waiting for a cue from Novor Tur-Woodberry. As the laugh rippled through the air, the fear drifted away and a certainty of knowing, even though the future was inescapable, passed over the Land of Lock.

The Singing Men stepped away from Tor Lir, nodding with satisfaction. One began a low hum and words flowed from his mouth:

Novor Tur-Woodberry.

Novor Tur-Woodberry.

A hush of admiration swept across the land and a moment later, a multitude of voices chimed out in reverence and respect.

Novor Tur-Woodberry.

Novor Tur-Woodberry.

They sang of his great power, looping through the hilltops. The vast blue sky opened wide, welcoming their words. The song continued, singing of Novor Tur-Woodberry, his authority, and his benevolence. The Singing Men marched away, swinging their axes up over their shoulders as they set off, double pace, marching in rhythm to the melody.

Tor Lir watched them, surprised at the turn of events. One moment, he was their prisoner, the next, set free and invited to dinner while the song of the land weaved through him. He followed just as the Singing Men marched over a rolling hill and disappeared from sight. They moved in a different direction, away from the edges of the border where they’d led him to rendezvous with Novor Tur-Woodberry.

Tor Lir recognized the song as the constant hum he’d heard ever since he entered the land, and he wondered if there were a hypnosis in it, compelling him to answer the wishes and whims of Novor Tur-Woodberry. Perhaps the animals and people who dwelt in the land were unaware it changed their minds when they entered, overcome with a certain peace because of the song that kept them there, powerless. He knew of his abilities, although the depths of his unique powers were unexplored. A shudder ran over his back as the word Daygone drifted into his mind, encouraging him to seek and find. He pushed the thought away and quickened his pace.

Eventually, a glade appeared, leading down a hill, sloping like the breast of a giant, coming to rest amid multicolored grass. A round cottage perched, shining in the grace of twilight. Tor Lir glanced west where the dual lights in the sky appeared. The sun and the Green Light, a beacon of hope. Legend told of a time before the Green Light appeared in the sky when the world was dark with evil and hopelessness stained the ground with the blood of those who fought on the side of good. When the Great Conqueror arose, he set the Green Light in the sky as a beacon of hope, reminding those that their lives were not doomed and they had a chance in the war between the mortals and immortals.

It was a grandiose tale, but Tor Lir had no reason to believe it or disbelieve it. The Iaens loved to tell stories, truth and untruths spilling from their lips without consequence. Tor Lir saw their need to speak and astonish others, yet he knew even amidst the lies, each story held a spark of truth. If he could filter the layers of untruths, he would find the true meaning.

A spark flashed as the green and gold beams of light collided and Tor Lir walked to the doorstep. Fragrant flavors brushed his senses, making his mouth water as he realized the extent of his hunger. He’d not had a proper meal since leaving Shimla, and in his curiosity, the bits of snatched meals were unsustainable.

His eyes widened as he stepped over the doorstep, surprised to find himself graced in a forest of golden light. There were no walls in the cottage, only great tree trunks, rising to form a canopy of green leaves with golden filtered light as the ceiling. Long grass grew up around the trunks of those trees, swaying back and forth as if there were an unknown wind, or perhaps they danced to the unceasing music of the land.

A tingling came through the air, dancing on the edges of Tor Lir’s vision and disappearing before he could quite grasp it. Out of the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw a grand castle with chambers, staircases, and rooms disappearing into a void, but it was only his imagination.

“Welcome,” Novor Tur-Woodberry boomed, appearing at the door, holding a pipe. He held out his arm, his hand pointing toward an oak table in the middle of the room. It sat twelve, and ten of the seats were full with more of the stout, four-foot-tall males. A few of them sent curious glances toward Tor Lir but seemed content to wait for food before diving into a conversation.

Tor Lir ignored their glances as he moved toward the table, feeling shabby, but when he looked down, his clothes were crisp and clean as if he’d never had a tussle with a beast in the wood. What kind of power was this?

“Have a seat, eat and drink,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. “And when you are full, we shall have a discussion, for we have many things to talk about.”

Tor Lir felt as if they had enchanted him. He opened his mouth, but not a word left his lips as he sat down at the table while the melody of harps filled the air. His plate filled itself with an abundance of everything at the table while the goblet perched by his plate shone with a golden liquid. Mounds of food covered the table, from stuffed pig to gourds of fruit dripping with cream to roasted vegetables. Crusty pies perched in front of each plate, the flakiness melting in his mouth.

When at last he’d eaten his fill, he sat back and found time drifted away while the tastes and smells of the glorious home of Novor Tur-Woodberry consumed him. He relaxed in his chair, which had become deeper, almost pulling him into the realm of slumber. He wondered if it had seduced him, and part of him did not care at all. He sank into the glory and beauty as his mind sent warnings cavorting into the void.

The smell of tobacco woke him from his trance and he sat up, noting the roaring fire. Novor Tur-Woodberry sat closest to the fire, his booted feet stretched toward it while the golden light flickered on his bushy beard. His Singing Men surrounded him, holding either goblets or pipes, enjoying the whimsical music that brushed past their ears.

Tor Lir straightened up, heat coming to his cheeks as he wondered how long he’d been out of it and what power he’d inadvertently let Novor Tur-Woodberry hold over him. Questions regarding the truth of the legend of the great Duneíthaír stirred in his mind and he opened his mouth as clarity returned. “You mentioned that I have a mysterious future and someone is trying to kill me. Care to elaborate?”

Novor Tur-Woodberry met his gaze. The merriment left his eyes, replaced with a calm seriousness. He puffed on his pipe a minute longer before taking it from his mouth to answer Tor Lir’s question.

21

BRIGHT AND SNAPPY

“I ASSUME you know the old story,” Novor Tur-Woodberry began, settling back in his chair, his deep eyes gazing into the fire.

Tor Lir could see some age in him then, through the eyes of someone who’d lived hundreds of years. Respect came over him, for the creatures he knew in Shimla were young and restless. Youth made them unintelligent, and boredom gave way to petty spats full of drama.

“Over nine hundred years ago, the Creator designed the Four Worlds, giving life to mortals, immortals, plants, and animals alike. In the beginning, all teemed with life and yet there still were blemishes in the land. The Creator had a mischievous assistant who distracted him during creation, causing the Changers to morph from the Creator’s spark.”

Changers. Tor Lir shifted at the word, a prick in his mind telling him he should understand. The aura of the word emitted a strange darkness, and part of him wanted to know more while the other part of him wanted Novor Tur-Woodberry to skip that story and move into deeper reasonings.

“During a time of chaos, the Creator sent me to this land to bring balance to the divide between good and evil. He gave me a specific power to watch over and guard all living things in this land. Blessed with wealth and wisdom, I made this haven where all that is great and good may dwell and flourish without fear. Since the land is vast and butts up against the Boundary Line Forest, I was also given ten Fúlishités, also known as Singing Men, although there are no men in this realm. As the power of the Changers grew stronger, I recognized the break in my gift. As long as the Fúlishités and I stay on this land, we receive power. If we leave, all immortality and unique abilities are stripped from us. But we are content here.” Novor Tur-Woodberry’s eyes twinkled. Raising his pipe, he puffed on it for a moment, replenishing the air with the heavy scent of tobacco.

Tor Lir mulled over the words and came up with two questions. Before he could ask them, Novor Tur-Woodberry faced him, pointing a pipe at Tor Lir’s face. “Now you are here. The Nameless One. The Balancer. Tor Lir. You shall have many names in your lifetime, but now it is up to you to keep the balance between good and evil.”

Tor Lir narrowed his eyes, words spitting out of his mouth before he had time to consider whether it was a worthy question. “How do you know?”

Novor Tur-Woodberry raised an eyebrow, a chuckle on the edge of his lips. “How could I not know? Wisdom and knowledge are imparted in various ways. I felt the shift when you entered my land—just as you see and understand auras, I acknowledge the knowing of the present and future. You may assume history is created by those who strive to make a difference in the present, but that is not so. It is only a recurrence of the past, with a different location and a new spin on truth. There are many things I know that would astonish you. I must hand them to you in bits and pieces, for you are young and do not understand the depths of the realm of mortals. Yet.”

Tor Lir examined Novor Tur-Woodberry, letting the hostility fade from his eyes, recognizing he needed a mentor, someone knowledgeable to look up to. “I understand your truth now, and I would like to sit at your feet and understand the depth of knowledge. Will you teach me? The realm of mortals is new to me, and it would relieve me to have a guide as I make my way.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry stroked his beard. “To recognize your lack of knowledge is wise. Yet I am not the guide you seek. You cannot learn the lessons of life here in my land—this is Paradise, a guarded haven. If you want to understand the realm of mortals, you must go beyond my land to seek truth. I feel you already know where to go to find the knowledge you seek.”

Daygone. The word jetted through Tor Lir’s mind as if it had been said out loud. He almost jumped out of his seat as an uneasiness swept through him. “I see,” he told Novor Tur-Woodberry. “Why does someone want to kill me? I’ve only just left my former home, and I have met no one on the way . . . except for the strange creature in the forest yesterday. Why does someone want me dead?”

“It’s not you in particular. It’s the idea of you,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. He held out a hand as he returned to his pipe, signaling the need for a short smoke break.

Smoke rings from the Singing Men drifted above Tor Lir’s head, fading into the shimmering curtain at the end of the room.

Tor Lir settled back in his chair, just as a tap-tap came through the walls. Three knocks and then a boom sounded as if a foot kicked the hidden door.

“Oh ho, what is this?” Novor Tur-Woodberry rose from his chair, taking the pipe from his mouth. “Ah, let her in.” He spoke to the hut as if it were alive.

“Novor Tur-Woodberry,” a female voice called out. It was not a pretty sound; her voice rang with impatience as the hut opened invisible doors to let her in. “I have something urgent to tell you . . .” She trailed off as she entered.

Tor Lir rose in surprise as he took in the unexpected guest. Waves of bright hair tumbled around her shoulders in vibrant colors impossible to pin down. As the light shifted, the color of her hair changed from blonde to red to orange, hints of black and silver running through her roots. He saw her aura shimmer and snap around her as she glared at him.

She was surprisingly tall for a female, about six feet, with a heart-shaped face and a well-endowed body. Her lashes were long, and she blinked at him out of eyes the color of a rare jewel: citrine. Her lips were full and almost pouted as she glared at him, her jeweled eyes shifting from examining him to questioning Novor Tur-Woodberry.

A sleeveless, loose frock fell to her knees while a longer cloak covered the rest of her body. Given her height and the coloring of her skin, Tor Lir assumed she must be of the people group called Tiders.

When she placed her hands on her hips, he saw the curves of her body and a twitch of lust pierced him. It wasn’t affection, only desire. She was attractive and desirable with a hard heart and a quick tongue. There was something about her he could not quite name. Her aura danced and weaved through the air, sending scattering thoughts toward him like a shield.

“Who’s he?” she demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Tor Lir. “I didn’t know you had a guest.”

The way she spoke seemed as if she were the mistress of the land and should be informed when newcomers appeared. She frowned, her lips turned down as her skirts switched around her legs. Tor Lir noticed she was barefoot and looked as if she’d run wild in the wind.

“This is my guest,” Novor Tur-Woodberry explained, as if the female’s words did not bother him. “Come along, I will introduce you. We already ate dinner, but if you are hungry—”

The female snapped her fingers with impatience, cutting off Novor Tur-Woodberry in a hasty manner. “Nay, just wine.” She paused, licking her lips before adding. “Please.” Glancing again at Tor Lir, she turned her entire body toward Novor Tur-Woodberry. “I came to speak to you about something urgent.”

“Aye, join us then. Urgent business seems to be all we discuss this day.”

The female lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“Sit,” Novor Tur-Woodberry boomed at her, an undercurrent of laughter bubbling up. “You are impatient today. Sit and drink, then we shall speak when you have a moment to organize your thoughts.”

The female looked as if she might utter another rude word but thought better of herself and plopped down with a sigh, holding out her hand for a golden goblet of bright-red liquid.

22

LAWS OF BALANCE

CITRINE GLARED at the lanky male as she took sips of the bold wine. It tasted rich with hints of chocolate on her tongue. A calmness came over her, greater than the feeling the scent of lavender gave her. The male’s emerald-green eyes were cold and emotionless as his gaze lingered on her, as if she were some unwanted refuse in his path. He was young with long black eyelashes, an angular face, and roughly cut black hair. If he had the hints of a beard, she might think him handsome, but the vibe she got from him was eerie and unusual.

She couldn’t place him among the people groups, either. There were four main people groups in the South World. Crons, a people group of a short stature and a fair complexion known for their lust for adventure. Tiders, such as herself, who lived at great heights given their long and limber bodies. Trazames, who were farmers, and Ezincks who were dark-skinned and preferred forests. In the future, Citrine hoped to find a tribe of Ezincks and study with them. Their healers crafted unusual spells from herbs, and Citrine knew some spells she’d forgotten were from the Ezincks.

She took another sip of wine to keep her frustration from rising and to avoid blatantly staring at the male. He was tall like a Tider and something about the way he sat, holding his shoulders straight and examining her with his emotionless eyes, made her feel sick. Her heart beat faster and her fingers twitched in discomfort. She couldn’t pin down what it was, but she did not like him.

His eyes left hers and returned to Novor Tur-Woodberry, who sat back in his chair, stroking his great beard while the firelight highlighted the gold in his rich brown hair.

Citrine felt her heart turn over as she looked toward Novor Tur-Woodberry. When her eyes drifted back to the male, she saw the perfection in his body and a slight glimmer. In the firelight, it looked like a faint pale-green shimmer surrounded him, almost unseen in the flickering light. Shaking herself from her unorthodox observation, she returned to the task at hand.

“Novor Tur-Woodberry.” She addressed him with respect. “I’ve just come from the village. Kai, the miller’s daughter, went missing today. The villagers spent all afternoon looking for her. She was wandering in the caverns and fell and hit her head . . .” She lapsed off, glancing at the green-eyed male, wondering how much she should reveal with him here. “I’m sorry.” She broke off. “I can’t talk with him here.” She pointed an accusing finger. “Who are you?”

“This is Tor Lir,” Novor Tur-Woodberry rumbled, speaking for the male as if defending him. “I’ll allow him to answer your questions.”

Citrine lifted her chin as she met the cool gaze of the male. “I suppose that’s not your real name.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Why do you say that?”

Citrine shrugged, somewhat cowed. “I only assumed, because it was the topic of a recent conversation with a Trespiral.” With a huff, she turned back to Novor Tur-Woodberry. “We don’t have time for this. I need to speak with you. Alone.” Her eyes begged him to adhere to her request.

“Tor Lir is not used to the realm of mortals, and he is seeking a guide into the world.” Novor Tur-Woodberry addressed Citrine, ignoring her request. “I believe you would be the right guide to show him the way of the world.”

“A guide!” Citrine leaped to her feet, aghast as she glared from Novor Tur-Woodberry to Tor Lir. “I can’t be a guide! Who do you think you are?” She glared at Tor Lir, baring her teeth.

His eyes were cold as he met hers, a semblance of hostility just behind them. “I come from the forests of Shimla, the haven of the immortals. I uphold the balance between good and evil. Something is wrong here, and I will discover what my role is in mending the uneasiness gripping the land.”

Citrine sat down hard, all the air going out of her at his words. She examined him from head to toe again as memories of her flight through the Boundary Line Forest consumed her. She recalled a dream, or what she hoped was a sleep-soaked dream, of white creatures with lidless eyes. Forgotten words pressed on her memory. “There is an imbalance between good and evil. Her actions will help keep the balance.”

“What about him? His purpose is to keep the balance.”

She shuddered, her voice coming out just above a whisper. “Who are you then? If you’re not a mortal?”

A flicker of uncertainty appeared in his cold eyes, which shone like jewels. Citrine shivered, reminded of the legend of Treasure Hunters, Jeweled Ones who wielded extraordinary power once they found the stone that matched their eye color. Surely Tor Lir was one. “I’m not sure yet, but I intend to find out.”

His words sounded like an omission of truth. Citrine watched him shudder, a smirk almost coming to her face, yet she caught it in time. She held up a finger. “To clarify, you were born among the immortals and you lived there until you left?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “I have a purpose I will complete. And who are you? If you are to be my guide, I’d like to know more about you.” He grinned at her, a cunning grin, like a wolf.

Citrine sat back, reaching for her wine and taking a sip to avoid looking into those odd eyes. She sneaked a glance at Novor Tur-Woodberry as she pulled the goblet away from her lips. A drop of red wine dripped down onto her lap, staining her bare leg with its juice.

“My name is Citrine. I am . . .” She paused, for her speech was not prepared and she was unwilling to share her true nature. “New to this land,” she finished.

“Where were you before you entered this realm?” Tor Lir leaned forward, his deep eyes inquisitive.

“It’s not a realm,” Citrine snapped, somehow annoyed with him. He was cold and uncaring, and she did not want to look at him again lest his coolness seep into her skin. Yet all the same, her eyes examined his angular features as if chiseled from stone. She could not help but wonder who he was and what kind of power he held. “I came from a village beyond the wood where they cast me out.”

It sounded strange admitting that truth out loud.

“Why were you an outcast?” Tor Lir’s eyes turned dangerous, and she did not want to talk to him anymore.

“Perhaps it is time to turn the conversation to things at hand,” Novor Tur-Woodberry interrupted, rescuing her from dark thoughts of the past. “Tor Lir, please explain what led you here, aside from your intuition. We can return to our previous conversation another time.”

Citrine detected a hint of disappointment in Tor Lir’s eyes. However, he opened his mouth and smooth words poured from his guileless lips. She leaned toward him, curious about him as he spoke. He related his journey south from Shimla, elaborating when he discovered a dead body and was chased by a strange beast into the forest. Citrine raised her eyebrows in disbelief when he talked about the bone-white creature that came to him and led him out of the forest. Only, he was captured by the Singing Men and taken deep within Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land. When at last he finished and his lips grew silent, Citrine found her fingers gripped her chair, as if something froze her in place. A horror wormed its way around her, and despite her thoughts, she could not help but assume it was her fault the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry was in chaos.

Before she could speak, Novor Tur-Woodberry took his pipe from his mouth and stared into the flickering yellow tongues of fire. “It is as I thought. My time is over, and I must leave because the world is at peace and I am not required. The land will miss me, but they don’t need me.”

“What?” Citrine shrieked, the scream dying in her throat at the terrible words from Novor Tur-Woodberry. Tears rose in her eyes, unbidden as she stared at the Singing Men. Their expressions were somber as they stared at the fire, nodding one by one as if they regretted knowing the truth. “But you can’t go,” Citrine begged, her fingers turning white. “Your land is a haven. What will happen when you leave? Evil is rising to take over this land. Are you going to let it?”

Novor Tur-Woodberry took his pipe from his mouth and faced her, his eyes deep with kindness and understanding.

But it was Tor Lir who responded as if a vision graced his mind. “The great war is over. There is a shift in the balance, but too much goodness abounds and leaves no room for chaos. If peace is to last in this world, then this sanctuary, this Paradise, must perish. All is good and great in this realm—a land such as this is not needed.”

Fury rushed through Citrine at Tor Lir’s words, and she wanted to reach out, find his neck, and wring it. Her fingers twitched, begging to do her will and bring misery to the emotionless, uncaring guest.

“There was a time when I hoped this land would always be kept by a powerful Duneíthaír, but I cannot see the future.” Novor Tur-Woodberry spoke up, his voice calming Citrine’s murderous gaze. “The land is ripe for chaos, and I feel the time is now. Tor Lir is right. My time is up.”

“What will happen to this land and the people who live here?” Citrine wanted to shout and scream and cry all at once. How dare they take Paradise from her. How dare they let this happen to the land when they had the power to stop it.

“The land will die.” The bleak truth dropped from Novor Tur-Woodberry’s lips and a somber air filled the room.

“Can you stay longer?” Citrine whispered, her face a mask of sorrow. A heaviness dragged her down as her world caved in on her once again.

“My time is at an end.” Novor Tur-Woodberry lifted his pipe, puffing methodically as he stared into the fire.

“What of the Creator who sent you here? Surely he will grant you grace,” Citrine pressed, setting her goblet of wine on the arm of her chair in a precarious way.

“Perhaps. There are bigger matters at hand than the beauty of Paradise. Perhaps because of the peace, my land is not needed.”

“No,” Tor Lir interrupted. “It’s because of the balance. There is none. Since the war, the balance has swung to the side of good and there it rests. We need chaos in the land, or it will end. The fall of a great land such as this will bring balance.”

“Who cares about balance?” Citrine demanded, glaring at Tor Lir, ready to rip his tongue out. “There are people who live here!”

“I care about balance. I am the keeper of balance.”

“Why does it matter!”

“Because there must be order.”

“Why?”

“It’s why I have come. I don’t know why. I have a strong feeling.”

“Can’t you change the balance?”

“Change? Why would I change the laws of balance?”

“To save this land!”

“I can’t just come in here and change the balance. There must be equality between good and evil.”

“No. There shouldn’t! Isn’t that why the White Steeds fought the war? Not to bring balance and equality between good and evil but to save life. Why won’t you save the land? Why won’t you risk it?”

“It’s not my purpose.”

“Well, maybe it is and you’re so befuddled with propriety you don’t know it yet!”

“Perhaps there is a way,” Novor Tur-Woodberry mused. “Citrine, my time is over, but we can still save the people. Although Paradise will fall, we can halt evil. I invited you here for a reason tonight because I know you did not enter this land by chance. Perhaps now is the time to share with us what you know.”

23

WHAT CITRINE KNEW

AVA. Citrine reached out for threads of connection. Come.

“What are you doing?” Tor Lir’s question broke her concentration. “You look like you’re talking to someone.”

Citrine frowned at him, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath, meeting Novor Tur-Woodberry’s kind eyes. Would he cast her out if she told him the truth? Would he do what her past lover had done? “I am an Enchantress.” Saying the words out loud somehow made it true, and she realized she was proud of her secret heritage.

“The Enchantress,” Novor Tur-Woodberry stressed, encouraging her to continue.

“Did you know?” The strength of her voice dropped away as she held his gaze, awe and wonder at the respect in his eyes. There was no hate and no need to drive her away while burning everything she cared for.

“You have a unique future, but my vision is not clear,” Novor Tur-Woodberry went on. “However, I know you are the strongest Enchantress who has ever lived. Much like Marklus the Healer was the greatest healer of all time, standing between life and death.”

“Pardon me,” Tor Lir said, a glimmer of curiosity in his emerald eyes, and something else that seemed like lust. “What does that mean? What abilities do you have?”

“I am a friend to nature,” Citrine explained. “I have a unique bond with it. I respect nature, and it hears and answers my requests. I understand how to use the various plants and runes for healing, knowledge, and other skills as required. I also have beasts.”

“You control beasts?” Tor Lir stared at her in surprise while Novor Tur-Woodberry and the Singing Men fixated their gazes on her.

The room grew silent, the quiet music in the background fading away. Only the flickering fire provided the slightest noise.

“Collect. I collect—not control—them and they obey my wishes. It is respect for respect.” She was sure Tor Lir understood nothing about respect, and her lip curled at him. “I only collect exotic beasts with the same eye color as myself.”

“Citrine.” Novor Tur-Woodberry took his pipe out of his mouth. “There is something special about your gift. What else happened to you in the forest?”

Citrine paused, reaching out for more threads of communication. Grift. Get out of the forest. Come to Paradise. It’s too dangerous.

There was no response.

“I’ve seen this happen before,” she admitted, speaking to Novor Tur-Woodberry. Vulnerability rose and the words she’d refused to tell another living soul came spilling out. “It happened in the village I lived in before I came here. Crops were dying, animals turned up dead with strange bite marks, and children disappeared. The villagers were superstitious—they blamed me and drove me out. But it wasn’t my fault . . .” She trailed off. Her tone sounded desperate and defensive. It felt wrong to defend herself among the first who gave her the decency of believing her story. At least, she hoped the respect in Novor Tur-Woodberry’s eyes meant he believed her tale.

“Do you know what happened to the village after you left?” Tor Lir asked.

Citrine shook her head, her eyes darkening. “No. And I don’t care.” The lie left her lips too quickly, and she dropped her gaze to the fire to keep her chin from shaking.

Memories took her back to her flight through the forest, and when she hid in a hollow log to rest. White beings with snakes for hair and tentacles for arms stood where she had rested. They spoke of things she did not understand. Narrowing her eyes in memory, she sought to recall their words, but they were lost to her, just like her memories the night she buried the skull. Since nothing came back to mind, she spoke the words she knew would change everything. “I met the Master of the Forest.”

Tor Lir leaned forward. Citrine recognized the lust for adventure dancing in his eyes. He desired a quest and a purpose for his life. He wanted an escape from the humdrum and to dive into something exciting and bigger than him. He desired knowledge and praise and something else she could not quite put her finger on. “The bone-white creature told me it serves the Master of the Forest. And you’ve met him?”

“Yes.” Citrine lifted her chin, answering the unspoken challenge.

“Under what circumstances?” Tor Lir asked.

“I was lost in the wood. I made a deal with him to help me find a way out.”

“Of the forest?” Tor Lir crinkled his forehead in disbelief. “I’m sure you would have found a way out.”

“Are you judging me?” Hot blood rushed to her ears. “You have no place to judge when you were lost in the forest yesterday and had a bone-white creature lead you out. You don’t understand my circumstances!”

“Aye.” Tor Lir held up his hands, signifying peace while his emerald eyes laughed at her temper.

“Tell us more,” Novor Tur-Woodberry interrupted, soothing the air with his questions.

“I followed a river, you see . . . because of my ability to tame monsters. One of them told me where to find the Master of the Forest.”

“Why didn’t you tame the Master of the Forest?” Tor Lir’s eyes glinted as if he could pull her thoughts from her mind.

Citrine frowned at him, her tone becoming hard again. “My abilities don’t work like that. The Master of the Forest is an undead creature. He . . . it . . . can’t be tamed. There are certain circumstances my abilities cannot transcend.”

“Interesting.” Tor Lir sat back, still watching her. “How do you tame your beasts?”

She didn’t want to talk to him, and yet, she did. It was an odd feeling and a combination of relief at being able to talk about her unique gifting. “It’s all free will. I establish a metaphysical link with them and we communicate in our minds. They swear allegiance and then they are mine.”

“Perhaps the Master of the Forest is the same way.” Tor Lir cocked his head. “Perhaps that’s how he bends the forest to his will, and we must take that ability from him. Perhaps he means to take it from you.”

“I very much doubt that.” Citrine denied the thought, terrified she considered it. Tor Lir’s words would ring true. “If he wanted my power, why did he let me go? He asked me to cause chaos wherever I go.” She bit her lip as soon as the words left her mouth, but it was too late. Surely they already knew the chaos in the land was her fault, and when they discovered she’d buried the skull that gave the Master of the Forest more control, they’d drive her out.

“Chaos is only a distraction,” Tor Lir mused. “There’s something deeper he wants. What is here? What does this land have that no one else has?” With his last words, he turned to Novor Tur-Woodberry.

Novor Tur-Woodberry nodded as he spoke. “Here, there is the power of good without evil. Peace without chaos. And the song of life that holds this world together. My land and the Boundary Line Forest are opposites, planted side by side to keep the balance. Yet all has changed now, and I do not blame you.” His eyes twinkled at Citrine, understanding her anxious thoughts. “Citrine, can you find the Master of the Forest again?”

Citrine closed her eyes, going back to the moment and reaching out. Morag.

Citrine. The tone was hollow in her thoughts.

You must leave, she begged.

We cannot speak this way.

Why not?

Trust me. Come.

Are you by the river?

Aye. Be warned. If you come, there is no turning back.

I do not leave my beasts.

So you say.

She broke off on the unkind note. Novor Tur-Woodberry waited while Tor Lir examined her as if he’d like to pry open her skull and take her abilities. She shuddered, curious about what power he possessed, especially if he was not mortal. “If we can find the river again, I can find the Master of the Forest.” Although she wished no such thing, the Master made her skin crawl. She did not want to meet him again.

“I would like to go with her to find the Master,” Tor Lir said to Novor Tur-Woodberry.

“What will we do when we get there? You don’t know what he’s like. What if he tries to kill us?” Citrine snapped at him, her temper rising. The look on his face said he thought it was all an elaborate game.

“We will determine what happens when we get there. Don’t you have beasts you need to set free?” Tor Lir rejoined.

“Yes.” Citrine glanced to Novor Tur-Woodberry for help.

“Let’s leave in the morning,” Tor Lir suggested. “In the meantime, are the people of this land safe?”

Novor Tur-Woodberry rose to his feet. “Leave the people of the land to me. They are my responsibility. You two must assist with something else. This is why you’ve come to my land. If my Singing Men and I leave, we lose our power. We cannot go to the forest and confront the Master of the Forest, but you can; and if you want to help, it is your quest. I have gifts for you, for the forest is deep and treacherous and you are not prepared to face monsters with what you have now.”

Citrine took a long sip of wine. There was more she wanted to say, especially about the light Kai showed her and the bone-white tree growing in the center of the land. She was unsure how to proceed with the odd male in their presence. More than anything, she desired a word alone with Novor Tur-Woodberry before she forsook his land.

The Singing Men hummed the dark tune to a ditty, and harp music struck up in the room. The roaring fire burned lower, and the room shifted into a cavernous hall.

“Follow me,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said. Reaching up, he pulled a latch behind the fireplace and opened a massive door into a cool hall.

24

HALL OF WONDER

TORCHES FLICKED into being with yellow lights pulsing on either side of the yawning hall. A wide stone path led into the darkness. Citrine gazed in awe at the endless cavern, stretching onward and moving upward without end. She crossed the threshold, cool stone gracing her bare feet.

“I did not know this place was here. From the outside, your small cottage does not look like it hides a treasury,” she exclaimed in surprise.

Novor Tur-Woodberry chuckled. “There are many mysteries you haven’t seen yet. Rare circumstances require visitors to see the treasury, but you have come here unarmed. I have no choice.”

“I thought I saw vague shapes flickering when I came down the slope,” Tor Lir admitted. “Is it unusual to have a home like this?”

Citrine snorted. “You have much to learn about mortals.”

“Lack of knowledge does not mean I am unintelligent,” Tor Lir reprised her, his eyebrows drawing together, stopping just short of a frown. “I am quick to learn and understand, but everything is new. I don’t know yet.”

“Nor should you, but you have a mind open to knowledge, so you will gain wisdom.” Novor Tur-Woodberry admonished Tor Lir as he led the way down the stone path.

The torches seemed to light themselves as the three moved forward and extinguished themselves when they left the direct path of light. When Citrine looked up, she was sure she saw faces in the flames, staring at her.

“Those are the flame-creatures,” Novor Tur-Woodberry explained, his deep voice echoing off the walls. “They prefer to live down here, coming and going as they please. There are only ten, which is why the lights go out behind us. They are flying ahead to light our path.”

“Like the Iaens of Shimla who light the glade for the great dance,” Tor Lir murmured.

“Aye, like that,” Novor Tur-Woodberry agreed.

Citrine frowned, feeling left out of a mysterious secret. “What are Iaens?”

Novor Tur-Woodberry glanced to Tor Lir, inviting him to answer the question. A guarded look came over Tor Lir’s face, as if he did not want to speak. “Iaens are secretive. I am not sure how much I should relay to you,” he answered.

“Are you afraid I’ll use your knowledge to barter?” Citrine snapped, irritated. “I trusted you with my greatest secret—perhaps that was a mistake.”

“Tor Lir, I would encourage you to speak freely with us, but to guard your secrets with others. As your gut tells you, we seldom know the motives of mortals. You would be wise to be careful who you trust.” Novor Tur-Woodberry turned toward Citrine. “Iaens are the immortals of Shimla. As a whole, you may hear them called Iaens or Idrains; however, there are different species. For example, the Green People were influential in the war between the mortals and immortals.”

Citrine noticed Tor Lir’s eyes narrow, but just as quickly, all expression left his face. In the flickering lights, it seemed as if she had imagined it.

“There are many other species,” Novor Tur-Woodberry continued. “A few include the Rainidrains, the Falidrains, and the Jesnidrians. They each are unique, just as the four people groups of the Four Worlds have their unique traits. There was a time when the Iaens grew in number and were abundant throughout the land. Since the war, they keep to themselves, hidden in forests, no more to bind their fate to the mortals.”

“What species are you?” Citrine asked Tor Lir, her curiosity about his history piqued.

“I am all,” he said, his eyes remaining on the torchlight, the reflection glowing in his green eyes, like the Green Light and the sun at daybreak. “I am the first and last of my kind. There is no one like me. That is all I will say.” He shut his mouth into a grim line and his eyes darkened.

“Eh, you both shall have plenty of time to discuss later, I wager.” Novor Tur-Woodberry nodded at them as they approached a flight of winding stairs. “Watch your step—we descend to the treasury.”

“Novor Tur-Woodberry, I would like to point out, amidst the interruptions you never explained, who wants to kill me?” Tor Lir asked, his voice muted against the walls.

Citrine jumped at the unexpected question, her heart beating faster as she trailed her hand over the wall, hugging close to it. The other side of the staircase was wide open, a precarious place to fall to, what she assumed would be, her death.

“Aye. What I have to say is for both of you, but concerns you, Tor Lir. Citrine, because you travel together, you must be aware.” Novor Tur-Woodberry’s voice turned grave. “This message concerns your future, a joint future regardless of what takes place here. There is a zealous sect, a spin-off of the Order of the Wise and the Wise Ones. As you know, the Order of the Wise died out long ago, although the descendants of the Wise Ones still live and breathe. After the war between the mortals and immortals, watchers and rulers took up reign in the west. Their purpose is to guard against the rise of the immortals and keep those with great power from abusing the freedoms of the mortals. They call themselves Disciples of Ithar. They search for individuals with unique powers and take them, keeping them under guard so they cannot release chaos and war on this world. There may come a time when they find out about you and seek to kill or consume your knowledge and power. Watch out for them.”

“Disciples of Ithar?” Citrine felt a mixture of fear and anger roaring within her. “Who came up with such a terrible idea?”

“Terrible?” Novor Tur-Woodberry asked. “Seek to understand, and you will know. You did not live through the war, during a time when the power of the immortals was unleashed and they wrought a great massacre on this land. They slay all the elders of time, leaving only the youth who lack knowledge to pick up the pieces. There was only one wise enough to see beyond their conniving actions: King Idrithar of the Torrents Towers. Alas, he disappeared ten years ago and there is no word of his whereabouts. Only his disciples follow in his legacy, and there is a reason for that.”

“A reason?” Citrine snapped, losing her temper at last. “There is a reason they seek unique people with unusual powers and try to kill them? That is evil!”

“There is much good and evil left in this world. How you will navigate the dark desires of mortals and balance the greater good is up to Tor Lir now. I beg you, as situations arise, seek to understand from all sides before choosing. Remember, life is precious, but deception is abundant. In choosing to save many, you may destroy the entire world.”

“Certainly it is not as deep and drastic as you make it seem?” Citrine asked, cowed before Novor Tur-Woodberry’s great knowledge and power. Someone who’d lived hundreds of years would know more about the world she lived in. Her twenty-five years seemed short considering Novor Tur-Woodberry’s years. She turned to Tor Lir, realizing she wanted him to agree. Silence met her. There was a dark glint in his eyes, and she could see he was considering Novor Tur-Woodberry’s words.

Novor Tur-Woodberry chuckled as they approached the bottom of the staircase and the torches around an archway lit up. “Do not fear, but beware, for darkness surrounds us. We are all given a choice to choose between darkness or light. It’s a choice I want you to know of, regardless of where your adventures take you. I can only tell you so much—you must take the words I have given you and choose what kind of action you will take in life.”

“You sound as if we are going away forever.” A sorrow pierced her heart, and she reached out, intending to touch Novor Tur-Woodberry’s shoulder. She felt a deep yearning to stay in the land and remain in Paradise. “I only want to go to the forest, find the Master of the Forest, and return here, to stay with you.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry turned to meet her gaze and his eyes were gentle. He nodded at her. “I understand your desire.” Then turning, he lifted a ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the arched door. It swung open with a creak and pure air flowed out. The torches gave a little shriek of joy as they went dark and the flame-creatures rushed to light up the room.

Citrine felt her heart drop and her eyes fell to the stone floor, examining them as if they had rebuffed her. Someone had carved a myriad of intricate runes into each square block of stone and covered the treasury with a rich history spun with imagery. Citrine’s eyes widened as she examined the treasury. She’d never seen one before and had nothing to compare it to, but as with everything else, the home of Novor Tur-Woodberry held its own secrets.

Tor Lir walked to the middle, turning in circles as he examined runes while Novor Tur-Woodberry drew up beside Citrine. “We will speak more after this,” he murmured. Citrine could not decipher whether his words carried a promise or a dig for more information. She scratched the back of her neck, wondering if he knew she hadn’t been completely truthful with him.

The treasury was a circle with glass walls at each corner, which created round turrets where cases of weapons and armor hung. There were long swords with curved blades, short knives for hunting and skinning, and great axes for cutting. Some weapons were simple while others were decorated with gold, silver, and mysterious runes. There were long bows and arrows with colored tips, boots made of leather, and shields hammered into squares and curved shapes. A heartbeat of power centered in the middle of the room, thick with a warning against the misuse of the weapons there.

A waist-high rectangular block sat in the middle of the treasury with an ax carved out of marble and riddled with runes resting on top. Novor Tur-Woodberry walked toward the block. Running his thick fingers down the broad side, he grabbed a latch and pulled. A drawer opened, a row of short blades lay inside, some with straight edges, others with curved edges. “Now tell me, what kind of weapon do you prefer?”

“I’ve done well with the bow and arrow,” Tor Lir said, gazing at quivers of arrows hidden behind a wall of glass.

“Bows and arrows are for cowards.” Citrine couldn’t help the jab that slipped from her lips. She moved to join Novor Tur-Woodberry. “I prefer knives.”

“You look as though you prefer hand-to-hand combat,” Tor Lir remarked as he joined Citrine and Novor Tur-Woodberry.

“I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty,” Citrine retorted, unsure why she let him ruffle her feelings.

“Weapons are given for different reasons.” Novor Tur-Woodberry held up a hand. “If the two of you argue like children, you will not achieve your goal. A bow is called for in case someone attacks you from afar while knives are better if anyone sneaks up on you.” He lifted two blades, the length from his wrist to elbow. The blades were curved while the handle was a deep ivory, almost white. “Citrine, there are grooves in the handle that make it easier to grip. See what you think of these.”

Citrine took a knife in each hand, considering the weight and balance. Holding the blades toward the gray stone floor, she backed away. A hot rush poured through her veins as again she recalled the Master of the Forest, the buried skull, and Zaul’s fang. Anger roared through her and a piercing cry echoed through the air as she lifted the blades over her head and twirled them with her fingers. She stamped her foot, fighting against the urgency to run and rip everything from its place. A fierceness came over her body and her eyes narrowed as she returned the knives to their neutral position, blade down. “Yes, I would like these.” She returned to the block where Novor Tur-Woodberry took the blades and sheathed them into cases of leather.

He handed her a belt, a twinkle coming to his blue eyes. “They are yours.”

She smiled at him before recalling Tor Lir was with them. The glow faded from her cheeks as she watched him study the runes on various weapons. “What are these?” His fingers traced the rune on the handle of a knife.

“There is a rich history of lore associated with runes and symbols.” Novor Tur-Woodberry reached out a hand and ran his fingers over the ax. “Citrine is familiar and attuned to the ways of nature. Alas, we do not have the time to discuss further tonight. For now, pick a bow and arrow for your journey, and a hunting knife. Your chambers await you.”

Tor Lir gave a quick nod as Novor Tur-Woodberry handed him a bow and quiver of arrows. He tucked a knife into his belt as the flame-creatures hustled to the archway, their voices whispering into the night. Citrine watched them, and a cold shudder went down her spine. Closing her eyes, she reached out with her mind, seeking her beasts.

25

SILVER-WHITE HEART

THE WIND HOWLED. Novor Tur-Woodberry raised his eyebrows in concern as he held open the door to a chamber. “Tor Lir, rest here tonight. The sunshine will wake you and you may be on your way to the forest on the morrow.”

Tor Lir nodded at him and then Citrine before entering the room. The door swung shut behind him, leaving Novor Tur-Woodberry and Citrine alone. “Come,” he beckoned to her, sensing the anxiety that churned through her. “You wanted to speak with me?”

Citrine opened her mouth, a retort about to fly from her stubborn lips. Yet instead of speaking, she returned to the fire and curled up on a chair. Tucking her feet under her, she leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands. Novor Tur-Woodberry sat across from her.

“There was a message for you,” Novor Tur-Woodberry began, rubbing his hands together. They felt empty without the comfort of his pipe, but he’d smoked enough for one day. “A pair of foxes brought them, one white, one red. Do you know any foxes?”

Citrine shook her head, her jeweled eyes guarded as she waited for bad news. She seemed to sense it coming and steeled herself against the impact.

“They said to tell you that Zaul is trapped, the barrier is down, and the Master of the Forest is coming. What do those words mean to you?”

Citrine blinked, fury behind her eyes. With one slender hand, she moved strands of bright hair away from her face. Novor Tur-Woodberry noticed that in the flickering firelight, her vibrant hair took on a rather orange color. She shrugged. “I’ve already told you. I made a deal with the Master, and now he is coming for your land. I don’t understand why, and we already have a plan in motion to stop it.”

“Is there nothing else?” Novor Tur-Woodberry leaned toward her, gathering the hints of lavender that lifted from her body. There was something she wasn’t telling him, confirmed by the way she dropped her eyes and shifted her gaze to the fire.

“Nothing else.” She fell silent, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “I don’t understand.” Misery replaced her bravery. “This is your land—you are the most powerful being here. How can the Master of the Forest threaten you? You’ve been here for hundreds of years.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry sighed at the question. “Like I told you before, the balance is shifting. Things are different now. I perceived there would come a day when I was no longer needed in this land, and it would be time for me to go. That time is now.”

He felt a bittersweet nostalgia as he said the words once again, and the thought of leaving and going to his final resting place brought a sense of peace.

Citrine bent her head, her hair hiding her face from him before she shook herself out of her reprieve. Her eyes were shining when she looked at him, and he noted the stubborn tilt of her chin. “Kai, the miller’s daughter, showed me something in the caves, a big white ball of light, and it spoke to me.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry sat up fast, his eyes widening at the surprising statement. “It spoke? What did it say?”

“I can’t recall. But Kai went to see it today and something attacked her. She’s at home, sleeping, but I think the villagers blame me. They saw me go to the caves with her yesterday and they believe it’s my fault.”

“Hmmm . . .” he said.

“Novor Tur-Woodberry, what is that light?”

Novor Tur-Woodberry shook his head. He was both surprised and concerned the light appeared to Citrine and spoke to her. A brief debate rippled through him. He wanted to explain to her, and yet, he also wanted her to tell him the truth and stop hiding her knowledge.

“Kai called it the Silver-White Heart,” Citrine continued, raising her eyebrows as if to encourage him to speak. “I saw something in it . . . something dark.”

“What did it say to you?” Novor Tur-Woodberry asked, scratching his beard. The fact that the light appeared to the people of his land was a dire warning. He understood his time was at an end, but now the people of his land were in danger from more than one source. The Master of the Forest was coming to take Paradise while Paradise itself was dying.

Citrine bit her lip, her eyes roving back and forth as if she were searching for something. “I can’t remember all of it,” she admitted, shrugging. “There was a voice that spoke of the end of times and the Creators. I remember that part clearly because I was surprised it said Creators as if there is more than one. That’s not true, is it?” She leaned toward him, sending a wave of lavender to his nostrils.

“Aye, you are a sharp one,” he murmured. “There is deep knowledge in the Four Worlds and if you seek wisdom, you shall find it. If, indeed, there is more than one Creator, it is only because there is more than one world.”

Citrine shuddered. “You speak of life beyond the Four Worlds? As if there could be such a thing. Impossible.”

“Hum . . . you cry impossible, and yet, you do not know all. It is possible the Four Worlds is all there is to this universe, just as it is entirely possible there are worlds beyond our imagination. If you seek wisdom, you must not make accusations based on your limited knowledge. Those who are wise understand this truth. We do not truly perceive unless we humble ourselves, ask questions, and keep our minds open to possibilities.”

Citrine scowled.

Novor Tur-Woodberry could only imagine she was not used to being rebuked, no matter how kindly he placed his words.

“Never mind all that, I forget myself.” He reached out his hand to pat Citrine’s, and she flinched. “To answer your question, the Silver-White Heart is the heart of this land. As long as the light is whole and pure, my land will remain. Yet you saw a darkness in it?”

“Yes.” Citrine’s face reddened. “Is it because of the Master of the Forest?”

“It is a coincidence I will investigate tomorrow.” A yawn caught in his throat and he closed his eyes momentarily, listening to the gentle voice of sleep ready to pull him into the beyond. “The hour grows late, and you must be tired.”

Citrine folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them, avoiding his gaze. “Nay, I need to prepare for this journey into the forest. You gave me weapons and I thank you for it, but I also need herbs, food, and water.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry waved a hand to reassure her. “No need to worry. I will have my Singing Men pack supplies for you and Tor Lir. All shall be ready for you at dawn.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry noticed Citrine twitch when he said the name Tor Lir. She looked up at him, her eyes narrow. “If I may speak plainly, I don’t like him.” She bit her bottom lip before proceeding. “He’s arrogant, and he only just arrived here. He doesn’t care about the land or saving it. I don’t understand why he’s here or what his purpose is.” She held up a hand to keep Novor Tur-Woodberry from protesting. “He’s here to keep the balance between good and evil, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything other than the balance. He doesn’t understand or respect the land, the people of the land, or the animals. Why would he put his life in danger to save it? In fact, I know he won’t put his life in danger to save your land . . . ”

She trailed off, blinking and swiping at her eyes. Novor Tur-Woodberry saw the depth of her commitment to the land and something else. She turned her head away from his and back toward the fire. “I don’t want him to come with me. I can do this by myself. If you will provide supplies, I’ll leave tonight.”

“Citrine,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said, coaxing her to understand why she needed to travel with Tor Lir. “He is new to the realm of mortals. He does not understand yet, which is why I want you to be his guide. Take him through the realms. Show him what is priceless. Perhaps then he will grasp what you and I already know regarding life in this world. He does not understand his true purpose nor does he know who he is yet.”

“And you do?” Citrine whispered, still blinking hard.

“Not quite,” Novor Tur-Woodberry mused into the fire. “There is some truth to what he says, but he does not understand the entire revelation.”

Citrine lifted her chin. “I don’t know if I can make him understand—”

“Nay, that is up to him. All you need to do is show him the way. I believe you would do well with him by your side, if not to your benefit, then for his.” Novor Tur-Woodberry rose and stuck out a hand to help Citrine to her feet. “Are you willing?”

His fingers closed around her warm hand and he held it a beat as he waited for her answer. Citrine glanced down, noticing their joined hands, and her expression changed. Novor Tur-Woodberry thought he saw a glint of triumph in her light eyes as she faced him. She opened her mouth and said the words he’d hoped she’d say.

26

STRAWBERRY DAWN

TOR LIR WOKE to the sound of wind chimes, and a roar rushed passed his ears. He sat up, surprised he’d slept at all. Generally, he did not sleep, but his mind needed to absorb the information he’d learned last night. Swinging his feet over the down-feather bed, he pulled his pants, shirt, and jerkin on. Wiggling into his boots, he straightened his clothes and slung the bow and arrows over his shoulder.

At the last moment, he noticed a dark cloak resting on the foot of the bed, as if a silent stranger had crept into the room at night and placed it there. Curious, Tor Lir ran his fingers over the material. It was soft, well-kept fur. A shudder passed through him as he lifted the garment and flung it around his shoulders. A sigh of peace escaped his lips as he donned it and strode back and forth. The cloak hardly weighed anything and floated behind him as if it were his shadow. He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced around for a door. An archway appeared and striding over, he reached for the ornate door latch and swung open the door.

A gust of wind hurled through the outer room, swinging the door to the chamber back with a boom. Tor Lir jumped and peered out into the main room, raising his eyebrows at what he saw. The wind blew into a vortex, turning from transparent nothingness into something solid, out of which stepped a female. She was as tall as Citrine and her skin, brown as an acorn, had a honey-like glow about it. A gown the color of a cloudless sky moved around her body as if caught in a faint breeze. She turned her bright eyes on Tor Lir, examining him before asking, “Are you a guest of Novor Tur-Woodberry?”

“Aye.” He nodded, his heartbeat quickening as he realized the room had changed once again. Golden light bathed the room, capturing the first light of sunrise. A table sat against the wall with steaming piles of baked buns, fruitcakes, and pies while baskets of fruit—strawberries and blueberries and pineapple—covered almost half the table. Tor Lir’s mouth watered at the sight. The lands of the Iaens were abundant in fruit, and the sweet tang of nostalgia moved through his body. “Who are you?”

“I am the wind lady,” she offered. “I have come with a gift, but first I must deem this land worthy of such a gift. Tell me, have you been here long? What are your views on Novor Tur-Woodberry and the inhabitants of this gracious land?”

Tor Lir paused. The wind lady’s face appeared open and frank, and yet he felt his guard come up. “If you don’t mind”—he bowed slightly, for her presence seemed to demand it—“I am just passing through and Novor Tur-Woodberry was kind enough to offer me hospitality.”

“Is that so?” The wind lady smirked at him. “I thought I saw you tied up and led by the Singing Men. Yesterday?” She touched a finger to her flat nose as her bright eyes laughed at him.

Tor Lir scratched the back of his neck, moving closer to the fruit. The inviting smell of freshly baked food hung in the air, different from anything he’d ever experienced. The creatures of Shimla did not cook their food and ate what bounty of the forest they could forage. “Err . . . well . . . it was all a misunderstanding. I am leaving now.”

“Are you leaving because of your impression on the land?” the wind lady queried. “I ask because . . . I want to know. The more I gleam from first impressions, the better I can choose whether this land deserves the gift I bring it.”

Tor Lir pondered her words as he popped a strawberry into his mouth. A burst of flavor awakened his senses, and he sighed. A wave of homesickness passed over him at the taste and more than anything, he missed the wild gardens of Shimla. The youths among the Iaens harvested the gardens, and it was a duty he enjoyed until he grew old enough to graduate from harvesting. The Iaens saw hard work as a punishment or a disgrace. Only new Iaens or prisoners were given the task of harvesting the bountiful gardens.

Raising his eyes to the wind lady who watched him eat, he thought of a proper response. “This land is a beautiful haven.” He spread out his arms to indicate the whole of the land. “But something is wrong. The land is dying. I don’t know what your gift is, but at a time like this, it is either much needed or will be in vain.”

The wind lady considered him, emotion fading from her face. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Spinning, she turned to stride toward the door just as Citrine burst into the room.

Citrine glared at the wind lady and Tor Lir watched them eye each other like two lionesses prepared to pounce on each other and defend their territory. The wind lady’s lip curled as she examined Citrine, and she opened her mouth as if she were about to speak. Citrine was faster and cut her off, turning her back on the wind lady and angling her body toward Tor Lir. “Are you ready?” she demanded.

Tor Lir was surprised to see Citrine fully dressed for travel. Dark boots that came to her knees clad her feet. They looked as if they were made of the hide of some creature. She still wore the short shift that fell just above her knees, but her cloak was longer. On her back was a pack—full of food, Tor Lir assumed—a bedroll, and a waterskin. She had fastened the two knives given to her by Novor Tur-Woodberry around her waist.

“Aye.” Tor Lir ate another strawberry, reveling in the sweet flavor for a moment before straightening his shoulders. “Where is Novor Tur-Woodberry?”

“He rises at dawn to survey his land.” The wind lady laughed as her winds blew through the room, gathering strength.

“Ah.” Tor Lir noticed the scathing look Citrine gave the wind lady before turning on her heel and flinging open the heavy door. It swung out, showing them an emerald sunrise, invading the land.

Tor Lir turned toward the wind lady as Citrine marched out the door, her strides long as she headed southeast. He placed his palms together and bowed in her direction as a farewell, unsure what else to say about the mysterious home of Novor Tur-Woodberry.

By the time he turned around, Citrine was a quickly retreating figure, moving in a blur. He broke into a run to catch up with her, curious about his guide but sensing words were not welcome.

27

INTO THE FOREST

THEY WALKED SILENTLY FOR A WHILE. Citrine let the sting of seeing another female in the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry fade away like an old wound. She understood he had many guests, yet after their conversation that evening, she’d felt an unusual closeness to Novor Tur-Woodberry. Finding another female in his home made her feel as though she’d read into the situation more than she should have. Eyeing the exquisite male by her side, she let her curiosity override her misgivings. She opened her mouth and words tumbled out, no need for hesitations or politeness. “Novor Tur-Woodberry weaved magic into our cloaks,” she told him, wondering if he already knew.

Tor Lir raised his eyebrows, tilting his angular face to examine her. His green eyes seemed deep and unreadable. “How?”

Citrine stuck out her chest, proud she knew something Tor Lir did not know. “Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land is vast and wide. Depending on where you start, it could take days to cross it and enter the Boundary Line Forest. But Novor Tur-Woodberry and his Singing Men can move through the land at will . . . almost like—”

“They control the ability to move through portals within their land?” Tor Lir interrupted.

Citrine paused in surprise as she considered his words. “Yes, like that,” she agreed before walking forward again, quickening her pace as her dark cloak swished around her bare legs.

“How do we use the power?” Tor Lir’s voice had an enchanting lilt to it, as if he could break into a song and a sweet melody would pour out. Citrine wondered if he persuaded those around him to do his bidding without regard for morality.

“I’ll do it.” Citrine stopped again, unwilling to share all of her knowledge with him. When she looked at him, her eyes wanted to slide away and for a moment, she could have sworn she saw a green glimmer. “Come stand by me and touch my cloak. Then close your eyes and empty your mind.”

A slight grin came to Tor Lir’s face. “It sounds as if you will put a spell on me.” He moved to stand in front of her, placing both his hands on her shoulders.

Citrine felt an instant moment of uncomfortableness at their proximity. Although she was almost six feet tall, Tor Lir stood about a head higher than her and smelled of pine and honeysuckle. She breathed in as she closed her eyes, almost tasting the fragrances that surrounded him. Spicier aromas rose from his chest, a blend of cedar, cinnamon, and juniper. It was intoxicating. She wondered what it would be like to press her lips to his skin and if she could taste the flavors there. The herbs of the forest seemed to stick to him like burrs. She hadn’t noticed his distinct smell in the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry.

“You look as if you’re enjoying this,” Tor Lir interrupted her thoughts, laughter in his voice as he squeezed her shoulders.

Citrine’s eyes snapped open, and she lifted her chin. “You’re supposed to have your eyes closed. Stop staring at me—you’re ruining my concentration.”

“I know little about spells, but I don’t think you’re supposed to smile,” Tor Lir murmured, his voice dropping to just above a whisper.

“You wouldn’t know, so be quiet,” Citrine scolded him, but there was no anger in her voice, only a bittersweet wistfulness. She closed her eyes again and visions of dark-chocolate eyes and a teasing mouth rose before her. Let the past be the past. She rested her hands on Tor Lir’s arms and turned her thoughts to the Boundary Line Forest, recalling the bone-white creature, the skull, and the glade where they met in.

A sharp wind flickered around her and the stinking scent of sulfur entered her nostrils. Wrinkling her nose, she opened her eyes and let go of Tor Lir. Something crunched under her feet and looking down, she saw grass as sharp as ice and black like obsidian.

“May I open my eyes now?” Tor Lir squinted as he peeked through one half-open eye.

“Aye, we’re here.” Citrine nodded as she turned, her eyes drawn to the stretch of blackness in front of murky trees. A strong odor accosted the land and thick trees rose before her, cutting out all daylight.

“This must be the Boundary Line Forest,” Tor Lir stated, folding his arms across his chest.

Citrine scratched her head. “We are standing at the border of the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. His power can only take us this far, but . . . something is wrong. Why is the green grass dying?”

“Ah, you haven’t seen this? It’s happening across the land, I assume. I was in the marshes yesterday when I saw the darkness bubbling up from underground. When I met Novor Tur-Woodberry, he was standing in front of the grass. It’s sharp as a knife, so be careful where you step.”

“How can the Master of the Forest have this much power?” Citrine stomped across the charred grass toward the trees in frustration. “Don’t you see?” She glared at Tor Lir. “We need the balance to swing in favor of Novor Tur-Woodberry. Paradise is dying. Don’t you care?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Tor Lir replied, his expression aloof.

“You made your point clear last night,” Citrine said, not caring how rude she sounded. “All you care about is the balance between good and evil. There is no such thing as balance, and if there is, there shouldn’t be. You are new to the realm of mortals, but what you should care about, above all things, is life and sustaining life.”

Tor Lir was silent and Citrine wanted to slap his face. His green eyes slanted and his cheekbones were high. She could see the shadow of a future beard, but then they ducked under the trees and his features blurred into the darkness of the forest.

The air, stinking like rotten eggs, was thick and dim as they strode through the forest. They moved in and out of boughs, Citrine tripping over underbrush and cursing under her breath at their slow speed. As she walked, she reached out feelers of communication, seeking her beasts, a gnawing worry eating away at her, at their silence.

Ava. Zaul. Grift.

There was no answer.

After a while, she eyed Tor Lir, seeking something to distract her from worrying about her beasts. Regardless of what she thought of him, an aura of mystery surrounded Tor Lir and since fate seemed to toss them together, she might as well find out more about him. “You don’t seem to know very much about yourself,” she remarked, her words piercing the stillness of the forest. “Who are your parents? What powers do you have?”

“I don’t want to know. I think the cost outweighs the knowledge.” Tor Lir shrugged as he navigated through the wood as if he were born there. His footsteps were silent, and he moved with a quick and easy gait.

“What an odd thing to say.” Citrine lifted her hair off her neck as she sweated. “Everyone wants to know who they are, because it defines your life and gives you purpose and meaning.”

“You’re wrong,” Tor Lir replied defiantly. “My past doesn’t define my life. I decide who I am and what gives my life meaning. I don’t need dark secrets of the past to define me. I want to start out fresh with clean thoughts. Those secrets might be evil. There is no need to discover them.”

“But don’t you want to know? How can you run away from such knowledge? What if it unlocks the key to your power?”

“What do you know of my power?” Tor Lir’s tone turned cool like a frosty winter.

“Not very much, and neither do you,” Citrine retorted, refusing to look at him. “You’re like an invisible person—you’re here yet you’re not. You don’t have a personality. You are cold and curious and you don’t care about anything. Novor Tur-Woodberry asked me to be your guide, but I don’t know if I can because you are impossible.”

“Impossible?” Tor Lir asked. “What does that mean?”

“You’re difficult!” Citrine snapped. “You’re hard to understand and unchangeable. Do you know what? I think you might possibly be evil, and you might turn against me when we meet the Master of the Forest. You might even be on his side—”

“I am not evil.” Tor Lir’s voice turned to a low growl and his arm shot out, gripping Citrine’s upper arm.

He yanked her around to face him, his grip like iron, forcing Citrine to stare up into his face. She expected to see a furious scowl, but his face was calm, his eyes unnaturally cold as he glared at her. “Ever since you saw me, you looked at me and judged me. When the first words left my tongue, you examined them and found them lacking. I saw the look on your face. You disdain my companionship and think you are better than me when you don’t know who I am. Don’t take me for mere appearances and don’t judge my character before you know who I am. I am many things, but above all, I am not evil,” he stressed.

Citrine knew she had struck a nerve, and the look in his eyes terrified her. She felt as if a cold mist settled in her throat, forcing the breath out of her. She gritted her teeth, torn between yelling at him to let her go and egging him on. “I can’t trust you,” she whispered. “Because you won’t talk to me. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know if I can trust you. Talk. Tell me who you are.”

He let go so suddenly that she almost fell on her backside. Stumbling away, she leaned against a tree, her fingers wrapping around the green vines of the trunk for protection. He glared at her a moment longer before his eyes changed, the coldness drifting away like the sunrise scattering the shadows of night.

“I will try. Walk with me. I will not harm you.”

Citrine peeled herself away from the tree, leaving a wide gap between her and Tor Lir. Her heart thudded in her chest as she rubbed her arm, wondering if she were walking with the enemy.

28

ORIGINS

“THE FOREST of Shimla is my birthplace,” Tor Lir began in his lilting voice as if he’d never threatened her.

Citrine rubbed her arm as she walked behind him, glaring at his backside and wishing she held his bow and arrows. He’d shown a brief instance of his temper and she was tempted to do the same. A warning arrow that nicked his ears would be worthy repayment for the bruise he’d left on her arm.

“I hear most mortals are born.” Tor Lir glanced back at her, and Citrine refrained from making a face at him. “That’s true? And you know your parents?”

“Mmm,” Citrine hummed between her lips.

“It’s different for the creatures of the wood. Most of the Iaens aren’t born from each other. There is a place called the Birthing Grounds where flowers bloom with the seed of an Iaen, bringing them to life full-grown. It is the place where all knowledge and memories are kept and shared among the Iaens.”

“Strange.” Citrine couldn’t help but interrupt. “Are you saying all Iaens are born with knowledge? How come you claim you know little about mortals?”

“I don’t know how to explain it to you and I don’t know if I should. Iaens have their own knowledge they pass from one to another just as mortals do. During the war between the mortals and immortals, all of the Iaens left, taking their vast knowledge with them. Now we have no ancestors to glean wisdom and understanding from—all the wise ones are gone. I was born the first of my kind, the beginning of a new era, one without knowledge of mortals and how they dwell. Instead of learning the world at large, Iaens are taught how to protect ourselves, the lore of old, and what to do if mortals enter our realm.”

“Those three things are the most important?” Citrine asked, not intending to be snobby, but it came out that way.

“What did you learn?” Tor Lir glanced back at her, a hand on a thick tree trunk. A lock of hair fell onto his forehead, making him look younger and less severe.

“Independence, the lore of nature, and . . .” Citrine paused. Her upbringing was uncommon. Her parents were hard and relentless and taught her to be the same. Citrine had taken on her mother’s features, including her vibrant, ever-shifting hair color and curvaceous body while she had her father’s eyes and long limbs. Citrine the Enchantress, her father called her, his eyes glowing. You have a natural gift to call the beasts to yourself. Be wise and use it for good. There will be those who seek to use your gifting for their own benefit. It’s smart if you keep your knowledge to yourself, even if you should take a mate. In this moment, we hope that the war between the mortals and immortals may end. Regardless of what happens, there is a reason the Creator has given you your gift. There will always be good and evil in this world, and perhaps you may have a hand in the smaller events that take place in your lifetime. Always remember who you are and always remain in control of the voices.

Citrine squared her shoulders as she recalled the words of her father, and regret poured through her. She should not have opened her mouth and told Novor Tur-Woodberry, let alone, Tor Lir, who she was. Some secrets needed to remain buried, and she’d already jeopardized her family name by blabbing. Holding her tongue and keeping her temper were recurring mistakes in her life.

“What did you learn?”

Tor Lir’s question brought her out of her memories and she blinked at him, dismissing his question. “I learned how to take care of myself. There’s no hereditary knowledge for the mortals. My parents taught me everything I know. What were your parents like?” She threw the question at him, sorry she’d talked about herself.

“I don’t know,” Tor Lir mused, apathetic. “A green giantess raised me. She left this world when I was ten.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Citrine responded, unapologetic. She wondered how he handled the death of his guardian at such a young age. “Do you miss her?”

Tor Lir paused before turning to face her, a strange expression crossing his face as if he were not there at all. “This is why I don’t like to speak about my past. There are many conflicting thoughts and feelings. I don’t miss her and yet I feel as though she is part of me and her legacy lives on through me. She was a queen and she built a magnificent kingdom, willing me to do the same. The words she impressed on my memory will not leave me alone.”

Citrine felt the fingers of unease grip her at his words. Tor Lir walked back to her and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he examined her face. “What is it about you?” he whispered. “You entice me to bare my soul. Do you enchant everyone you meet?”

Citrine took a step away from him, her heart hammering as if he had given her an unwelcome kiss. “You’re a king?” she echoed. “A powerful king of the immortals?”

“Nay.” He shook his head as he swept his black hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ears. They were large ears and pointed at the end, clarifying his odd breeding. “I am no king, and I will not take up the legacy left by those who came before me. I came to keep the balance and choose my own fate.”

Citrine took a deep breath and for the first time, she saw an unnamed emotion in Tor Lir’s face. If she had to describe it, she would call it fear. “You’re running away from something,” she blurted out. “As long as you stay away from the Iaens and their knowledge, you can keep running and never look back. Keeping the balance is only an excuse.”

Tor Lir grinned, his eyes lighting up and his teeth flashing for a brief second. “Aye.” He winked at her. “You are quite perceptive. If I had to guess, I would say the same about you.”

Citrine frowned. “I’m done running. I will face the Master of the Forest.” As the words left her lips, she saw an arrow streak out from the corner of her eye. Acting on impulse, she leaped, hurled herself at Tor Lir, and bowled them into the thick underbrush of the forest. Twigs snapped under their bodies as an arrow slammed into the tree trunk above it, pursued by two more.

Tor Lir’s lips moved beside Citrine’s ear, tickling her with his warm breath. “Someone wants to kill us.”

29

MONSTERS AND MAYHEM

CITRINE’S left hand curled around the handle of her knife and yanked. “Let me up.” She pushed Tor Lir’s shoulder off her chest. “I will fight back.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Tor Lir whispered.

“Don’t be a coward,” Citrine hissed. “You have a bow—arm yourself. The creatures of this forest are evil, and they will not hesitate to slay you.” She rolled over and scrambled to her knees, pushing her cloak out of the way, cursing as it snagged in brambles.

“We can’t fight what we can’t see,” Tor Lir protested as he lay flat on his back in the underbrush where she’d left him.

“Hush,” Citrine interrupted as a high-pitched chirping came from above her. Raising her head, she narrowed her eyes at the dense foliage, unable to see what was up there.

The chirping grew louder and faster until a piercing shriek and a thrashing sound came from the treetops. Citrine fumbled for her second knife and planted her feet as leaves and twigs rained down on her head. She held a hand over her eyes, shielding them from the onslaught. A blur of brown-and-white hurled out of the tree, screaming with murderous rage. A pointed stick whistled overhead.

Citrine yelled and swiped back, her knife striking the midpoint of the stick and snapping it in half. The creature screamed and tossed both ends at her and then leaped for a tree branch, scaling it and disappearing from view in a matter of seconds.

“Ha!” Citrine shouted, shaking one of her knives at the tree.

“Bah!” the creature yelled back, tossing a handful of leaves on Citrine’s head.

“Come back here, you rascal,” she shouted, kicking the tree. The impact jarred her toes and she cursed. She wanted to climb the tree, but when she reached for an overhanging branch, her hand slipped away and was covered with a sticky substance. “Sap,” she whispered just as the chirping sound rang out again.

Two creatures assailed her this time, beating about her head with a stick as they dived from the tree.

“Tor Lir!” Citrine shrieked, ducking the assault and flashing her knives back and forth, missing each time as the creatures hopped around her. “Where are you?” she demanded.

Another stick snapped in half, and she spun as two more creatures hopped down from the tree, leaping over brambles and bushes as they charged her. Her knives sliced, but she wasn’t quick enough. Two feet slammed into her back with such force that she fell over, crashing into the underbrush, almost cutting herself on her knives. Holding her arms out, she landed roughly on her fists and tried to climb to her knees. Before she could rise, a creature hopped on her back and another pinned her arms to the forest floor, snatching at the knives she clasped in her fist.

“Get off me, you oaf!” she shouted, her temper rising. “Let me go!”

Something landed on her head with a thunk and her head slammed into the ground, searing pain surging between her eyes. Blood poured from her nostrils and for a moment, she couldn’t catch her breath. She kicked her legs as hard as she could, even as she felt a noose wrap around each ankle and then tug, pulling her legs apart. A curse rose in her throat and she opened her mouth, gasping for breath and spitting out leaves and dirt. A stick smacked across her back and she tried to lift her head, only to feel a heaviness land on it and push her back down. Her nose smashed into the ground and her breath came short and fast. Fury rose within as she sent out threads of communications to her beasts.

Help. Ava. Zaul. Grift. Help me.

The silence was not encouraging and at last, she willed herself to be humble and called upon the latest beast in her collection, the one who had not proven himself true. Morag. Help me.

A stick walloped her back, breaking skin. Citrine hissed in pain as other sticks slammed into her arms and legs. She arched her back, attempting to use what measly strength she had left to wiggle free, but the pressure on her head made it difficult to breathe. She fought, her fingers clawing at the dirt while her legs yanked against the rope. Despite her struggles, she could only pull in shallow breaths. Darkness flickered around her eyelids and a sensation of drowning made her struggle once more, but they held her fast.

Bile rose in her throat and she choked, blood and snot spewing from her nose as the creatures continued beating her. Her fists relaxed, and the knives fell out of her grasp. A moan escaped her lips and while the burning fire in her belly told her to fight, the creatures bested her. There was nothing to fight for anymore.

30

MISSION OF MERCY

“WAIT!” Tor Lir shouted as the brown-and-white creatures bore down on him, shaking their fists and growling. He could tell they were people, yet they covered their bodies from head to toe in animal skins. A few wore the skin of a bear while others wore that of a panther and other predators of the forest.

Ideally, it was an excellent camouflage for scaring away predators, plus the smell surrounding them would frighten off any beast. They carried sharp sticks more useful for spearing fish than for fighting in the deep. Tor Lir recognized the tools as ones he used to make when he went fishing before he realized the Waters of Nye would give him anything he desired.

Holding his bow and quiver in front of him, he dropped them on the ground as a group of creatures beat Citrine. “We are not your enemies,” he declared, hoping the creatures spoke the common tongue.

His eyes slid over to Citrine who was facedown and covered in creatures more than forest. Tor Lir saw blood oozing from her head and legs. He cursed, unhappy her rashness in attacking had led to this cautious predicament. When he looked at the creatures, he sensed their auras of fear and confusion. They wanted to protect their colony, and Tor Lir could tell they did not have malicious intent. Something was threatening them and they were fighting back as they should.

“Tie us up if you must and take our weapons, but I beg of you, let us have a word with your leader before you decide what to do with us. We will help if you will let us.”

He was proud of his words—they were ones he’d uttered many times in the forest of Shimla. It was not his true nature to be devious and deceptive, but often some pranks he’d played against other Iaens had landed him in trouble. He recalled being dragged before the queen of the Falidrains to explain why their golden elixir had been stolen. He’d only moved it before the midsummer feast, dared by one of the Jesnidrains, who seemed to be in a constant conflict with the Falidrains.

Tor Lir had once heard a tale of a female Jesnidrain and a female Falidrain who hated each other, and so passed down the hatred between the two species. He’d made the mistake of getting involved and alienated the Falidrains. At least the Jesnidrains still took him in. They were darker than the Falidrains, but just as beautiful with an intoxicating power he was drawn toward. The Falidrains were lighter and fairer and often seemed overzealous in their pursuit of goodness and peace. Law was their domain, and they followed the law relentlessly by castigating anyone who showed the slightest inclination of disobedience.

Meanwhile, the creatures ceased beating Citrine and shrieked at each other, pointing and making signs with their hands. One of them tossed a rope to the group closest to Tor Lir. Five surrounded him, the sharp points of their spears pointed toward his chest in case he moved.

“Hold out your hands!” one ordered in a guttural voice. The owner of the voice stomped up to Tor Lir, snatching the bow and quiver. The creature then grabbed a length of rope and wound it around Tor Lir’s hands until it began to bite into his skin. “Come with us.”

Tor Lir nodded. He took a step, and a burlap bag dropped onto his head, shutting out his vision of the forest. It pulled tight against his neck and slowed down his breathing. So much for diplomacy. “Is this necessary?” he demanded.

A stick slammed into his back, a first warning for speaking, and Tor Lir gave up and let them lead him, stumbling, into the forest.

They marched over forested terrain. Tor Lir heard the animals of the wood, voices fraught with fear and panic. Once he heard the throaty trickling of water and remembered Citrine said they should follow a river to find the Master of the Forest. A sweetness hung in the air, strong enough to get through the burlap on his head. The inside smelled like unwashed feet. He tripped on roots and underbrush and the creatures leading him cursed and rapped him on the head each time he slowed them down.

Eventually, they reached smooth terrain and an arm fell on Tor Lir’s shoulder, bringing him to a stop. A furry hand grabbed his wrists and lifted them straight up, tugging until his toes grazed the ground. Tor Lir grimaced as someone yanked the sack off his head, pulling out a few of his black hairs with it. He blinked as his eyes watered, surprised at the sunlight filtering into the place. Tilting back his head, he saw his hands tied above him while a hill sloped down, displaying a strange habitation. A tribe covered in brown-and-white fur surrounded him and Citrine, who was still passed out. Her head hung limply while her arms were tied next to his.

Tor Lir swallowed to gather moisture back into his dry mouth. He took the time to examine his surroundings as he decided what to say. A stream flowed through the middle of the encampment, disappearing into the gray vines of the forest. Thick trees rose on either side, casting cool shadows over the village.

On either side of the stream were huts made out of what looked like sticks for walls and straw for roofs. Ropes and pulleys led up into the trees. Tor Lir saw females and children in the trees, crouched on branches, their faces covered in black paint. They held spears in hand while they peered down at the new prisoners.

Cloth weaved of red-and-white patterns hung from tree branches and lay in front of the doorless opening to huts, like a welcome mat. Sticks for fires were stacked in intervals across the forest village. Baskets of fresh fish, some with their tails wagging in desperation, perched dangerously close to the water as if those fishing had abruptly abandoned their catch.

The people on the ground—mostly males—stood at the bottom of the hill, gazing up at Tor Lir and Citrine. They all appeared around the same height—about five feet—and animal fur covered their lean bodies. Some wore claws on their heads while others had bare arms with runes painted on their bodies. A few of the bolder males sprinted up the hill and gathered around Tor Lir, whispering in their language and poking him with their rather blunt spears.

“Aye, aye.” Tor Lir spoke up as he swung, trying to get away from their spears. “Where is your leader?”

The people turned and pointed, saying something like yah, yah, yah. They backed away from Tor Lir and Citrine, creating an opening. Tor Lir squinted, yet he saw no one as the tribe’s people hummed and chanted, swaying back and forth.

A shadow appeared from within the trees, weaving through the tribe, touching their heads with its black bear claws. It was a head taller than all the people and moved with an intense grace. Tor Lir squinted as the shadow walked into the sunlight and revealed itself as a male.

His aura commanded the fear and respect of his tribe, from the way he walked with his back straight and shoulders tall to the way his dark eyes glittered, examining Tor Lir from head to toe. A scar crossed one of his cheeks as if he’d wrestled with some animal and won, standing out against his tan, dark, leathery skin. His feet were bare because he did not care about the rough terrain of the forest piercing the soles of his feet. He crossed his hands over his chest as he walked up to Tor Lir, gazing at him before turning and spitting into the mud.

“You attacked my people?” The male’s bushy eyebrows sank low, his voice deep and ferocious.

Tor Lir stuck his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he determined how to respond. The male gave off an aura difficult to read and Tor Lir was unsure what reaction the words would bring. “Nay. They attacked first. We only defended ourselves.”

The male frowned. “You were in our territory.”

Tor Lir shrugged as best he could with his hands tied above his head. “There was no warning. If we’d known this was your territory, we would have avoided it.”

The male raised a hand and Tor Lir fell silent, recognizing the sign that told him to stop. “The Tribe of Fyn does not welcome strangers. Your arrival is fortunate. You will be the sacrifice for the gods of the forest.”

A pulse of adrenaline shot through Tor Lir at the word sacrifice. Memories of the grand sacrifices of blood and fire came to the forefront of his mind, and a sudden nausea rose in his stomach. “It would be to your advantage to let us go. We came to this forest with a purpose and must not be sidetracked, lest a great calamity befall the inhabitants of this wood.”

The male’s eyes flickered. “A great calamity has befallen this land. You attacked my people and for that, you must pay. A life for a life.”

Tor Lir sighed. “My companion”—he jerked his chin toward Citrine—“was overzealous in the use of her knives and for that, I beg forgiveness. We are on a quest and did not intend to interrupt your scavengers. If you will let us go, we will be on our way and will never intrude on your land again.”

“Hum . . .” The leader pursed his lips, his brown eyes scanning first Tor Lir and then Citrine. “Does your companion agree?” He pointed at Citrine.

“Er. . . perhaps if she were awake.” Tor Lir bit his lip.

“We shall see.” He spun, facing his tribe, and ordered, “Prepare the sacrifice!”

Tor Lir’s eyebrows shot up. Sacrifices were common enough, and from time to time, he’d joined in the rituals in Shimla, sacrificing a portion of the harvest to the sacred Creator. Most sacrifices involved an altar and burning with fire. Suddenly, he did not feel so cocky. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement? Or trade?”

The male paused before turning to face Tor Lir, his expression curious. “Trade?” His tone was quiet, commanding respect. “What are you offering?”

“I don’t know what you need or want, but you may have our weapons—”

“We already have those,” the male interrupted.

Tor Lir realized he was going about it all wrong. He was on the brink of begging for his life instead of bartering. There was a time when he’d stolen jewels from the caves of the Rainidrains. They were not impressed with his apology and teased him until he begged for mercy. At last, tired of their games, he’d grown cold and shouted at them. They scattered, leaving the jewels and tiptoeing around him with respect ever since. He needed to apply the same method in this situation.

Fixing the leader with his eyes, he allowed his expression grow cold and lowered his voice, letting the frosty power drift through him like fingers of ice. “The hospitality of your tribe is lacking. My companion and I are on a quest of mercy. A darkness haunts the lands of Novor Tur-Woodberry, and we seek the Master of the Forest. I assume you have heard of him since you dwell in his domain.”

The male’s eyes appeared interested, although his face was hard. He blinked once and gave a short nod.

Tor Lir proceeded. “When your tribe attacked us, I tried to speak sense into them and yet they brought us here to be a sacrifice. As their leader, I expect you to lead them with righteousness. It is clear they respect your opinion, and while I offered the weapons in a fair exchange for freedom, I am not so sure your tribe is worth it. I would prefer to discuss before you make any more false accusations against myself and my companion.”

“Why are you seeking the Master of the Forest?” The male frowned as he balled his hands into fists.

“To destroy him.” Tor Lir let a malicious smile creep into his face, savoring the anticipation of destroying an evil creature.

“Enough.” The leader reached behind his back, drew a curved knife, and strode toward Tor Lir.

In one motion, he swept the blade through the air and Tor Lir cringed, waiting for the blow. The knife sang, biting into the rope. His hands fell in front of him.

“If you are going to destroy the Master of the Forest, the Tribe of Fyn will help.” The leader placed a hand on his chest.

Tor Lir stopped short of grinning and nodded, thumping his chest twice as he bowed his head to the leader. “My companion and I would be grateful of your assistance.”

“I am called Agrim,” the leader announced. “Who are you?”

“I have no name, but you may called me Tor Lir. My companion is Citrine.” Tor Lir turned toward her. Blood dropped off her face and her bare legs were covered in scratches. “Perhaps you have a healer for her wounds?”

Agrim lifted a hand and snapped twice.

When he finished, a deafening roar shook the forest. Green leaves dived to the ground in submission, burrowing under weaved baskets and woven cloth. Tor Lir ducked as the heat of wrath surged like an out-of-control fire. As the roar faded, a massive creature burst through the foliage.

31

NEW ENEMIES

AVA, Citrine’s mind whispered before she awoke. Her body stung with pain as she opened her eyes, surprised to find her arms tied by her wrists above her head. A roar shook the forest and she peeled her eyes open further, blinking against the sunlight as fury rolled through her. Ava? Is that you?

I heard you call and came as soon as I could. What do you want me to do?

These people hurt me. Destroy them and take me away from here.

You know the rule. Never hurt a mortal.

Citrine gritted her teeth at the truth. Cause chaos then, and set me free.

Another roar shook the forest, and out of the foliage burst Ava with her blue wings spread. She roared as she flew over the encampment, stretching out her long neck and puffing clouds of white smoke out of her nostrils. Citrine felt a grim smile come to her lips as she watched her magnificent beast terrify her captors. Ava’s massive body flew lower as she waved her long scaly tail back and forth.

People screamed at her appearance, clashing into each other as they dashed for safety. Hammocks collapsed and makeshift tree huts rolled over. Baskets of bright-orange fruit spilled and piles of firewood collapsed as Ava flew, upsetting the caged animals the tribe kept. A rough male voice shouted orders, attempting to bring some semblance of order to the attack and organize a counterattack. Citrine saw a few of the people clothed in animal skins snatch up spears and thrust them at Ava as if mere pointed rocks could pierce her scales. All the same, a fury rose in Citrine and her heart thudded as each spear fell away, harmless.

The spark of mischief blazed in her heart as the people ran. “This is why you don’t cross me. Now look who is in your midst! Look who is running now!”

She threw back her head and cackled. The blood ran into her mouth and she almost choked on her own bodily fluids. Ava’s warm breath touched her hands as sharp teeth chomped off the rope. Citrine struggled out of her bonds, turning to see where Tor Lir stood free, staring at her in aghast. His face was rather pale, but Citrine was too proud to examine him further. “Tor Lir, with me!” she shouted, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward Ava.

Tossing herself on Ava’s back, she pulled Tor Lir up behind her, scraping her knees against the rough scales. More blood flowed, smarting and stinging while Ava’s wide wings beat against the forest floor. Go. Go. Now! Citrine encouraged her.

Ava lifted, surging into the air with one final roar.

Take us to the river where Morag dwells.

Are you sure? I don’t think you want to go there.

Don’t question me—just go.

“Ha, did you see that?” Citrine bragged, using her cloak to wipe blood and gore off her face as she turned behind her to peek at Tor Lir. Both of his arms were around her waist and she assumed he was holding on, fearful of enjoying the pure glory of flying. But when she glimpsed his pallid face, she realized he was gripping her waist with absolute fury.

“How could you?” He spit the words at her. “What have you done?”

Citrine coughed up blood and spit it out over the forest floor as Tor Lir’s words sank in. Below she still heard cries from the tribe and the underbrush rustled as they gave chase, following the beating wings of Ava.

“What do you mean what did I do?” she demanded. “I just saved us.” She waved her hands in the air, her thighs gripping Ava’s back so she would not fall. “And what? You’re furious at me for saving us? Because you wanted to be the hero?”

“No,” he growled back, his grip tightening across her belly, making her gasp. “Don’t throw careless words at me. While you were passed out, I was forming an alliance with the Tribe of Fyn and you just destroyed it by attacking them again! They were going to help us fight the Master of the Forest. We would have had an army and now we’re on our own—again—because you’re too self-centered to consider the perspective of anyone but yourself. No wonder you’re alone with your beasts. The only people who get along with you are the people you can control.”

Citrine felt a hot rage sear through her. Something within her snapped and she turned as best as she could, screaming as she balled up her fists and pelted Tor Lir with her hands. “How dare you say such a thing! How dare you! You don’t know me at all and yet you judge. I hope you fall and die.”

Tor Lir held his hands up, blocking her blows. “See! This is exactly what I mean. You’re doing it again. You’re the reason people run. You’re the reason for the chaos in the land. This is your fault and you won’t let anyone help you.”

“Be quiet,” Citrine shouted, trying to hit him again, but he caught her wrists in his hands, struggling to pin her down. “I hate you,” she whispered. “You’re the balancer of good and evil, yet all you care about is balance. There are people who need help—”

“People like the Tribe of Fyn,” Tor Lir snarled. “Tell your great beast to take us down. I’m done with this adventure and this quest with you, Citrine. You should think about yourself less and consider the greater good. Perhaps you wouldn’t find yourself in quite a predicament.”

Citrine closed her eyes as his words rang out and Ava dipped lower, not quite slowing her flight as she moved toward the forest floor. Citrine wanted to drop Tor Lir from the top of the forest, swing down into the leaves, snatch up his broken body, and drop him again. Yet as she sat there, hugging herself and feeling the bruises ache, she realized there was truth to his words. If it weren’t for her rashness and anger, they might be in a better predicament.

Ava, take us to the river.

Where did you find this male? Ava snickered. He’s full of words.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Do you want me to toss him from a high cliff? I can kill him for you.

No thanks. Well, maybe after the Master of the Forest is dead. I don’t like Tor Lir very much, but I think I need his help.

He’s right, you know. The Tribe of Fyn are hunters—they could have helped.

Don’t remind me. I’m beaten and I’m tired. I don’t want to talk anymore.

32

MYTHICAL BEINGS

AVA LANDED near a river where weeping willows perched near the bank. Tor Lir tumbled off the beast, reaching out a hand as he stood back to admire her beauty. Tor Lir felt dwarfed at the monstrous size of the beast yet awed Citrine tamed it. His opinion of her shifted. She was wild and impulsive but with beasts like these on her side, she became dangerous to cross.

After Citrine climbed down, Ava arched her long neck and faced them, tucking her blue wings onto her scaly back. Tor Lir admired the beauty of her colors—blue feathers, green scales blending into the shadows of the forest. Catching the beast’s eye, he pressed his hands, palms together, and bowed. “Thank you for your assistance, even though it was unnecessary.”

The beast blinked at him and nudged Citrine with her snout. A cloud of smoke rose from her nostrils, invading the air with a warning of fire. Citrine waved the smoke out of her face and stroked the nose of the beast like a lover.

Tor Lir crossed his arms, feeling his spine go rigid at the display of affection between female and beast. “What did she say?” Tor Lir assumed they carried a silent conversation in their minds he could not hear. He scratched his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot in unease.

“She thinks you’re polite, but all the same she laughs at you,” Citrine mumbled without looking at him.

Tor Lir sighed. She was still angry with him and her aura was dark red, warning him against trifling with her. He expected short answers would be all he got out of her for now.

Tor Lir wished she would apologize for making a hasty decision without consulting him. Turning his back on the pair, he walked through the mud on the riverbank, recalling a fight he’d gotten into with one of his childhood companions: Nyllen.

Nyllen was the son of a ruler and primed to be king of the Green People, especially when the green giantess—who raised Tor Lir—left. Tor Lir knew Nyllen was jealous of him and they often argued about harmless things until Gundibage: Night of the Giving.

It was an annual tradition for the Iaens to remember the night of their rebirth. They remembered their downfall by the eleven Monrages (evil children of Changers) who sought to take ultimate power and rule the Four Worlds. The Iaens celebrated their return to the land and the rebirth of their kind, provided through the grace of the Creator.

As tradition foretold, they would sacrifice a living creature, and they often selected a Green Person to perform the great honor. Tor Lir and Nyllen fought over the right to lead the sacrifice. It was Tor Lir’s responsibility as a ward of the queen, yet Nyllen wanted to take over, since he assumed, correctly, that Tor Lir would not stay around to take the crown. As they argued, Tor Lir realized it did not matter who was right and who was wrong. It took humility to become a leader. He’d been the first to reach out his hand and step down from the position. After that, Nyllen had become a friend and introduced him to the Jesnidrains, who brightened his life with frolics and folly.

“Is this the river you spoke of?” Tor Lir asked Citrine, watching the waters splash across the shallows and slick boulders. The rocks in the river would make the perfect perch for fishing.

“Aye. Ava agrees this is the river. We will follow it for a couple of days until we reach the lair of the Master of the Forest. Ava says she can fly us, but both of us are too heavy. She’s still young and hasn’t reached her full strength yet.”

“It’s of no concern.” Tor Lir lifted a hand to dismiss her words as he squatted by the riverbank. Cupping his hands, he poured the cool water over his face, refreshing himself from the trek through the woods. “The hour grows late. I dare say we’ve come far enough for a day. The sun will soon set and you need to take care of your wounds.”

“No thanks to you,” Citrine muttered as she strode to the riverbank, placing Ava between herself and Tor Lir.

She took off her cloak, laying it in the mud before adding her shift to it. Tor Lir averted his eyes as she waded into the water and submerged herself, swimming in circles. He’d seen many naked Iaens, shameless as they bathed in the steaming pools known as the Waters of Nye. However, something felt wrong as he let his gaze slip back to Citrine. “Aye,” he called. “It is best we hide ourselves before sundown. We don’t have weapons, and I expect the forest is less friendly during the night.”

“Aye,” Citrine quipped, running her fingers through her wet hair. “It’s not my fault we don’t have weapons.”

“It is,” Tor Lir disagreed, drying his wet hands on his cloak. “I was about to barter with Agrim, the leader of the Tribe of Fyn, and get them back.”

“Oh, will you stop bringing that up! I made a mistake! Okay? Are you happy now?” Citrine shouted, splashing water toward him.

Something within him relaxed, and Tor Lir stood tall, surprised at the apology. “I cannot shake the feeling that we turned potential allies into enemies. I assume they will hunt us down, adding to our woes.”

“We know nothing yet,” Citrine retorted. She walked out of the water, droplets streaming from her body. She moved for her cloak, wrapping it around herself like a towel. “Back away from the river—he is coming.”

“Who?” Tor Lir took a step back in confusion, although his eyes slid over the curves of Citrine’s body.

He wondered what it would be like to run his hands over them. She was much bigger and curvaceous than the short and slim Iaens he’d copulated with in Shimla. Tor Lir watched the bruises appear on her body as she pulled on her short frock, and a ripple passed through his lower belly.

An idea came to him and he wondered if there was the possibility of something he’d never considered before. Citrine was right: he did not know much about his powers, and what he did know, he seemed to stumble across by accident. As much as her presence frustrated him, he was curious about what he could do. He held out a hand, watching a glimmer swirl around it as his conscience shut down, focusing on the present. He walked toward Citrine, his hands outstretched.

She jerked back at his proximity, reaching up her hands to pull her wet hair into a braid. Her nostrils flared as she glared at him. “Just because you saw me naked does not give you the right to approach me.”

“Nay, I am not lusting after your body,” he said, denying the urges of his flesh. “You took quite a beating back there and I might be able to help.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, but she stood still, letting her arms fall to her side.

“If you will allow me,” he continued, feeling much like he was taming a wild animal. He’d had his share of taming creatures in the forest, teaching them to curb the desire to bite his fingers off and take food from his hand. He felt the same way as he approached Citrine, his hands out to cup her face. His fingers slid around her neck and he reached his thumbs out to touch her nose as a light danced from his fingers. He felt the soft tissue move under his touch, snapping her broken nose back into place.

Moving his arms down, he caressed her bruised neck. The soft veins were difficult to find, so he did the best he could, lightly touching the bruises, hoping the blood would flow back into place. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he spun her to face the forest. She gasped as his fingertips gingerly touched her raw back. He realized he was humming, a soothing noise, a calm cooing.

Dropping to his knees, he started with her ankles, touching the raw red stripes on the back of her legs, moving up to her thighs while her legs trembled under his touch. He knew the effect he had on the Iaens, but Citrine melted under his touch and he felt something else. A strong desire for power rose up in him, and he lifted his hands higher, barring her smooth buttocks and her back to his tender caress. The stripes on her back were light, but he touched each one all the same before dropping her shift back down. Taking her shoulders, he turned her around to face the waters.

Her breath came short and fast, and her glassy eyes stared at his as her lips parted. She moved toward him, angling her head as he took a step back, knowing what he’d done to her. Before she could utter a word, a bellow came from the river and a wave washed over them, spraying them with a delicate mist from the waters. Tor Lir spun around, his eyes widening at the beast that appeared from the depths.

33

MILKY WHITE

CITRINE KNEW something was wrong when she saw Morag’s eyes. They were white orbs in his massive face. His gray neck reared up out of the waters, thicker than the broad oak trees that spanned the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. Morag shook his gray snout, water flicking off the two curved horns on his head. Citrine caught her breath as she gazed on his monstrous beauty, thankful for a distraction from the strange allure of Tor Lir. She wanted to break his arms and yet she also wanted to understand his unique abilities. His touch on her body made her shiver and reminded her of pleasures enjoyed in what seemed like a past life.

“Citrine,” Morag spoke, his deep voice shaking the weeping willow trees and causing ripples in the water.

Surprise rendered her mute. She expected Morag’s voice to resonate in her mind as it did with her other beasts.

“We cannot speak in our minds now. We are in the realm of the Master,” Morag stated, moving his body toward the shore and fixing his milky-white gaze on Tor Lir. “Who have you brought with you?”

“I don’t understand.” Citrine glanced at Tor Lir, who stood, wide-eyed, gazing at Morag with an intensity in his emerald eyes. “Why must we speak out loud? Surely the Master of the Forest has spies everywhere and they will hear us?”

“Nay.” Morag shook his head, his jagged teeth appearing like a warning in his mouth. “The Master of the Forest is like you. He controls the beasts with his mind, and he has taken me from you. I must do his bidding now. I only returned to tell you, if you don’t do something, he will take the lands to the north and south, the east and west. They are falling one by one as we speak, and all the beasts will follow his command.”

“Why?” Citrine fought the rising panic in her chest. “Why did you leave me? Why is he taking these lands? Where can I find him?”

“The Master of the Forest is stronger than you. Beware, for he seeks to take all your beasts from you. If you listen, you can hear him speak as I do; he promises a future for the beasts, different from the one you promise. I caution against searching for him. He does not want to see you—he only requests you keep fulfilling your end of the bargain. You have done well thus far.”

Citrine could not stop the hot tears that rolled down her cheeks as Morag spoke. His betrayal struck her deep and brought up her own weaknesses. She failed to protect her beasts by giving them a haven. Time ran out while she sought spells and let her beasts roam a forest she knew was evil while she basked in Novor Tur-Woodberry’s companionship and enjoyed his land. She failed to take care of Morag, the newest beast in her collection, and he’d left her for someone evil and strong. Perhaps that was why she had not heard from Zaul; he had also switched to a new master with a different promise. The threads of control slipped from her fingers, one by one. Would she lose everything she cared about?

“What did he promise you?” Citrine demanded as Morag sank down, his shadow disappearing from the mud while his ruined eyes glazed over like clouds over the sunlight.

“I cannot disobey the Master. To speak of his wishes is to encourage death.”

“Morag, wait!” Citrine ran to the edge of the bank, her heart thudding in her chest as she watched the water beast sink below the waves. “Don’t give up. I will save you this time. You’ll see.”

Morag paused before his head disappeared underwater while waves nipped at his nostrils. He opened his mouth, a row of sharp teeth appearing, his voice louder and deeper as the acoustics of the wave took on his tone. “The Master of the Forest is old and resolute—leave while you can, before he takes you too.”

“Citrine.” Tor Lir’s hand touched her shoulder. She slapped it away, furious at displaying weakness in front of him. “Let him go. We will come up with a plan.”

Ava lifted her head from where she perched by the waters, watching the exchange out of lidded eyes. I can kill Morag for you.

Before Citrine could answer, another voice came through her thoughts and she reeled in surprise. Did you see? Did you see what I can do? Did you see your beasts turn on you?

Citrine ran to Ava and threw her arms around the beast’s neck, fear coursing through her body. Her limbs shook as she hung on tight, leaning her cheek against Ava’s solid feathers. She stood still, taking steadied breaths as she regained her strength and determination. Air of clarity. Help me do the right thing this time. At last, pulling back, she placed her hands on Ava’s snout, forcing the beast to look her in the eye. Ava’s eyes were still a pure citrine, and she blinked lazily as she let out a low growl. “Don’t speak, Ava. Run!” Citrine said. “If you can, find Grift and Zaul, but don’t worry too much about them. Get out of the forest. Go where the Master of the Forest can’t reach you. I won’t risk losing you.”

You won’t lose me.

“Don’t speak. Just go before something happens.”

Leaning forward, she planted a kiss on Ava’s nose and let go, glaring at Ava until the beast spread her wings, almost knocking Citrine over. Ava’s great claws left giant prints in the mud by the riverbank as she took off, spreading her wings wide as she coasted with the warm evening air.

Citrine put her hands on her hips and turned to find Tor Lir. He sat on the bank, his hands on his knees and his eyes closed as if he were sleeping. “Tor Lir, are you coming?” She let the words drop from her lips as hard as sharp stones.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes, pressing his hands into the ground. “Where are you going?”

“You heard Morag. There is no time for sleep. I have to find the Master of the Forest and take back my beasts.”

Tor Lir glanced at the water and nodded. “This is personal for you now, but we can’t march into the lair of this creature without a plan.”

Citrine scowled hard. She was used to being spontaneous with her decisions. “If you want a plan, think on it while we walk.” A pang of remorse swept through her as she wished she had her pack of herbs and knives. A dull gnaw of hunger poked at her belly and she wrapped her arms around her abdomen, recalling the touch of Tor Lir’s gentle fingers. Most males had rough hands from hard work and calluses on their fingers.

He nodded once as he rose and walked toward her. She spun, finding her way along the shore, picking smooth rocks out of the mud as she did so. Tor Lir was silent behind her, and part of her wished he would speak while another part of her wished the night would swallow him up.

Darkness came swiftly with cruel fingers while yellow eyes glittered into the darkness. The cry of animals ripping each other apart in the underbrush made Citrine hug close to the shore, frustrated with her lack of weapons. She fingered the stones she slipped in her pockets, hoping she’d be able to craft a crude slingshot. Hunger disappeared as she listened to the ferocious nocturnal animals while white seeds lit up the river, eerie in the dim, moonless night.

A luminous glow appeared near the riverbed. Citrine squinted as she and Tor Lir neared a patch of land where florescent mushrooms lit up the darkness. Deep blues and light pinks poured off the mushrooms like mist, the colors flowing into the water where they disappeared with a poof while fireflies winked in and out of view. Citrine paused, tempted to remove her boots and bury her bare feet in the mud, letting the fungi grow around her toes. She wanted to taste the colors dancing through the air and take their secrets as her own. Suddenly, she understood Grift’s strong desire to eat everything and discover secrets for himself.

A fierce cry echoed from the woods. Citrine balled her hands into fists as the memory of a fight with a panther flickered into her perturbed thoughts. She saw a flash of white and felt her body grow cold as the waif who’d given her the skull peered out from behind a tree.

34

FLASHES OF WHITE

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Citrine’s sharp tongue rang out.

Tor Lir jerked his head up. He had been staring at the strange mushrooms. They reminded him of something and a cold discomfort filled him because it was something he did not want to remember. Perhaps it wasn’t memory, only a knowing he did not want to unlock. He watched the pinks and blues morph together, spinning into words he did not want to read. Citrine’s sudden interruption was a welcome distraction. He opened his mouth to answer when he saw her march toward something white standing in the trees. The creature peeked around a tree trunk, her strands of hair silver in the dim light.

“It’s you!” Tor Lir exclaimed, surprised to see the bone-white creature who’d led him out of the forest.

“Are you following me?” Citrine demanded.

Tor Lir watched her take an aggressive step toward the creature and hurried to her side, reaching to grab her elbow. “Citrine, it’s all right. She will not harm us.”

Citrine spun, snatching her elbow out of his hand, uttering a low growl in her throat. “Do you know her?”

Tor Lir nodded, watching Citrine’s expression change from surprise to disbelief. “Aye. Do you recall? I told you I met a creature in the wood.”

“You met her?” Citrine’s words came out like a snarl. “She’s with the Master of the Forest. Why didn’t you say so!”

Tor Lir paused, rearranging his thoughts. “How do you know her?”

“The skull,” Citrine whispered.

Tor Lir took a step, but Citrine’s hand slammed into his chest, pushing him away. The bone-white creature held a finger to her thin lips, shaking her head. Dismissing her warning, Tor Lir crept toward her, holding out a hand and beckoning. “Please, don’t be afraid. Speak to me,” he begged, a rush of curiosity propelling him forward.

The creature stalked out from behind the tree, her slender body waving back and forth. Her dark eyes were wide as she glared at him. “I told you not to come back.” She sounded angry as she raised her hand and pointed a bony finger at his chest. “I gave you mercy once, but now you shall have none. You’ve entered the realm of the Master, and there is no escape.”

“What did you do?” Citrine demanded, her hot breath at his shoulder. Spittle touched his neck, and he wiped it away, sandwiched between two angry females. “You took my memories and forced me to bury the skull,” Citrine said and Tor Lir realized she was talking to the bone-white creature. He tilted his head and studied her out of the corner of his eye. Her vibrant hair stood out in the darkness as if it carried its own light and shadows.

“I do as the Master instructs,” the creature snapped, her voice cold.

“Will you take us to the Master?” Tor Lir dropped his hand on the creature’s shoulder.

Her expression changed and her eyes became wide with liquid. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The Master does not want to see you. If I take you to him, he will take you too and the voices will never leave you alone. You will do his bidding, and his desires will become your desires.”

Tor Lir gripped her shoulder harder. “Is he speaking to you now?”

“You’re interrupting.” She pulled away. “Go now, before it is too late.”

The creature turned and walked away, weaving between the trees.

“Follow her,” Citrine hissed as she poked him in the ribs. She moved off at a run, trailing the creature.

A vibration rushed through Tor Lir, heavy with the knowledge he needed to fix the balance. All the pieces were there and he knew with certainty he just needed to put them together. He paused on the shore, torn between going back for Agrim’s army he knew would be useful. However, Citrine and the bone-white creature had the key to finding the Master, and he was unsure he could find the river again in such a strange forest. Glancing back, the odd lights from the mushroom confirmed his choice. Lifting his feet, he ran after Citrine.

The aura of the forest held a creeping sensation of evil, a glaring difference from the sensuous enchantments of Shimla. He ran from the words of light the mushrooms would imprint on his brain. They haunted him as if he’d said them out loud repeatedly. If you want to know who you are and where you came from, go to Daygone.

He wagged his head from side to side, wishing words would fall out of his ears so he could trample them on the ground. Knowledge. Wealth. Power. Could all be yours if you read the book of your people. Long may you live. Long may you prosper.

His hands flew to his head, and he pressed against his ears, willing to make the words cease. An aura of potent darkness surrounded the words. He did not want to know. If he found out the knowledge, he would lose his soul, and he was too young. He did not desire to dwell with darkness. He had so much to live for, so much to explore.

Lost in his thoughts, he was surprised when moisture surrounded him. He lifted his hands and noticed the fine dew that heralded the morning coming down on his head. The forest was lighter and the ghastly noises of night all but consumed by the hope of daytime. He saw Citrine bend over by a tree, her hand on the trunk as she caught her breath. Sweat covered her body and as he caught up, he saw her eyes were glazed over and red-rimmed from lack of sleep.

“You should rest,” he whispered.

She stood tall, throwing back her shoulders before her eyes widened and she pointed. Tor Lir followed her fingers and froze as a coldness swept over him. Flashes of white surrounded them. The bone creatures were coming, and they did not look friendly.

35

REALM OF BEASTS

A DRUM ECHOED in Citrine’s mind. She stared at the bone-white creatures marching down the hillside toward her and Tor Lir. Some gripped bones in their hands, held up like clubs. Others carried drums made of skin pulled taut over hollow bone. They had tied the drums about their waists and beat on them with short dark bones.

Dum. Da dum. Dum. Da dum.

When she glanced behind, she saw them circling around and flashbacks whipped through her mind.

Crawling through a tunnel. Darkness. Gray vines reaching out like fingers, snatching at her hair and tugging her forward. The skull in her hand, the horns growing longer and sharper like the fine point of a needle. Setting it in a nested throne deep belowground. A beast carrying and then dropping her. Waking during daylight.

Memories returned to her, but it was the voices that flooded her mind.

Beat the drums. Beat them. Don’t let them stop.

Take them to the Master. Move.

Flesh becomes bone. Bone becomes flesh.

Save me from the monsters. Save me. Save me.

Beat the drums.

Move.

Save me. Save me.

Bone becomes flesh.

Beat the drums.

Save me.

Flesh becomes bone.

The Master calls.

Move.

The words filtered through her mind like hundreds of voices speaking, feeling, thinking all at once. She sensed emotions, fearful and angry, obedient yet longing for release. A tidal wave roared through her mind and as she watched, opening her eyes wider to take it in, darkness consumed her vision. She held out her hands, her fingers snatching for support. Something reached her, its arms sliding around her waist. When she put a hand down, she felt the sickly skinny bone and fainted.

Citrine opened her eyes to darkness. As her vision adjusted, she saw a shadowy kingdom, with gray vines growing along interlocking trees. The bark was black with sap and a bitter sweetness hung in the air mixed with a hint of sulfur and the disgust of decay. Citrine shifted, surprised she stood upright, but when she flexed her fingers, rope dug into her wrists. Glancing down, she found they had tied another rope around her waist, binding her to a tree. Sap dripped onto her fingers and she realized while she was passed out, it had coated and crusted on her hands.

The voices that had been in her head were silent and while she wanted to reach out feelers of communication for her beasts, she didn’t want the multitude of voices to return. It must be how the Master controlled them—he held their minds hostage. It was a vengeful act and something Citrine wondered if she could do with her beasts. Nay, it was violent and evil to take free will away from any living creature. A desire to vomit rose in her belly and she swallowed hard, fighting to keep it down.

Distracting herself, she looked around. Before her was what appeared to be a throne carved into a towering redwood tree. Telltale signs of death gathered on its trunk while gray vines and black branches curved toward the sky, creating the seat and back to the wide throne. At the base of the throne, she saw something moving back and forth and as she squinted in the darkness, she saw black-and-red snakes slithering on the ground as if creating steps for the owner of the throne to walk upon.

Hanging from the branches above the throne were different bones: a jaw with bloody teeth in it, the skeletal fingers of a hand, a skull, smaller without teeth, and several feet. Bones littered the ground right up to her feet, several gnashed and broken as if some great beast with teeth gnawed on them.

A terrifying realization came over Citrine as a creature moved out of the shadows. He had limbs like branches of a tree grown out of dark wood. Black ivy crawled around his limbs, as if holding them together, while a cloak of blood-dusted feathers swirled around him.

His face appeared to be the skull of a strange animal, a cross between a deer and something bigger and broader. Bone-white covered the creature’s face and yet its bones were rotted to the core, giving off the distasteful odor of sulfur and decay. A crown of antlers at least a foot tall rose from its head. The black slots for eyes regarded her with a chilling menace.

The Master walked on the snakes that froze as his feet squashed their bodies. The snakes resumed their movement, some jerking back and forth in pain as the Master turned his antlers and interlocked them into the branches of the throne. He sat down and waved his three-fingered, clawed hand at Citrine, his words whispering through the stillness.

“Enchantress.”

Citrine fought against her fears as the creature spoke her name and the bite of revulsion made her shiver. She was well aware of her situation and licked her dry lips as she decided what to say. If she called her beasts to save her, the Master would take them. It was best to determine what he wanted with her. In her first meeting with him, he’d shown no animosity—only asked her to be the agent of chaos.

“We meet again,” the Master of the Forest continued, his voice low and sultry. “I did not expect to find you in my forest again, not after our agreement some months ago. Yet here you are with heightened powers, which is curious and fortunate for me. I think you belong in my world.”

Citrine spoke once she got her feelings under control. “I don’t think so.” This time she would control her temper. “Why am I tied up? As you said, we had an agreement. Are you changing the terms?”

The Master’s snout curved up in what Citrine assumed was a wicked smile but appeared more like a grimace. “Do not take me for a fool. You went to Paradise and fell in love with its charms and then came here to shatter the realm of beasts by taking my forest and my beasts from me. My beasts determined you would harm them or myself, and I instructed them to tie you up so we might speak to clear the air between us.”

Citrine narrowed her eyes, frustrated the Master of the Forest saw through her plans. For a moment, she regretted distracting Tor Lir’s parley with the Tribe of Fyn. She should have listened to him and entered the realm prepared to fight. She eyed the glade, yet it seemed it was just her and the Master. The bone-white beasts and Tor Lir must be elsewhere.

“You have a flair for misdeeds and mischief. If you join my revolution, you may have safety for all your beasts and the Paradise you so desire. Why do you care about the mortals? Especially after what they did to you, your herb garden, and your beasts. They never cared for your gifts.”

Citrine felt something tear within her. How did the Master of the Forest know about her past life? Who had spoken to him about it? “Nor do you except for personal gain,” she snapped, furious at the knowledge he held concerning her past life in the village.

“Personal?” The Master of the Forest tilted his head as he considered the word. “You think this is personal? Nay. The forest is my domain and the dead have woken. They are weary from life and need flesh to cover their bones. Once they are clothed, they may walk upon the ground and mingle with mortals.”

Citrine glowered. “They already walk upon the ground with their sickly bones.”

“Flesh is what’s needed to complete the change.” The Master lifted his clawed hands and clicked them together. “Then they will feel life enter their bodies and they will live a second life, a transformed life with a new chance.”

“To what end?” Citrine muttered, yet still curious about the Master’s plan.

The Master rested his arms on the throne, his claws still tapping against the wood. “In the days of the war, life was not precious and priceless. The Black Steeds—those who made their alliance with the Monrages and Changers—destroyed all without a thought for life. The people groups fell and their numbers became scarce. In order for the Four Worlds to continue, there must be an abundance of life, and I will give life back to the land. Many of the lost souls became stranded in the afterlife, and I am giving them a chance to remedy their ways. Given the opportunity, would you want to change your destiny and give yourself the chance to enter Paradise?”

A horror gripped Citrine and twisted her heart, and yet she could not deny the curiosity that glowed there. What would it be like to be a lost soul called back from the Beyond to live a second life? “I would agree with you, but calling the dead back to life is drastic. They are dead. Their spirits should rest.”

“Nay. It is the cycle of reincarnation. The dead come back to life and are given a second chance to live again. Wouldn’t you like the chance to live again with a clean slate? Mistakes of the past gone? A chance to get your life right this time?”

“It sounds exhausting,” Citrine murmured. “I don’t want to die and I don’t know if I want to live forever.”

“When you lie on your death bed, you will realize you should have taken my offer. I will not call your spirit back into the world. I will let your bones rot and sink into the ground to renew the plants of the forest. They are old and dying. New life must grow from here.”

“What will you do when the undead regain flesh?”

“Fill the land with them. All other secrets are mine. If you become my mistress and rule in this realm of beasts, all knowledge could be yours.”

Citrine shuddered at the word mistress, yet she recognized the chance she had there. The Master did not mean to kill her. “Answer me this. Why did you invade the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry?”

“He is powerful, and with the power in his land the undead will have flesh again and live like mortals.”

“When you complete your conquest, will it leave anything of the land? Will any of the people be left? Will there be any power for Paradise to grow again?”

“No. You do not understand. Paradise must die so that many will live. It is for the greater good.”

“It is for chaos and evil. You must find another way!”

“There is no other way. Either you join me, or I will end you and take your beasts.”

“You will take my beasts?” Citrine gritted her teeth as rage flowed through her. Again Morag’s filmy white eyes flashed in her memory and hot fury surged through her brain. “Is that why you know so much about me? You’ve been planning to steal my beasts and use them against me? Is that what you did to Morag?”

“I am like you. You left your mind open and now I can read it. I can see your past, your present, and your desires. You forgot to keep your guard up. My offer tempts you and you are afraid to die. But if you will not join me as my mistress, I will take your flesh.”

The Master of the Forest freed his antlers from the crown and strode down the steps of his throne. Crossing the clearing toward Citrine, he lifted a clawed hand.

Citrine drew back, pressing her head against the hardened sap on the tree, her eyes growing wide as a claw touched her face and then stroked her cheek. It felt like the lightest scratch moving over her skin, something she wanted to press harder into until it drew blood. Torn by her dark desires, she moved her head away in anger. The unexpected slap of the Master’s bony hand against her cheek made her eyes water. Her head jerked back and slammed into the tree. A dull pain thudded in her skull.

Citrine turned her furious eyes on the Master, speaking through gritted teeth. “You did not give me a chance to respond.”

“You responded. I heard your thoughts. Part of you is enticed by this darkness but deep down inside, you want to be the Master. You want to kill me.”

“You took the thing most precious and dear to me.” She spit her words at him. “My beasts.”

The Master of the Forest gave a deep chuckle, his voice echoing through the trees. “I told you when we first met. If you want your beasts, you must fight for them.”

As if he’d called them, bone-white faces peeked from behind trees and crept toward them on all fours, jumping through the thicket like animals. “I took more than your beasts. Who do you think drove you out of your home and turned the villagers against you? You aren’t the only one who can plant the seeds of chaos.”

Citrine blinked hard as the realization hit her like a punch to the stomach. She felt the bottom drop out of everything she’d known and tears started in her eyes. Bile rose in her throat, but there was nothing in her stomach. She gasped, dry heaving as the ropes held her fast. “You monster! You wanted this to happen. You ruined my life!”

“Nay, I gave you the chance to live again. I gave you a gift, but your thoughts give you away. We made a deal. I assumed you would respect that. Seems I was wrong about you.” His hand came up, and the claws curled around her neck, the sharp ends ready to peel flesh from bone.

“Let me go,” she said through gritted teeth. “I will never be your mistress. You are the destroyer!”

“I am the Master of the Forest.” The Master chuckled again as his claws squeezed tighter.

Although her hands were bound, she lifted her leg to knee him in the groin. Her kneecap hit hard bone and her eyes flashed as pain surged through her leg. The Master laughed, delighting in her fury.

“Just for revenge, just so you will never cross me again, I shall destroy Paradise.” The Master of the Forest released her throat and pointed claws at her neck, daring her to speak or move lest he rip her in half. “Beasts of the forest,” the Master of the Forest shouted. “Go to Paradise. Slay all mortals and take up your new flesh!”

36

THE BONE TREE

AN UNDERCURRENT of dread hung in the air as Novor Tur-Woodberry strode through the land. Gray clouds drifted through the sky, not because of the need for rain. No, these clouds were a harbinger of impending doom.

He walked past the cottage where Citrine lived. It looked lonely perched on the hill by itself. No smoke curled from the chimney and the door stood wide open as if she’d left in a hurry and forgot to shut it.

The Singing Men built the cottage years ago for the first family who intended to live in the land. The call of adventure bade them leave after just a few months and after that, Novor Tur-Woodberry decided newcomers would live in the village where the green hills rolled endlessly and the breathtaking view inspired joy. The Mouth of Heaven.

The village sat just above the Silver-White Heart, which breathed life into the land. As long as it was pure, Paradise would flourish. Earlier Novor Tur-Woodberry had gone to see the pulsing orb of light, and darkness poured out of its core.

Frowning at the memory, Novor Tur-Woodberry continued past the cottage and a Trespiral materialized with a shimmer. A young face peering through wide eyes as Novor Tur-Woodberry approached its tree. “Novor Tur-Woodberry, you’ve come at last.” She bowed her head, bringing her branches together with respect.

“You’ve been expecting me?” He crossed his arms, concerned she hadn’t called for his help.

“I’m afraid.” She cast her eyes down. “The tree is growing. The ravens flee and the woodland creatures are moving.”

“Because of the roots,” Novor Tur-Woodberry finished. He’d heard muttering about the roots being too strong. The creatures must be complaining about the white tree. “Who else have you told about the tree?”

“I haven’t seen it. I’m only telling you what the ravens told me.” The spirit of the tree swayed. “It is coming for my roots. I must hibernate before it takes over.”

Novor Tur-Woodberry frowned. As much as he wanted to reassure the tree, his words would not ring true. He walked away, for he knew what he had to do. Earlier that morning, he’d told his Singing Men to go to the Mouth of Heaven and escort the villagers to his home. Given the speed of mere mortals, even if the wild horses assisted, it would take them the better part of the day to move into his home. It was his last defense against the coming darkness.

Walking down the hill, he moved to the middle of the land where a dirty white object glimmered in the light. The gray clouds covered the sun and only the Green Light hung in the sky, a glow of emerald displaying his path. The once green grass underneath his feet lay like chewed cud, chomped to bits and then spit out. Worthless.

He sniffed. A dry rot hung in the air with faint hints of decay. It grew as he approached the tree. It was the color of bone, a dirty white with dead limbs that reached out like skeletal fingers. Its branches pointed in all directions and it appeared like a giant, spiky bush. Charred black grass surrounded the tree as if it were burnt with an intense fire. The tree moved.

Novor Tur-Woodberry’s eyes narrowed. The tree moved again. Creatures formed on its branches, budding like flowers but growing at a rapid pace. Novor Tur-Woodberry took a step back, the height of his power ebbing like a dammed river. The largest creature swung on a branch, a head and eyes appearing as it noticed Novor Tur-Woodberry. The thing twisted, snapping the top of its head off the tree, and leaped down, its feet striking the grass with a soft smack.

“Go back!” Novor Tur-Woodberry roared. “You are on my land and must adhere to my laws. Go back to the darkness from whence you have sprung!”

Dark hollows for eyes turned to Novor Tur-Woodberry’s face as the creature hunched on all fours, grinding its teeth. It opened its mouth and words snaked out as if the creature were poisoning the land with its words. “The barrier is down. The Master controls this land now, and it is you who are trespassing. Do you know what happens to trespassers?”

Novor Tur-Woodberry took another step back, frowning. He knew what the beast would do and watched as one by one, an army of bone-white creatures sprung from the tree.

37

AGRIM’S ARMY

TOR LIR RAN through the forest alone and unhindered. After Citrine fainted, the bone creatures had swooped her up and run off. They ignored his shouts as if he wasn’t there, although the female creature gazed at him. Her eyes were wide with sorrow and relief.

Tor Lir felt a swelling in his chest as he ran, but his feet came to a stop when tall reeds rose in his path. He’d have to weave through them, creating a path for himself, but it wasn’t just the reeds that stopped him. There was a knowing, deep in his heart. He held his hands palm down as he knelt in front of the reeds and placed his hands on the mud.

A slight tremor shook the ground. Folding his body in half, he placed his ear against the cool dirt. A rumble in the distance sounded, and he closed his eyes, letting his thoughts swirl as he weighed the pros and cons of his actions. If he ran to the lair of the Master, he risked being caught. He needed a weapon and a way to beat the Master at his game. Tor Lir understood the balance was off because of both Novor Tur-Woodberry and the Master.

The thudding grew in intensity and Tor Lir rose, moving into the reeds to observe what came his way. As he peered out with narrowed eyes, he saw a group of black panthers leap through the trees and pad up and down the riverbank. The panthers were giant beasts, standing as high as a male’s waist. On their backs were the fur-covered people of the Tribe of Fyn.

A slight smile came to Tor Lir’s lips, and he stepped out of his hiding place as the leader, Agrim, spun a panther toward him. Agrim hefted a spear in one hand and pointed it toward Tor Lir’s neck. “Where did the beast go?” he demanded, his scarred face twisting in a snarl.

Tor Lir held up his hands. “I mean you no harm. The beast has flown, and they have captured the female.”

The snarl left Agrim’s face, and he lowered his spear, waving a hand for the warriors behind him to lower their weapons. Resting a hand on the panther’s head, Agrim stroked it until it stopped growling and relaxed. “Who was she captured by? How come you are standing here? Free?”

“The white creatures made of bone. Do you know about them?”

“Aye, as we spoke before, they come and take what they desire, leaving death behind. They have been raiding my tribe for days, despite the barrier we built against them. They are swift and move into darkness, here and gone in a flash. Like lightning.”

“I believe I know where they came from, and I intend to stop them, but I need help.”

Agrim grunted. “I am listening.”

Tor Lir pointed to the river. “The Master of the Forest is taking the beasts and controlling them. I believe if we follow the river, we shall reach his lair.”

Agrim frowned. “To what end? To submit to the control of the Master? How will you stop him?”

Tor Lir let the emotion slide out of his face. He gazed into Agrim’s dark eyes as he let the ice cold invade through his body. A hostile aura surrounded him and he spoke firmly. “You don’t know who I am. Some call me Tor Lir, but I am the Nameless One. I came to keep the balance between good and evil. The Master of the Forest has invoked my wrath, and I go to his lair to set things right. I need you and your warriors to come with me, but choose. I will not beg you. I will only accept your offer freely given.”

Agrim scowled and placed a hand on his thigh. “What of the beasts that terrify my tribe?”

“I cannot guarantee peace—this forest is full of mischief. I sense the chaos in each step I take.”

“I do not ask for peace, only the demise of those unnatural beings that flood this forest with malice.”

“Then come with me.”

Agrim swung a leg over the panther’s side and leaped to the ground. His fur covered him like a camouflage as he turned back to the tribe. One by one, they lifted their hands, made a fist, and thumped their chests. Agrim placed a hand over his chest and bowed to them. Walking to the male on his left, he held out a hand. The male handed him a bow and quiver that Tor Lir recognized as the weapons Novor Tur-Woodberry had given him.

“You will need these.” Agrim tossed them to Tor Lir.

Catching the weapons, Tor Lir slung the quiver onto his back and let the coolness of his aura drift as he met Agrim’s eyes. He nodded back at the male. “I had a feeling about you and your tribe. A good feeling.”

Agrim mounted the panther. “I harbor no animosity between you and me, but your friend, the female, she will have to answer to what her beast did.”

Tor Lir nodded, accepting the words. There must be a remedy for what Citrine and her beast did to the tribe’s home.

“You need a mount,” Agrim added.

Tor Lir gave him a wry grin. “Follow me. Silence is of the essence from here.”

38

CONTROL

A MEMORY of yellow light and a basket full of green herbs took Citrine back to her childhood. She recalled her mother taking the herbs out of the basket and placing them on a long board in the sunshine. She hummed a tune and pointed to each herb. “What is this called? Do you remember?”

“Lavender?” Citrine asked. “Thyme. Rosemary. Mint. Sage. Ginseng.” She grew more confident in her knowledge as she continued down the line of herbs. “Rose hips.”

Mother nodded, her vibrant hair changing colors in the sunlight. Orange. Yellow. Silver. White. “Now that you know their names and how to recognize them in the wild, you must learn how to use them for your benefit. Understand?”

Citrine shrugged in confusion. “Why do we study the herbs? No one else does.”

“Ah, but you are mistaken. The Healers have always used herbs to help relieve maladies among the people groups and animals.”

“But we are not Healers,” Citrine pointed out.

Mother shook her head and picked up a bunch of lavender, the purple blossoms still wide open. “Nay, all the same, you must know the herbs. My favorite is lavender for the air of clarity combined with ginseng. If you need to clear the mind and calm your thoughts, a pinch of these herbs will help. Do you hear the voices yet?”

“Sometimes when I’m by the pond, the frogs speak to me.”

“Out loud or in your head?”

“I can hear them in my head. The butterflies whisper, and the dragonflies hum a song without words.”

“Be careful with the voices, my little enchantress. You may speak to them, but never force them to do anything. You must not exert your control over the beasts. They are free animals; although some may swear servitude to you, remember, you must always let them have free will. What is the rule we have?”

Citrine swallowed hard and looked down. “I don’t remember.”

A hand came out, slapping her cheek. “You must remember. Never forget. Now say it with me: never harm another.”

“Never harm another.” She’d bitten back the tears at the slap, aware she needed to learn and understand. She was too young to notice the double standard her parents had. They pushed her hard and punished her for forgetting and making mistakes.

“Good. Now these herbs will help you if the voices become too much. I’ll show you my recipe, but you must keep it a secret . . .”

The memory faded away and Citrine’s eyes flew open. It was silent in the glade. Her throat was sore from thirst and her arms ached from being pulled tight behind her back. Three spots of blood had dripped and then dried on her throat from where the Master’s claws scraped her. The sickly sweetness of sap made her head hurt, while the throne before her was empty. She closed her eyes again, shutting out the present and stilling herself as she searched.

When she was young, the world was vibrant with sound. She’d heard many voices and as she grew older, she filtered them out and protected her mind from the continual words dancing around her. Youth and innocence quickly evaporated, and she’d been excited to strike out on her own. She’d left her parents, who she assumed still lived close to the fortress in the east. They were loners, hiding their unusual gifts from the people groups, and yet Citrine thought she could find them again if she opened the connection of communication that led back to them. However, her need for them was gone and although she’d never disobeyed the instructions they gave her, control sounded promising.

Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she ignored the itching on her head. Taking a deep breath, she felt the thread of communication and stilled herself for the influx of thought. She opened the doors and a wave of voices rushed in.

Citrine had only been to Oceantic once. Father took her after a bad spell when the voices overwhelmed her and made her nose bleed. Each morning she’d wake, blood pouring from her nose as the voices screamed inside, too many to distinguish what they said. Finally, Father took her on a two-day journey to the white shores where endless waves lapped against the sand. They sat there watching until dark clouds rolled over the horizon and the wind blew strong around them. Sand lifted off the beach and rolled into mini cyclones, and Citrine held Father’s hand, watching with interest and wondering if they should seek safety.

“The waves rise high now. See.” Father pointed. “They will come rolling in with a magnitude of strength and sweep us away if we lose our footing.”

“But we won’t lose our footing if we don’t go in.” Citrine looked up into her father’s calm face, but his citrine eyes never left the water.

“We are going in. The waves are like the voices. You must learn to navigate them if you are to control them. Once you learn, the nosebleeds will stop.”

Citrine squeezed Father’s hand as fear swirled through her. “I am afraid. I don’t want to go in.”

“You must not be afraid.” Father’s tone was firm. “Fear will always try to stop you, but you must act, regardless of the fear. Be brave. Step out.”

Citrine stood still, watching the wind whip up and the waves rise higher. “How will standing in the waves help me control the voices?”

“It always helps to navigate the physical world before delving into the complex themes of the intangible world. I will be with you—this time. But you must take the initiative to step out.”

Citrine had let go of Father’s hand and stepped into the waves. When she closed her eyes, the storm roared around her, but when she found a rock and anchored herself to it, she found she could withstand the wind and waves. It was difficult. She’d slipped, been submerged and coughed up more water than ever before. But she survived, and that was enough.

Now the voices blasted through her mind, making her eardrums ring, and a slow trickle came to her nose.

First, she heard the voices of trees giving into the death grip of the gray vines. Mentally, she closed that door and put out her feelers for more. Creatures thrashed in the forest and drank from the river, bickering with sullen voices. She pulled her feelers away from them.

Searching, she found Ava, flying high above the forest, and Morag, sulking in the bottom of the river, feeling lower than the bottom feeders that scuttled along the mud. Her heart went out to him and she saw the foggy threads of control surrounding him. Moving down inch by inch, she reached out to him, plucking back the strings of control, one by one, hoping the Master was too distracted to notice. She felt Morag’s senses awake as the spell of control lifted from him. Don’t speak. Just run, she told him, heart pounding.

A drop of blood fell onto her lip, begging to be wiped away. She twisted her bound hands, but the rope held firm and she dived in again, sending her feelers of communication onward. Now and then, she came up hard and fast against something that she assumed were other mortals. Animals were her gifting; she’d never had the ability to communicate with mortals in her mind.

As the minutes dragged by, she became uneasy. What if the Master was hiding his mind in the same way—what if she couldn’t read it? Although she assumed if he could read her mind, she could read his, unless his power was much greater. Anger surged through her at the thought of Paradise being taken by the bone-white creatures, and she clenched her sap-crusted fingers as she dug deeper.

Blood ran from her other nostril, and she opened her mouth to breathe through it. A thudding began in her head and a throbbing pain began at the base of her skull. Ignoring the physical discomfort, just like she had in the storm, she dug through layers of communication, opening her feelers and closing them. She found Grift. The strands of control had barely begun, but she pulled them free and sent him the same message. Don’t speak. Just run.

Digging deeper, she found Zaul, the spark of communication almost gone with a grip so strong she did not know where to begin. There was nothing for it; unless she destroyed the Master, she could not set him free. Squeezing her eyes tighter, she gave it all she had while blood ran over her mouth and dripped down her chin. There. She’d found it. The mind of the Master. It was open and churning with an array of dark thoughts. Reaching through all the threads of communication she’d closed, she opened them and channeled them to the Master, sending a tidal wave of conflicting voices into his mind.

39

LAIR OF THE MASTER

A ROAR of fury bellowed out of the wood and Tor Lir paused, crouching down in the thicket. “We are here,” he whispered to Agrim. “Now, I will go in, face the Master, and find Citrine. On my signal. Attack.”

“As discussed,” Agrim grunted.

His tribe hid in the thick underbrush. They’d had to dismount and move on foot while their panthers slinked through the forest. Some males had scaled trees and were making hand signals to each other.

Tor Lir crept into the darkness, twisted ivy growing up each tree, choking out their existence and hiding the light. A distinct smell of sulfur hung in the air and as Tor Lir approached, he saw a dark throne made of wood and ivy dripping with sap. A creature made of bone knelt before it. It had three claws for fingers and each clawed hand gripped the side of its head as it knelt, facing away from the throne and howling. It had a long snout like a crocodile and a crown of antlers curved up from its head. Long bones made up its limbs and although it roared in fury, a creeping sensation of angst came over Tor Lir. He swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than to back away. Hollow words twisted through his memory. A cloud of darkness. A green shimmer. A knowledge forced on him when he did not want it. Dread sat heavy on his heart because he wanted to understand and yet he wanted to flee lest the darkness enter and corrupt him.

Forcing himself to move, he took a tentative step, trying to see what the creature was facing. Something white darted out of the woods and sprang in front of him, snarling. As the thing reached for him, another flash of white appeared and bowled it over. The bone-white creature stood before him, her limbs shaking and her eyes cast down.

Tor Lir glanced from her to the creature lying headlong in the ground. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“My allegiance was to the Master, but the bonds are breaking,” the creature whispered, her silver hair hiding her face. She reached out her white fingers and locked them around Tor Lir’s waist. “If I give you my name, will you help?”

“What is your name?”

“Slyvain. I come from the woods. The Master of the Forest woke my tree and took over. He wants the dead to live again and become mortal, with flesh, to gain access to the Beyond.”

Questions swirled around Tor Lir’s mind and he reached out, caressing Slyvain’s cheek. “I am the Nameless One and I have come to help you. But why now? Why do you trust me now?”

Slyvain turned and pointed to the creature roaring in front of the throne. “Because now there is hope.”

Letting go of her, Tor Lir crept toward the throne and as he turned to see what caused the creature to roar, he saw Citrine. Her face was ghastly white and blood covered her mouth and chin, dripping onto the forest floor. Her vibrant hair had gone still, turning a gray white as if the life had gone out from it. Bright-red spots glimmered along her hairline and along her neck. As Tor Lir moved toward her, bone-white creatures dropped out of the treetops and a thrashing began in the underbrush.

“Agrim! Now!” Tor Lir shouted as he dashed for the tree where Citrine was tied. Grabbing a knife he’d borrowed from Agrim, he sliced through the rope, setting her free. But Citrine did not move. She sagged more heavily against the tree, her arms pinned behind her back.

Tor Lir dashed around the tree, noticing the Tribe of Fyn shouting out their battle cries as they swung down from hidden perches. Clubs flew and the bone-white creatures shrieked under the assault. The black panthers leaped into the air, ripping vines, limbs, bones, and anything else they could sink their teeth into. Tor Lir wrapped an arm around Citrine’s waist and grabbed her hands, cutting them free. Her eyes opened, glazed and unseeing. Her full weight sagged into his arms.

The smell of sulfur increased and Tor Lir backed away from the roaring creatures just as something struck him on the back. He dropped Citrine and tumbled head over heels, his back slamming into the throne. He regained his footing and crouched, realizing how worthless his bow was in such close combat. As he faced the creature, he saw it was the four-legged beast who’d first driven him into the forest. The beast growled and swished its tail, preparing to pounce.

40

WINNER TAKES ALL

ZAUL. Citrine blinked as her vision cleared. She felt Zaul near, but he was still under the grip of the Master and about to attack Tor Lir. It surprised her that Tor Lir had come to her rescue. Her preconceived notions of him drifted away.

Zaul. She tried again as her beast charged Tor Lir. Her ears rang as she pushed her worn body to her knees. Bending over, she spit blood into the dirt and wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing blood down her arm. Focusing her will, she hurled threads of communication at Zaul, who tore over the ground, teeth glittering in his mouth as he opened them for a bite.

Tor Lir leaped and Zaul missed, but he swung his tail around, smacking trees, the loud sound ringing through the chaos of the battleground.

Zaul. Stop. He is not the enemy. Something broke within her and tears flooded down her face as she saw her beast charge again, ignoring her. Please, Zaul. Please stop. Come back to me. It’s Citrine.

A rough laugh cut through the air and she felt suspended as if someone had snatched her up by the hair. Citrine screamed, her legs kicking out, although she was still crouched in the mud.

Citrine. This time, the threads of communication were from the Master of the Forest. You broke through my boundaries, and I sense you stealing back control. You won’t earn another life to regret. This is your demise.

The laugh continued as the Master stood up, stretching out his claws toward Citrine. You tricked me once. I will not let it happen again.

Citrine threw up walls in her mind as she scurried away from the terrible hands and height of the Master’s fury. His laughter jarred her ears and her head throbbed as she recognized her weakness. Try as she might, she had nothing left to give.

Behind the Master, she saw Zaul strike Tor Lir and a bitter regret poured through her. This was her fault. She should never have gone to Paradise and left her beasts in what she knew was a deadly forest. She was losing them, one by one, because of her selfishness. She wanted a chance to regain her confidence, find herbs, and strike off for a new home, but the enchantment of Paradise held her fast. This was a punishment for her weakness.

Mustering her strength, she closed her eyes and gave it her all just as the ground exploded. A riot of confusion swept through the air and when Citrine opened her eyes, she saw Morag, his eyes blazing citrine as his monstrous, eel-like body, thick as a tree trunk, exploded out of the hole in the ground. His body wrapped around the Master of the Forest and pulled tight, once, then twice. A snapping sound gave way and white bone exploded as Morag twisted the Master. Morag bellowed in rage, a fierceness coming over him, and then as quickly as he’d come, he sank back down, taking the rest of the Master of the Forest with him.

Relief swept through Citrine as the threads of control snapped, setting the bone creatures free. Zaul stopped his attack, wagging his head in confusion. The bone creatures shattered into pieces, and Citrine collapsed. She caught her breath as she lay in the mud while blood trickled down her head and gathered in the corners of her mouth. It was over. They had won. She wondered, briefly, if she would die, for her mind hurt and throbbed as if it would explode. Her fists fell open and her fingers shook as she lay in the muck around the shattered white bone. A faint song began in her heart, and thoughts took her back to her first memory of the land.

She stumbled out of the forest, lame and weary, her heart lifting as Paradise greeted her. Novor Tur-Woodberry skipped over a hill, his merry eyes twinkling at her as he introduced himself. She felt mischief rise in her body, which changed to hope as Novor Tur-Woodberry pressed her hand. He was pure goodness.

Thoughts of chaos faded as he led her to his home, where the Singing Men danced and the house grew out of nature, welcoming her home to Paradise. She forgot her unhappiness snatched by the incident in the village. She sat down in a chair by the roaring fire and for the first time in her life, she was completely and utterly content.

A sob shook her throat, and a hand lifted her head. Her eyes fluttered open and met emerald green. Concern covered Tor Lir’s face as he lifted her in his arms. “You did it.” Citrine thought she detected a hint of pride in his voice. “Look at what you have wrought. You saved the forest. You saved Paradise. We can go home.”

Citrine lifted her hand and squeezed Tor Lir’s shoulder. “I don’t know if we saved Paradise. The Master sent his minions there at sunrise. It might be destroyed now.”

“We will go see,” Tor Lir suggested. “Can you stand?”

Citrine sat up and found Zaul at her side. She threw her arms around him, rubbing her fingers down his rough, scaly back. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I am so sorry I let you down. I failed you. Never again.”

Zaul nuzzled her while black panthers gathered. Citrine saw, in confusion, the waif who’d given her the skull. Citrine stiffened when she saw Agrim and the Tribe of Fyn, but they only nodded at her without a hint of aggression.

“Who are these people?” Citrine looked to Tor Lir.

He smiled, his eyes lighting up oddly. “As I told you. We needed help. This is Agrim’s army.”

“Are you coming with us to Paradise?” she asked them.

“Only as far as the forest,” Agrim announced. “In exchange, you take your beasts from the forest and never let them threaten the cycle of life in the Boundary Line Forest.”

Citrine met his dark gaze, understanding his needs as a leader. “I agree.”

She sent out feelers through her mind, relieved the voices from the Master and his beasts were gone. Ava. Grift. Zaul. Morag. It's time to enter Paradise.

41

GREEN GRASS DYING

SILENCE HUNG heavy in the air. The faint call of an owl had been silenced and the whisper of a bird’s song came no more to listening ears. The lighthearted jolliness that once embedded the lush hills with hope and merriment had forsaken Paradise. Shards of white bone covered the once green land as Citrine walked with Zaul and Tor Lir out of the Boundary Line Forest. Citrine gasped, a mix of grief and relief swirling through her. Grift and Ava alighted on the blackened ground while Morag’s deep voice sounded in her mind. Banished from our forest . . . hmm . . . shall I meet you where the water turns to jade?

Are you going to the Jaded Sea?

Aye.

Carry on, Morag, but talk to me often. I need you.

Where there is water, I will find you.

Citrine felt the threads of communication fade and she turned to Grift, wrapping her arms around his golden neck. His feathers brushed her cheek, and she inhaled, thankful her beasts were with her again and the minions of the Master lay scattered in pieces in Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land. However, the blackened ground frightened her, and she swallowed hard, glancing at Tor Lir to see his reaction.

Tor Lir took a step, the black grass and white bone cracking under his feet. The sound echoed in a cadence and faded into the prairie. “Can you still move through portals in the land? Like Novor Tur-Woodberry and his Singing Men?”

Citrine chewed her bottom lip, giving voice to her fears. “No. Not anymore. Where do you think they are? What if they’re dead?”

Tor Lir glanced at her. Citrine noticed ever since her battle with the Master, his mannerisms toward her had gentled. He reached out a hand, and she moved away, declining his touch. There was still something odd about him.

Ride me. Grift’s suggestion drifted into her mind. We’ll fly over the land and see who’s left.

I flew over the land earlier. Ava joined their conversation. I saw a shimmering in the middle.

Citrine felt a sickness in the bottom of her belly. “Tor Lir, we’re going to fly.”

Ava let Tor Lir mount her back with a sassy remark. He’s beautiful. I’d let him ride me whenever he wants.

Ava, he’s only with us temporarily.

You should keep him. He’s wise to your impulsive ways.

Ava.

What? We have to leave anyway—he might prove useful.

I don’t want to talk about this right now.

You never want to talk about him.

Ignoring Ava’s remark, Citrine swung onto Grift’s back, her legs gripping his body, which was slim and muscular like a cat’s. He had the head of an eagle-like bird and the body of a lion. Spreading his golden wings, he took off in a run across the land, catching the waves of the wind as he lifted off.

Ava flew above them, stretching her long, serpent-like neck. A cloud of smoke drifted from her nostrils and she snapped at something in the air, catching it between her teeth and swallowing it. Citrine blinked back tears, cursing herself at almost losing her beasts again.

White bone continued to litter the ground as they flew, some including chunks of flesh. The land was silent. Dead. As if no one had ever tread there. When Citrine listened, the song of the land was gone. No more words about Novor Tur-Woodberry and his greatness. The trees seemed dejected. The grass was black and bowed over as if crushed by oppression.

Citrine felt her heart seize and sometime later, her breath caught as she saw a shimmering in the land. It lay in the valley where Novor Tur-Woodberry’s thatched cottage used to sit and as they grew closer, a castle appeared in the valley, pointed and round towers shooting off from it. Ava. Grift. Land here. Zaul, catch up when you can. We are in the middle of the land.

As they moved into view, a male darted out from the shadow of the valley and dashed away from them.

“Triften!” Citrine shouted as they landed. She tumbled off Grift’s back in a manner quite unladylike and ran after the male, waving her arms. “Triften, it’s okay, it’s me. Citrine!”

“Citrine?” Triften turned around, his eyes glistening with a liquid and his light hair disheveled.

“What happened?” Citrine stopped an arm’s length from Triften.

He closed the gap between them, slinging an arm around her shoulder and embracing her.

Citrine kept her arms by her side, her bruises stinging as he touched her. “These bone-white creatures came out of the woods and destroyed everything . . . but what about you? What happened?” Triften’s piercing blue eyes stared at her, taking in the smeared blood on her face and arms to the sap still crusted on her hands. He rubbed her shoulders, sympathy appearing on his youthful face.

Citrine frowned, grabbing his arm. “The Master of the Forest is dead, but where is Novor Tur-Woodberry? Where are the people of the land? Are they safe?” She couldn’t keep the rising panic out of her voice as her dirty fingernails dug into Triften’s arm.

“Most of them, yes. They are at the home of Novor Tur-Woodberry. The onslaught ceased, and the creatures shattered into pieces, but they broke something. The magic of the land is gone. I’m afraid Novor Tur-Woodberry will leave.”

“No.” Citrine blinked back tears as she let go of Triften and ran to the castle.

An arched doorway flew open and there stood the friendly giant. The merriment in his eyes was gone and his face held a weathered and somber look about it. “Citrine,” he rumbled in his deep voice. A great sorrow filled her, and she felt as if she were treading water with nowhere to go, slowly sinking.

She covered the distance in a matter of seconds, sinking to her knees in front of Novor Tur-Woodberry. She folded her fingers into his hand and brought it to her cheek, inhaling his scent of all that was great and good in the world. “Novor Tur-Woodberry. I beg your forgiveness. This is my fault. The Master of the Forest exerted his control over me and I did not stop it until it was too late. But please, tell me, can you fix this? Will you stay and make the land whole again? I will help. I will do anything. Just please, please don’t leave me.”

“My dear.” Novor Tur-Woodberry placed a hand on her head like a blessing before he lifted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “As I told you before, my time has come. It is time to say goodbye.”

“No. Please.” Citrine felt the tears brim over in her eyes, but he held her gaze. “Please don’t leave. We aren’t ready. I’m not ready for something new. I need you.” A sob burst from her throat and she held her breath, trying to force it away. A rush of wind filled the air, but Citrine kept her eyes on Novor Tur-Woodberry as if she could hold him there. Her heart beat with desperation to save him and to save the land.

“Listen.” Novor Tur-Woodberry wiped the tears from her eyes with the pads of his fingers. He caressed the map of her face as he spoke. “There is nothing you can do to stop this, but the Creator has brought you a companion, Tor Lir, and the wind lady has brought a gift to the land. I will not say, ‘Do not grieve,’ for grief is healing. But our time together, no matter how short, has ended. It is time for the cleansing winds to blow and then I will take my leave.”

Citrine squeezed his hand and let her bitter tears flow over them. She shook her head, knowing there was nothing she could do, yet desiring to stop it all the same. The heavy feeling in her gut was the knowledge that it was all her fault. Her actions had driven Novor Tur-Woodberry away and destroyed his land. It was a heavy guilt to live with, and even all the fighting she’d done could not make it right.

“Don’t blame yourself.” Novor Tur-Woodberry pulled her up. “Come, stand beside me, and watch what will take place.”

A gust blew over her and Novor Tur-Woodberry. She nodded at his words, although nothing he said would take the guilt away in her heart. Brushing away her tears, although she knew they would flow again, she watched as a lady and a child appeared out of the wind.

The child looked to be about ten years of age and had long dark hair and skin as brown as a nut. She smiled, showing off her white teeth as she flew out of the breeze to Novor Tur-Woodberry. Placing her hands palms together, she bowed her head, her silky black hair cascading around her shoulders. She blinked, her eyelashes sweeping toward the ruined ground. “Novor Tur-Woodberry, my mother bade me come to you with the gift of wind. If you give your blessing, I will sweep this land from the abomination of beasts and leave no traces of the great evil that befell it.”

“You have my blessing, daughter of wind,” Novor Tur-Woodberry rumbled.

The child smiled again and, turning, she ran to her mother, grabbed her hand, and let the winds blow.

Citrine watched through tears as the wind picked up, taking the wind lady and her daughter and creating a cyclone. The shards of white bone whipped up in the wind as it moved over the land. Everywhere it touched wiped clean as if the Master of the Forest and his beasts had never entered the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry.

“Now what happens?” Citrine whispered as she stood beside Novor Tur-Woodberry, resting her head on his chest. “Can you stay?”

Triften and Tor Lir walked up to the castle and sat on the doorstep below them, watching, while Grift and Ava took to the skies, following the wind as if it were a game.

“Tell me what happened in the wood,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said instead.

Citrine watched Tor Lir lift his face, meeting her eyes. His emerald gaze was emotionless, yet he nodded as if encouraging her to speak. Trading off, they relayed the story of entering the wood, meeting the Tribe of Fyn, and defeating the Master of the Forest and his beasts. Citrine noticed Triften lifted his head to watch her from time to time, and she wondered if this would become one story he told over and over again. A quiet warning rose in her heart because she wanted no one to know she was the Enchantress and controlled rare, mythical beasts.

“You have done well.” Novor Tur-Woodberry nodded at Citrine and Tor Lir. “Do not worry about what happened here. Citrine, I have something to show you.”

He turned to the door of his home and waved his hand. A shimmering appeared in the air and the white orb appeared, suspended in the archway. Reaching out, Novor Tur-Woodberry lay his hand on it, and a picture appeared. Looking into it, Citrine saw the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. It appeared like a replica with the rolling hills and cottages perched on hilltops with smoke rolling out of chimneys.

“It’s your land. But I don’t understand?”

“The Silver-White Heart captured a replica of my land within it and saved the people who escaped the rampage of the beasts. Once I expelled the darkness inside the Silver-White Heart, I brought it to my home, this castle.”

“You mean everything is okay?” Citrine felt a spark of hope in her heart, like a light beam in a dark room.

“Yes, but I must leave and all those who remain on my land may come with me.”

Citrine opened her mouth to ask, but the words died on her lips and she understood. She was not welcome in this new land. “Will I ever see you again?” she asked.

“The opening to my land may appear from time to time to weary travelers,” Novor Tur-Woodberry mused. “But evil will never touch this land.”

A song rose in the air as the orb drifted back into the home of Novor Tur-Woodberry, allowing the Singing Men to perch on the doorstep. Their voices blended in a harmonic tune, a bittersweet song of goodbye ringing out as the wind cured the land from the scourge of evil.

“It is time.” Novor Tur-Woodberry lifted his hands and took a step back.

42

FADE FROM VIEW

TOR LIR STOOD BACK as the beasts flew overhead. Grift’s golden wings caught rays of the green light in the sky while Ava’s deep blue feathers added a richness to the colors dancing in the wind. The castle of Novor Tur-Woodberry shimmered. The winds blew around it and when he glanced across the land, he saw the shards of white bone had vanished and white flowers had grown in a matter of seconds, too quick for his eyes to see. They bloomed across the land, sending a sweet scent into his nostrils.

What was once lush and green was now white prairie, like a bride on the day she took a mate. He recalled the white petals and golden liquor from the celebrations the Iaens had, with sweet songs and whimsical music as they wished the couple an enchanting life together.

A shudder shook the ground. Zaul growled and swished his tail as he stood beside Citrine. Tor Lir flinched each time he looked at the creature, understanding its mind was no longer possessed but recalling the dissatisfying feeling of being attacked. Citrine lifted her head and tears flowed down her face, her odd eyes clouded in a haze of sorrow.

Tor Lir felt something like emotion touch his heart, and he shook himself. He recalled his words to the green giantess. I do not love, and therefore I will not destroy the world because of love . . . I am not swayed by emotion.

He watched the people of the land flood out of the castle, lifting their arms and shouting bittersweet words to each other. Triften and Citrine wove around the people, embracing, laughing, and crying with them as they said goodbye. A multitude of children with long light hair shouted in merriment as they recanted their trials and tribulations when the bone creatures attacked.

Tor Lir crossed his arms as understanding washed over him. He understood why emotion moved mortals and why they loved each other. A knowing sat heavy on his heart and a tune rushed through his mind. Long may you live. Long may you prosper. He brushed the words away, a fear thudding in his heart. They had restored the balance; he felt it in his bones, but it was time to move on, time to leave.

Another quake shook the ground and Tor Lir closed his eyes, searching for the threads of imbalance. There was nothing but peace. But the forests of Shimla were still too close, and he wanted to leave the Eastern Hill Countries of the South World behind and pass into the west where there was no such thing as Daygone. A deep sensation of fear began in the pit of his stomach, and he wavered where he stood until a hand touched his shoulder.

“Tor Lir, look.”

Opening his eyes, he saw Citrine stood by his side, traces of tears still on her face. She pointed up at the castle. The winds rocked it out of the ground and somehow it lifted as if it had wings of a great beast. The castle floated upward as gently as a feather on the updraft of the wind. Suddenly, the glass windows of the house flew open, and the faces of the people of the land appeared, waving at them. Citrine lifted her hands and waved, a sudden smile coming to her face, curving her cheeks up and back. The wind blew her vibrant hair, and she looked like an enchantress, ready to call upon the world to do her biding.

The castle doors opened and Novor Tur-Woodberry and his Singing Men appeared with a song on their lips. The words weaved a harmonious tune as if a thousand creatures were singing them. They sang of the greatness of Novor Tur-Woodberry and his enchanted land, and how those weary of traveling and life might again find the passage to the hidden realm of Novor Tur-Woodberry.

Prisms of emerald and gold shot through the air, like falling stars, gracing the castle with a hidden glimpse of enchanted purity and joy. Then, like stars winking out, one by one, a shimmering hung in the air, much like the one Tor Lir had seen when he first visited the home of Novor Tur-Woodberry. The top most parts of the castle faded into the clouds, and little by little the entire castle faded from view as if it had never been. The only things that remained were the song in the air and the sweet fragrance from the white flowers.

“Whenever you see white flowers and hear the song in the air, you’ll know you’re close to entering the hidden land of Novor Tur-Woodberry,” Triften whispered.

Tor Lir eyed him, for he could not recall meeting the male before. Triften’s blue eyes had a lost look to them, as if he wished for something he could not obtain. He noticed Tor Lir looking at him and turned, a light in his eyes as the winds faded away with the castle. “I’m Triften the Storyteller.”

Tor Lir gave him a nod to acknowledge he’d heard him but said nothing else.

“Now this is an exciting tale, one I have not had for many years,” Triften mused. “I must tell others what I have seen and heard here. Citrine, where are you going now?”

“I don’t know.” Citrine was quiet, her eyes roving back and forth as she watched her beasts. Tor Lir wondered if she were speaking to them.

“Citrine?” Tor Lir called her attention away from the beasts. “Will you come with me?”

“Me?” Citrine dropped a hand over her heart and gave him a wry look as if she did not believe his request.

Tor Lir smirked, watching the way her eyes widened and nostrils flared. “Aye. I thought we did well in the forest; besides, it will be much easier to keep an eye on your mischief if you come with me.”

“I promised my beasts a home—”

“And you haven’t found it yet.” Tor Lir slid his eyes over to examine Triften, wondering what the storyteller knew of Citrine’s true power. “You cause many things, and I need you to come with me. At some point, I promise I will find a home fit for you and your beasts, where you will not riot on the freedom of others.”

“Promises.” Citrine’s lips curved upward. “I do not believe in promises. Where will you go?”

“Wherever I am needed. I go where there is mischief.”

Citrine smiled, although traces of sorrow stayed in her eyes. “I don’t know where else to go. I will go with you until a better offer is given.”

“Aye then, that is enough for me.” Tor Lir felt a sensation of relief.

Citrine turned to Triften, who was staring at the beasts in the sky above, his finger pointing up. “Will you come with us?”

Triften’s hand came down, his mouth open as he glanced at Citrine. “Your beasts?” He stared.

“Will you come with us?” Citrine repeated.

“For a night or two,” he agreed. “Tell me the story again, so I may remember it. Tell me what happened in the forest and of these beasts you speak of.”

“It’s a wild story,” Citrine said. “Others may not believe it.”

“The world is fresh and young,” Triften disagreed. “People believe in everything.”

“Come on then,” Tor Lir called as he strode through the white flowers.

When he glanced back, he saw Citrine staring at the place where Novor Tur-Woodberry’s castle had faded, and the song of the land whispered through the wind.

43

A NEW QUEST

TRIFTEN ROLLED up his bedroll and gave Citrine his best smile, one that imparted hope and health. He’d walked with Citrine and Tor Lir through the white flowers for two days as new life rolled into the meadow. Yellow butterflies flittered through the air and the songs of the birds gave life to the meadow. New trees sprouted up, growing at an uncanny speed.

Triften nodded at Tor Lir, the nameless one, trying to keep from staring at the odd male. His emerald-green eyes reminded Triften of someone he’d lost.

Alarm bells rang in his mind as he told Citrine and Tor Lir goodbye. It was time for him to go to the annual gathering of the Disciples of Ithar, and this time he had a tale for them. Excitement made his fingers shake as he adjusted the bedroll on his back.

It would surprise the disciples to find the new breed had risen and was already at large. Triften could not believe his fortune. He would be the one to bring life-changing news to the disciples. It had been a long time since he’d had an adventure in his nomadic life. Once the decree concerning the new breed went forth, he would have a reason and purpose for living once again.

As he set off toward the fortress on the eastern end of the land, he glanced back once more to confirm his knowledge. Tor Lir and Citrine stood on a hill, the sun in their faces as they walked west. He saw Citrine’s shadow as she held her hands out, running her fingers through the white blossoms. He shuddered, recalling the parchment he’d taken from her cottage. Hidden mysteries surrounded her, but it was Tor Lir who frightened him. He did not have a shadow.

REALM OF MORTALS

LEGEND OF THE NAMELESS ONE BOOK TWO

1

IMBALANCE

Autumn. Year 966.

Sanga Sang. The South World

WHITE LIGHTNING LIT up the interior of the cave, followed by a booming crack of thunder. The rocky cliff shook and a scattering of rocks crashed into the restless waves of the Jaded Sea. Citrine opened her lemon-yellow eyes and watched the storm rage. Silver rain poured out of the blue-black sky like a betrayed giant blubbering, turning into a foggy mist as it scattered across the seaside cliff. Citrine nestled deeper into the comfort of Grift’s furry back where she’d fallen asleep, and lazily reached out a hand to stroke the leather-bound book which had tumbled onto the rug beneath her.

Hard to sleep during a storm, aye, Grift’s words drifted into her thoughts.

Citrine smiled, lifting the hefty tome onto her lap and snuggling against the warm, golden fur. Aye. I should work, not sleep.

Rest. The book is almost done, Grift said.

Citrine shook her head. Nay, it will never be truly finished. There are many spells to gather from across the world. A lifetime would not give me the knowledge I need.

Grift purred at the word knowledge. He was a great golden griffin, with the body of a lion and the head of an eagle. His yearning for wisdom was so intense he often tasted other creatures just to glean the flavor of wisdom from their flesh.

If you tell me what you seek, I will search during my next hunt.

I enjoy your company. Stay with me tonight.

As you wish. Mistress.

Citrine smiled as she flipped through the book, the black ink of her neat handwriting shining even as the last embers of her fire faded. The cave served as a temporary home for her beasts and a hiding place near the seaport city of Sanga Sang.

A year had passed since her battle with the Master of the Forest and her brief sojourn in the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry, the land that appeared as if it never was. At times it seemed like a dream, except for the constant whispers. When she opened her mind, Citrine could connect to the voices of living creatures, and now that she knew how to open and close access to her mind, she’d sit and listen, searching for knowledge. It was more efficient than Grift’s method of eating bizarre creatures.

The year had given Citrine the opportunity to work on her book of spells while Tor Lir, restless and curious about the realm of mortals, pushed for them to cross the sea into the west. While Citrine was content with the mysteries of the Eastern Hill Countries of the South World, she had a strong curiosity about Tor Lir and wanted to keep up with his actions. She could not say she liked him very much—he was annoying and naïve concerning the ways of mortals—but there was something about him that made her stay. Perhaps because it was what Novor Tur-Woodberry wanted. He’d appointed her as Tor Lir’s guardian, and something about knowing Novor Tur-Woodberry would approve made her protective of Tor Lir and his mysterious abilities.

The strength of the wind drove rain into the front of the cave, and Citrine curled her legs under her, yawning as she reached for her blanket to protect from the dampness of the Jaded Sea. A moment later, there was a soft thump, and Zaul crawled into the cave. His curved fangs stuck out of his mouth, and rain poured off of his moss-green scales. Zaul resembled a cross between a crocodile and a lizard. Over the past year he’d grown significantly. His tail was now four feet long, though his short body was only three feet. One glance at his claws and teeth was terrifying, but Citrine smirked at him. Don’t come near me with your wet hide.

Water is essential to all life cycles, Zaul returned, unabashed. He loved the water. He shook his hide, flinging rain drops in all directions.

Zaul! Citrine playfully scolded him, pretending to duck from the droplets of moisture that came nowhere near her.

With a humph, Zaul settled near the cave entrance, serving as a guard while enjoying the evening storm.

Citrine reached for a stick to poke the fire back into life, but halted when a shiver went down her spine. She froze, rigid as an unknown terror gripped her and caused her vision to alter.

She was in the storm, screaming into the unknown. Her great wings beat against the rain and the lightning that came dangerously close to singeing her slick, furry pelt. The wind howled in circles, but she was conscious only of the voice beyond the storm. A deep moan rose from the pit of her being with an intensity so strong she felt the depth of the emotions of devastation, fear, and depression. Fear congealed in her heart, and scenes of the past came back. Ice. Mountains. Stone walls. Commands. Beasts. One by one, scenes rapidly flashed, and it was all she could do to hold on to the version of herself she thought was true—for there was another version muddling her thoughts and forcing everything else to fade. It was wild to the core with a lust for ripping, tearing, and blood. It had destroyed her, and for that, every soul, every life, needed to pay. The stern voice commanded her again, and she wheeled in the storm. An unfinished stone building appeared, and she dropped toward it.

Just as suddenly, the grip left her. Citrine came to, gasping and coughing. She leapt up from her position and spun around, relieved to feel solid ground beneath her feet. A prick in her hand made her realize she still held the branch, and was squeezing it so tightly the rough wood had punctured her skin in places and forced a small stream of blood to drip out. She dropped it, dusting the blood off her palm with her other hand and taking deep breaths to control herself.

What’s wrong? Grift swung his curved beak toward her.

Citrine shook her head from side to side as the sense of desperation continued to fade. I heard something in the storm. Someone or something is in trouble.

Grift rose and padded to the cave opening to stand beside Zaul. His golden wings lifted off his back. Should I hunt?

I don’t know where or what it was. Citrine grew quiet as echoes of the sensation clutched her again, but this time the voice was far away. Closing her eyes, she listened for the confused cry of sorrow to echo through her mind once again. I don’t know. She hesitated. Then called out. Ava? Where are you?

A beat of silence came and then. . . Hunting. But I can’t hunt if you keep interrupting. There’s a delicious lamb out here, caught in a snare, and oh the rain is keeping it from home. I must save it by eating it.

Grisly details I don’t want to know, Ava. Carry on.

You asked, Ava’s sarcastic remark faded into the storm.

Citrine took a deep breath and searched for the newest beast in her collection, the one she felt she’d let down the most. Morag. Oh, wise one. Tell me. Are you safe? I heard a voice in the wind, disoriented and confused.

Enchantress. Even though it was only a thought, Citrine could imagine Morag’s eel-like body gliding through the waves while sea-water cascaded off his white horns. He was a fearsome water-beast, immense and terrifying. She was frightened of him coming too close to the port of Sanga Sang. Ships went in and out at all hours, and if someone spotted him, there could be a real disaster. Sanga Sang had enough fighting males to muster a small army to take down any sea creature that might cause potential harm to their harbor and flourishing trade. I face no obstacles, but I must save my breath. My mission was successful and I will return to your side to share what I learned.

Morag. That is good news. I look forward to your safe return.

Milady.

The connection to him faded, and yet Citrine couldn’t shake the sense something was wrong. She poked at the coals again, and a tiny flame flared up. She moved over it, blowing to coax it back to life, feeding grass and leaves into the fire, one at a time.

Something is wrong, Grift. Does the next market take place tomorrow?

Aye.

Then I shall find out what information I can glean from the gossipers in the marketplace. I think it is time I seek Tor Lir and ask him what he’s discovered from his work. Perhaps he knows more than I do. Perhaps there is an imbalance.

The storm raged on as Citrine peered out into the night, and the sensation came again. Something horrific was going on. It was time to come out of hiding and get to work.

2

MARKET DAY

SILVER COINS CLATTERED across the wood, and rocked the uneven table with their weight. The legs made soft thumps on the dirt floor. Zilpha snatched the coins into a pouch, fingers shaking. Two coins short. But today was market day. She’d sell baskets and make enough to pay off her debt and live without fear of being cast out of the hut she shared with her brother. “Bram?” she called out. Where was he? The hut had two rooms and one window, giving little light. When she peered into the other room, despite the darkness, Zilpha knew Bram wasn’t there. Frowning, Zilpha pulled her long skirt up to her hips and tied the leather pouch of money around her waist. Tomorrow she’d go to Lord Arden’s manor house to pay off her debt. She sagged against the door at the thought.

The neigh of a horse broke the stillness of the air and Zilpha smiled. A warm sensation swept through her body as she walked outside into sunshine, and waved at her friend.

Mathilda’s wagon pulled up. The mare pranced impatiently at the sudden halt. “Zilpha,” Mathilda waved and jumped down from the wagon, her long braid of blond hair swinging beside her. Mathilda was tall and willowy with hair the color of butter and freckles across her nose. Her hazel eyes were large in her round face and long lashes gave her an air of innocence. Zilpha always felt inadequate beside Mathilda. She felt too short, too thin, and too dark. But Mathilda’s kindness bridged all sensations of jealousy. She had a motherly persona, the result of being one of the oldest out of twelve brothers and sisters. “Last market day before the harvest!”

“And the harvest festival,” Zilpha said, wrapping her arms around her supply of woven baskets. “Seven days until the merriment begins.”

Mathilda giggled, her joy ringing out like the peals of a bell. “It’s our first festival now that we are of age.” She wiggled her eyebrows, dropping her voice. “It will be marrying time soon.”

“Now you are of age,” Zilpha blurted out, immediately wishing she could take it back. She and Mathilda appeared to be the same age, but Zilpha, at twenty-three, was five years older.

Mathilda reached over and rubbed Zilpha’s shoulder. “Aye, you speak truth, at least I won’t be holding you back any longer.”

“Mathilda, you never hold me back,” Zilpha disagreed as they loaded the baskets into the bed of the wagon.

Mathilda shrugged as she swung up on the seat. “Ochmead would have joined us, but with the harvest my father needs all the help he can get, so it’s just us two today. Father said we should be back well before sundown though.”

Zilpha nodded as she settled on top of the wagon seat and Mathilda picked up the reins, clicking her tongue to the old gray mare.

Mathilda’s family owned one of the largest farms in Sanga Sang and lived on the outskirts of the city where the wide open fields were lush with pastures for growing fruits, vegetables, and wheat. Sanga Sang was a hub of activity. It butted up against the Jaded Sea and served as a port for ships which brought all kinds of trade into the flourishing city.

Sanga Sang was one of the more advanced cities in the South World. Because of the seaport it brought a flurry of travelers from exotic locations with slight cultural differences. Most newcomers looked to book passage on a ship or cross into the west where kingdoms enticed warriors, traders and families looking to start anew. But once they reached the city, they took some time to enjoy the food, conversation and unique treasures it offered. Zilpha looked on the travelers with admiration when they came in from port, bragging about their grand adventures on the other side of the sea. Since the war between the mortals and immortals ended over twenty years ago, Sanga Sang had done nothing but flourish and grow, bringing together a mixture of the four people groups to revolutionize the city.

Market days were Zilpha’s favorites because not only did she get to earn money to pay down her debt, but she also got to experience a taste of the glories of adventure and listen to the stories told by travelers. There was only one event greater than the weekly markets, and that was the annual Harvest Festival.

“Speaking of brothers, have you seen Bram?” Zilpha asked as the wagon rumbled down the road, creaking and swaying.

Mathilda tilted her head, keeping her hazel eyes on the dirt road while her cheeks turned red. Zilpha suspected Mathilda and Bram had a liking for each other, Bram being twenty-one and more than ready to be married. He was tall and strong and worked for Mathilda’s father in the fields.

Zilpha knew his coins could help her pay off the debt faster, but as the eldest, it was her responsibility, plus he was saving for his future wife. He had a chance at a normal life, and she could not take that away from him. Besides, it was her fault. He did not need to know what she’d done to incur such a debt.

“Bram? I thought he was working the fields. You know it is harvest and they are quite busy.”

Zilpha lifted a hand and clutched her shell necklace, running her hands over the lines as she did whenever worries struck her. “I just wondered. He hasn’t been home in a few days.”

Mathilda stubbornly kept her gaze on the road, her mouth turning up just a hint. “Father has huts near the fields, so workers who are too tired to go home can stay there. Perhaps that’s where Bram is.”

“Aye, you’re right, I shouldn’t worry. It’s just…I thought he would tell me.”

Mathilda’s hand grasped her wrist. “Oh, I forget. You’re alone. I’m sure Mama wouldn’t mind if you came and stayed with us, at least through harvest. It’s not safe to be by yourself—” she trailed off.

Zilpha shrugged. “It’s not that I’m afraid…I just don’t know how to describe it…”

“You’re the last hut on the row, and there’s nothing but Lord Arden’s land.”

Zilpha uttered an oath under her breath.

“Did I say something wrong? You’re turning pink.”

“No,” Zilpha squeezed the necklace hard, letting it make indents on her fingers. “Lord Arden, that’s all. He’s not the kindest person.

“Nay, it would be best to stay out of his way.” Mathilda nodded. “If you feel unsafe; come stay with us for a time, maybe Father will let us stay at one of the huts. Wouldn’t that be a lark?” Mathilda giggled.

“It’s just…” Zilpha could not explain why she didn’t want to go. “I’d have to move my weaving supplies and all. It would take a wagonload.”

“Nonsense,” Mathilda scolded. “We are more than happy to share our resources with you.”

Zilpha frowned, watching the dirt churn up under the mare’s hooves. That was what she hated—the assumption she was poor and could not care for herself. Her shoulders sagged. She was. But after she paid the debt, there would be coin for everything. Bram could marry, and she could plant a garden, weave more baskets, and take care of herself. A longing rose in her throat, and she hastily tucked the thought away. When would it be her turn? When would she be able to marry? Or had she cursed herself with her past actions?

The mare slowed down as a hill swelled before them and the vibrant city of Sanga Sang came into view. Zilpha sat up straight, sniffing the air as she eyed the city. It perched on a hill. A gray tower was the high point, and the city cascaded down in a circle of crisscross streets towards the Jaded Sea. The crisp scent of sea water hung in the air combined with the stink of fresh-caught fish. The delectable tang of baked goods blended with unwashed bodies. The citizens of Sanga Sang believed in sweat and hard work, rewarded afterward with tall tales around wine and tankards of ale.

Mathilda sighed beside Zilpha, her face flushing with anticipation. Reaching over, she squeezed Zilpha’s arm. “Look at it.”

“The city?” Zilpha nodded. “I know what you mean. It’s glorious.”

The cobblestone streets shone in the twin lights of the sky: the sun and the Green Light. All signs of nature faded as they entered the city, and the horse hooves clopped over the paved road while the din of voices drowned out all thoughts. Zilpha stared, wide-eyed, at the pointed roofs of the manor homes and shops. The wealthy lived in the city close to the tower, under the protection of the city warden, for Sanga Sang did not have a king and paid tribute to Ellsmore, one of the largest cities in the region.

Narrow roads grew wider, and children laughed and played, chasing runaway chickens and dashing through the narrow alleys between homes and shops. They shouted with mischief, free and wild as they chased each other. Green bushes peeked up from the cluttered rooftops and occasionally a bright flower added color. Gray stone walls blocked important homes from the road, hindering thieves and destitute lost souls.

Sanga Sang had its share of problems, and Zilpha shuddered as they passed a bald child, huddling in an alley, bones sticking out from starvation. It was a fate she’d barely escaped. The war had ripped her family apart, and when it ended she did not know where her mother, father, sisters and brothers had gone. There was no knowing if they were dead or alive. She and Bram were the only ones left. Leaving Ellsmore, her homeland, she had traveled south to Sanga Sang where there was the promise of a new life. That did not disappoint. She tucked the feeling of abandonment far away. If it happened once, it could happen again.

Sudden tears sprung to her eyes, and she blinked them away as Mathilda pulled the mare to a halt. Swinging down, she tossed the reins over the water trough where the mare would stand and graze on oats and water until their time at the market was done.

“I wonder if she will be here today.” Mathilda moved to their stall—a wide table where they could place their wares and easily be seen by passersby.

Zilpha jerked, shaking her head as she glanced over the marketplace. “Look.” She pointed. “She’s already here, in her usual place.”

Zilpha and Mathilda liked to watch the people of the marketplace, and there was a lady who never ceased to astonish them. She had an eerie confidence and beauty about her, and her hair color never seemed to be the same. Today it looked rather green. She was quite tall, which Zilpha assumed meant she was of the people group called Tiders. Tiders were known for their tan skin, usually stood between six to seven feet tall, and lived at high altitudes.

“Aye, she’s so strong, standing over there by herself,” Mathilda murmured as she set out vegetables from the garden.

“They call her Citrine,” Zilpha whispered, as if they would be overhead in the noisy marketplace. “She has a gift with herbs. They say if you have an ailment or a trouble of any sort, or even if you need luck, she can help.”

“How odd.” Mathilda paused her work, placing a hand over her heart. “I hope what she does aligns with the Creator. We risk the wrath of the unknown if she practices the dark arts.”

Zilpha swallowed hard and dropped her head, hastily lifting baskets to place on the stand. “No one practices the dark arts; the power was destroyed during the war.”

“I hope you’re right,” Mathilda said. “All the same, the friar who preaches the way of the Creator, warns against people like her, who listen to the voice of nature instead of the voice of the one who created them. The Disciples of Ithar keep watch. If anything unusual happens, we must report to them.”

Zilpha turned away in annoyance. Mathilda was often strict about her beliefs, and Zilpha didn’t know if she agreed.

Mathilda’s hand came out, pinching Zilpha’s arm. “Zilpha…” Her voice dropped to a conversational whisper. “Look, is that Lord Arden’s daughter? Hava? She’s setting up a booth here, in the marketplace. I thought she was above us. She shouldn’t be here.”

Zilpha shrugged, still placing her baskets. “There’s no law that says she can’t be here. It’s a free market.”

“I know but look. Zilpha!” Mathilda’s voice rose to crescendo. “Look what she’s selling!”

Zilpha hesitated, reluctant to lift her head, knowing what she would see. Hava was beautiful, well endowed with straight white teeth and a glossy mane of chestnut hair. Heads turned when she passed, admiring her lean figure and the bright clothing she wore—the latest styles as known to the inhabitants of Sanga Sang. Hava openly wore two short swords on her back, as if she were proud of her training even though peace had invaded the South World over twenty years ago. Hava had everything Zilpha wanted—family, fame, and no worries about what she would eat, where she would lay her head, or how to get enough money to pay off a debt. She was strong and independent, and yet she was at the market.

Zilpha felt something vicious come over her. She gritted her teeth and balled her hands into fists. A submerged anger settled in her belly, and a pulsation began in her head, so strong it almost blocked out her vision. Hava—the girl with everything—dared to come to the marketplace to sell the same merchandise Zilpha sold. Hava’s family was known for luxurious cloth, and her father oversaw one of the largest farms which supported the city. Yet, despite all those advantages, there was Hava, all the same, with woven baskets.

Zilpha stared, a dull roar growing louder in her mind. The day she’d gone to Lord Arden came to the forefront of her mind. She was intelligent, and knew if she could have a loan to get materials for weaving baskets, she could make money. She’d walked through the marketplace, examining everything sold, and had found a lack of baskets. There was the lady with the bread, who struggled because she did not have a basket, and the ladies with the flowers—although Zilpha didn’t know why anyone would buy flowers. They could be freely picked in the wild and died quickly. Herbs, vegetables, breads, wood carvings, and cloth were plentiful in the market along with sweets for children. The blacksmith had a shop down the road, and so did the miller, within walking distance if a horse needed shoeing or flour was needed for bread. The people of the city wagged their tongues freely, and Zilpha soon discovered if she wanted a loan for supplies, she should seek Lord Arden, who was rich and powerful. It was a decision she sometimes regretted, for then had come the debt, and the monthly payments far exceeded what he had given her. A home was provided, with the knowledge everything she had would be ripped out from under her if she failed. But she had not. She worked hard and flourished but now, the day before her last payment, the day she only needed a few coins, there was Hava, with baskets.

“Zilpha. Zilpha!” Mathilda tugged on her sleeve, bringing her back to the present. “What she’s doing is awful. What are you going to do?”

Spinning, Zilpha kicked over a stack of baskets, tears smarting in her eyes. “What can I do? I can’t go over there and tell her not to sell baskets!”

“It has to be intentional. You’ve been the only basket weaver for the longest time,” Mathilda prattled on, her fingers skipping over green and red vegetables as she laid them out. Fat round tomatoes. Long thick cucumbers. Yellow curved squash. “It’s not fair. You should talk to her about it.”

Zilpha took a deep breath, attempting to calm the storm rising within, although her hands shook. “Maybe it’s okay. Everyone knows me and the quality of my work. They will come.”

But they didn’t.

The day passed, bringing the soldiers and ship hands in from the harbor. Children ran through, laughing and shouting, begging for errands to run in exchange for a coin so they could buy a sweet. Zilpha had them fetch water for herself and Mathilda and paid them with a penny each, borrowing from her precious stash. She remembered when she’d first come to the city and would have given anything to live off the generosity of strangers. Lucky for her, the city had been celebrating the enchantment of peace and generally the people were kind. Lately it seemed the reign of peace had gone to their heads, and the city wasn’t as friendly as it used to be.

Mathilda touched Zilpha’s shoulder. “The sun is getting low. We should pack up and return home before dusk.”

Zilpha blinked, eyeing her unsold merchandise with disappointment. Mathilda was right, but something inside Zilpha wanted to stay and investigate. She was curious about where Hava’s supply came from. Maybe if she could find it…Tempting thoughts of evil deeds rose in her mind.

“You go ahead. Take my merchandise. I will stay in the city a while longer and see what I can find out.”

“Is it wise? Who will escort you home after dark?”

“I’ll find someone. Are you afraid to ride back alone?”

“Nay, I have my knife, I’m just concerned about you. I know you’re upset, but it’s just a bad market day. Next week will be better. Or is it something else?”

Zilpha paused, twisting her hands together as she wondered if she should share her predicament with her friend. She glanced at Mathilda’s open and kind face. It would be helpful to have a friend share the burden of knowledge. She could not carry her debt alone. Perhaps she should have come clean sooner. “Actually. Yes—”

A shadow fell over their booth. “Ladies!”

Mathilda turned and Zilpha swallowed her words as she lifted her face to greet the male who stood over them.

He smelled like salt and seawater. Zilpha felt something funny inside her chest as her eyes ran over his bare arms. A crooked grin crossed his broad sun-kissed face, but it was his dimples that brought a smile to Zilpha’s face. No matter how she felt, seeing Irik always lightened her spirits.

Irik lifted a basket of fish, nodding at first Mathilda and letting his gaze linger on Zilpha’s face. “I brought you today’s latest catch—carp and bass from the Jaded Sea. I must apologize for not scaling them for you.”

His tight brown curls were wet as if he’d just come from a dip in the sea.

“Many thanks, Irik.” Mathilda reached out her hands for the basket. “You’re right on time. We’re about to load the wagon.”

“Ah, closing time. I’ll help before I head to the docks,” Irik said.

He was a young, strong fisher and spent most of his time out on the boats, pulling in fish from the Jaded Sea. Each week he came by with a fresh catch and a story or two of his adventures. Usually, Zilpha enjoyed his quick wit and easy banter, but today her eyes went to Hava’s booth where a cluster of people gathered around her bright cloth and baskets, handing her coins.

A bitter rage made Zilpha bite her tongue. How come some people had everything and others had nothing? The rich gained even more notoriety and fame while the poor, like herself, were struck with woes from all sides. She sighed and noticed both Mathilda and Irik staring at her. Her face grew warm, and she reached out, fumbling for unsold baskets. “I’m sorry…go ahead. I have errands to run. Mathilda, I will see you tomorrow. I’ll come get the baskets and fish. Irik. Thank you for your generosity.”

“Zilpha.” The grin left his face. “Perhaps another day? The harvest is coming…”

“Aye.” She brushed his words away and gathered her skirts in her hands, her eyes set on Hava’s booth.

“Zilpha!” Mathilda shouted something, but the final sentence blurred away.

Zilpha scurried into the crowded marketplace, losing herself in a throng of people. She saw Hava’s wagon, loaded up with the remnant of supplies, and moved after her. She didn’t know if she would confront Hava, or what she would say if she did. Her movements were bold and reckless, and yet, she could not help the surge of determination that moved through her. If not for Hava, her debt would be paid off. Hava’s actions were intentional and deliberate. Zilpha wanted to know why.

3

FOLLOWER

SOMEONE WAS FOLLOWING HER. Citrine was sure of it as she tucked the last of her herbs into her yellow handkerchief and left the marketplace. Turning a corner, she ducked into an alley and peered out at the throng that surged through the marketplace. The sun would set in just a few hours, and the peasants were hastening to return to the outskirts of town before night fell. The warm glow of street lamps lit up the shadows of the hulking buildings, their vast shapes blocking out the light.

A vague stench hung in the air, and Citrine wrinkled her nose. She disliked the city with the press of crowds, the stink of bodies, and the narrow alleyways zigzagging across the hillside on which the city perched. She preferred the open countryside, but Tor Lir wanted to understand the ways of mortals. Given her desire to write the book of spells, she appreciated being stationary for a while.

Frowning, she slipped down the alleyway toward her cave. The nagging sensation that someone was watching her did not fade. Earlier that day, she’d seen amber eyes, glowing as they studied her. But when she glanced back, they seemed to have disappeared. The odd vision of the distraught creature the previous day made her feel anxious and jumpy. She considered going to find Tor Lir—he kept a room at an inn in the city when he wasn’t working the farmland.

Tor Lir. He sought to find the balance while she searched for a home for her animals. Despite their differences, they were a great team and worked well together. Almost too well. As if the fates had been aligned.

Citrine. The light whisper broke through her thoughts. Eagerness pressed against her heart as she made her way uphill, toward the southern slope of the city.

Morag?

I return tonight. And there’s more; I bring news.

Excitement seized Citrine like the wind billowing through the sails of a ship.

We must discuss, Morag went on.

Aye, Morag. Let’s meet at the cliffs at sunset.

My lady. Until then.

The connection faded, and Citrine paused and rubbed the back of her neck. She allowed her thoughts to drift, hoping against hope Morag had, indeed, discovered what she sought. Months ago, when she and Tor Lir had reached Sanga Sang, she’d found enough herbs to cast a spell of protection over her beasts. It was vague and weak, but misdirected the eye. People who saw her beasts would instead mistake them for large animals. A bear. A deer. A fox even. But it wasn’t enough. Citrine wanted more and, taking advantage of the slow trickle of time in Sanga Sang, she had turned her attention to gathering the knowledge needed to rewrite her book of spells. But soon she’d discovered she needed supplies, which cost coin, and hence, she needed to trade. Setting up a booth at the marketplace, and later on, an herb shop near the shore, helped her purchase the supplies she needed. Then, one day, as she’d puzzled over how to protect her beasts and give them a haven, a home, her memory had unlocked the key.

Tales of old spoke of a line of Crons—one of the people groups of the South World known for their fair skin, short stature, and lust for adventure—called Treasure Hunters. A hunter was born with a unique eye color and a mythical power which could only be accessed to its full potential if the Treasure Hunter found the stone that matched their eye color. The hunt began when they were young, sometimes only twelve years of age, with a quest that could often take up a lifetime, fraught with perilous journeys through forest and field. Citrine felt light-headed at the idea of a quest, but it was the end goal she anticipated.

Citrine was a Tider, and out of the four people groups of the Four Worlds, Tiders were known for their height, love of mountains, and thoughtfulness. While Citrine desired knowledge and enjoyed compiling her book of spells, she did not lust for adventure the same way Crons did. However, she felt protective of her beasts and, given past negative experiences, Citrine had a reason to mistrust people. The city of Sanga Sang was full of individuals each with their own mysterious and often conniving goals. It was not safe for her to stay near such a great city and each passing day her discomfort grew. The spell of protection over her beasts would wear off after a time, and she needed, nay, she craved to find a place like the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry—a world that belonged to her and her creatures. To find it, she had to travel, and now that the book of spells was compiled—although she’d always add onto it as she learned more—with the coin she’d earned, it was a good time to hunt for a new home for her beasts.

In anticipation, she’d sent Morag ahead to seek out land. As a water serpent, it was much easier for him to transverse the Jaded Sea and listen to the tales sung by the monsters hiding in the green waters. She’d also asked him to seek out word about stones. It wasn’t so much that she desired to find the stone. It was the power she wanted, for she’d seen what could be done with power. It was Novor Tur-Woodberry—an immortal Duneíthaír who owned Paradise and kept it safe from evil—who had showed her what could be accomplished with power. She’d never considered walking in the footsteps of a true Enchantress, but after staying three months in a magical land where trouble ceased, she understood exactly what she wanted. Novor Tur-Woodberry’s paradise was gone, but she could create her own, and for that she needed land, and she needed a stone which allowed her to access powers beyond her current abilities.

4

WITHOUT CONSEQUENCE

TOR LIR NEEDED SLEEP. Weariness made his bones sag as he hunched over a tankard of ale, the bitter flavor lingering on his tongue and burning his throat as he took yet another sip. Uproarious conversation filled the air with a dull roar as mortals told stories, often shouting over each other as they shared empty words of no consequence, easily spoken and just as easily forgotten.

“Ye look tired, mate,” the male across from him drawled.

Tor Lir rested his fingers on the edge of his mug. The hour grew late, and yet she had not appeared. He glanced around the crowded tavern once more. “Is it always like this?”

“Aye, that’s the beauty of it, eh.” His companion’s voice slurred under the influence of ale.

Tor Lir frowned, narrowing his eyes at the male who sat across from him. Bram was his name, a lad from the city who’d been hired to work the harvest on one of the larger farmlands. Bram, Cedric, and Olms had joined him, for it was the night after the weekly market. The liveliest conversations could be found before and after market day at the tavern. All kinds of unlikely people flocked to the city, and with the coming harvest, the influx only grew.

Bram went on. “Ye say you’re searching for stories. Everyone has a story here. Whether it’s true or nay is the difficulty…”

He dipped his tongue back into his mug and chugged it until it was empty. With a drunken sigh, he slammed the mug onto the table, letting out a loud burp.

Tor Lir leaned back with disdain and unwrapped his fingers from around the mug of ale. He was done waiting. It was clear she wasn’t coming tonight. “I think I should go. This was a mistake.”

“Nay, mate…stay…” Bram slurred and swung a leg over the bench. He stood on two feet as he made his way back to the bar to order another tankard.

Tor Lir glanced at the other two males, but they were engrossed in conversation with two rather engaging females.

Tor Lir stepped outside of the tavern, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Two or three males, drunk on fine ale, burst out behind him and struck up a song as they stomped into the night. They still held mugs, lifted high as they stumbled from side to side, arms around each other to keep from falling face down in the cobblestone road and losing a tooth or two.

Tor Lir smirked and shook his head at the mannerisms of mortals. Narrowing his eyes, he pulled his hood over his dark head, turned his back on them and strode across the forsaken streets to his temporary living quarters. Perhaps she’d been delayed and would meet him there instead.

Torches at street corners gave a dim glow to the city, and provided visibility to the road, although he had the ability to see in the dark. The past year had been nothing but a learning experience as he dwelled among mortals and learned their habits, thanks to some guidance from Citrine the Enchantress.

The winds of autumn swirled around him with the sharp warning of cooler weather. Soon the bite of winter would fill the air, leaving the mortals huddling over warm fires drinking boiled water with leaves of peppermint adding a sweet flavor to the mixture. The Festival of Harvest was only a few days away, and a sudden nostalgia struck him as he strode through the seaport city known as Sanga Sang.

It was only his second harvest away from the forest of Shimla—his birthplace and home for the first twenty years of life. He missed the odd gaiety of the immortal creatures—the Iaen—and the unique celebration they held to honor nature and the bounty given them. But he did not miss the dark questions that flew through his mind even though he tried to distract himself to keep them at bay. Who am I? Where do I come from? What is my name?

Time spent alone with his thoughts led him to uncomfortable sensations. He walked faster, gliding through the night-lit streets like a shadow. He moved uphill, for the tavern lay near the shore, close to the port where ships came into harbor, bringing newcomers and trade to the prosperous city. The road sloped up, zigzagging on a hill to the very crest where the tower perched. It was neither castle nor home to any, but the seat of power lay there. Once over the hill, the city spread out, flowing into the countryside where farmers raised animals and grew crops. They drove wagons into the city to barter at the marketplace, altogether making a comfortable living that supported the city and encouraged trade.

Tor Lir flexed his fingers. Citrine complained he did not fit in with the mortals because he did not have a trade. Volunteering for harvest on a bountiful farm was his first step, and it reminded him of working in Shimla, something frowned upon by the Iaen. It seemed odd to sacrifice his freedom for work, but the more time he spent in the city, the more he realized that was all the mortals did. Work. And spend their evenings drinking to relax from the work.

It was an endless cycle which left him with a doubtful sensation of emptiness and a gnawing hunger. He tapped his fingers in the air, restless. Longing for what? He did not know. Perhaps it was time to leave the city of Sanga Sang and strike out for something that would force an excitement into his life.

As he strode up the road, a dark mass blocked out the sky and he shuddered as he neared the temple. Something about the structure made the hairs on his body stand on end. He’d heard the rumors about the friars who dwelt there—a secret sect studying the wisdom of the Four Worlds, a knowledge he wished to avoid. The sounds of his leather boots clipped the chill air, and the moonlight rushed back behind a cloud as if shy of showing its haunted face to him. A sour aroma permeated the air like the heavy scent of raw meat roasted over a hot fire, burning and stinging, impossible to get out of the throat. Blinking, he eyed the temple as the hollow feeling of discomfort grew within like an air bubble. A faint murmur whispered, and he paused, unsure whether he should continue. Tilting his head, he listened. A baby cried in the distance, an owl hooted as it hunted, and an object splashed into water.

Tor Lir took a step, his heart thudding in his chest as the discomfort grew. Suddenly a shrill scream shattered the silence of the night. The odor increased as a door banged open, and down the temple steps stumbled a male. He was slender and wore a gray robe that reached to his feet, tied at the waist with a rope-like cord. His light hair was wet and wild, sticking up in all directions as his feet pounded the ground. One hand clutched his heart where red blood streamed from his chest, and he glanced frantically back at the temple doors, searching for his pursuer. It was the glance behind that killed him. Although he reached to gather up his lengthy robe, all the same he tripped on his own blood and fell head long, hurling toward the bottom steps. A second later, a dark form bolted out of the temple and hurled itself over him. The shadow melted into the night in such a way that Tor Lir, straining his eyes, could barely see it. It was only the shape that covered the friar, and even though he knew it was wrong and he should help, he took a step back.

The friar let out a terrified howl as the darkness covered him. His legs kicked out, at first violently and then slowing to small tremors. His shrieks and moans faded away as the darkness ate him alive.

Tor Lir’s jaw dropped, and he stared. Crying for help seemed useless, especially since the male would be dead by the time anyone came to assist. Stretching his long fingers, Tor Lir wished he hadn’t left his bow and arrows tucked under the straw mattress on which he slept. Such rich gifts were a target for thieves and would catch a high price in the marketplace. Frozen with indecision, unable to peel his eyes away from the horror, he watched the shadow finish its meal. With a hiss, it turned around, searching the darkness for witnesses. In that moment the moon came out of hiding and the creature fled, but not before Tor Lir glimpsed amber eyes and a scaly hide.

He dashed after it, seeking to follow its trail to its lair. The creature disappeared around the temple, but when Tor Lir caught up, there was nothing. Furrowing his brows, he stepped back as the realization struck his chest, just as if a sword pierced his heart. Reeling back, he gasped, awareness of an imbalance coming over him. Something evil was adrift in the city. His next thought was of Citrine. Why would she let one of her beasts run free without consequence?

5

BURN IT DOWN

THE SETTING SUN hid Zilpha from curious eyes as she slunk from shadow to shadow, following the wagon to the richer side of town. Alleyways became scarce and high stone walls with vibrant flowers planted alongside them gave off the air of supremacy. Zilpha had been to Lord Arden’s manor house once. He insisted on living in a house near the tower, despite having to ride out to monitor his farmland and hired hands every day. The farm lands weren’t too far from the city, but the journey took an hour or so on foot, slightly faster on horseback.

Green ivy climbed around the walls, and the wooden gate stood open while the wagon rumbled through. Zilpha came to a halt, using the wall as cover. Once the sound of the wagon faded, she rose on her tip-toes, her fingers scraping ends of broken wood. A grassy lawn traveled to the foot of the manor house with four gables framing long windows. The house was made of stone—a luxury for the wealthy—yet it provided work for the laborers. Stone had to be quarried and dragged to the city, and while it was back-breaking work, it paid well.

A row of bushes grew just after the gate, and Zilpha crouched behind them, watching the familiar rise of land and the barn where the wagon was stored and the horses lived. As Zilpha examined it, she saw another structure—a small, one-room thatched hut, much like her home. Lady Hava walked out of it and Zilpha ducked, squeezing her eyes shut as if that simple action could keep her from being seen.

“Rodrick, my horse!” Lady Hava’s voice rang out, clear as a bell, feminine yet commanding.

“Rodrick, spare the house and go home for the evening after you finish feeding the stock,” a stern voice interrupted. “Hava, a word.”

Zilpha knew the voice anywhere. Lord Arden. She narrowed her eyes and peered between the leaves of the bush to watch. Prickly leaves made her skin burn. She squeezed her fingers together to keep from rubbing the itch on her arm and giving away her hiding spot. A sour stench met her nose. She hoped she was not sitting in horse dung.

Hava paused, a cool expression coming over her face as she strode across the grounds. She stopped a few paces from her father with her back to the bushes, the two swords on her back blocking Zilpha’s view of Lord Arden. Hava spoke without pause, her tone steady. “I kept my end of the bargain and you don’t intend to keep yours? I need my horse for tonight’s events.”

“I made no promises about tonight. After tomorrow, you are free to go as you wish, I ask no more of you.” There was the sound of coins clanging, and Hava’s body moved as if she were catching a bag of coins. Zilpha’s fingers flew to her waist, recalling the bag of coin she held there. “Use this wisely. There will not be more.”

“Have I ever disappointed you?” she asked scornfully.

Zilpha could not imagine facing someone with the blatant disrespect Hava showed her father. If Zilpha so much as spoke to an elder that way, she would be punished and likely sent to the temple.

The temple perched on the path between the Jaded Sea and the farmland, situated to give access to the rich and poor alike. An air of secrecy and reverence surrounded the temple, and only those chosen could study the ways of the Creator and understand the deeper knowledge of the Four Worlds. The friars and priestesses that dwelled there gave up the normal way of life for something higher. Something Zilpha did not understand.

A resounding slap made Zilpha jerk and gasp, almost giving away her hiding spot. Hava spun away from her father, a red hand print taking form on her cheek. With one hand holding the bag of coins, she stalked toward the manor house, shoulders back and head held high, as if she’d won the fight. Zilpha trembled, wishing she was far away. It was only due punishment for disrespect, but all the same it frightened her. What if Lord Arden threatened her when she returned without full payment?

Hava disappeared inside and Lord Arden mounted up. A few minutes later, he galloped out of the gates, mud flying up and splattering Zilpha’s dress. She groaned. She despised wash day.

A few more moments passed. The lanterns were lit, and the hired help closed up for the night before drifting off. Zilpha sat still until she determined her presence had, indeed, gone unnoticed. Then, relieved at being able to scratch her itches, she emerged from the bushes. Using the dim light, she made her way through shadows toward the hut. The uneven ground made her stumble as she walked. The nicker of a horse gave her pause, until she realized it was just the beasts in the barn eating dinner and settling in for the night. She traded hunger for worry, yet her mouth felt dry and her throat raw from thirst.

The hut was dark and quiet as she approached, her heart thudding in her chest at her daring actions. If she were caught trespassing, the consequences would be dire. Yet she could not help remembering—her debt would be paid off if not for Hava.

The door of the hut held fast, likely by either a lock or a bar put in front of the door. But Zilpha thought if it were similar to hers, there would be a window, set low enough to the ground so she could peek in. Sneaking around the side, she peered in to semi-darkness. Someone had left a lantern hanging by the door to light up the space. Zilpha’s eyes widened as she took in the loom, baskets of wool and silk, colorful cloth, reeds, and wicker for weaving baskets. Zilpha gritted her teeth. A surge of rage hurtled through her. Even the supplies Hava had were much better than hers. Being poor and consumed with paying off her debt, she used grasses and rushes to weave baskets. Now and then she stumbled upon some wicker or other strips of tree bark she used to make smaller baskets. Hava, in all her wealth, could afford better supplies, but with the wool and silk, there was enough to last a lifetime.

Emboldened by her anger, Zilpha gripped the ledge of the window and pulled herself up, using the uneven wall of the hut to give herself leverage. Grunting, she scraped her legs and pulled her knees up to the ledge. As she turned to sit down on the windowsill and slide into the room, her dress caught on the lip of the window frame. Using one hand, she reached down to tug it free and lost her balance. Her hands flailed as she reached for the ledge to halt her fall. Her dress ripped free and she fell backward into the hut. The impact of her fall knocked all the air from her body and a sudden pain split up her back. She lay still, gasping for air and patting down her chest and torso with her hands to ensure she was all there and unbroken.

The flame of the lantern danced in glee at her mishap. A whispered oath came from her parted lips as she sat up, and a layer of fire went down her back at the sudden movement. Rubbing her backside, she stood, eyes wide, almost holding her breath as she listened. What if someone had heard her? But all was silent in the darkness.

Zilpha walked around the room, at first to regain her sense of balance, but then because the work supplies called to her. She ran her hands over the soft wool and silk as cool as midnight air. A sudden yearning came over her as she ran her hands over the reeds and wicker, bending them back and forth—a strong desire to weave baskets out of them. She sat down among the luxury, tears pricking her eyes. As hard as she worked, it was all in vain. When the sun came up, she’d return to meet with Lord Arden and make a partial payment while begging for an extension. Why did Hava have to appear on this market day? From all appearances it seemed as if someone did not want her debt to be paid off. She furrowed her brow and chewed her lip as she held a piece of silk. It slid from her finger tips like butter. What would it be like to wear something as light and as effortless as silk?

Before she could think about it, she was by the door, intending to lift the bolt and disappear into the night. Instead, her eyes went to the lantern. A spurt of wicked jealousy shot through her. Why should Hava have it all? Lifting the light off its perch, she turned and threw it into the midst of the baskets, perfect baskets made of reeds, light and bendable but not breakable. The lantern smashed, and the flame leaked out, licking through the baskets like a beast hungry for nights on end finally devouring its prey.

A mixture of glee and apprehension came over Zilpha as she watched the baskets burn. A darkness seeped out of her soul, and she was glad. Burn it down. Let them pay.

As quickly as the sensation came, it passed, captivating Zilpha with a raw terror. If someone saw the fire, they’d call for help and find her, standing over the dancing flames. She’d be questioned and punished, most likely thrown into the city jail reserved for the worst offenders. The jail had been built shortly after the war, for while most people converted, there were some who still followed the old ways and prayed to the immortals who wreaked havoc on the South World, controlling it with their rule of blood. She would not last a day in prison, and what would happen to Bram?

A cough shook her throat and Zilpha stumbled toward the fire, tears leaking out of her eyes as she stomped it to death, grabbing wool to beat out the last stubborn flames. Terror consumed her, and with fumbling fingers she unbolted the door, opened it, and ran into the darkness. Instantly she tripped on her torn dress, hurling her body head long into the grass. Frightened someone had heard, or even worse, seen her, she leaped up and ran to the wooden gate, slipping through it and continuing down the cobblestone road.

It was later than she’d thought. Darkness gripped the land, and the homes were closed, the last lights of the street winking out. Now was the time for the thieves and night revelers to come out. There were those who were up to no good, and it was a dangerous time for her to be alone. Zilpha took a deep breath as a new fear struck her. There was no one to walk her home, and she bit her lip, recalling stories of those taken by the night, returning breathless and soiled at their doorsteps. There were pirates that came to port now and then, stealing from the rich and causing chaos for no other reason. There were still warmongers, people angry at the turn of events when the war between the mortals and immortals had ended and they were left in disaster. The mortals, led by the Great Conqueror, swept the land, taking out anyone who had the potential to oppose them. Even now there were Watchers, a sect called the Disciples of Ithar, who roamed from city to city, keeping watch for uprisings.

A moan escaped her lips, and she ran as if the shadows of the night chased her. There was only one place she could request safety if they would let her in. And why would they? She hadn’t been faithful in going to the temple or bringing gifts and offerings to those who kept it. Maybe if she begged and promised to be more faithful, they would take her in on such a night. When dawn rose, she’d hurry home, find Bram, and make a new plan. She only had until nightfall before Lord Arden would seek her out.

The temple rose like a frowning giant into the night, the bulk of its hewn stones blocking the Green Light and hiding the starry sky. The temple was unfinished, for it had been begun just after the war, and the rough stone had to be quarried and carried back and forth. The temple was a cultural point of the city and it was not governed by the Warden. It was built by workers who volunteered their time or the rich who gave grandiose gifts to the friars and priestesses who dwelled there, providing guidance to the lost souls coming to grieve, pray, and meditate.

Mathilda went occasionally, claiming it brought her solace, but Zilpha skirted the temple. It made her emotions flutter and her thinking felt jarred when she sought something beyond the here and now. If it wasn’t tangible, she wasn’t interested. Going to the temple and feeling peace would not give her food, clothing, and a roof over her head. Only her wits could bring that to her.

Regardless, she slowed her steps as she trotted up the last swell in the hillock on her way to the temple. Her chest heaved with relief, for she’d met no one on her way. Perhaps it was too early for the people of the night to stir.

A muskiness hung in the air, the scent of animals and dung. Zilpha frowned and shrugged her shoulders. Once or twice she’d seen a friar leading a goat or sheep to slaughter. They had to eat something. Just as she crested the hill and leaned against a stone wall to catch her breath, the moon came out, gleaming in its almost full circumference. Usually the harvest festival took place on the night of the full moon, and this was no exception. In seven days, the moon would be full and the city of the Sanga Sang would rejoice.

Lifting an arm, Zilpha wiped sweat off her forehead and took a deep breath, running lines through her mind, memorizing what to say to whoever would answer the temple door. As she crept to the five broad stone steps that led up into the dark yawning mouth of the temple, her foot slipped and she skidded, just catching herself on her elbows. Her hand came up, sticky and wet with something warm. Frustrated, she wiped it on her skirt, hoping it was not animal piss. First she’d sat in dung and now this? She muttered an oath under her breath, hoping not to draw more bad luck to herself.

There was more of the slick liquid as she approached the steps, and a shape lay at the bottom. Zilpha frowned, tension winding itself up her spine as she paused. Stray dogs were not common in the city, yet they worried her. She stepped back, concerned about being chased and bitten when the moonlight shone with full force down on the temple steps. The dark shape revealed itself, and terror seized Zilpha. She stumbled back, and her hands flew to her mouth as she let out a blood curling scream.

6

WARRIOR AND HUNTER

“ENCHANTRESS.” Morag’s low tone rumbled across the waters.

Citrine picked her way around boulders and sharp stones, eager to join her water monster and hear his words. After the devastating incident with the Master of the Forest, Citrine and Morag shared important news out loud. Morag had suggested it, and Citrine appreciated his caution, but an unease pricked in her mind. What if others were listening in?

“Morag,” she whispered, her foot catching on a rock.

She stumbled but maintained her balance, moving toward the edge. Morag’s head rose over the waters at eye level, for the cliffs were sharp and did not allow one access to the Jaded Sea without hurling over the edge into an instant death.

However, Citrine considered the cliffs the safest place to conduct their whispered secrets, because it was rare she’d seen anyone out there in the wild moors. The wet pounding of the waters and the gray surroundings gave the seaside an eerie aura. At times, the way the waves roared reminded her of someone playing a flute—a heart-rending tune wailing like one grieving the death of a lover.

Water ran off Morag’s behemoth gray hide and shone in the dim light. The last of the sunset disappeared over the horizon, making Morag’s jeweled eyes glow.

“What news do you bring?” Citrine crouched at the edge of the cliffs, a mere ten feet from her beloved beast.

“I traveled north and west.” Morag’s neck arched over Citrine, like a snake about to pounce on its prey.

Citrine wanted to touch his snout and glimpse what he saw. While she loved hearing her beasts speak in her mind, she sometimes wished for the ability to see through their eyes. The world fascinated her and while crossing the sea, she had realized there was much more to explore than she’d ever imagined.

“The Under Water World People gave me my first clue. Did you know they are also called the Udi? A phrase coined by the sea-faring heroes, Wekin the Warrior and Yamier the Hunter.”

Citrine grunted. She’d heard of the two heroes who’d made a name for themselves during the war of the mortals and immortals. They had followers in the city who bragged about the adventures they’d had with the two—escapades so outlandish Citrine doubted they were true.

She perched on a boulder, thoughts drifting to Triften the Storyteller. He’d traveled with Wekin and Yamier, yet the tales he weaved did not seem as bizarre.

“Go on,” she encouraged Morag, returning her gaze to his wide face.

His nostrils flared, puffing out mist. “They were frightened at first, for they claimed many of my kind haunt the seas, destroying their homes and taking them as prisoners.”

Citrine lifted a finger, pausing Morag. “Are we still talking about the Udi? I need not know their history. Will you please give me the key points? Tell me. Did you find it?”

“Aye and nay, at least if the words of the Udi ring true. You should listen to their stories, for there might be another way. They told me all treasure comes from the great mines in the Cascade Mountains. Surely you have heard of the mines from old stories? The place where no one goes if they want to live. The Holesmoles.”

Citrine hissed and a chill wind blew over the sea. The waves splashed up, and she rubbed her arms, grateful for the warmth of her dark cloak. “The Holesmoles? Are you sure?”

Hundreds of years ago, the talking moles and voles had discovered the mines overflowing with a host of treasures, silver, gold, precious jewels, and stones with uncanny powers. But they had awakened creatures of darkness who slaughtered them all, leaving the mines a place where no one went unless they desired to lose their sanity.

“The Udi directed me to a group of pirates and, after eavesdropping on their conversations, I revealed myself and terrified them one night.” Morag chuckled—a devilish rumble over the waters.

Citrine grinned, wishing she’d been there to see Morag frighten the pirates. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“Nay, mortals are simple, it was easy to scare them. They told me of the South Isles known for their treasure, but stones are mined from the Holesmoles. As legend tells, that’s where the Green Stone came from.”

“How do we get there?” Citrine mused.

“Rumor is there’s a cave on the other side of Ellsmore where one can enter the mines. From there it’s a search in darkness. An endless quest.”

Citrine scowled. “The Holemoles are miles long. It could take a lifetime to find the stone there and that’s far too long.”

“Hum…that’s why you should have let me finish my story. The pirates speak of mortals who recently transversed the mines and came out the other side unscathed.”

“Who?”

“None other than Wekin the Warrior and Yamier the Hunter. If you could find them, you could ask for their help, although I suppose they would extract a heavy price.”

Citrine squared her shoulders and chewed her lower lip. Her eyes fell to the waters of jade far below where in the gloomy light she could just make out waves surging against sharp rocks in the water. A coolness settled in her bones, and when she looked back up, Morag was retreating.

“Wait.” She stood and took a step closer to the edge. “Do you know where I would find them?”

“Is the stone that important? Why do you want it so badly?” Morag’s eyes half closed.

Anger flared up in her like the birth of a flame. “Why are you questioning my motives? I am trying to keep you safe, to protect you. You know very well I need the power of a stone—”

“Don’t forget…I served the Master of the Forest. I was inside his head as were you. Obsessions lead to disaster, and unchecked power leads to madness. You know this.”

Citrine frowned and shook her head. “You are my beast,” she snapped.

“Aye. I serve you, Enchantress, for there is no one greater. Only. I worry. What will you become?”

“Just tell me what I want to know. Where will I find the Warrior and Hunter?”

“It is not that you get angry. I would not do my due diligence if I did not warn you. Rumor has it they make port once a year and spend the winters in the Constel Heights with the Rulers of the West.”

“They make port. What are they? Sailors?”

Morag arched his neck over the waters, his eyes narrowing, and his voice came out of his throat like the low rumble of thunder. “Ah. They have great ships. The first ever built. Captain Wekin the Warrior and Captain Yamier the Hunter. At times their ships make port here, in Sanga Sang.”

Citrine inhaled, surprise vibrating through her body like the plucked string of a harp. “Here? Do you know for sure?”

“I knew it would be your next question. According to members of their crew, it seems they intend to take their ships to the Constel Heights for the winter.”

Citrine.

Ava’s thoughts filtered into her mind, interrupting the conversation.

Ava. Not now. I’m with Morag.

No need to get upset. I’ll leave you and Morag alone. Heaven forbid I know what secrets you share. I just thought you’d want to know there’s someone hanging around the cave…oh wait…yes, they are going inside.

Citrine’s back stiffened in panic. What? Who is it?

I don’t know. Hunched over with a dark cloak and a stick. Staff. Tree branch? I don’t know. Do you want me to—

No don’t kill whoever it is, just detain them until I can get there. I’m coming now.

Hurry. I’m feeling hungry.

Ava!

The communication broke, and Citrine leaped to her feet. Pressing her hands together, she addressed her water beast. “Morag. I thank you for this news and appreciate the energy you spent seeking for me. I must go, someone is trespassing and—”

“Milady, we shall speak later. Call when you need me, for there is more I wish to share with you. You don’t have to go down this path. There is another way.”

Citrine shivered, for Morag’s words did not seem welcoming, and a dread sank to the pit of her stomach. She nodded, lips trembling, before she turned and stumbled uphill, making her way around boulders in the dark.

7

TERROR UNLEASHED

ONE GLIMPSE GAVE Zilpha all the details she needed. The dark shape she’d mistaken for a wild beast was one of the friars, lying on his back with his dead eyes staring at the moonlight, as though in silent prayer. His patchy face was twisted in anguish, giving every impression of a gruesome death. His robes were torn open and deep gouges raked through his midsection as if claws had opened his stomach and ripped until there was nothing left but a gaping hole. Red blood ran in rivulets down the steps and bloody footprints were scattered across the cobblestone street, staining them crimson. Zilpha realized it was the liquid she’d wiped off on her skirt, and black spots covered her vision. Bending over, she took deep breaths to keep from fainting. When she regained some sense of normality, she spun and ran down the path leading to the farmland.

Wings of darkness gave her speed, and she tripped and fell more than once, breaking the skin of her hands and ripping her dress even further. The light of the moon was stingy, coming in and out of clouds, giving her only occasional flashes of her path. The farmlands were impossibly dark with only the lights of night, and she cursed, wishing she’d grabbed a lantern but knowing the murderers in the dark would be less likely to see her. How could she be so foolish to go to the temple for safety? What if someone had heard her scream and came to investigate?

When at last she came to her home, the last building on the row of peasant huts, tears flowed without pause. Dashing inside, she slammed the door and lifted the block of wood across the door frame. A sob burst out of her throat and, disgusted with herself, she reached her hands up and ripped the dress from her shoulders. Fingers shaking, she tossed it by the door. She held her hands in front of her as she made her way to the table and fumbled in the dark for a light.

The hiss of the flame shattered the darkness and brought a warm glow of comfort to the room. Zilpha took a deep breath in an effort to get a hold of her senses but her tears would not stop. Holding the flame up, she lit two more candles. The warm haven of light began to spread toward her like an encouraging friend. Shadows danced on the wall, happy to be brought to life and show off their appreciation. Shaking like a leaf, Zilpha went for the water bucket. It was half-full and cool from the night wind. She took a sip and poured some out into a basin. Lifting a rough cloth, she scrubbed her body with water and leaves of mint until her skin was red and raw, rubbing away the guilt and horror of the evening. If only she’d gone home with Mathilda, she could have avoided everything. What if Hava discovered her charred baskets and silk? Would she search for the victim? Lord Arden was vindictive and could be cruel, even to his own blood. What if someone had seen her?

Shuddering, Zilpha picked up a candle and peeked into the other room. As she assumed, Bram was not home. With a frown, she crept to her bed. Should she worry about Bram? What if something terrible had happened to him? He was honest and trusting and gullible, but he did not seek out mischief for no reason. She sighed, holding the candles as she perched on her bed. The grass she’d stuffed the mattress with poked her. Setting the candle on the floor, she curled her feet under her and leaned against the wall, taking shallow breaths as the bloodied body flashed before her eyes. This was it. When morning came, she’d go to Mathilda with the news and come clean about her debt.

Her fingers trembled, and her mind spun with questions. Reaching across the bed, she gathered grass into her lap, her fingers weaving them into a basket, even in the darkness. Usually she liked to work outside in the sunlight, but her mind would not stop, and the quick work of her fingers made her feel calm. There’s no use worrying, she told herself. Tomorrow I will figure out this mess.

Her fingers moved through the grass, tucking and forming. If only life was as simple as weaving baskets. She took another breath, leaned over, and blew out the candle.

8

BLOODY FINGERPRINTS

A SCREAM RENT THE AIR—HIGH-PITCHED and suddenly cut off, as though someone had clasped their hands over their mouth. Tor Lir felt the hairs on his arm rise, but this time he knew it was a scream of terror and fright, not fear for one’s life. The monster of the night seemed to have disappeared into shadows, but something else awoke in him. A thrill surged through his body—a combination of excitement and eagerness. He rubbed his hands together as he crept back around the temple, his eyes alert for the predator to leap out again. This time, he braced himself, knowing he was about to view a dead body.

The slow, steady drip of liquid met his ears as he rounded the corner. Regardless of how he prepared himself, death was difficult to view. The freshness of the body made it somehow more poignant than the body he’d discovered in the Land of Lock, rotten and eaten by buzzards. The fright on the friar’s face felt real, almost as if the friar would speak if asked to. His innards were strewn across the stairs, and a gaping hole had been opened in his belly where the beast had eaten him. Yet aside from scratches on his legs, the rest of his body appeared to be intact. Tor Lir frowned. It almost seemed as if the beast wanted something the friar ate. Or perhaps Tor Lir had disturbed its meal.

Again, his reflections turned to Citrine. He knew she was working on some secret undertaking which required the exchange of goods. She desired to settle so she could work and send her beasts on mysterious quests. Yet she wouldn’t breathe a word to him. After a year, Tor Lir assumed she’d grow to confide in him, yet their relationship remained strained and aloof. He decided to speak with her, but it had to wait.

Skipping up the stairs, he reached the high columns of the temple. For some reason, the door was closed, and he thumped on it, wondering if anyone would hear. After a moment, he noticed a rope hanging down, and when he looked up, he saw it was attached to a bell. It seemed too early to sleep, yet all the same, he pulled the bell and the jarring ringing pealed out.

When no one responded, he pushed the heavy door open. It dragged on its hinges, sending a long whine through the air. The warm light of a candle flickered before winking out. Tor Lir padded into the temple, his eyes wide, watching for more stirrings in the gloom.

High arched windows allowed moonlight to filter through to a wide open space. The room was square with three arched windows on either side. At the front was an alter with candles surrounding it, and a white flag with a gray horse rearing on it hung down from the ceiling. The room was held up by a series of columns that reached to the ceiling and were ornately decorated. Tor Lir glided past them, realizing that while he could see in the dark, the friars who lived in the temple might mistake his presence.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice echoing in the stones. “The beast is gone. It’s safe to come out!”

A few more moments of silence passed before he heard the sound of heavy panting. An orange glow illuminated what looked like a passageway on one side of the altar. A paunchy male appeared, wearing a white robe with a golden belt wrapped around his meaty waist. Following him scurried a young boy with a peaked face, high and white with a long nose like a ferret. The boy wore gray robes with a dark belt. Tor Lir raised his eyebrows as their aura struck him, and a cool aloofness came over him.

“Who are you?” the older male panted, waving a white handkerchief. He wore sandals that slapped the stone floor as he walked, or rather waddled, up to Tor Lir. In the candlelight his bushy eyebrows arched, and his wide eyes scanned the room. “Where’s Melvin? What happened?”

Tor Lir gestured to the door. “I assume you mean the one who lies out there. I was passing by and I saw the beast attack him.”

“No,” the friar shrieked, clasping the handkerchief to his mouth. His brown eyes went wider, and sweat poured down his face, pooling in the folds of his swarthy neck. “It got him after all. We must rouse the city watch. They need to find the beast.”

Tor Lir stepped back. He sensed the friar told the truth, but there was something else—a sixth sense about his motives. There was something off about the situation, but he could not quite figure it out.

The friar peered at Tor Lir, scanning him up and down. “Who are you? Why didn’t you go for help?”

“I came here to warn you.” Tor Lir shrugged. “I followed the beast into the garden, but it disappeared. Tell me, have you seen something like it before?”

The friar’s lip trembled as he dropped the handkerchief, and his eyes shifted down to the stone floors. Tor Lir followed his gaze, noticing the trail of blood that led to the temple door.

“Nothing like this has ever happened before,” the friar hissed. He stepped back, pressing down his robes as though he suddenly remembered something. “Come back tomorrow during daylight and tell the watchers what you saw here. Perhaps it will help in the capture of this beast.”

“I’ve told you all I know,” Tor Lir replied, wary of returning the next day. “I must go.”

He took another step back, and his foot landed on something. Glancing down, he saw a thin piece of parchment. Bending, he picked it up, his eyes scanning it for words. Bloody fingerprints stained the parchment, but instead of words there was a drawing of a creature. Before Tor Lir could study it further, the friar snatched it from his hands.

Tor Lir looked up in surprise, his mouth hanging open although no words of retort came to his lips. The friar’s hostile glare softened. He shrugged, a poor excuse tumbling out of his mouth. “This belongs to the temple. You are not a student here and don’t have the right to peer into the knowledge we collect here.”

Tor Lir frowned, a wave of tiredness striking him. “Of course,” he mumbled and turned, wishing to have no dealing with the realm of mortals. Mortals were strange and the things they cared about seemed inconsequential.

All the same, as he stumbled down the steps and past the dead body, he wondered about the drawing on the parchment. It looked like a horse yet it had wings. He would ask Citrine if she knew of such a creature. All he knew with certainty was the creature on the parchment was not what had attacked the friar.

9

MAD MIND

CITRINE WAS ALMOST BACK to her cave when she heard it. A ringing sounded in her ears and then a long whine, high and poignant. She paused her hasty pace and turned slowly. The wind blew over the waters, moaning like a lost spirit seeking a home. The tall grass bent forward, and loose rock splashed into the sea far below. Citrine became conscious of her own breathing, raw and frightened. She frowned. She needed to get a grip. What was there to be afraid of? Suddenly a dark vision hurled her across the void into the unknown.

She opened her eyes to find herself in a tunnel. Walls of gray stone rose up on either side. There was a dim light, but it was cold and wet. She felt that she was bare, freezing and shaking in the gloom, and yet that was not what concerned her. A malevolent presence was somewhere above her, and she was sobbing, hoping it would not come near and command her once again. She wanted to speak, but when words came out of her mouth, they were a string of unintelligible syllables. She roared and reached up a hand, surprised to see wicked curved claws instead. Reaching out, she ran the claws across the stones and a sharp grating rang through her ears so hard she thought they would begin to bleed. Instead of attempting to speak again, she moved the claws toward her body and scraped them down her chest until blood flowed like a river, dripping onto the stones.

Citrine snapped back to reality with a muffled cry. Clasping her hands over her mouth, she spun widely, searching for whatever had tossed her there. Her heart pattered like incessant rain in her chest. Clutching her short skirts, she fled uphill back to her cave as the winds whipped her bright hair around her.

Flickering orange light greeted her when she reached the cave, and peeking inside, she saw a hooded figure feeding sticks to the fire, while Ava lay across the entrance. Citrine had asked her beasts to watch her treasure while she was away. Grift stayed during the day—he was out hunting now—turning the evening watch over to Ava. Zaul was somewhere in the wild, hopefully on his way home.

Citrine had learned, from past mistakes, it was best to check in with her beasts daily. She still hoped to provide a better home for them where they wouldn’t have to sneak around the city of Sanga Sang. Being close to so many mortals made her feel ill at ease. It was only a matter of time until someone discovered them, and the stranger hunched over the fire had already made the discovery.

Citrine wished she’d been home and Ava hadn’t had to show herself. If the people of the city discovered her beasts, it would be another hunt, and she’d be banished once again. The other option would be to do away with them…or just run, although Grift was averse to running away from problems. He’d cautioned Citrine it would be better if she confronted her challenges instead of avoiding or running away from them.

About time you got here, Ava scolded as she peeked open one eye. Her tail swished back and forth. There’s a mouse that’s taunting me and I need to teach it a lesson.

Proceed. Citrine crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin, preparing to confront the intruder. Just don’t go far. I might need you.

Just tell me when. Ava snickered and barred her teeth. Her massive snake-like body rose and she trod out into the windy night, her eyes glowing with mischief as she pounced. Citrine heard a squeak of terror as she leaned against the entrance of the cave.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

The hooded figure turned and lifted the hood, revealing herself to be an old white-haired lady. A milky white eye glared at Citrine followed by a pale blue eye. A shriveled hand rose, shaking, with sun spots covering it. The lady’s white hair stuck out, uncombed and wiry, like an unkept bird’s nest. “Old Edna. That’s what they call me. You have the sight, just like I did…”

“Old Edna? Eh? I don’t care who you are. What are you doing in my home? You’re trespassing. If you wanted to speak with me, you should have approached me during market.”

“Ah. You have a sharp tongue, child. What I need to tell you should not be spoken of in the open air of a marketplace.”

Citrine refused to back down. “I have a shop by the sea. If you need to trade for herbs, that’s where you should find me. Why are you following me?”

“Come. Sit at your fire and calm your mind. It seems you are the one who needs the air of clarity.”

Citrine narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about herbs?”

“I may not be as strong as you…but I had the gift at one time in my life. In fact, I didn’t know there were others like me…until I saw you. It’s your hair.” Old Edna lifted her hands to her head, pulling out strands of hair and tossing them into the fire.

Citrine wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Who are you? An oracle?”

The lady snorted and wagged her head back and forth. “Oracle. Indeed. None are worthy to hold that title. Perhaps in my past I came close, but nay.”

Citrine stepped closer, noticing the lady was missing several teeth. Edna’s eyes roved back and forth, never settling, and from the milky white one, Citrine thought it safe to assume Old Edna had difficulty seeing. Still. Worry and indecision gnawed at her core.

Old Edna continued. “I came because I must pass my knowledge to you.”

“You misunderstand.” Citrine cocked her head as understanding dawned. “I am not your apprentice, nor do I wish to take up your craft. There is nothing you have that I desire.”

She’d heard of people like Old Edna, who had a specific trade and near the end of their lives passed their knowledge on to their successor. Because Old Edna did not have children—Citrine assumed—tradition would have her pick an apprentice to pass her knowledge to. An uneasy feeling snaked around Citrine’s rib cage. Although she did not want to hear what Old Edna had to say, her curiosity rose. Listening to Old Edna would give her time to decide what to do about the lady’s unusual visit. If she had seen Ava, she couldn’t return to the city, no matter how mad some might think her ramblings were. If the warden of the city was roused before Citrine could escape, they would lead an investigation to the cave. Glancing around the sloped walls, Citrine crept to the fire and sat down, crossing her legs. She blew out her breath, relieved she’d had the sense of mind to hide her book of spells.

“It’s not a matter of desire,” Edna said. “You don’t have a choice, which is why I must tell you what I know. Long ago, a time before I was born, the immortals brought a gift to this city. A treasure which gave one the ability to achieve their heart’s desire.”

Citrine sat up straight, a ripple of excitement creeping up her spine.

“The gift was given to the city warden at the time, and it was his responsibility to protect and to use it to bring wealth to the city. After all, a city flourishes when the people are blessed and dwell without animosity. However, the warden misused the gift. When the Black Steeds seized the city, the gift left the warden and disappeared. From there, it only exists in rumors and speculation. Some say a lowly farmer found it and kept it hidden until a time of peace when it is needed again. But the other night, I had a dream, and you were in it.”

Edna lifted a shriveled hand and pointed an accusing finger at Citrine as though she held a knife and wished to drive it into Citrine’s heart.

A cool wind blew over the rocks, and a high-pitched whistle sliced through the air. Citrine crossed her arms and shifted her posture, glancing toward the entrance. It was gloomy outside, although the flames cast hulking shadows into the night.

“It was the day I went to the Tree of Wisdom, seeking answers. You know the gift of the herbs. If you mix the right scents, you can understand them.” Old Edna’s pale blue eye turned pensive. “I took a gift of herbs to the tree, and when I slept that night, the answers came. In my dream I saw you standing with another, and you uncovered the lost treasure, but not without cost. Great joy and great sorrow followed, and after you discovered the treasure, everything you sought turned to dust.”

Old Edna paused, closing her eyes while her hand remained, a finger pointing at Citrine. She jerked, her lips quivering, but although Citrine waited, Old Edna spoke no more. Leaning over, Citrine lifted twigs and fed them to the fire, surprised to see her hands shaking. Questions swirled around her mind. Finally, she decided Old Edna was mad and had given Citrine no reason to trust and believe her.

“If you are trying to scare me with old legends, it won’t work,” Citrine said coldly. “If you want me gone, all you have to do is say so and I will leave the trade of herbs to you.”

“Haa…” Edna shrieked, the ferocity of her laughter making Citrine jump. Edna’s finger fell to her chest, and she gripped her heart while her breasts swayed back and forth, coming to a rest against her wide belly. “Are you daft, child? I’m far too old to trade for herbs. My hands aren’t steady and my sight is almost gone. There is no way I can brew potions for the city folk without accidentally poisoning them.” The merriment left her wrinkled face, replaced with cunning.

Citrine’s fingers twitched as she returned them to her lap, wishing for a draught of wine to calm her nerves.

“I dare say I’ve poisoned one or two already,” Edna mumbled. “Nay. Child. I came to warn you. Don’t seek the treasure. It’s not worth it.”

“I know nothing about this treasure or how to seek it. What does it look like? What does it do?”

“Haa,” Edna said again, but this time her laugh wasn’t as jarring. “It's clear as crystal, carved by the hands of a Shaper—those who work with jewels and metals. Alchemy made it appear like a winged horse, but in the light, it changes colors. Some have sworn it flies off on its own if its bearer is not pure.”

Citrine smirked. “Such nonsense, your brain must be addled mush. Tell me, did you see anything strange when you came to my cave?”

“See?” Edna cackled. “None but your stray dog, watching over the entrance. It’s smart of you to have a beast stand guard or I might have helped myself to your food.”

Citrine sighed with relief. “Dog?” she almost laughed herself. “I’m surprised you saw anything this bleak night.”

Edna wagged her head and reached out, lifting a stick and dragging her rump off the rock. “When you become old like me, you become thankful for ears. They are my guide.”

“Do you need me to walk you home?” Citrine offered out of politeness, although she’d have preferred to push the demented lady off a cliff.

“Nay. Child. Nay. I fend for myself these days, but a bite to eat in exchange for the knowledge I brought you would be decent.”

Citrine huffed. “You didn’t have to come here and tell me a wild tale in exchange for food.”

Edna shook her head as Citrine reached for a meager serving of bread and fish. Wrapping it in a cloth she pressed it into Old Edna’s free hand.

Citrine waited until Old Edna disappeared into shadows before relaxing her shoulders. A passing thought struck her. Should one of her beasts validate the story? But she brushed it away like a stray butterfly. Although there was merit to the idea, it seemed impossible. How could there be a treasure that granted someone’s wishes?

Did she call me a dog? Ava’s offended question crept into her consciousness.

Oh, Ava. Citrine choked down a laugh. At least she didn’t see you.

Blind as a bat to call me a dog. I should take a bite out of her bottom. Ava scoffed.

Ava!

Fine. I’ll stand down. At least I got that mouse. It won’t tease me anymore.

10

A SHOCK

PINK RAYS of sunrise still graced the broad skies as Zilpha slowed her hurried pace and climbed up the steps to Mathilda’s house. Her family home was quite large, for it housed her many brothers and sisters. Huts dotted the farmland and the air was potent with the smell of fresh vegetables. Before Zilpha could knock on the door, she saw one brother—she could never keep their names straight, for they all looked alike—leading a horse toward the road.

“You’re quite early, Zilpha,” he shouted. “We’re still getting ready to head to the fields.”

“I know,” Zilpha called. “I need to speak with Mathilda.”

“Ah, she’s down in the hut near the vineyards, surprised she didn’t tell you then…”

“Oh,” Zilpha paused in confusion. Why is Mathilda staying by the vineyards?

“I’ll give you a ride. It’s a wee bit muddy down there,” he laughed.

They trotted into a valley, Zilpha too exhausted from worry to remark much on the enjoyable ride. Zilpha wished she had a steady horse to carry her wares to market each week. One day, when she had enough silver to trade she would buy a mare. When they arrived, she swung down from the horse, forgetting to thank Mathilda’s brother for the ride.

A rooster crowed in the distance, even though the sun was up, and birds sang as they pecked at plump ripe grapes. A blue bird hopped in front of Zilpha, cocking its round black eyes at her as if asking a question. Zilpha brushed past it as the horrors of the night before returned and she pounded on the door. Strands of hair tumbled out of her hastily made bun at her jarring movements.

It flew open. Mathilda gasped, a hand flying to her lips as she examined Zilpha, up and down. Her hazel eyes turned dark in disapproval, and she shook her head, “Zilpha!”

“Have you heard?” Zilpha burst out, the hasty words running into each other in her rush to get out. “The friar! He’s dead. Dead at the foot of the temple with his eyes wide open. I saw him…last night…can you believe it? It was awful, like a beast had attacked him and I ran…”

“Zilpha…”

“I know it was my fault for staying out so late but…I had to see what Hava was doing with all those baskets. I saw Lord Arden give her a bag of silver and then he slapped her. But that’s not the worst part. While I was running I saw the friar and there was blood everywhere and a smell, like an animal, but not like horses and goats, it was musky like dung and rot—”

Mathilda squeezed her hands into fists and her face turned red. “Zilpha! Bram is here.”

“Oh.” Zilpha felt herself deflate like someone had punched her chest and all the air went out of her lungs. “What is he doing here?”

“I wanted to tell you but he asked me not to.”

“Mathilda, I asked about him yesterday.” Standing on her tip toes, Zilpha peered over her friend’s shoulder into the dark hut.

Mathilda sniffed, and her jaw clenched.

Zilpha glowered, words turning to ash in her throat. “I’ve been searching for him. I thought something terrible happened!”

“Zilpha?” Bram appeared behind Mathilda and pulled the door open wide. His dark eyes were sleepy and his round face ruddy. He yawned and ran a finger through his light brown hair, making it stand up on end. “It’s okay.” He touched Mathilda’s arm, holding her gaze a moment too long.

Zilpha rubbed her arms in discomfort as anger pulsated through her. Mathilda and Bram looked like they shared a grand secret. Their eyes met, and they gazed at each other wordlessly until Zilpha felt awkward, as though she were the intruder hiding things. Mathilda’s kindness irked her, and she spoke up, taking out her anger on her younger brother. “Bram. Why didn’t you come home? You have chores and responsibilities. You can’t just up and leave whenever you feel the urge. You’re the only male at home, and you need to step up and act like one.”

“Zilpha. Not now.” Bram held up a hand, his voice warm and even as if Zilpha’s anger did not fluster him. “I didn’t tell you because. . .well. . .”

“Bram. Are you sure you should tell her?” Mathilda interrupted, grabbing his elbow to drag him away from the door. Her eyes were large in her freckled face, her light hair mossy with sweat as it gathered at the base of her neck. Zilpha’s eyes flitted over her friend’s uncombed hair and wrinkled clothes and realized, with a pang, Mathilda and Bram had spent the night together. Jealousy made Zilpha clutch her jaw, and she crossed her arms over her chest to defend herself from their happiness.

Bram yanked his elbow out of Mathilda’s hand and frowned. “Mathilda. Please. It’s better to hear it from us than if she sees him in the street.”

“Who?” Zilpha demanded, glancing from Mathilda’s worried face to Bram’s stern one.

Bram turned his body to face Zilpha, pausing as if gathering strength, and then the words dripped from his lips. “Nodin. He’s back.”

Zilpha opened her mouth, but no words came out. A burning sensation ripped through her chest, and moisture sprang to her eyes. Her chin shook, and she lifted trembling fingers to cover her mouth.

Five years ago, he’d left her. He’d desired to explore and find adventure in the time of peace. It had been a relief when he left, although she grieved. At times she hated him and other times she longed for his return. When her breath returned, she seized Mathilda’s arm, leaning on her for support.

“It’s Lord Nodin now,” Bram murmured. “I saw him at the tavern by the shore last night. He looked well. Word is he’s taken up with the city warden.”

Zilpha’s vision blurred, and she pulled away. “I have to go,” she whispered.

“No. Now that you’re here, stay,” Mathilda disagreed. “I’ll get the wagon, we can load up your supplies and fish. I’ll go with you back to your hut and help you get settled—”

“No,” Zilpha barked. Holding up a hand. “You don’t understand.” And then for the first time since she saw the dead friar, understanding dawned on her and a cry escaped her lips. Her hands fell to her hips where she’d hidden it, but she knew without further investigation. “It’s gone. I was so distracted last night I forgot to check. The money is gone!”

“Money? What money?” Bram asked.

Zilpha shook her head, powerless as Mathilda dragged her into the hut and deposited her on a chair.

“This is terrible.” Zilpha collapsed in the chair, rocking back and forth as she realized what had happened. “It’s like I said. I saw the dead friar, and I forgot about the money. I think I lost it either before or after I went to the temple. I have to go back, I have to look.”

Her voice came out shrill with panic, and all she could think about was the harsh slap Lord Arden had given Hava, his own flesh and blood. How would he deal with her for not making timely payment on her debt?

“Slow down, have a sip of water, and start at the beginning.” Mathilda put a mug of water in front of Zilpha, some splashing onto the table in her haste.

The water tasted like nothing as it went down her throat, but it revived her spirits and, sitting up, she shared with Mathilda and Bram what had happened. When she finished, Bram spun and kicked a chair, then picked it up and hurled it at the wall, where it broke into two pieces.

“Zilpha, we have a debt!” he shouted, his face turning red. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have all paid it off together, and I just bought a plot of land—”

“You bought land?” Zilpha lifted glassy eyes to her brother’s face, her trembling fingers spilling more water.

“Aye…you weren’t to know…” he gestured to Mathilda.

“I didn’t want to tell you like this.” Mathilda dropped her head, eyes seeking the ground. “We wanted to wait until the Harvest Festival to make it official. But we will be married.”

“Aye, I bought land so I can build a new house which is why I’ve been away working. Zilpha, I’m sorry.” Bram came back, perching on the edge of the table. “We’ll go to Lord Arden together and explain. Between my work and the market, you can still make that payment, perhaps this month.”

Zilpha leaped to her feet, hurt and betrayal seeping through her as she gazed from her brother to her best friend. They were to be married, and she’d be alone, forced to work until she became lost or destitute on the streets. Unkind words buzzed around her head, building into a storm as the chair behind her fell to the floor. “No.” She bolted for the door. “It’s my fault. My debt. Leave me alone. I can fix this by myself.”

“Zilpha, I’m sorry. I should have told you.” Mathilda ran out behind her. “I honestly didn’t know—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Zilpha shouted back, tears in her voice. “You with your family and your beautiful farmland. You’re so focused on yourself you never notice what’s really going on. And now you’ve taken my brother.”

“Zilpha, that’s unfair of you.” Mathilda crossed her arms, her feet coming to a halt just outside the door of the hut. “You never told me about the debt, and I’ve asked you if you needed help. Come back, we will work together.”

“Leave me alone,” Zilpha shouted. Tears streaked down her face as she bolted from the farmland. She had to retrace her steps and find the bag of silver coins. Perhaps all wouldn’t be in vain. Even as she ran, the long face of Lord Nodin rose in her memory and she shuddered, but whether it was from anticipation or fear, she did not know.

11

MANIPULATION

“THERE YOU ARE,” Tor Lir said as he strode into the cave, stepping over Grift’s tail.

Citrine lay sprawled on a bed of furs by the back of the cave, still sleeping. At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head off her arms, blinking in the daylight. A charred fire smoked so close to her head it was a wonder her hair hadn’t caught fire. She used a rock as a pillow and Tor Lir couldn’t imagine she was comfortable. Her wild hair danced around her head, and her lemon-yellow eyes glared at him. “What are you doing here?” she grumbled.

Sitting up, she wiped sleep from her eyes and reached for her cloak. Tor Lir did not miss the way her eyes darted about the cave, checking that all her secrets remained hidden from him.

He crossed his arms and spread his legs, taking a stance in front of her. “Something strange happened last night, and I came to ask you about it.”

“Why me?” She reached for her boots and slid them up her bare knees.

Tor Lir shifted his gaze away from her immodest display of flesh. “Were all your beasts accounted for last night?”

“Why?” her hands dropped and her breath caught. Her brow furrowed as she stood. “Why would you ask such a thing? What happened?”

“I saw a beast at the temple. It ripped into one of the friars and killed him. But it disappeared before I could see it. Surely you aren’t letting your beasts run wild.”

Citrine’s heart-shaped face turned red, and she balled her hands into fists. “I don’t appreciate you coming here to accuse me. My beasts would never do such a thing.”

Tor Lir cocked his head to the side, studying her. “I had to ask. If there’s another beast on the loose, perhaps you can find it and add it to your collection.”

Citrine spun away from him, her voice taking on a distinctly unfriendly tone. “I have other things to do. Besides, I have enough beasts in my collection. I love them all and I don’t need more. What makes you think I want to stomp around collecting beasts? I have my own goals to attend to.”

“Ah…I thought as much. Will you tell me?”

Citrine pulled her royal blue cloak around her shoulders. It fell just below her knees. She crossed her arms, the warm flush still covering her face. “I did want to speak with you, but not so much after your accusations.”

Tor Lir ran a hand through his hair, a smirk on his face. Why did Citrine have to be so difficult? Part of him wanted to shake sense into her while another part of him enjoyed her relentless attitude. Giving her space, he leaned against the cave walls and watched her movements. “What do you want to speak to me about?”

Citrine picked up a basket and took a hunk of bread and dried fish out of it and tied it into a yellow handkerchief. Snatching up an apple, she took a bite out of it. Tor Lir’s stomach turned in hunger as he watched juice drip down Citrine’s chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand before facing him again. “I’m leaving.”

Something passed through Tor Lir at the way she said “I’m.” Did her plans include him? He thought not, but—refusing to show his frustration—he shrugged. “Why? I thought you wanted to stay in one place for a time because of your work. You have a spell of protection—”

“What do you know about spells?” Citrine put her hands on her hips, the apple forgotten as she frowned at him. “I thought you weren’t interested in knowledge.”

“I’m not,” he responded, adding a frosty edge to his words. “But clearly, you are. Why the sudden decision?”

“I don’t have to ask permission from you. I’ve decided. I’m leaving.”

Tor Lir pursed his lips. “Is that wise, considering the time of year? Autumn is coming and soon winter winds will freeze the plains. Are you prepared to face the winter in a new land?”

Citrine took another noisy bite of her apple, her gaze moving to the cave entrance. Tor Lir studied her posture, the way she held her shoulders up, and her eyes, avoiding his gaze. There was something she didn’t want to tell him. So be it.

“It’s not good for my beasts to be close to the city,” Citrine said. “Yesterday, that crazy lady, Old Edna, came to visit me, prattling on with her mad ravings. She claims she’s blind, but I don’t like it. I’m taking my beasts and going where we can have solitude.”

Citrine’s aura flashed, and Tor Lir considered whether she was telling the truth. He decided to test her. “Would you like me to come with you?”

Citrine scratched the back of her neck and tossed the apple core into the fire. She bent to grab a basket of herbs and started for the cave entrance, avoiding him altogether. Before she left, she turned back. “No, here is where we part ways. You have the opportunity to study the mortals, as you desire, and I will keep my beasts safe, as I desire.”

Irritation swept through Tor Lir at her words, like she’d slung mud in his face. He crept to her side, staring at her face and her bright hair cascading down her back. Today her hair appeared green in the sunlight. He moved close enough to snatch her hand and hold her back. “Go, if you wish it. But before you leave, I have a question. I saw something in the temple—a creature drawn on parchment. It was a horse and yet it was not, with wings on its back, and there was something about it I can’t explain. Do you know of such a beast? Have you heard of it?”

As Citrine’s eyes grew wide, a thrill coursed through him. He had the ability to manipulate her, and now he held her attention.

12

NIGHT VISIT

WHISPERS CIRCULATED through the city as Zilpha hunted for her bag of coins. After fleeing from Mathilda and Bram’s happiness, she’d returned to her hut and searched carefully for the bag of silver without success. Following her trail back to the city, she poked at bushes and leaves in the thicket. Where had she left it? Yet as her memory came back, she recalled falling into Hava’s hut of supplies, and tearing her dress. She was sure it was then the belt had come loose and out had dropped the bag of coins. But she couldn’t go back there. She swallowed hard, fingers shaking as she recalled the fire she’d set. If Hava returned to her supplies, she’d know there had been an intruder. Zilpha hoped no one had seen her, and while she assumed it was easy to blame thieves, she thought her jarred composure would give her away.

Now evening crept toward the city once again, and Zilpha stood in the empty marketplace, knowing she should head home but eyeing the temple with trepidation. With a shudder she decided to walk to it. People thronged the streets, some headed home, others to the shore. A few pointed up to the temple, shaking their heads.

“What is it?” Zilpha asked a lady who brushed near her, murmuring under her breath.

“There’s a monster loose among us,” the lady whispered. “It went up to the temple and killed the friar. That spells bad luck for all of us, and right before the Harvest Festival.”

“It can’t be bad luck,” Zilpha replied with little heart. “We live in a time of peace. Nothing terrible is supposed to happen.”

“Supposed to happen, but it can! Peace might be over and the darkness might spread again. I always said, there’s only so much that can be done. Evil will always return.”

“I don’t think it’s evil, only an accident.”

“An accident? If you had seen the body, you would think different. Nay, there are too many newcomers in the land, and the warden is failing us. Something must be done.” The lady hunched over, shaking her head, and pulled out a loaf of bread. “Sweet for ye? Three pennies—”

Zilpha shook her head, goosebumps poking up on her arms. “Nay, I did not come to trade. Have you heard what is being done about it?”

“Lord Arden is mustering the watchers, and there is word a new warden will take over soon. I assume the announcement will be made during the Harvest Festival. In the meantime, it’s best if you seek advice from Old Edna.”

Zilpha peered at the lady, startled she mentioned Old Edna. Edna was insane from her years of hardship. She had unusual abilities and made strange concoctions out of herbs and foul root vegetables. She kept a black raven that flew back and forth like a speaking beast, yet it only cawed instead of speaking.

There were a variety of speaking and dumb beasts across the South World, but given animal politics, most farmers sought out and bred dumb beasts. Talking beasts were too wild and demanded certain requirements for their living.

Old Edna’s mannerisms were odd, and at one time, the Disciples of Ithar had taken her for questioning. They could find no fault with her and had returned her to her maddening ways in the city. She was the oldest person Zilpha had ever seen, almost sixty moons and still roving around the city like a young one, preaching against the past darkness and warning others to beware the future.

“I don’t believe Old Edna can help us.” Zilpha shrugged.

“Aye, then there’s the colorful one they call Citrine. She has a rare gifting if you can find her.”

Zilpha moved closer to the lady, her breath caught. “Citrine? I saw her in the marketplace yesterday. What do you know about her?”

“Not much, she keeps a shop where she sells herbs.”

“She keeps a shop? Outside of the marketplace? That’s unheard of.”

“It’s by water’s edge, where you can see the ships coming in and a fair amount of traffic pours through. It’s not allowed by the city warden, but then since when has he meddled in our affairs? She seems to do as she wishes. It’s not much different from the inns and taverns by the port.”

A sudden hope beamed in Zilpha’s heart as an idea formed in her mind; perhaps the port was where she needed to sell goods. Outside of the marketplace she could make some additional coins, perhaps more than she’d ever made at the weekly market and she could pay off her debt. She seized the lady’s arm. “Do you know how I’d find her?”

The lady pointed at the sky, making a tsking sound with her tongue. “It grows late, and she closes early. Better try tomorrow as soon as the sun comes up.”

“Ah, many thanks. What else do you know? Have you heard about Lady Hava?”

The lady’s eyebrows rose, and a smile covered her face. “Such a sweet lady, it’s too bad, just too bad. I can’t be talking in the streets all day. I must go, unless you want to buy bread?”

The lady waved the bread. Zilpha stepped back, a frown coming over her face. “What about Lady Hava? What’s too bad?”

“No bread? Fine. Away with you then.” The lady moved down the street.

With a sigh Zilpha turned and pointed her feet home. The shadows were long in the streets, and this time she wanted to be home before anything untoward happened in the night. As she passed the richer part of the city, her eyes flitted to the road leading up to the home of Lord Arden. She wondered what he would do since she’d not appeared to pay her debt or request an extension. A weariness bit her, and a sudden hunger zinged through her stomach. Yet the idea churned in her mind. She could sell baskets by the sea. She counted on her fingers the amount she had. If she made a few more, she could sell enough. First thing in the morning, she’d set to work, getting her merchandise from Mathilda—she scowled—and figuring out a way to transport them to the shore.

A noise woke Zilpha. She sat up in bed, pulling the covers to her chest, heart pounding as she listened. Her fingers reached up to the shell necklace around her neck, pulling it back and forth as she peered into the inky blackness. Was it Bram coming home? But it was much too late for that. Wasn’t it? She wished the moonlight would come out from behind a cloud so she could see inside her hut. She’d left the flint near the fireplace, and if she padded across the floor, she could retrieve it and light a candle. But it was much too cold for that. Even though it was not yet winter, the temperature at night cooled, leaving her shivering in her thin shift, thankful for the wool blanket that covered her bed.

The sound came again—a scratch, like two objects striking each other. Her heart thudded in her chest and she leaned over, to reach for the candle, hoping it would be a suitable weapon. An orange glow flickered from the other room. Candlelight. Someone was in the house. Breathless, she snatched the candle from the floor and scanned the blackness of the room, searching for somewhere to hide. But it was too late. A shadow entered her room.

A dark cloak covered the figure, but through the clothing Zilpha could make out a male. The dancing candlelight—heedless of danger—showed off his amber eyes, deep set in a smooth-shaven face. Zilpha covered her mouth with her hand, smothering her scream into a high squeak of terror. The amber eyes glowed at her as the male glided up to her bed, perching on the foot of it and overwhelming her with his woody scent.

“I know you have it,” the deep voice all but growled at her, sending shivers down her spine.

Zilpha dropped the candle. It rolled into the floor with a thump. “What are you doing in my home? Who are you? Get out!”

A chuckle came from within the hood and a gloved hand tossed it back, revealing long shaggy hair. The male held the candle higher, showing off his full face. “Is that how you greet an old friend? You don’t recognize me?”

Zilpha gasped, dropping the wool blanket as she took in the stern jaw, deep eyes, and nimble fingers. “Nodin?” a vibration snaked through her belly, and her lips trembled at his proximity. A bolt of desire passed through her lower abdomen, and she tried to shake it off and keep her head clear.

“Did you not expect me? I know you have it. I need it back.”

“What are you talking about?” Zilpha asked, unable to keep from gripping the necklace that hung heavy between her breasts. She held onto it as though it were a token of protection.

His gaze flickered to her hands and then roamed further over her body. Zilpha shivered under his amber eyes, feeling dirty, like he’d asked her to undress for him. His eyebrows arched. “So, you kept it, but it’s not here.” He read her body posture well. “What did you do with it? Bury it?”

“I…I…I…” Zilpha cast about for words.

Bending, he set the candle on the floor and reached out to place both gloved hands on her bare shoulders, leaning closer until his bulk towered over her. “Don’t stammer…it doesn’t become you. I need it back in three days. Before the harvest. Or you may find life becomes very difficult for you. Look for it. Consider that your warning.”

Amber eyes narrowed at her, and Zilpha froze under his touch, gentle though it was. She clutched the necklace, as if it would tell her where to seek. “I don’t know where it is. Honestly. I don’t.”

His thin lips turned up, laughing at her inaptitude. Despite his sternness, the way his dark brown hair fell over his forehead made her feel weak. In the candlelight she could just make out the shadow of a beard against his jaw. A desire to reach out and run her fingers across his face made her tremble. She thought him handsome with his sharp nose and broad shoulders. He was skilled with speech and often got his way, either by tongue or the strength of his hands. Those elegant hands that held her shoulders, slipping down to her arms. One hand slid over, covering her fingers that held the necklace, a finger dipping down to graze her erect nipples.

She struggled under the warmth of his fingers against her skin, and her heartbeat pulsed, loud and clear. She licked her lips, fixating his stern expression in her mind. A shiver ran through her—the conflict of temptation and desire like a sweet fruit turned bitter at first bite. His demand ignited a flurry of choices. She leaned away from him, resisting, for the object he’d given her was dangerous. She’d thrown it away, knowing if she touched it, a brilliant awakening would take place within and everything would change. Perhaps not for the better. Yet the possibility lingered. A flood of warmth enveloped her as his fingers tightened around her arm, drawing her gaze back to his face.

“Three days. No excuses.” His face drew closer, his lips grazing her cheek, and he inhaled. “There is a reward waiting when you deliver.”

“Please.” A raw thirst knotted at the core of her being, begging to be released, despite what happened next. Was she strong enough to hold back? Nay, that was not the right question. Did she want to hold back? A chill wind blew in, scattering her thoughts like the leaves of autumn.

The hands withdrew, the temptation faded, and all that was left of his presence was an impression on the bed. He pulled the cloak over his head, taking the candle with him.

“Three days.”

His final words rang out, ominous in the dark, and she pulled the covers up to her neck, holding the necklace, running her fingers over the grooves. Should she play the game? His game? Or should she run?

13

DISTURBANCE

TOR LIR LEFT Citrine’s cave brimming with satisfaction. She’d been surprised and intoxicated by the idea of treasure. He felt her aura change. She was on a relentless quest for power. She would not leave until she had an answer. Since they’d arrived in Sanga Sang, she’d changed. He’d watched with doubts as she collected herbs and wrote the book of spells, her mind drifting nearer to ideas of power, searching for relics to use. Did she not know her own strength? He saw vestiges of power drifting in her aura, unused. Didn’t she know she could have everything she wanted by snapping her fingers? Thoughts of her made him feel ashamed of himself, for he knew he avoided his own powers, hiding them like they were a poison that would corrupt him. He brushed his negative thoughts away, anxiety knotting in his stomach as he entered the city once again, chewing his lower lip as he decided what to do.

“Tor Lir,” a female voice called.

He spun around, catching the swish of braids in an alleyway. A face peered out at him, and a smile tugged on the corner of his lips. “Lady Hava.” He moved toward her, holding out his hands, but he stopped short when he saw her face. “What’s wrong?”

Her chestnut hair hung flat and her face, usually full of life and color, was pale. Dark circles under her eyes told him she hadn’t slept. Reaching out, he placed a hand on her shoulder. Her grief made him feel something under the layers of emotion he attempted to hide.

Hava shrugged her shoulders and gave him a slight smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet you at the tavern last night like we planned. My father and I had a disagreement.”

A bruise on her cheek told him more than words could say, and he stepped back. Anger boiled like lava in the core of his being, and his fists tightened. “Dare he strike you?”

She moved toward him, and he caught her scent. A tightness came to his chest and he faintly remembered the Jasmine Gardens of Shimla and the Jesnidrains—the beautiful, immortal creatures who fueled his lust. He blinked, trying to keep back the thoughts, forcing himself not to act on instinct because he missed the warmth of feminine touch. All the same, a longing rose, and he pulled Hava into an embrace, holding her a moment too long, feeling himself go hot at the delightful feel of her body against his.

Tor Lir and Lady Hava had met in the city one market day. She’d dropped her goods and he had been there to help pick them up. He’d asked her a question about the swords on her back and she, in surprise, offered to train him. When he wasn’t working the farmlands, he met with Hava to learn sword fighting—he still recalled how Citrine had laughed at him for choosing a bow and arrow, claiming it was for cowards. From there, an unusual friendship formed, and Tor Lir found he had someone—other than Citrine—to ask about the ways of mortals.

It was Hava who had told him about the habits for mortals, work being their number one need. Work provided food for bellies, a place to live, land to grow crops, and coin for purchases including cloth, herbs, voyages, and the simpler pleasures, like a hot meal at the tavern and a tankard of ale. Tor Lir found it odd, for the Iaen did not believe work was the ultimate goal. They flitted about the forest at will, each exploring their own interests and forcing prisoners and the young to complete mundane tasks—tasks mortals consumed their lives with.

Hava pulled back, staring up into Tor Lir’s face, the self-pity gone. “Listen, I wanted to speak with you yesterday because my father is planning something big. He thought I wouldn’t notice, but he’s been calling on the Lords of the city, binding them together in some sort of plan that will disrupt the peace. There are few who will stand up to them, for he owns a good piece of the farmland beyond the city, and he has tenants who pay him in silver. I think he intends to get rid of them by sending his soldiers to root them out of their homes. One way or another, prisons will overflow, and many good workers will lose their place in the market.”

Tor Lir listened, wondering if Hava’s father had something to do with the beast he saw the evening before. “He wants to bring imbalance and chaos to the city,” Tor Lir said. “And to what end? What is there to gain?”

Hava sighed. “Wealth. It has been his life’s goal. Without tenants, he can now use prisoners to work the land, but I think he wants to go beyond producing crops. I think he wants to own all of the farmland so he can control the prices in the marketplace and create a monopoly on goods sold. Most of those who work with cloth, like I do, pay a tax to him. I think he wants to be the next city warden, which is concerning because the warden has disappeared and there are new Lords in the city. I mentioned going to the tavern last night because it’s the perfect place to glean gossip from the city and watch newcomers.”

Tor Lir cocked his head. “I saw something last night at the temple, something that might have to do with all of this.”

Hava raised an eyebrow. “The temple? I did hear there was a disturbance. Tell me what you saw, and then we must make a plan.”

Tor Lir smiled, liking Hava even more. Unlike Citrine, she did not hurl words at him or barge into a mess without planning. His eyes softened as he stared at Hava. She was beautiful, but she was not an Enchantress and she did not control beasts.

14

ILLITERATE

DAYLIGHT STREAMED INTO THE ROOM, and Zilpha sat up with a jerk, brushing sleep out of her eyes. She scanned the room, surprised she’d fallen asleep after the devilish visit of Lord Nodin. She hadn’t imagined it, had she? But the candle lay on the floor, and when she peered out of the room, she could see the latch to the hut was turned and the bar was not set. But it was the letter on the table that gave her pause. She reached for it, feeling suspended like the breath at the moment before making a choice.

She unfolded the parchment and peered at the hastily scrawled words that covered it. Words she could not read. A number was listed at the end. A solitary one with a five next to it. Payment? She’d have to take it to someone who could read.

A thump at the door distracted her. “Zilpha? Are you home?”

Mathilda. Hope faded into apprehension. Dashing back to the room, Zilpha shrugged on her working dress. Sweat from the previous day covered the back and underarms of the dress, yet she hadn’t taken the time to wash the bloodstains off her other garment. It was all but ruined now. Stuffing the letter into her pocket, she hurried to the door while twisting her hair up in a bun. She pulled it open to Mathilda’s peaked face.

“Zilpha, what a relief. I was worried about you,” Mathilda gushed.

A horse nickered in the background and, looking out, Zilpha saw with relief Mathilda had brought the baskets.

Zilpha crossed her arms, moving her bare toe over the dirt on the door step. A drop of candle wax had fallen and hardened there. “I…I…I didn’t mean those words yesterday…”

Mathilda reached out and pulled Zilpha to her, wrapping her in a forgiving embrace. “I know. Me either. Listen, I brought your supplies and—I hope you don’t mind—cooked you some fish and bread. It’s not much, but it’s the least I can do.”

Zilpha pulled away, uncomfortable with Mathilda’s kindness. “Let me grab my shoes and I’ll help you unload.”

A moment of awkward silence followed. Zilpha dragged on her shoes, her eyes scanning the floor, unsure what else to say to Mathilda. But Mathilda was the first to break the silence. She always seemed to know how to break a moment with words, and Zilpha wanted to scowl, but she didn’t want Mathilda to take it the wrong way.

“Nodin. I’m curious and hope you’ll forgive me prying. Were you in love with him?” Mathilda asked as they walked to the wagon together.

Love. That word again. Did it exist? Although the telltale signs of happiness pinched Mathilda’s rosy cheeks, leading Zilpha to believe it did. Zilpha lifted baskets from the wagon and walked to her door, bending to drop her burdens and hide the sudden flush that came to her face. When she stood straight, she saw gray smoke rising from the neighboring hut, just a stone’s throw down the lane. The smoke dispersed into the air, disappearing just like Nodin had. Lord Nodin now. Was there anything there at all?

“It wasn’t love. He has a persuasive power, and it’s impossible not to want to do what he says. I think it was the look he gave me when I pleased him. It felt as if he truly saw me for what I can do. What I can give. . .never mind. You look confused. . .” Zilpha shrugged at her lame attempt to explain. Even his name on her lips reminded her of the choice she had yet to make.

“Nay, I’ve just never heard you talk like this before. And that expression on your face.”

“Mathilda,” Zilpha spoke up, wanting to change the topic of their conversation, “do you know anyone who can read?”

“Read? What for?”

“Just curious.”

“The Lords and Ladies of the city, they need that knowledge. I’m sure if you went to the temple the friars could translate and then there’s the tower—”

“But you know someone like me would never get close enough to the temple or tower without raising questions. No, I need someone who is like us. Not those rich Lords.”

“What about the colorful one, Citrine? She buys ink and parchment at the marketplace. It must be because she reads.”

A jolt of understanding passed through Zilpha. “I know what I have to do.”

After Mathilda left—she hadn’t been keen on leaving and needed encouragement—Zilpha sat down in the dirt outside her hut and weaved two more baskets. She wanted to ensure she had enough if she was going to follow through with her plan and sell them by the port. She’d gone down there once or twice, although it was said not to be a place where ladies should walk lest they sought passage to the eastern side of the Jaded Sea. Regardless, it was a place where the fishers went, the traders made port, and the rough characters of the city of Sanga Sang dwelt. A few shops coated the edges, all in a row with a tavern, an inn, and an herb shop. Such establishments were owned by lowlifes who sold suspect merchandise and were not welcome in the weekly marketplace.

The sun was high in the sky when Zilpha finished, and she quickly stacked up four baskets and tied them to her back. It wasn’t enough, and she much preferred to have a wagon, but she had to walk. Although they were light, it was difficult to carry so many baskets such a long way.

She set off down the road, and just as her hut disappeared from sight, she remembered she had nothing to trade, aside from baskets. If the fate held with her, she could sell some before finding the shop of the colorful one. Then she’d have enough money to trade.

Rich golden and red hues of fall dotted the countryside combined with the deep smell of vegetables and meats roasting in the neighboring huts. Zilpha lived on a row of huts, each a measured distance from the other. She wondered if Lord Arden owned all the huts and if the peasants had trouble paying their debts. She picked up the pace, the thin soles of her shoes rubbing against her calloused feet. She needed new shoes but had to wait until the debt was paid off. Her thoughts flickered to Bram, and a deep unhappiness slammed into her gut. He was off working the fields. His hollow words about helping her had turned out to be naught after yesterday. She blinked back tears, frustrated at her weakness and her jealousy of Mathilda. Why did some people have all the luck in life while she was burdened with heavy blows? Although when she considered her past, she could not help but blame herself. She’d been the one who took out the loan and fell to Nodin’s charms.

The city rustled with life just as it always did as she walked through it, marveling at the sights and smells that never ceased. A part of her wanted to move from her hut in the countryside in to the city, where everything she could dream of lay at her fingertips. She passed the dressmaker and looked wistfully at the cloth in the window. Her dress would be threadbare soon, and with the ruin of the other one she needed something fancy and fine to wear.

She made her way past the marketplace to the wide cobblestone road leading to the port. She saw the winking Jaded Sea before she reached it, and her heart beat in anticipation as white sails appeared. This was everything she’d ever dreamed of—to have a shop at the edge where she could look upon the vast majesty of the Jaded Sea and watch the ships sail in and out of the harbor.

A thudding desire scattered through her as she dared to let herself dream of a life where she would run her own shop and sell baskets, clothes, and precious stones, better than the quaint jewelry the rich ladies wore. She’d even help out the peasants so no one would know the fear of being in debt and judged by those over her. She would be a beacon for others and no longer fall prey to schemes. But right now, she had to do what she needed to survive, and Lord Nodin’s offer hung in the air like a spiderweb, unseen yet waiting to entrap her.

Salt stung her nose when she reached the harbor, and in the distance, she heard the cry of seagulls, the shouts of the ship-hands working, and the bartering of people paying for passage aboard those great ships. It was more crowded than she’d anticipated, and the colors gave her pause. She stood near the end of the cobblestone street where it ran into a dirt road and finally to planked gangways made of wood, shifting in the craggy rock and grass. A whisper of adventure hung in the air like an intangible thought unable to be fully grasped.

Zilpha stuck her tongue in her cheek as she watched the people run to and fro, the males stripped to their waists, their backs shiny with sweat. The glazed hue of lust zipped through her, and she shivered as the sea winds whisked overhead. But it wasn’t from cold, only the knowledge she was alone in the world while everyone else moved on with their lives, heedless of her dissatisfaction.

“Zilpha?”

She jumped and turned at the question in the male’s voice. Her thoughts flew back to Lord Nodin’s harsh tones the evening before, and a fiery flush came over her face. But it wasn’t Lord Nodin, only Irik the fisher. He jogged up to her, a question in his eyes before a good-natured smile spread across his broad face. “I’m surprised to see you here. It isn’t market day.”

His body reeked of the pungent smell of fish, water, and sweat. He carried a basket full of fish on his back and only wore a loose pair of pants that were rolled to his knees. His bare chest glistened in the light, and Zilpha averted her eyes, suddenly embarrassed. Whether it was for him or for herself, she did not know. “I have business here.”

“Ah.” Irik eyed her baskets, and a puzzled look came over his broad face. Lifting an elbow, he wiped sweat off his forehead. “May I escort you there?”

Zilpha’s face turned redder still, and she wished the baskets were tucked away. There didn’t seem to be a place to set up shop out by the docks. A sigh passed from her lips, and her shoulders slumped. “You think me a fool for being out here.”

“Nay,” Irik shook his head. “It can be rough out here for a lady, and I only thought, seeing as you appear to be alone, I could escort you as far as you’d let me. I understand it's none of my business…”

“But you’re busy with the fish.” Zilpha pointed to his basket, his glistening chest making her feel odd inside.

Irik gave a rough laugh to dispel some of the awkwardness in the air, and Zilpha frowned, realizing she must have insulted him. He took a step back. “I’m sorry I overstepped,” he mumbled, his gaze shifting down.

Zilpha felt something like a burden roll away and she relaxed, reaching out a hand to touch Irik’s wrist and encourage him. A jolt zinged through her at the contact with him. “I’m sorry, I’m out of sorts today and you could be of help. Do you know where the colorful one sells herbs?”

Irik’s head snapped up, and his mouth rolled up in a lopsided grin while his eyes narrowed with wariness. “The colorful one? I think I know what you mean.” He paused, staring at her like she was a clam that needed to be pried open in order to find the treasure inside. “Zilpha. Why her? I know she helps with ailments and maladies, but some say she’s just as mad as Old Edna.”

Fear stirred in Zilpha’s heart like the frantic wings of a bird caught in a trap. Her hackles rising, she lashed out. “You said it was none of your business what I do. Are you going to help me or not?”

His face fell and something like an invisible wall came up between them. He turned, giving her another whiff of fish and salt. He pointed down the dirt road in the tavern's direction. “It’s that way, just two doors down from the tavern. You’ll see the sign when you reach it. Some claim she keeps it locked to keep out the drunks.”

“Irik,” she spoke his name gently, apologizing with her tone. “I thank you. I hope we meet again under different circumstances.”

He took another step back, withdrawing from her as his brows lowered. “Zilpha, if you’re in trouble I can help.”

She froze, daring herself to stare into his eyes. They were wide and caring with no trace of malice. Something about the way he stood with his muscles bulging and sweat dripping down his neck made her want to come clean. The words tingled on the edge of her tongue, desperate to confide in someone who could help her find her way. A ringing sounded in her ears as the decision rose before her. If she took a step toward him, her weakness would show and like the waves of the Jaded Sea, a choice would come crashing down, spiraling out of control before she could stop it.

Her voice came out a rough whisper. “You can’t help me.” Dropping her gaze, she turned and fled before she regretted her decision.

The baskets weighed heavily on her back, and all thoughts of selling them evaporated. She hoped the colorful one would be willing to trade. The parchment in her pocket felt important, and a desperation rose in Zilpha even as the evening shadows grew, announcing the sunset.

She found the shop of the colorful one on the end of a street with a view of the harbor. Sun-bleached wood covered it, and someone had nailed a bouquet of dried herbs, upside down, on the door. Just as Irik had warned her, the shop was locked. Taking a deep breath to settle her jumbled nerves, she rapped on the door and waited.

A muffled voice shouted from behind the door. “I’m closing for the day.”

Desperation mounted in Zilpha, and she pounded on the door in response, her voice rising to a higher pitch and cracking as she responded. “Please. It won’t take long.”

Light footsteps shuffled across the floor and then the door swung open with a long drawn-out creak, the wood heaving a sigh of relief at being used.

The rich scent of herbs wafted across the door step, and Zilpha looked up into the odd eyes of the colorful one. Up close she appeared even more exotic, although a bright scarf tamed her wild hair. She towered almost a foot over Zilpha, and a question glinted behind her lemon-yellow eyes. Her heart-shaped face was angular and sharp, making her eyes the most interesting feature on her face. She was curvaceous and wore a dark blue shift that fell to her knees, grazing the tops of her black boots. The colorful one studied her, and Zilpha shuddered, feeling inadequate underneath the scrutiny. For a brief moment she hesitated, Mathilda’s words ringing in her mind. What if Citrine was in league with the wrong kind of spirits and would lead her down the path of destruction?

15

SEEKING WISDOM

CITRINE EYED the small slight female who perched on her doorstep, questions gleaming in her hazel eyes. The female stood just over five feet tall with a willowy body. There was a thinness about her like she did not eat enough to fill out her body properly. Waves of shiny nut-brown hair fell almost to her waist, and she wore a faded dress. The faint scent of sweat came from her back, which was not surprising given the four baskets she carried.

“Come in then.” Citrine jerked her chin toward the table. “Have a seat and I’ll make tea.”

The female stepped inside, taking four woven baskets from her back and setting them on the floor.

Citrine shut the door and turned to the kettle, quickly pouring two cups of tea and sprinkling herbs over them. Keeping her back to the female, she chewed her lower lip, inwardly scolding herself for her impulsive decision. Given the female’s appearance, she was young and poor, likely unable to offer coin in exchange. Citrine assumed the baskets were there to entice her, but she had everything she needed for her journey. Tor Lir’s words from earlier haunted her. She could do one last good deed before she forsook the city and ventured into the wild with her beasts on what seemed like a fool’s treasure hunt.

Lifting the steaming mugs, she turned back around to see the female standing hesitatingly in the middle of the shop, toying with a piece of paper. “Can you read?”

Citrine nodded to keep from portraying her disgust. It was shameful that mere peasants did not learn the art of reading that was reserved for the Lords and Ladies of the land. “Sit, drink the tea and then we shall discuss.”

The female’s nose flared, betraying a hint of frustration before she spun on her heel and moved to the table. Citrine sat down across from her and inhaled the fragrance of herbs, relaxation penetrating every pore. She took a sip, and the warm liquid eased down her throat, warming her bones. “I am called Citrine, what is your name?”

The female hesitated, her deft fingers curling over the tea cup. “Zilpha. I came to you for help. I’m in trouble and I need advice from someone who isn’t close to me.”

Citrine relaxed her shoulders, well familiar with the conflicting thoughts trouble brought. “What kind of trouble?”

Zilpha placed the parchment on the table and waited, her hand covering it. Lifting her head, she met Citrine’s eyes. Returning the gaze Citrine saw something behind Zilpha’s hazel eyes. There was sorrow, torment, and a spark of determination, something Citrine had felt herself.

“I want to know if I can trust you first,” Zilpha all but whispered. “They say you have powers to help, and some claim you’re in league with the Creator while others say you aren’t. Where does your help come from?”

Citrine glanced down at the parchment. “You have to choose to trust me. You came all this way to see me and persisted when I turned you away. To ask me if I am trustworthy is laughable.”

Zilpha removed her hand from the parchment and nodded. “I trust you then. What does it say?”

Citrine picked it up, reminded of what Tor Lir had spoken of when he came to visit her. Unfolding the paper, she scanned it, a frown furrowing her brow as she read the words that lay there.

Zilpha the basket-weaver owes 15 silver coins to Lord Arden.

To be paid by sunset three days after market day.

Penalty for nonpayment includes loss of home, slavery, imprisonment, or punishment as determined by the city warden.

Underneath, there were words written by a different hand.

If you find the treasure for me, I will pay your debt in full.

Puzzled, Citrine glanced up at Zilpha before rereading the parchment, mouthing the words as she read. “It’s about your debt. Lord Arden wants to be paid tomorrow by sunset.”

Zilpha’s shoulders slumped, and her fingers tightened around the tea cup.

“But there’s more,” Citrine went on, furious at herself for feeling sympathy for the poor female. It was likely her own fault and folly. Citrine should leave her to it. “It seems like someone intercepted this message, because a different handwriting falls below the amount. ‘If you find the treasure, your debt will be paid in full.’ I think you need to tell me what’s going on.”

Zilpha’s face turned bright red, and her eyes fell to the tea. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the cup and chugged down the drink like someone dying of thirst. The steam blew into her face, and when she finished, her eyes glazed over. She opened her mouth and blurted out, “To fix this I have to find the treasure. The trouble is, I don’t know what happened to it.”

Citrine’s heartbeat picked up. She leaned forward, an odd tingling creeping up her face at the thought of treasure. No wonder she wanted to open the door to Zilpha—she was a treasure hunter. Banishing words of warning from mad Old Edna, Citrine flattened the parchment with her fingers and took a deep breath. “Tell me about the treasure.”

Zilpha frowned and gave herself a shake. Her eyes roved around the small shop and then she spoke, as if willing herself to tell the truth. “When I first came to the city, there was a male called Nodin. He…I…we helped each other. He had a treasure he kept locked in a box. After a time, he grew bored with life and left, leaving the treasure with me. I assumed once he was gone the treasure was mine. So, I took the key and unlocked it, but the treasure wasn’t what I expected. It was terrifying and so I threw it away.”

Zilpha paused, her face flushing. Citrine watched her fingers go to caress the shell necklace she wore. The way Zilpha fidgeted with it told Citrine it was important. “What’s in the shell?” she prompted, already knowing the answer. “The key?”

Zilpha jerked, dropping her fingers while her eyes went wide. “Yes. How did you know?”

Citrine shrugged. People were predictable, and that had nothing to do with her gifts. “You threw away the box but kept the key?”

Zilpha bit her lip. “I didn’t dream he’d return and want the treasure back. But he did. And he does. I need to find out where the treasure is. If I can see it, I can find it. Can you help me? That’s what you do? Bring back memories? Create visions? You can help me find it?”

Zilpha moved forward as she spoke, her slender hands clasped together as an eagerness came over her face. Citrine felt she was on the cusp of something, the turning point. What she chose would mark all of her future decisions. She thought of the words Tor Lir had relayed to her the day before and Old Edna’s warning. She squared her shoulders, bringing a sternness to her voice, although her body rolled in uncanny desire. Chaos. Mischief. Treasure. She wanted it all. Regardless of what Zilpha said, she’d help her. “Tell me, what does this treasure look like?”

Zilpha blinked at the unexpected question. Glancing down at the parchment she spoke, her voice low as if someone would hear them. “It lay in the box on its side, and it looked like a horse, but when I lifted it out, I saw it had wings, clear as crystal. When I touched it, it made me feel frightened and yet…there’s something dark within it.”

Citrine dropped her hands into her lap, squeezing her legs together to keep the excitement from escaping. “Fine. I’ll help you. But pray tell, what do you have to trade?”

16

HIDE AND SEEK

TRADE. That word. Zilpha turned to glare at the baskets by the door. Suddenly they seemed like a poor trade for the vision to see where the treasure lay. Her shoulders sagged as the sudden glimmer of hope faded. Twisting her hands in her lap, she responded with misery. “I’m sorry. My coins were stolen, and I have nothing but baskets. Do you need a basket?”

She dared a glance up at Citrine, who sniffed, insulted by the meager suggestion. Zilpha blinked hard as tears pricked behind her eyes. It was stupid to come to the shop and think she could gain free advice. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Pushing back the chair, she rose, unable to meet Citrine’s eyes. “I know, I don’t have much. I apologize for wasting your time. I’ll go now.”

But it all had come so clearly, and she needed to seek the treasure. What other options did she have? Old Edna could not provide the same information. Unless she took a gift to the Tree of Wisdom. If she gathered herbs near the farmlands, tomorrow she could make the hike to the tree and ask for wisdom from the Creator. It was far-fetched, but all she had left.

“You don't have much of a choice, do you?” Citrine stood, holding up the parchment. “Here it says if you don’t pay your debt, your home could be taken or you could be imprisoned or enslaved. Not very nice options. If you want to seek the treasure, I can help you. In exchange, let me seek with you.”

Confusion made Zilpha spin, eyeing the tall Tider again. “But what’s in it for you? What do you gain?”

“I want to know the treasure is real and hold it before you turn it over for payment against your debt,” Citrine said.

Zilpha’s brows lowered in disbelief. The treasure. Citrine knew something about it. Something warned Zilpha against trusting her, and yet she had no choice. Perhaps when the time came, she could outwit Citrine and take it for herself. Or once Citrine touched it, she’d know it was something dark and evil and it was best to run away. Decisions scurried through Zilpha’s mind and, seeing no other option, she stepped forward. “I accept.”

Citrine smiled. “We must get started then. Sit there and I will put together a concoction to help you find the treasure. Before we begin, you must still your thoughts. You can practice now by sitting there and breathing, relaxing, and focusing on the events that took place that led you to throw away the treasure. Can you do that for me?”

Zilpha nodded and folded her hands in her lap. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath to let the tension of the past two days fade from her mind. The flavors in the air shifted, and a sweetness rose to her nostrils. As she breathed in, a sensation captured her, and delectable flavors touched her lips. She gasped and sank further, attempting to find the source as it surged around her. Cool fingers touched her hands as she heard Citrine’s guiding voice in the distance. “Keep your eyes closed. Come, sit here. Drink this. Then lie back and let the visions do their work.”

She was led somewhere warm and sat down upon a pallet; she guessed it was something like a bed set at waist height. When she was sitting, Citrine’s presence faded and then returned, and another cup was pressed into her hand. Pungent flavors rose up from it, and when she sipped a bitterness stung her tongue, quickly replaced by minty flavors coursing down her throat. Shuddering at the odd mixture, she wanted to pull away, but it seemed as if a spell lay upon her, and she could do nothing except what Citrine commanded. When the cup was empty, it was taken from her, and a hand touched her shoulder, guiding her until she lay flat on her back and the vision came.

A vortex whirled in the darkness, and memories came crashing back. Sounds came first—the crackle of fire, a female voice chanting, her words flowing together so fluidly Zilpha could not decipher them. Then a shadow appeared in the vortex, and a male’s amber eyes glowed at her. Lord Nodin. One of his gloved hands held a candle. Lifting it to his mouth, he blew it out, and Zilpha was plunged into darkness. Her eyes flew open, and her hands reached out, grasping for something solid to hold on to, but there was nothing, and she fell backward, a scream emitting from her throat as the darkness swallowed her whole. A roaring burst through her ear drums, and suddenly she was outside. Looking down, she saw her feet planted on a boulder, and before her the waves of the Jaded Sea roared, splashing up against the craggy stones. Zilpha understood she was reliving a memory. In both hands she held the box, carved out of redwood and sanded smooth. Her fingers trembled as she held it out over the cliffs and dropped it. That day, she’d lifted the key from her neck, then put it back and fled back to weave more baskets, thankful the accursed treasure was out of her control. Now, in the vision, she watched the box drop like a stone, smashing into a rock. It cracked in half and tumbled down into the water where the waves caught and tossed it to and fro like a sea creature playing with its food. At last, when the tide went out to sea, the smashed box floated into a cove and rested at the foot of a cave. There, a bird, thinking it was interested, pecked away at it, unintentionally moving it further into the cave. When it grew bored, it flew away, and the vision receded.

Zilpha woke with a start, sitting straight up and almost banging her head on the bundle of herbs that perched above. Her eyes flew open, and she saw the herb shop with Citrine sitting in a corner, writing.

She glanced up at the movement, her face impassive. “What did you see?” she asked.

Zilpha swallowed hard, wanting to tell a lie to prevent Citrine from seeking with her, but nothing came to mind. “It’s in a cave, by the shore.”

Citrine paused, the quill in her hand. She licked her lips and cocked her head. “If you saw this cave, would you recognize it?”

“Aye,” Zilpha’s breath caught in her throat.

“Good. The sun is almost down, and there’s no use searching at night. We shall meet here at first light to begin our search. Are these terms agreeable?”

Since there was no other choice, Zilpha nodded. She rose to her feet, and the shop pitched around her. She reached out a hand, steadying herself against the wall.

“You might feel groggy for a bit.” Citrine shrugged without sympathy. “It’s a side effect of the herbs.”

Zilpha nodded that she understood while her eyes sought a window. She felt hesitant about going out after sundown, especially since the incident at the temple. Swallowing hard, she wondered if the beast was out on such a night and if she could seek sanctuary somewhere. She opened her mouth to ask, but when she glanced at Citrine, she was frowning at something in her book. A wave of embarrassment came over Zilpha and steadying herself she took a deep breath and made for the door.

“Oh, leave your baskets here,” Citrine waved her away. “You can collect them tomorrow.”

Zilpha recognized what it was. Collateral to ensure she showed up the next day. Without another word, she opened the door and slipped outside. Evening had fallen, and the sun was streaked pink and orange with the failing sunset. Zilpha took a deep breath, her eyes drawn to its beauty. A peace filled her heart, and something like joy tingled on her fingertips. Everything would be okay now. She would find the treasure, with Citrine’s help, and give it to Lord Nodin in exchange for full payment of her debt. She had a plan. It would work.

Ignoring the fact she might not find the treasure quickly, she turned to walk past the tavern. As she did, she saw three shadows behind her. Males. With knives. One of them licked his lips at her. “Oy there, miss, where are you going at this hour?”

“Need a little company?”

They barked at her, like wild dogs eager to devour prey.

A little scream of terror tore from Zilpha’s throat, and she set off in a run, looking wildly about for somewhere to hide.

17

QUESTIONS AND DEMANDS

THE SHORE TILTED as Zilpha fled, and the grogginess pricked at her head, causing a deep ache to ring in her skull. The base of her throat felt dry, and a longing for a cool draught of water consumed her. But the three males drew closer, calling out to her, their voices a blur. The walls of the buildings rose before her with the port on the left and the city on her right—an open view with nowhere to hide, and no one in sight. Panic made her chest seize up, and when she realized she could run no further, a figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path.

Zilpha skidded to a stop, choking on air as she balled her hands into fists. Her brown hair flew as she spun around to eye the males behind her. Her cheeks flamed with heat as she realized they still stood exactly where they’d been when she’d left Citrine’s herb shop. One of them held up a knife and licked his lips, then turned and sauntered into the tavern.

Relief swept through Zilpha’s exhausted body, and she leaned over at the waist, gasping clumps of salt-stained air combined with the faint odor of fish. The shadow in front of her was forgotten until it spoke, a cold voice meandering through the air like the first winter snow. “You went to see Citrine?”

Nostrils flaring, Zilpha’s head snapped up, and she leaned back as the male towered over her. He was well over six feet tall with a lanky body and sharp features. Emerald green eyes bored into her, slightly sunken into his angular face. Stumbling backward, Zilpha reached out for something to hold on to. Her head felt hazy, and her breath turned shallow and weak. “Well?” the male prompted without ceremony.

Zilpha’s eyes dropped, taking in his garb. He wore black pants and boots soiled with dirt. A plain shirt and a black jerkin with gold embroidery covered his broad chest. His hands were gloved and crossed over his chest, while his pink lips curled with indifference. Although he had not touched her, words came to mind. He was someone powerful, with authority, not in the same way as Lord Arden and the city warden, but there was something about him that demanded an answer. For a moment, her knees knocked together, and she considered kneeling, if just to regain her mobility. Silently she uttered an oath against the potion Citrine had given her, for her mind moved like the morning fog over the Jaded Sea, obscuring truth.

“Aye,” the whisper escaped from her lips. She wrapped her fingers around the folds of her dress, relieved to hold on to something solid.

“Excuse me,” the male motioned toward the tavern. “You look as if you will collapse. Would you prefer we continue this conversation sitting down?”

Zilpha’s eyes darted to the tavern and back to the male. She would prefer to go home, but it did not seem as if he would allow her. Besides, the tavern was full of people. Her fingers twitched, and a wistful thought began in her mind—the hope Irik was still at the port and would come to her rescue. She could rely on him to escort her home after dark with nothing indecent taking place. Heart hammering in her chest, she pressed her lips together and nodded at the strange male. “Who are you?”

His hand came up to touch her elbow, guiding her to the boisterous establishment. “I am the Nameless One.” His voice was just as cold and hard as earlier. The word emotionless came to her mind. “If you desire a name, you may call me Tor Lir.”

A wave of exhaustion came over her as he pulled open the door to the tavern and waved her inside. Incessant chatter met her ears, and a roar of laughter came from the males in the corner. A dark haze danced on the edge of Zilpha’s vision, but Tor Lir’s hand came up, touching the small of her back and guiding her to a small table tucked into a corner.

Once she was sitting down, her vision cleared, and she eyed the inside of the tavern with disgust and fear. Taverns were a popular place for newcomers to gather for food—a place to sleep and glean the local gossip. While taverns were spread out across the city, the one at the port was popular for sailors, fishers, and traders on their way out. Most people were about to embark on an adventure the next day or had just arrived and needed a stiff drink and to flap their tongues while they worked on their land legs. It was not a place for ladies such as herself, and once again Zilpha reproached herself for putting herself in such a predicament.

A well-endowed maid came over, her bright hair curling over one shoulder. “What will it be?” she demanded, her eyes widening as she studied Tor Lir. Zilpha followed her gaze. On second glance, she realized the male had an alluring quality to his looks. All the same, she cowered inside at what he wanted from her.

“Water for the lady, wine for myself.” Tor Lir waved two fingers without even glancing at the maid.

She frowned and spun away, likely furious at not even being able to catch the attention of such an attractive male.

“What is your name?” Tor Lir asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Zilpha,” she replied. “I don’t know what you want with me but please, I need to get back home. If you want to know what happened perhaps you should ask the herb lady?”

“Citrine won’t tell me anything, which is why I’m asking you.”

Zilpha raised her eyebrows, suddenly curious. “You know her?”

“Aye.” The male folded his long fingers on the table.

Zilpha noticed they were beautiful and smooth, unlike the rough work hands most males had. She glanced again at her strange companion and as his dark hair moved could have sworn she saw pointed ears sticking out. Every bone in her body felt stiff with cold and weary. “Did you come with her?”

Before Tor Lir could reply, the maid returned with a cup of water and a mug of spiced wine. She plopped the drinks down and held out her hand for a coin. Tor Lir flipped one on to the table without much thought and took a long draught of wine, almost draining the mug. Zilpha stared at him, every inch of her body telling her to flee while she had time, but some curiosity held her firm. She took a timid sip of water.

Tor Lir set down his mug and leaned over the table, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “You likely don’t know, but Citrine is dangerous. She is not who you think she is, and if you and she are planning something together, it is likely one or both of you will come to your ruin. I sense the threads of imbalance in this land, and I believe it leads back to something Citrine is planning. Your aura is shining with fear, and it’s related to something big that is about to happen in this city.”

Zilpha felt a flutter of panic scurry through her, the same old fear that kept reappearing. Words tumbled out of her mouth. “Are you a seer that you know this?”

Tor Lir’s lip curled, although Zilpha could not tell if he were smirking at her or disagreeing with her question. “Nay, I am no seer. I am the Nameless One. The keeper of the balance between good and evil.”

Zilpha gasped at his words, fighting to keep from feeling as though she were on the edge of hysterics. “The keeper? The balance of good and evil?” It sounded impossible, like a story told of the Heroes of Old. “If you know something is going to happen, you will try to stop us,” Zilpha insisted with bravery she did not feel.

Tor Lir raised an eyebrow and studied her, his emerald eyes moving over her body. There was a coldness to them Zilpha did not understand. “There is no need to stop you if it will keep the balance.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“That’s why I need to know what you’re planning.”

Crossing his arms, he leaned forward, his uncanny presence looming over her. Zilpha tore her gaze from him and glanced around the room, checking to see who was available to come to her rescue. The males and females talked and smoked, some slurping down drinks while others shoved food in their mouth. And then there was a swing of bright hair and braids. Hava’s face appeared. She stood in the door way with her hands on her hips, scanning the room. Her eyes flitted from table to table and suddenly paused when they landed on Tor Lir. A scowl covered her face as her eyes rested on Zilpha.

A ripple of fury and hatred made Zilpha hunch up her shoulders and wrap her arms around herself. Did Hava know about the fire? Hava strode in toward her, her dark boots stomping across the tavern floor, moving people out of her way. A few whistles and calls of approval sounded across the tavern. But they fell silent when they saw the swords on her back.

Zilpha rose as Hava approached and pointed a finger at the tall lady. Anger, not bravery, inspired her words. “You!” Zilpha hissed. “You ruined me during market day.”

Hava’s cool expression was enough to make Zilpha stumble back to her seat like invisible hands had pushed her. Hava crossed her arms, staring down her nose at Zilpha like a beast studying its prey. “We all do what we need to survive. My father is ruthless and has many debts. You will survive to pay it. Now what are you doing here?”

Hava’s hazel eyes darted from Zilpha to Tor Lir. Zilpha took a deep breath as Tor Lir took over the conversation.

“I need information from her,” Tor Lir said.

She noted his voice changed. Instead of the chilly coolness, it turned warm. Zilpha blinked in surprise. Of course he respected Hava. After all, she was the daughter of a wealthy Lord. It was best to stay on her good side.

“Has she given it?” Hava demanded.

“Nay,” Tor Lir grinned, his gaze returning to Zilpha.

In a flash, Hava yanked a knife from her belt. Leaning over until her bosom almost touched Zilpha’s face, she placed a hand on the wall above Zilpha's head and pointed the knife at Zilpha’s throat. A cool expression covered her face, and her eyes went flat. Hava’s voice sounded like a low growl as she demanded: “Tell him what he needs to know before I cut you.”

Zilpha sagged against the wall, pitying herself yet determined not to cry in front of her beautiful enemies. “We meet tomorrow at dawn. That’s all I can tell you,” she whispered.

Hava brought her knife closer, and Zilpha licked her lips, her eyes fixated on the gleaming blade. Hava’s eyes looked very much as if she’d like to run the knife across Zilpha’s throat. Close now as they were, Zilpha saw a faint bruise on Hava’s cheek, likely from the slap. But her attention jerked away as someone interrupted.

“What is the meaning of this? Threatening a young lady in a tavern?”

The male voice sounded familiar, and Zilpha dared to raise her eyes from the blade for a split second to find herself staring up into the amber eyes of Lord Nodin. His eyes betrayed nothing, yet he smiled at her.

“Lord Nodin.” Hava stepped back and put the knife away. “We were simply asking a question.”

“And do you have an answer?” Lord Nodin asked, his gaze turning from Zilpha to Tor Lir.

Zilpha saw his eyes widen as he glanced at Tor Lir. Something flickered behind those amber eyes, causing Lord Nodin to lift his chin and take a step back.

“We have the answer we need, for now,” Tor Lir replied, his voice as cold as death. He rose to his full six and a half feet, towering over Lord Nodin.

“Are you the one who found the body?” Lord Nodin asked, refusing to take another step back.

Tor Lir froze, and Zilpha could have sworn she saw a cautiousness creep over his face. “Aye. What of it?”

“I hear you’re wanted at the temple,” Lord Nodin smirked. “Now excuse me, I must take the lady home. Zilpha?”

He held out a hand—a gallant gesture—and Zilpha felt nothing but relief sweep through her. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her away from Hava and Tor Lir.

18

SPILLING SECRETS

“THAT DID NOT GO WELL,” Hava remarked, taking a seat and resting her elbows on the table. She flipped her knife and then put it away.

Tor Lir quirked his lips. “You came on too strong with the knife. She was frightened.”

“She’s one of my father’s tenants. She has reason to be frightened, and it seems she’s working with your friend, the colorful one, Citrine.”

Tor Lir tensed and then relaxed. “Citrine has her ways, but she won’t speak to me about her plans. I worry she’s caught up in the growing unrest sweeping through Sanga Sang.”

Hava lifted her hand and waved at the barmaid, gesturing for another drink. She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “What are you going to do about it? You know they are searching for treasure, but should it fall into the wrong hands…” she trailed off.

Tor Lir held up his fingers, ticking them off as he spoke. “We know Citrine and Zilpha are searching for the treasure. Zilpha is working with Lord Nodin who might be working with your father. And they are doing something suspicious to cause unrest in the city, but where the beast of shadows comes in, I don’t know.”

“I should go to the temple,” Hava said. “They will let me in and I can ask about the knowledge they keep there. One day I wish to study there, to become a priestess.” She flushed. She was spilling secrets like wine poured out of a jug.

Tor Lir hummed. “While you are at the temple, I will follow Citrine and Zilpha and see where they go tomorrow. Let’s meet again and share what secrets we discover.”

Hava smiled, her face lighting up and her eyes glistening in the dim light. The maid plunked a mug of spiced wine down in front of her and she nodded, brushing the maid away without words. “Tor Lir, I’m glad we met,” Hava said. “You are unlike anyone I’ve encountered in this city. There are many people here, with many motives, but although we share a common goal, I’m finding I like you more. You are honest, trustworthy, and you have a true desire to help where others have secret motives. The friars of the temple tell us not to trust people who are different from us, for an uprising could begin again. They take care of the disciples who follow in the ways of the Creator, focusing on helping the needy, being kind to the poor, and staying away from any hint of power that cannot be explained. They say they must keep an eye out and watch for the rise of evil, for some believe it was not truly vanquished during the war between the mortals and immortals. But I think evil has left this world, and you are proof.”

Tor Lir took a long sip of wine, his ears burning at her words. For a brief moment, a shimmer of green flickered in front of him and he saw the green giantess who raised him, standing in front of him. Her transparent hair shimmered blond in the light of the forest, but behind the luminosity of her skin was something darker, a shadowed past. His heart beat faster and then he forced himself up and out of the vision, away from the knowledge that frightened him.

Putting down his mug he reached across the table and took Hava’s hand. He smiled at her, hiding his mixed feelings. There was only one thing that would bring him comfort in that moment, and he leaned over, until his face was close to hers, and the light scent of jasmine floated to his nostrils. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” he whispered, echoing her words. And then, even though he knew he shouldn’t, he lowered his face to hers, and kissed her.

19

INDECENT ACTS

“I WASN’T EXPECTING to see you again so soon,” Lord Nodin’s gruff tones vibrated in her ear.

Despite her mixed feelings, Zilpha was grateful he had shown up when he had. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his slender fingers gently guiding her out of the tavern. Zilpha, exhausted from the events of the day, leaned in to his caress, finding relief in his manly presence.

“I…I came to seek wisdom from the herb lady,” Zilpha blurted out. “And then those two cornered me. Do you know who they are?”

His grip tightened on her shoulder at the question, and Zilpha heard a distinctly unfriendly tone in his words. “I am a Lord. Of course I know who they are. The question is, do you? And pray tell what exactly did they want with you?”

Zilpha pulled back, stung, as they walked outside. Nodin had been a close friend before he’d left. At times, Zilpha suspected she had fallen hard for his charms, although she was unsure whether it was love or the desire for attention. Now that he’d returned, she felt the same mixed feelings surge up again—a desperate desire to gain his approval and a fleeting fear something terrible was about to transpire. His amber eyes glowed at her in the dim light from the port. Her hand went to her neck. “I suppose they want the same thing you want, but they aren’t as close. They don’t know what they seek yet.”

Lord Nodin’s hand closed around her upper arm, steering her across the dirt street to a corner where horses were tied up. “And what did you tell them?” he asked, looping the reins from around his horse’s neck and leading it out so Zilpha could mount.

“Nothing,” Zilpha responded. “I told them nothing because then you were there before Lady Hava could knife me.”

Lord Nodin gave a rough laugh. His hands gripped her waist, and he swung her up on the horse, side saddle. Zilpha tensed as he leaped up behind her. His legs pressed around her bottom, and an arm tucked around her waist, his hand sinking lower for a moment until he seemed to shake himself. Zilpha’s heartbeat pulsed unsteadily at his indecent touch, but words of reproach died on her lips. Lifting the reins in his gloved hands, Nodin clucked to the horse who set off at an even pace. “Lady Hava is harmless. As dangerous as she looks, it’s all for show. She needs to look the part if she hopes to escape from under her father’s rule.”

Zilpha stiffened. “Escape? She and her father are thick as thieves. I saw him give her a bag of silver just the other day.”

“Appearances aren’t everything. You can’t always trust what your eyes see,” Nodin corrected her, his arm tightening about her waist. “Now tell me, what are you doing on this side of town and what did you find out?”

Zilpha, seeing no use in lying, quickly told her story. “I went to see the herb lady for help to recall my memories. Tomorrow I’ll begin my search. I’ll find the object for you.”

“Ah, small steps. They shall be rewarded.” Lord Nodin clucked again to the horse who moved into a rolling canter, and Zilpha found the rest of her words snatched by the cool night air.

If she hadn’t been in a turmoil about what to do, she might have enjoyed their quick ride through the city. The wind tussled her wavy hair like an unruly child without care and the winking lights of the city seemed more mischievous and less frightening as they breezed through. Nodin’s arm around her waist felt familiar and comforting, and after a few moments Zilpha allowed herself to sink into the security of his embrace.

Nodin. They’d met years ago when she’d first come to the city, lost, destitute and in need of a place to call home. Nodin hadn’t been a Lord back then. He was a trader and had a gang that ran the streets, bringing news to his ears. His skill-set was in the realm of tools and weapons. Although he was not a blacksmith, he had one of the more popular booths in the marketplace. It was in the marketplace where she and Bram had bumped into him, and he’d taken an immediate interest in their plight. It was Nodin who had told her about Lord Arden and encouraged her to make something of herself, reminding her she could work with her hands and become whoever she wished to be.

Just when she’d thought they were coming to an understanding, and when her heart might have belonged to him, he’d revealed that dastardly object—the crystal winged horse—and everything had changed. He’d told her about its properties—something magical and potent. It was the reason why he was so blessed and lucky in the marketplace, but he wanted to be rid of it. She’d watched, confusion mounting, until he left and left the treasure under her care. His mannerisms, always demanding respect, had pulled her into his vortex of confusion. She’d watched, unable to do anything, until the day he gave her the treasure and the key and walked away, forsaking everything. By then, Zilpha had determined to take the loan from Lord Arden and begin again. Her thoughts flew to Nodin now and then, but she understood that door had been shut. Until now. He returned with threats and, perhaps, a solution.

“Halt,” Lord Nodin commanded, pulling the reins and swinging off the horse.

Zilpha jerked out of her hazy thoughts and held out her hands. Lord Nodin’s fingers wrapped around her waist, holding firm as he pulled her off the horse, bringing her body far too close to his as her feet met the ground. She let herself relax in his arms, and looked up into his unreadable amber eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured, squeezing his arms, hoping he would let her go.

He released her quickly, reached for the horse’s reins, and led it up to the door. “Is your brother home?”

“Nay. He is getting married you know.” Zilpha could not keep the bitterness out of her tone. Her brother had found happiness while she struggled alone to undo what had been done.

Nodin’s lip curled as he ushered her to the door, tying his horse at the nearby silo. “So, you are alone here? Again?”

A sudden chill went down Zilpha’s spine, and she frowned. “I…I’m not alone…” She trailed off when she saw the glint in Lord Nodin’s amber eyes. A cool darkness poured out of the hut when she opened the door and hurried inside. He followed her, lighting candles.

The candles danced like lovers, illuminating just how small and dingy the quarters of the hut were. Aware of the dirt that covered her skin, Zilpha went to the wash bucket and scrubbed the grime from her face. She listened to Lord Nodin’s soft footfalls over the dirt. He put his heavy satchel on the table with a resounding thump. Opening it, he rummaged around in the bag.

Zilpha dried her wet face off and turned to study him, very aware of his strong male presence in her home. Her body shivered with anticipation of the unknown. She felt torn. Part of her wanted him to leave, and the other part held onto the strings of curiosity. His presence made her feel safe and less alone. He knew her struggles, and yet he did not reject her but enlisted her support in his quest. What did it mean? Why was he here now?

“Nodin. What brought you back to this city? When you left, I thought you meant never to return.”

Lord Nodin frowned and turned his back to her, preoccupied with whatever was in his bag. After a moment, he faced her, holding a piece of fruit in each hand. Oranges. He’d remembered. The delectable fruit grew in Ellsmore, but she hadn’t had any since she was young. They were sold in the marketplace, but she never had extra coin for sweets and treats.

“I came back because of an opportunity,” Nodin said, tossing one orange to her.

She caught it in both hands, the sweet tang rising from the skin. Piercing it with her fingernail, she peeled the fruit, the sweet elixir of its juice running off her fingertips. The first bite burst in her mouth with a kick of citrus. Glimpses of happiness shot through her mind—laughing with her brothers and sisters, running through the fields outside the city, chasing each other around the water fountain that graced the middle of the city. But then war had come and brought death and devastation to the city.

Lord Nodin glided across the floor without making a sound. His hands cupped hers as he took the fruit from her hands and placed it on the table. Lifting the cloth, she’d used to wash her face, he wiped the sticky fruit off her fingers as if she were a child. Zilpha’s mouth watered as her eyes drifted back to the oranges sitting on the table. Nodin towered over her. He smelled like citrus and one of the delicate spices of the city. Cinnamon. One of his slender fingers snaked out, and her breath caught as he lifted her chin and forced her to look up at him. His fingers dropped down her neck, his feather-light touch caressing her smooth skin. “There are riches and rewards waiting when you succeed in finding the treasure. You told me you will meet with the herb lady tomorrow and she will guide you. What did you see in her presence? What visions did she conjure?”

Zilpha blinked, snapping back to the present and her unpleasant situation. Memories of the strange drink and the out-of-body experience wavered in her mind. She blanched. “I…I took it to the Jaded Sea and dropped it over the edge. I just knew the waves would carry it away. Forever.”

Nodin’s grip tightened around her neck. Displeasure.

She swallowed hard. “Somehow it didn’t follow the waves. The rocks caught it and washed it up in a cave along the coast. At least, that’s what the vision showed me.”

He studied her and let his hands drop to her shoulders, sliding down to her waist until he pulled her to him, their bodies connecting.

Warning sensations rushed through Zilpha’s body, but she ignored them, knowing Nodin was there with her at that very moment. And he wanted her. Just her. “Nodin,” she whispered. “Will you come with me tomorrow? To find it?”

He lifted a hand and ran it through her wind-blown hair before cupping her cheek with his hand. Bending his head, he grazed her lips with his, the soft hints of an unspoken promise.

The moment his lips touched hers, Zilpha felt everything she was holding back stripped away. She let go of her concerns and uncertainties regarding him. With everything she had, she leaned into his caress, wrapping her arms around his waist and clinging on as if he were the only rock left to hold on to in a tormented sea. He pulled her toward him and crushed her lips with his, gentleness giving way to passion. Zilpha breathed in, intoxicated. Closing her eyes, she moved her lips against his, giving in to the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, and then the wetness of his tongue, strong and insistent as it moved into her mouth, dragging passion out of her. She gasped as one of his hands dropped lower, and suddenly he pulled back, leaving her hanging. Zilpha blushed, the flush rising from her neck and covering her cheeks with warmth. Lord Nodin regarded her, a cocky expression of his face. He reached up to the neck of her dress. “Let’s get you out of this dress.”

He bunched the skirt of her shift in his hands and pulled it up, revealing her slender legs. He pulled the dress over her head, opening her body to his wishes. She succumbed to the darkness and let herself be washed away on a sea of passion-fueled lust.

20

DON'T WORRY

ZILPHA STRETCHED in the shadows of sunrise, a satisfied smile touching her pink lips. Even though he was gone, slipping out in the early morning dawn, she still felt his arms circling her body, holding her close while she slept. Before he left, he’d whispered in her ear, his lips peppering her cheek with tiny kisses. “Will you do whatever it takes?”

“I will,” she’d agreed.

“I must go do my business in the city. I will meet you here, tonight, just past sundown.”

“What if I run into trouble?”

“I recall you being extremely resourceful.” One of his hands had drifted down to her hips, stroking her curves. His fingers promised future endearments.

Then he’d gone, and she missed him instantly. The feeling of safety and heedless decisions had evaporated even though a smile lingered on her lips. She rose and tugged on her dress and shoes.

It was quiet as she strode outside and almost collided with her brother. “Bram,” she exclaimed, unsure whether to be excited or distraught. “What are you doing here?”

He grinned at her. “I live here, right?”

Zilpha narrowed her eyes at him, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Not recently.”

He shrugged. “I’m sorry. Okay. I didn’t know you were in trouble. I was thinking, perhaps today I could go with you to meet Lord Arden and negotiate something. I’ll have extra coin after harvest day to help pay off the debt. I did not understand. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Zilpha rubbed her hands over her arms, and forgiveness enveloped her. Her tone turned meek. “No, you weren’t supposed to know. It was my burden to carry, and it still is.” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “You have Mathilda now and a home. I’ve got this taken care of. I’m not as helpless as you think I am.”

“I don’t think you’re helpless. Zilpha, I’m very aware of what you’ve done to help us! You make baskets and have your own booth in the marketplace. Because of you we have this hut to live in and you know this, but Mathilda appreciates your friendship. You don’t see the effects of what you’ve done, but I see it and I am thankful. I wish there was a way for me to pay you back.”

“You don’t have to pay me back. You’re my brother, remember. I appreciate your words, but I must go before I’m late. I have a way to take care of this.”

He lifted an eyebrow, a goofy look coming to his face. “Do you? Will you come by the farm and tell me? Tonight?”

“Tonight will be tough, likely the night after. Don’t worry about me, Bram. I’ll find you when the debt is cleared.”

“I hope you’re not doing something illegal…”

Zilpha reached over to hug him. “Nothing illegal. Don’t worry about me. I have this taken care of.”

“All right then. I trust you. I’ll go back to work.”

21

RECKLESS BEHAVIOR

CITRINE LEANED against the door to her herb shop and crossed her arms, waiting for the slight female, Zilpha, to appear. The dual lights—the sun and the Green Light—cast a web of beauty over the waves of the Jaded Sea. The waters glistened with promise, and a dull roar crept to her ears, clear and glorious in the early morning. A hint of morning fog remained, but Citrine hoped the warmth of the light would dash it away. She did not need the treasure hunt to be waylaid by imperfect weather. Her lip curled, and she tapped her foot, a combination of impatience and anticipation making her jittery. I don’t want the treasure, she told herself. I want to see it and touch it before handing it over.

Zilpha reminded her of herself, before she’d met her lover, Hansel, and settled in the village on the edge of the Boundary Line Forest. She was young, headstrong, and kept her secret from her lover, causing their relationship to explode when he’d found out. A nagging feeling settled on her shoulders like an insistent fly that would not go away.

Pushing away memories of the past, she turned her thoughts to Tor Lir, wondering what he was up to. She’d seen him the evening before, leaving the tavern with the bright-haired merchant’s daughter. Lady Hava. She was slim, beautiful, and carried two blades on her back. Her long glossy hair was always captured in two perfect braids, and the way her mouth curved looked like someone who needed a kiss. An unintentional seductress. Citrine was unsure why she felt jealousy, especially since she intended to leave Tor Lir behind when she went to hunt the stone that matched her eyes.

Zilpha’s willowy figure appeared around a corner, and she lifted a hand to give a shy wave. Citrine towered over the girl’s slight form, and she sensed she intimidated Zilpha.

“Finally,” Citrine sighed with impatience, pulling away from the shop and standing tall. Bending down, she grabbed a satchel and swung it over her shoulder.

“What’s that?” asked Zilpha.

When she got closer, Citrine saw she wore the same dress as the day before. Her chestnut hair was twisted up in a bun on the top of her head with a few strands falling loose about her face. It framed her face in the light, highlighting her hazel eyes and giving the curves of her face a slight immortal look. Zilpha’s eyes were bright with light, unlike the day before, as if a token of happiness had slipped into her body and made her come fully alive.

Citrine sniffed. Did this simple-minded girl think of nothing? “Supplies. We might need them for our day-long excursion. Now follow me, I have a boat.”

Citrine led the way while Zilpha walked slightly behind. Citrine wondered if she should strike up a conversation, but something about the girl’s demeanor put her off. She seemed to be lost in thought, debating with herself. When they reached the shore and tumbled into the small vessel, the girl settled on one side of the boat, glancing at the waves like they would wash over her.

“It’s all I could manage given the time,” Citrine offered, unsure why she needed to explain to the girl. She did not need approval for her actions. “It’s not ideal for a sea journey, but will be just fine going up the coast. I expect we must navigate around rocks and seaweed. Keep an eye out and use your oar. If we don’t we may end up splattered on the cliffs.”

Zilpha’s eyes widened, and Citrine clamped her mouth shut, almost rolling her eyes at the timid girl’s expression. Had she never been out to sea? Yet she held the oar in her lap with care while Citrine stood in the waves, the hem of her short dress getting soaked as she pushed the boat out further. When they were past the sand bars and any likelihood of getting trapped on shore-related debris, Citrine hopped into the boat, rocking it back and forth with her weight, and snatched up an oar.

“If you see a landscape that matches your vision, point it out,” she said.

“We should go south.” Zilpha pointed, like Citrine couldn’t tell the difference between north and south. “I went to the southern end of the city and in the vision the current dragged it even further south.”

Citrine scowled, frustrated Zilpha hadn’t mentioned that yesterday. “We have a long day of rowing ahead of us,” she muttered.

The sun rose fully as they rowed, beating back the chopping waves. The ships were still at port, and they passed them from a distance, earning a round of cheers and waves, as they set off on a great sea adventure. Citrine grinned, relaxing as the wind blew past them and the sea foam sprayed into the boat, wetting her sleeves. It was cool and felt refreshing under the intense glare of the sun. After a while, even Zilpha seemed to relax, gazing about in awe, a slight smile coming to her peaked face now and again.

Black and white seagulls rose above them, calling out their odd rhyme, demanding free fish and food in exchange for their noisiness. Citrine smiled as she watched them, curious how many seagulls Grift had eaten in his never-ending quest for knowledge.

“You’re new to the city, aren’t you?” Zilpha’s breathless voice interrupted Citrine’s thoughts.

Citrine let her gaze fall from the seagulls and studied her shy companion. A flush covered Zilpha’s face, and her eyes were bright with the light of adventure. Citrine understood the feeling. There was something magical about withdrawing from mundane tasks and hunting for treasure. Suddenly she realized even though the end goal was important, she was enjoying herself.

“Aye. I came to rest here. At the time it seemed like a good place to call home.”

“Where were you before?” Zilpha asked, tugging on her oar.

“Across the sea in the Eastern Hill Countries. In the Land of Lock.” Citrine shrugged. A lump grew in her throat as she recalled the incident that drove her across the sea. A wistfulness rose in her heart as she thought of Novor Tur-Woodberry and his magical land.

“Oh, Zilpha exclaimed. “The land where the immortals still dwell. They say there is power and remnants of magic alive there.”

“They aren’t wrong,” Citrine agreed, aware of how the conversation had turned to a dangerous topic. Yet she relished seeing the look of shock and fear on Zilpha’s face.

“Have you met any immortals?” Zilpha leaned forward, her expression eager for news.

Citrine remembered her flight through the Boundary Line Forest and her perilous adventure with Novor Tur-Woodberry and Tor Lir. “I’ve met my share. Those who are in awe of them should beware. Immortals are not always who they say they are.”

Zilpha’s shoulders slumped, and her open face displayed her hesitation. Yet she plunged on with her next question. “Do you know someone named Tor Lir?”

Citrine stiffened and almost dropped her paddle. Her eyebrows shot up, and she glared at Zilpha. What did this girl know? Could she read minds? Citrine’s eyes darted to the waves as she considering what to say. Zilpha appeared harmless. She was no one in the city even though she possessed the knowledge of a hidden treasure. Should she speak with her? Warnings about the Disciples of Ithar resounded in her mind, but after some consideration, she found no harm in being truthful. “I do. He is one of my companions. And do you know him?”

Zilpha shook her head so hard the boat shook. “Nay, I only asked because I met him last night, after I left your shop.”

Citrine pulled her oar out of the water, this time unable to keep from scowling at Zilpha. “What did he want?”

“I…I…thought…assumed you were friends?” Zilpha stuttered. “He wanted to know what you and I are doing today.”

“Did you tell him?” Citrine demanded.

“No,” Zilpha all but whispered, hanging her head. Her actions revealed her discomfort with the topic. “There was no time.”

Citrine gave a sigh of relief and sat back, dropping her paddling back in the waters. “Good. He has no business following me around. I will tell him what he wants to know when I’m good and ready. If he ever bothers you again, please let me know.” She tried to drop her voice to a kinder more motherly tone. If anything, Zilpha would respond better to kindness. There was no need to treat her like a child. Nor was she one of Citrine’s beloved pets to be scolded for reckless behavior.

“Why?” Zilpha lifted her head, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “Why does he act like that? If you are friends, he could go to you for answers.”

“I never said we were friends,” Citrine retorted. “He is nosy and wants to know what I’m doing so he can follow me.”

“He called himself the Nameless One. And his ears are pointed. He…is he…What is he?” Zilpha stuttered, her eyes wide.

Citrine could see the jig was up. There were too many questions from one who shouldn’t know what to ask. “It is of no consequence. Don’t concern yourself with Tor Lir, and by all means stay out of his way. He is not what you think he is.”

Zilpha turned her head away and glanced out over the sea. “There.” She pointed. “This landscape looks familiar.”

“Let’s row closer to shore, and keep an eye out for the cave,” Citrine instructed.

The waves came to a lull as they rowed closer to the shallows. Gray cliffs rose up, a home for various water fowl and the sea gulls who flocked back and forth. Elephant seals lay on a sandy enclose where they could easily slip into the water. They moved their flippers, tossing sand on each other and snorting. Citrine smiled as she watched their antics, reminded of the way her beasts had played when they were young. She sighed. Her beasts would be full grown soon, and they were becoming more difficult to hide. All the more reason for her to leave and find a spot of land she could control. Again, her thoughts turned to Novor Tur-Woodberry and his delectable land. That was what she wanted. A paradise somewhere in the South World.

Zilpha rowed without a word, her lips pressed together while her bright eyes darted to and fro. The midday meal passed. Citrine pulled out bread, cheese, and dried fish, passing a share to Zilpha. They took turns taking a break from rowing to eat. Citrine tossed her bread crumbs over the edge of the boat, watching silver fish leap out of the sea to snatch up the crumbs. Their scales winked in the light, causing rainbows to sprinkle across the waters.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Zilpha said. “I’ve never been out on the sea before.”

Citrine nodded, allowing her expression to relax. “You’re a Cron and you’ve never traveled? I’m surprised you haven’t seen more of the world.”

Zilpha blushed. “I came here from Ellsmore. It’s enough trying to earn a living here.”

“Why did you come here?” Citrine decided to give conversation another try even though she didn’t care.

Zilpha gasped and pointed to the shore. Her voice went high. “There, I think that’s it.”

Citrine shielded her eyes against the sunlight and peered over to where Zilpha pointed. A tiny island rose on a rocky slope. The only feature on it was the shallow opening of a gray cave. Citrine imagined when the tide came in, it would submerge the island.

“Are you sure?” Citrine asked, although excitement beat a rhythm in her heart. She shuddered, licking her lips as she anticipated seeing the treasure. Old Edna’s words returned to her. Is the treasure real? Would I know simply by touching it? She wondered if she should reach out and ask Grift for advice. The sight of the cave, a black hole against beauty, made her feel uneasy. A vague reminder of the Boundary Line Forest fueled her discomfort.

A row of rocks, slick with seaweed and slime, led the way up to the cave, perched about five feet above the water. Citrine squinted as they rowed toward it. “We’ll have to tie up the boat on one of the rocks and hurry before the tide comes in.”

Zilpha nodded and pulled harder on her oar. She sucked on her lower lip, eyeing the cave and then the waves. The sea stayed calm as they pulled up to the rocks. Citrine hung her feet over the boat and snatched up the rope. She tied it off to the stern of the boat and, holding the other end, jumped into the water. It was deeper than she thought, and surges of cold seawater washed around her legs, making her shiver. Strands of seaweed seeped out, yanking down on her short dress.

Citrine kicked out, lunging her body toward the rocks. They rose up like towering giants with shells clinging to them like a protective barrier. Splashing in the water, Citrine snatched at a rock, but her hand slipped, and she fell off the slick, rough surface back into the water. Realizing she would have to try a different tactic, she lifted the rope and quickly knotted it in a loop. She planted her feet and gritted her teeth, determined to ignore the icy waves. Raising the lasso, heavy with water, above her head she swung the rope in a long lazy circle. It gathered speed and whistled through the air. She flung it. It caught, and settled around a rock. She yanked, to pull it taut and give herself the leverage she needed to navigate the rocks. The boat floundered in the water as the waves rocked it back and forth.

“Come on,” Citrine called to Zilpha.

Not bothering to glance behind, she made her way up the rocky slope, sometimes climbing on hands and knees as she made her way to the cave. She cut her hand on the sharp edge of bedrock as she moved, rising above the waves, well aware the sea would become rough in a few hours. They needed to find the treasure and leave before it became too dangerous. Although there was always the possibility of calling her beasts to help her escape, she felt somewhat embarrassed to tell them what she was after. Morag disapproved of her actions, and it bothered her. Even though she did not need his approval, she sought it, and the knowledge of a treasure would only incur a lecture. She’d already had enough from Old Edna, and a sourness sat in her belly as she considered how Tor Lir would react. Pausing, she glanced behind to see Zilpha moving, with surprising agility, up the rock face. In mere moments, she’d catch up with Citrine. Impressed, Citrine moved forward again, but her hand caught on a rock and a slight pain riffed through her as the skin of her palm split open. Blood leaked out, and she rubbed it on her shift, eager to stop it before Zilpha noticed.

The yawning cave opened before her like the mouth of a sea monster devouring its prey. Waves slammed up against the rocks from the other side, shooting flecks of sea foam up into the air. Citrine stepped across the cool stones, grateful to be out of the heat of the relentless sun for a moment.

“What do you see?” Zilpha asked, her voice labored from the climb up the rocks.

“Nothing yet. There are plenty of stones in here. It might take a while to find the box.” Yet as the words left her lips, she saw a glint of crystal, winking in and out of the dim light.

A shadow blocked out the light as Zilpha joined her, adding another wet and warm body to the seclusion of the cave. Multicolored rocks moved under their feet, and random objects covered in crustaceans, and sand scattered across the cave floor. It was quite shallow, only going a few feet back until the end. Someone had drawn with charcoal on the cave walls, a mix of crisscross shapes that made no sense.

“I think I see it,” Citrine breathed. Kneeling down, she crept toward the object.

Indeed, among the treasures spit up from the sea perched a crystal horse with two outstretched wings. It lay on its side, unblemished by its surroundings. Citrine’s heart beat fast as she reached out a hand, scarcely daring to believe the treasure was real. What would she do with such a gift? What could she gain? A flower of passion bloomed within, and a desperation made her fingers shake as she reached out. A slight murmur gathered about her like the beginning of a song sung by a multitude of voices. Her vision turned hazy, but just when her fingertips touched cool clear crystal, a heavy object slammed into her skull. She blinked for a moment, unable to believe what had just happened. Her vision went sideways as she fell forward, her face smacking into the stones. Far away, she thought she heard a sharp cry. The blow came again, and then there was nothing but blackness.

22

BLOOM OF LIGHT

ZILPHA CRIED out in shock and horror after she bashed Citrine on the head. Her fist came open, dropping the blood-stained rock into piles of stones where it splattered red matter across the cave floor. She hadn’t meant to hit Citrine that hard, but a steady flow of blood appeared, matting her odd colored hair. What if she were dead? Tears sprang to Zilpha’s eyes, and bile filled her throat. With shaking fingers, she wrapped her hand in the skirt of her dress and lifted the treasure, careful to ensure her bare skin did not touch it. Tucking it into a bag, she tied it around her waist and made her way back down the cliff to the boat, furiously wiping tears of fear and anxiety from her eyes. She had to do what she’d done to save Bram and save herself. There was no other way and now she could reap the benefits.

She tried to forget Citrine’s bloody head as she untied the rope and plunged her fingers into the icy waters, rubbing them together to get rid of the blood. Desperation made her clumsy as she clambered into the vessel, ducking her head down to keep from throwing up. Taking up an oar, she rowed while the waves fought against her. The boat moved into an eddy and spun in circles, showing her, once again, the monstrous mouth of the cave, glowering at her like a toothless wyvern. Zilpha could not help the hysterical tears that poured out of her eyes and leaked into her mouth. Without trying to wipe them away, she seized the oar and rowed like a mad person until she escaped the eddy.

The calmness of the sea mocked her turmoil, and it seemed like the seagulls who flew above mocked her choice. “I did the right thing. I did the right thing,” she said repeatedly as if to belay her nerves. It was the right thing. Citrine would be fine. And even if she wasn’t, she had no right to take the treasure for herself. Zilpha had only done as Lord Nodin ordered. Whatever it took.

She rowed for a while as the shadows grew long, and eventually the city of Sanga Sang came into view. The waves pushed against her boat like hands, forcing her to stay in the middle of the waves, but Zilpha tugged at the oars, driving the slim vessel onward. As she neared the city, seagulls wheeled above her, their rough cries making an ache ring in her head. She imagined they scolded her for her devious ways, shouting: Thief. Thief. Thief. A reprimand for stealing the treasure back for herself. Her arms shook from effort until friendly shouts blocked out the accusations of the seagulls. A flush spread across her face as she saw the fishers were already out. They tied their small fishing boats up at the port she aimed for. It lay lower down from the shore than the port where the massive ships went, and it was further down from the main hub of the docks. Zilpha ducked her head and continued to row, gritting her teeth through the pain, well aware of curious eyes watching her. She had no answers to their unsaid questions. She had no fish, no treasure to share, and no reason to be out on the sea. Alone.

“Zilpha.”

Hesitating just a fraction, she lifted her head. Irik stood on the docks, waving. His brows rose in surprise and his eyes roved over her, full of questions. Lifting a hand, she gave a small wave, causing one oar to clatter against the boat. Leaning over, she snatched at it, her eyes widening as it tipped over the edge and sunk into the sea. A moment later, a wave splashed at the rear of the small vessel, almost turning her over.

Laughter floated to her ears, and when she glanced up again, embarrassed with herself, Irik stood waist deep in water, moving toward her. A smile lit up his ruddy face, and he cupped his arms around his mouth. “Toss me a rope, I’ll help you tie up.”

Zilpha bit her lip and nodded, grateful for Irik’s attention to her. For a brief second, she considered what his end goal might be. But then Lord Nodin and his warm, insistent kisses filled her memory. Blushing in fury, she found the end of the rope and threw it, without much aim, to Irik. He caught it somehow, laughter still on his lips, and pulled as she rowed.

Once the boat was tied up, Irik held out a hand to help her out of the boat and onto the dry docks. “I did not know you were given to seafaring,” he grinned.

“I’m not,” Zilpha disagreed, her legs aching as she stumbled onto the wood of the platform. “I just…”

“Went out on an adventure today?” Irik filled in. Bending down he pulled a bundle from the bottom of the boat.

Zilpha stiffened when she saw it. Citrine’s things.

Irik’s eyebrow went up. “First yesterday at the docks, and now today at sea? Are you scouting out a new home? Trying to become one of the fishes?”

Zilpha eyed him, missing the twinkle of humor in his eyes. His gaze went from her face to the bundle, and his expression slowly changed. The light went out of his eyes as he eyed it. “Knives? Are you in trouble?”

That question again. Zilpha shook her head. “Nay, I wanted protection in case something happened.”

Irik peered back out to the sea, his light eyes bright with confusion. “You should have taken someone. Next time, call me. I’m usually by the docks and I can spare some time away from fishing to help. If you need it.”

Zilpha wanted to say yes. She recalled running into Tor Lir and Hava at the tavern because she would not ask for help. She needed his help somehow, and for a moment she reminded herself, after this evening, after she made the delivery, she was free. “Will you walk with me back to the city?” the question came out of her thoughts and she did not realize she’d said it aloud until he nodded.

“Let me grab a shirt.”

Zilpha blushed as his sweat-sleek body moved down the docks. He plucked up a white shirt which fell open in the chest. He shrugged it on and ran his fingers through his tousled head. Shouting something to the other fishers, he tucked the bundle under his arms and fell alongside Zilpha.

The sky deepened to a midnight blue, royal like the bold colors of silk made for high class lords and ladies. Zilpha faltered on the road that led up to the temple, watching the round peaks and recalling the blood-soaked sight of the friar, half eaten on the steps. A hand came to her mouth, and bile rose in her guts like the sloshing of waves against the boat.

“Are you okay?” Irik’s easy voice asked.

Avoiding his gaze, she gave a quick nod. “Aye, here is where I need to go.” She didn’t know how to tell him to leave, and part of her wished for him to stay, grateful for his presence as the telltale signs of nightfall swept across the city.

“Are you meeting someone?”

She nodded again, keeping her eyes forward. “Thank you, Irik. I bless your generosity.”

“Tis nothing.” His fingers came up, grazing her arm.

The warmth of his touch made her body relax. It differed from Lord Nodin’s touch—calm and caring versus demanding and insistent. Taking a deep breath, she glanced sideways at him, but he’d already turned away, his limber body moving downhill, back toward the shore.

Zilpha eyed the temple, knowing she should go there to meet Lord Nodin, but wishing he’d picked a different meeting place. His tone had been so commanding, and she had still been in a dizzy haze from lovemaking. She hadn’t thought to counter his words. The sun had not quite set, casting a hazelnut glow over the city, the tops of buildings twirling like stars, keeping their own magical secrets close. Wrapping her arms around the bundle, she took a step as the heavy clip-clop of a horse arrested her ears.

“Zilpha,” Lord Nodin’s husky voice called out her name.

She spun to meet him and paused, taking in his regal appearance. He wore green breeches, black boots, and the heavy coat he always wore over his outfit. A round hat with a gray feather in it perched on his head, and he lifted two gloved fingers, tilting the hat to her before swinging off his white horse. “I trust your journey was productive?”

“Here,” Zilpha blurted out, pressing the bundle into his arms. Her head swam, dizzy with anticipation. Perhaps she could take the silver and make the last payment on her debt that same evening. Her home would be hers. Bram need not worry anymore, and she could make her way in the city, a free lady.

Lord Nodin bent his head as he opened the bundle, masking his expression. He froze when the cloth fell open, revealing the crystal winged horse. He reached a gloved hand down and paused before closing it up again. Pulling forth a leather bag, he stored it there, closing the flap and securing it.

“The silver?” Zilpha breathed.

“Come with me.” Lord Nodin moved back to his horse and swung up on it, holding out a hand for Zilpha.

She joined him, allowing him to swing her up on his steed. They set off at a trot which jarred her bones. Lord Nodin leaned into her, his lips coming close to her ear as one hand moved back wisps of tangled hair which had fallen free of the bun on top of her head. “I have something to show you.”

Anxiety rose like twisted knots of rope, impossible to untangle. Her fingers itched for the familiar comfort of weaving and the thick reeds moving through her fingers.

They trotted for a while, dusk gathering the light of day like a farmer collecting eggs from hens. They moved out of the city and down into the farmland, heading toward Zilpha’s hut. She wondered if Lord Nodin intended to take her home where he’d leave her with the silver and a kiss or two. Her breathing relaxed at the thought, and she leaned back, the weariness of the day sweeping over her. How nice it would be to lie down and rest under warm blankets. She could walk to town in the morning, pay her debt, and perhaps spend the day gathering supplies. If there was time she’d go visit Mathilda and see if Bram were around. He’d be relieved to hear the debt was paid off. A glow of contentment settled in her heart.

Just as she was relaxing, she saw a bloom of light high in the air. Smoke drifted through the air, forcing her to cough as its acid scent burned her nostrils. Her eyes burned, and she wiped at them, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her face. Her body shuddered. Lord Nodin’s arm went around her waist, and he clicked to the horse, pulling on the reins until it slowed into a walk.

“Look. Do you recognize where we are?”

Zilpha gasped as flames leaped into the sky, spreading across the meadow and devouring huts and fields. Her eyes widened in recognition and a scream tore from her throat. Ripping herself from Lord Nodin’s grasp, she tumbled off the horse. Her ankle twisted under her as she landed, but terror propelled her. Ignoring the stabs of pain, she ran toward the roaring flames. Another scream came, and she fell to her knees, watching the fire devour hut after hut. It was her road. The huts she called home, one after the other being eaten by the ravenous monster of fire. The sound of the blaze thrummed through her mind, the flames licking up every single item she owned. A hopelessness surged through her as she spun around, pointing at Lord Nodin, seeing him for who he really was. A Lord. A corrupt Lord bent on gaining wealth and power.

“Did you know this would happen? Who did this? Why?” she screamed at him, even as her ankle gave out and she sank to her knees, tears pouring down her face. “Why?”

23

BLOOD AND PAIN

THE FIRST SOUND Citrine became conscious of was a dull roar. It pulsed behind her ears with a thump so intense it pushed blood into her eyes. When she opened them, a dim light surrounded her, and a cool wetness trickled between her legs. Citrine groaned. “Why does this always happen to me?” she muttered.

When she tried to sit up, her head screamed in agony like a melon crushed under the hooves of a horse and wagon. A mewl of discomfort escaped from Citrine’s lips, and she lay her head back down, resting her cheeks on her hands. The rocks under her fingers were cold and crusted over with mud and other sea crustaceans. A liquid rose between her fingers and Citrine recognized it as sea water. The liquid continued to rise, caressing her fingers like a timid lover while Citrine considered her options. It was likely nightfall, and as soon as her head stopped screaming at her, she’d take in her surroundings.

Citrine cursed. Zilpha. That devilish girl. She had more grit than Citrine assumed, and the lump on her wound stung. Another burst of sea water surged into the cave, this time rising to Citrine’s nostrils. She yanked her head up without ceremony, causing tears of pain to spring to her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she cursed as she rose first to all fours and then to her feet. Her vision swam when she stood tall and reached out for the cave walls to steady herself. When she faced the opening, she saw it was already evening. Clouds covered the gray sky, and the jaded sea had turned black with fury. Waves slammed against the rocks, creating a roaring sound, and sea spray filled the air. Citrine noticed the cave was already filling with water. Although it only reached up to mid-calf, it was rising quickly, and every surge of the waves sent fresh water hurling toward the back of the cave. Citrine took a step back and was rewarded with her vision spinning and blurring. She cursed again, determined to fight through the pain.

Grift.

Mistress.

Are you hunting?

Nay, 'tis my night to stand guard. Where are you?

I’m trapped in a cave.

How? What happened?

It doesn’t matter how. Will you come find me?

Who will stand guard?

I’ll find Ava or Zaul.

Ava will not be happy.

I know. She’s out hunting again.

Where are you?

I’m along the shoreline on the southern end of the city. It took the better part of a day to row here from the port.

I don’t know what that means. I’ll fly now.

The connection faded, leaving Citrine with a strong buzzing in her head. A warning. Despite it, she pressed on, seeking to connect with Ava or Zaul to tell them to guard her home. The book had to be protected at all costs. She’d left it in the cave instead of bringing it with her to the herb shop. Frustrated with her situation, she closed her eyes and sought out her beasts. A splashing sound made her open her eyes. She stumbled closer to the entrance of the cave, the cool waters making her shiver. Pulling her dark cloak tighter around her shoulders, she squinted. While she could see in the dark, the rushing water acted like mirrors of night, confusing her sight. The cave was eerie, but with the lack of light, a sixth sense of fear climbed up her spine and perched on her shoulder. Something silver flashed in the waves. Citrine bit her lip, knowing who she should turn to. Grift would not be fast enough. Pain rose as she closed her eyes and sent out feelers into the sea.

Morag.

Enchantress.

I need your help.

What is it?

I am trapped in a cave by water’s edge. South of where we met to discuss the knowledge you found. Can you find me?

I can, but what then? I cannot take you home.

I know, but there are strange things in the water, the creatures of the night, and you can protect me from them.

I am coming.

Citrine blew out her breath and reached around for the knife she kept at her waist, cursing when she remembered she’d left it in the boat. The silver creature swam nearer, and Citrine saw a fin sticking out of the water. Her whole body went rigid and although she lifted her chin, she also took a step back, wishing she had something to defend herself. She did not know what might be in the water. Sea monsters? Other dangerous beasts? It was best not to be out at night, wounded and bleeding.

Ava. Zaul.

There was no answer.

Dread made Citrine’s heart thump faster. Chewing her lower lip, she listened to the wet slap of the waves against a rock, and the far-off cry of a hawk. A high-pitched whistling came through the air, eerie enough to make her blood curl. Goosebumps stood out on her arms and the hair on her neck stood out straight. Ignoring the pain in her head, Citrine snatched up rocks in her hands to use as a weapon.

Morag. How far are you?

He did not reply.

Grift. What do you see from the air?

No answer.

Citrine took a shuddering breath to calm down her panic. What creature attacked with a whistle? She had blood on her hands and head. What if it had dripped into the sea water and called dark creatures to her?

As an Enchantress, she understood the potency of blood and water. Something would want her, likely for a sacrifice. But she didn’t know what. She was unfamiliar with the tales from Sanga Sang, and now whatever was coming for her was blocking her creatures. She sent out feelers again, despite the terrible sensation in her head.

The waves washed out to sea, and the gentle lapping subsided. Citrine took a step forward, causing her vision to spin again. Her stomach lurched, and nausea crept up her throat, forcing her to lean over and dry-heave from the pain. There was nothing in her belly, and strings of salvia came out of her mouth. She spit as best she could, clutching the slimy cave wall with one hand and wiping drool off her mouth with the back of her other hand. Heat flared at her forehead and the pounding grew stronger.

Her jeweled eyes welled up with tears, clouding her vision so badly she almost missed the creature that hurled itself out of the water. Citrine shrieked in surprise as it slammed into her chest, forcing her to lose her balance. She toppled over on her back as slick arms wrapped around her and sucked at her. A sac of clearish brown fluid sat on top of her chest, just below her breast bone and she felt a mouth and pinchers digging their way through her clothes, aiming for the soft skin of her belly.

Citrine thrashed, snatched up rocks and hammered on the creature. The thing wiggled and a sour smell came from it. Hot liquid soaked Citrine’s dress through to the skin, like the creature had loosened its bowels on her, or perhaps secreted some kind of poison to calm its prey. Tentacle-like appendages wrapped around her body, pinning her flailing arms down, leaving only her feet to kick.

Citrine’s eyes bulged as she fought, knowing her own strength. She should not be lying on the cave floor giving in. She was strong, she could break bone, there was no reason why the creature should win. She threw her head back, forcing herself to calm down so she could focus on her inner strength. Her head exploded in agony like a hunter was sitting on her chest and stabbing a knife in and out of her skull. Her vision turned to spots, and a buzzing rang in her ears. The creature’s hold tightened until she felt her bones would snap if it squeezed any harder. The material of her dress dissolved away as the creature gripped her. Something sharp, teeth, she assumed, bit into her stomach, and the creature sucked. A searing agony poured through Citrine and the thrashing of her legs grew feeble. Lightning flashed, and the creature sucked harder while Citrine felt her life force ebbing away.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her feet shuddered, and her body went still. A wave rose, filling the cave. Water glided past Citrine’s face, covering her body in a temporary tomb of cold salt. The thing on her body pulsed, and an eerie scream filled the air. As the waves receded, a female creature leapt out of the water, lifting a knife above Citrine’s head. Citrine gasped, taking in wild eyes as black as night and white hair. The female’s muscular arm came down, and a snarl came from her thin lips. Citrine jerked, her eyes rolling back in her head as the creature that had been sucking on her came loose. The female shouted words in a strange language and continued her onslaught, driving the knife in and out of the creature until only shreds of saliva and mucus were left.

Shaking, Citrine sat up. A cry of pain escaped from her lips even as her bruised arm moved and her fingers curled around wet stones, ready to fight.

“Lie still,” the female grunted. Her round eyes roved over the cave, and a hand came out, pressing onto Citrine’s breast bone, pushing her back down. “I must cut out the poison. This will hurt.”

Citrine gasped for words, meaning to ask the female to give her a moment to regain her senses. But the knife came down before she could speak, plunging into her belly and twisting. A horrific pain seized her, and she screamed, tears leaking out of her eyes and running down her cheeks. When the first searing pain subsided, like the flames of a fire, tamed at last, Citrine opened her eyes. The female crouched over her, holding a blob of skin and blood. She washed it off in the sea water, cleansing her knife as well.

Citrine gulped, trying to take in air and take her mind off the fact that some creature had just cut out a good portion of her belly. The female muttered, saying words in a different language as she held up the knife. It glowed red, and then she laid it against Citrine’s wound. If Citrine thought she had experienced pain before, that was nothing like the heat that burned her skin. It felt like she had stuck her body into a blue-hot fire, the fires meant to burn purity into metal, and no words could express the sheer agony that twisted through her, relentless in its quest, unwilling to let go until she succumbed to anguish and begged to be put out of her misery. A long moment passed where she flickered in and out of darkness, her breath turning shallow. She could not get enough air, and the pain overwhelmed until it disappeared.

Her eyes flickered open and she glared at the female who crouched in front of her. The round eyes flickered at Citrine. “Can you stand?”

“Stand?” Citrine gasped, her voice hoarse. Anger boiled in her gut, mounting although every bone in her body felt too weak to lift. “After you just cut me and burned me?”

The female blinked like a cat stalking its prey, not intending to give itself away. Her tone was quiet but straightforward as she replied. “I did it to save your life as you requested.”

Citrine paused, taken back at the response. “I did not ask you for anything.”

The female’s eyes shifted, and her hand gripped the knife firmly. In the absence of the powerful gaze, Citrine took the opportunity to study the creature. The female bore a resemblance to a mortal, but her bare arms and legs were unusually muscular, and there was a fishy quality to her face. Her black eyes were completely round and bulged out while her face was almost concave.

“You called for help, but your beasts could not hear you, so I came instead.”

Ignoring the pain, Citrine sat up, her mouth hanging agape in astonishment. “You know who I am? I did not think mortals could hear me.”

The female laughed, a harsh sound. “I am no mortal. I am Udi.”

Citrine stared, at a loss for words.

“Now come. If you can’t stand, I will carry you. We must go down below before more of those creatures come.”

Citrine, not willing to be outdone by one of the Udi, turned on her side, hissing in pain as she tried to stand.

“It is no use,” said the female. “Let me.” Her hand rested on Citrine’s hip and she slid her arms around her body. “Hold the knife.”

Citrine grunted, unable to say more as the creature pushed out of the cave. Another wave came in, and they rode it out into the sea. They swept over the rocks at a dangerous speed, and Citrine closed her eyes, too frightened to watch. When she opened them again, they were in the middle of the Jaded Sea. A vague shape rising out of the darkness told Citrine where the shore was. She prepared her mind, intending to reach out to her beasts, but the Udi whirled away from the shore. The female turned her back to Citrine and tucked Citrine’s arms around her neck. “We must travel like this for the next part. It would be wise for you to hold your breath.”

“What do you mean?” Citrine gasped, her words coming out barely above a whisper. She shivered again, the jarring cold of the waves sinking through her skin into her bones.

The female gave a little hiss and then dived. Citrine had the presence of mind to take a shallow breath as cold water descended over her mouth and nose. They shot down, faster than flying beasts soared through the sky. The cold made Citrine go numb, her limbs feeling like the stone anchors that ships dropped to stay in one place. She squeezed her eyes shut as darkness consumed her, welcoming her into the inky blackness of the sea.

24

THE UDI

SOMETHING NIBBLED AT HER FINGERS, and Citrine opened her eyes. She lay on her side, her head resting in the crook of her arm. A light flavor filtered through the air, a familiar scent that reminded her of salt and mist. Smiling, she took a deep breath, attempting to make sense of the smell. An eerie glow flickered above her, and she stiffened. A flurry of memories, urgent and painful, flashed through her mind. Scowling, she sat up, lifting a hand to part her fine hair. She rubbed her fingers over the spot where Zilpha had hit her. The skin felt tender and the hair around it matted and stiff with dried blood. Otherwise, the aching pain was only a distant memory.

Out of the corner of her vision, something darted just out of eyesight. She stilled, dropping her hands into her lap and studying her surroundings. She lay on a green woven mat, made out of what looked like dried seaweed. She ran her fingers over it, surprised it did not itch and scratch at her. Her feet hit the ground, if it could be called that, when she swung them over the mat.

Stretching her neck back, she peered up above her, noting the concave ceiling and a translucent film that clearly displayed murky water. The light flickered again, a sort of golden-green glow. Her gaze drifted to a creature floating in the air above her. It had blue-green scales and an elongated body, no bigger than her hand. Its face was narrow like a horse with bulging round eyes on either side, while the rest of its body curved away, like an eel. It moved closer to her. Its dark eyes darting back and forth.

Citrine lifted a finger. Hello there.

The thing squeaked and darted away, up toward the flashing light. With a leap, it rippled through the translucent barrier and darted away. In that moment, Citrine realized she was looking at sea water and her heart dropped. She scrambled, reaching out feelers for her beasts.

“Don’t move so much, you’re still healing,” a clipped voice barked.

Citrine spun around, heart racing, and glared at the female who had saved her. Swallowing hard, she brushed hair out of her face and glanced again at the female. “Where am I?”

The female arched her eyebrows, a smirk coming to her solemn face. “The Under Water World.”

Citrine’s jaw dropped, and her eyes flew across the room. Now she noticed the sand smooth floor with bits of pink coral sticking out of it and the blue-greenish haze caused by a mix of light and water. Again, she glanced up to the sea moving above before returning her eyes to the female.

“How?” Additional questions tumbled through her mind as she studied her savior.

The female had white hair that billowed like a cloud around her lithe body, held back by a crown made of shells of various shapes. She was perhaps five feet tall with powerful shoulders and arms, the muscles standing out on her upper arms. A slick translucent webbing lay between her fingers and toes, and Citrine lifted an eyebrow when she noticed the female was stark naked and, other than the hair on her head, hairless. Her skin was a honey brown, tanned by sunlight, a sharp contrast to her white hair. She shrugged at Citrine’s question. “Simple. You were hurt. I brought you here to heal. A sea creature inflicted your wound, so it will heal faster down here.”

A chill made Citrine shiver, and she glanced down at her mid-section. Blood stained her dress and made her fingers shake. She wanted nothing more than to rip the dress off her body. Her fingers came up to her neck, tugging and pulling like the dress was the rope of a noose, seeking to strangle life out of her.

“I am Aer’wyna, the Udi of the clan of Luna.”

“I did not know the Udi had clans,” Citrine muttered.

Aer’wyna bared her lips, showing a row of dagger sharp teeth. Citrine recoiled, aware she faced a dangerous creature, but still confused about how Aer’wyna had heard her call.

“I thought the Udi had great tails, like fish, and shining scales.”

“Legends and myths.” Aer’wyna stood. Her skin rippled, showing a second skin to Citrine. A wink of blue scales stood out, and sharp fins jutted out of her back. The shift lasted only a moment before it disappeared and Aer’wyna looked as any mortal. Except for her perfectly round dark eyes—a pool of unsaid thoughts, ever-shifting as she eyed Citrine. “I saved you because you asked. But now that you are here, we should speak of our alliance.”

Citrine grunted in surprise, a pulsing headache forming between her eyes. Glancing up again at the light dancing in the waves above her, she realized she had no choice. If she wished to return to the city of Sanga Sang and her beasts, she’d have to make nice with Aer’wyna. Again, she tugged at her clothes, drawing Aer’wyna’s gaze.

“Clothes are not our forte, but we will find something for you to wear. One of my kin will bring food and we shall discuss.”

Citrine eyed the concave walls. The idea of miles of water pressing down on her filled her with discomfort. “How long will I have to stay down here?”

Aer’wyna’s black eyes flashed, and a rough laugh came from her lips. “You are not a prisoner here. After negotiations are complete, you will return to your home.”

Spinning, Aer’wyna walked away, leaving Citrine with an unsavory view of her rear.

Overwhelmed, Citrine lay back down on the seaweed pallet, momentarily wondering what Tor Lir would think of all this. For a brief second, she wished he were with her, and her face flushed with the need. She did not want her mind to display weakness or affection for his odd ways. Reaching out her feelers, she called to her beasts.

Morag. Zaul. Ava. Grift.

Their voices roared through her head, filled with questions.

Enchantress, Morag’s deep tones rumbled. I searched all night, but you were not there.

Citrine. You’re alive, Grift more or less hissed.

Ava’s thoughts dripped with displeasure. What? I was trying to sleep after a night of hunting.

Zaul, one of few words, merely grunted.

Morag. Grift. I was attacked last night, but I am safe. I will return later. Sleep, Ava. Zaul, keep watch lest crazy old Edna returns to my lair.

Silence rang in her ears after her beasts acknowledged her requests.

A few moments later, Aer’wyna returned, her feet padding silently into the chamber. She carried a tray made of pale wood in her hand, and something green hung over one arm. She set the tray down and handed the green thing to Citrine. “Here’s a tunic. Eat. Rest. I spoke to my kin, and when the moon is high, court will be in session.”

When she disappeared again, Citrine ripped off her dress, pausing to take a look at the blistered skin of her stomach. An angry red blotch rested on her midsection, and when she touched it her skin tingled with pain, a reminder of the strange sucking creature. Shivering, she pulled the green gown over her head. It was shapeless yet seemed a bit small, clinging to her thighs and stopping just above her knees. It was sleeveless, leaving her shoulders bare with a wide neck. It would do. On closer inspection, she saw the material seemed to be some sort of seaweed, but soft and malleable.

After a few moments, the shift changed, adjusting to her curves and hugging over them like clay put in a mold. Citrine raised her eyebrows in surprise and then shrugged, turning her attention to the food. Reclining on the pallet, propped up by an elbow, she reached her fingers out for the collection of cut fish. It was raw, but she’d only expected as much. A piece of red fish cut in a square caught her attention. Lifting it with her fingers, she popped it into her mouth and was surprised as a potent flavor burst over her tongue. Instead of the slimy fishy taste she was used to, it had a rather peppery spice to it and melted in her mouth like butter left out in sunlight.

“Like it?”

Citrine paused, giving herself time to swallow her surprise before she glanced up.

Another female Udi walked toward her. This one also had white hair, but she had it cropped short. It stopped just below her chin and curved around her neck. Unlike Aer’wyna, she wore some clothing. A green skirt made from stripes of seaweed was gathered around her waist, just below what would be her belly button, except there was none. She wore a necklace of shells and jewels around her neck, hiding the areolas of her breasts and more shell jewelry covered her arms and ankles. It made a gentle rustling sound as she moved, her round teal eyes alight with curiosity.

“Tis good,” Citrine agreed and pointed a finger to something that sat on a shell, a membrane in the center. “What are these?”

“Mussels and clams,” the Udi said. She carried a green pallet under her arm which she lay down across from Citrine. “Aer’wyna was hunting for some near the rocks when she heard your call.”

“I still don’t understand how she heard me,” Citrine mumbled, studying the female. “Who are you?”

The Udi tucked her short white hair behind a curved ear and smiled. “I am called Ray’nava. Aer’wyna asked me to come talk to you because I like mortals, and surely you have questions.”

“More for Aer’wyna than for you,” Citrine blurted out, willing herself not to be cross with Ray’nava. It was more likely the Udi was sent to guard her and ensure she did not grow too curious about the Under Water World.

“Aye, you will not see her again until court and they do not allow questions in court, only negotiations,” Ray’nava said. “Hence, she sent me in her stead. If you don’t have questions, I have some for you.”

Citrine determined to make the most of her time there by gathering knowledge. If nothing else, it would be an interesting story to tell Grift or Morag. She winced inwardly at the thought of Morag. He’d attempted to tell her something about the Under Water World People and in her haste for knowledge about the stone, she’d ignored him. Now, she wished she’d listened to what he had to say. The knowledge may have given her power over bargaining with the beings who saved her life. She was sure there would be a demand when she met the court.

“Tell me,” she asked. “Am I truly in the Under Water World? And how is this possible? Are we not in the sea?”

Ray’nava smiled like the bearer of a great secret. Wrinkles around her eyes crinkled up and then she blinked. The top of her eyelids were scales, and iridescent colors shot across the chamber for a brief second. “Aye you are in the realm of the Under Water World people, also called the Udi. Many mortals have been down here and yet it is something rarely discussed. Perhaps the wonders of the water world do not appeal to mortals?”

A swift jab of anger came to Citrine, and she opened her mouth to spit out a response, but Ray’nava continued, a dream-like look coming over her petite features. “The Four Worlds are not as large as one thinks. They are all connected by water. Every creek, pond, river, lake, and sea connect to Oceantic somewhere. Even the ground hides the water route. Within each body of water, my people dwell. Unlike mortals, we have the ability to walk on land and yet change our form to swim like the magnificent fish of the sea. However, when we tire, we come here, to our coral chambers underneath the waters, where we can still see the waters we love, but remain safe in our havens. Despite what you might think, we all have enemies. The sea monsters seek to devour us, and unless we stay here at night, we cannot escape their clutches.”

Citrine understood. This was their home much like the cave she dwelt in to protect from the wild beasts and dark intent of mortals of the night. “But how did this place come to be?” she persisted, pointing to the curved walls and the waters above. “How does air come in, and I saw a sea creature earlier. It went up into the waters. How come the sea doesn’t come down on my head and drown me?”

Ray’nava dropped her head, hiding her expression. Her voice came out soft and distant. “We have our secrets as you have yours. It is possible for creatures to break through our defenses, and then we must repair our home. But as for now, all you need know is that this realm is under protection. For a time.”

When Ray’nava looked back up, her teal eyes shone with tears.

“What’s wrong?” Citrine asked, fighting to keep her annoyance down.

Ray’nava shook her head, causing her white hair to move back and forth, slapping her cheeks with a gentle swishing sound. “This realm is protected…for now…but not for long. You’ll hear the entire story in court. Please. Whatever is asked of you. Please grant it.”

“It doesn’t seem like I have much choice,” Citrine grumbled under her breath. She picked up the shell called a clam and slurped at it. A meaty substance came off on her tongue, white and slimy. She frowned at the lack of flavor.

“What other questions do you have for me?” Ray’nava asked.

Citrine lifted a finger. “The creature that sucked at my skin, what was it? Another monster your people hide from?”

“Aye,” Ray’nava swiped at her eyes. “They are called jelly fish, because of the way their bodies move. They will eat you from the inside out. Once they latch on, it's difficult to counter the effects of their poison. You are lucky Aer’wyna was out hunting—”

“She said she heard me call for help,” Citrine interrupted. “What does that mean?

Ray’nava rose to her feet. “She heard you call. Nothing more.”

“Nay. It wasn’t nothing more. I did not open my mouth. I was helpless to scream. I couldn’t make a sound. I thought the words, but I never said them. How did she hear me?”

Ray’nava backed away, shaking her head. “They will tell you more in court, for which I must prepare.”

“I thought you came to answer my questions,” Citrine spat, the words coming out with more anger than she intended.

Ray’nava moved from foot to foot and continued to back away, a faint glow of fear coming to her face. Before she turned and disappeared down the tunnel, a horn sounded. At least, it sounded like a horn to Citrine. Another crystal-clear call followed it and then shouts and screams. Citrine stood, turning from side to side and then all at once a darkness came overhead, shutting out the light. The chamber she stood in trembled, and she was thrown on her side.

25

AWAKENING KNOWLEDGE

TOR LIR CREPT from shadow to shadow as he made his way to the tower. He’d seen the male with the amber eyes disappear with the female he’d questioned a few nights ago, the one called Zilpha who had gone to sea with Citrine. He hadn’t seen Citrine and went to her cave, but she was absent from it. He desired to speak with her, but he’d concern himself with her whereabouts later. First, he wanted to know why Zilpha and the amber-eyed Lord were at the tower, and what they took with them.

The round building shut out daylight as he neared. Rough-hewn stones bleached with age basked in the sunlight. He saw where mortar cracked and gray dust drifted to the ground while green vines curved around the tower, finding life in death and rot. He shivered as he glared at it, a stifled feeling constricted his breathing. A need pulsed through him, a throbbing quivering. There was something in the tower he wanted, yet as he drew closer, a low rumble made the ground shake.

Tor Lir paused, glancing down at his feet. On the approach to the tower, there was nowhere to hide. It perched on the top of the highest hill, giving him a clear glimpse of the city below, spiraling down to the glowing harbor with the sunlight shining on ships and sails. His heartbeat calmed, and he moved forward again, listening hard for the sound, but the rumble did not come again.

The tower was deserted as he approached, tongue in cheek. The city warden lived in the tower—at least Lady Hava told him that—and he expected to be cut down at any moment by a solider or guard, demanding to know what his business was. His thoughts flickered back to her and he twitched. He’d let himself give into weakness yet again. Lust rose in him like a thirst, and he did not understand why he gave in to Lady Hava yet stayed away from Citrine. If anything, Citrine was a better match for him in every way except for her exhausting temper. What would Citrine say when he found her and explained his actions?

Arriving at the door to the tower, he pushed gently, and it swung open without a sound. He hesitated before walking into the gentle light, a strong sense of warning rising over him. Ignoring his instincts, he stepped forward, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the light. He stood in a great hall with staircases and passages rising up in endless spirals, circling around and around the tower in such a way it made him dizzy just to behold the sight. He frowned, unsure which way to go, when another rumble shook the ground.

Something growled below him, like the snarl of a mountain lion who hadn’t eaten for days and finally found worthy prey to take down. Tor Lir ducked as something leaped into the hall, slamming the door shut and knocking him over with a padded swat to his back. A rending sound filled the air, and a strong smell of musk made him wrinkle his nose as he fell, tucking his feet and hunching his shoulders. He rolled into a ball and sprang up on his feet, spinning around to face whoever had hit him. Amber eyes glared at him, and Tor Lir looked up into the eyes of a mighty beast.

The beast had four legs, although it stood upright on two while the others hung from its sides like arms. Instead of feet and hands, it had hooves twice the size of a horse’s. Two short white horns curved out of its bull-like head, but its wide amber eyes were intelligent, like a mortal. Black hair covered its face and body. It threw back its head and let out a roar, thumping its chest with its massive hooves.

Tor Lir’s eyebrows shot up and he backed away in dismay, astonished to find an intelligent beast in the realm of mortals. He momentarily wondered if Citrine could tame it, but it was clear that was neither here nor there. Tor Lir glanced toward a stone staircase without railings, climbing up into the tower. He inched toward it, fully prepared for the beast to charge at him. Instead, when the roar faded away, the beast spoke in a deep gravel tone. “Who are you to dare enter the watch tower of the warden?”

Surprised, Tor Lir fought to find his tongue, swallowing hard. It was not unusual for talking beasts to pepper the South World, and yet he rarely saw mythical beasts like the one that stood before him, glowering and demanding an answer. He drew himself up to his full height, lifted his chin, and squared his shoulders. Warnings faded away as his hostile confidence billowed out, serving both to remind himself and tell the beast who he was. “I am the Nameless One. I’ve come to keep the balance between good and evil. Although I don’t have a name, many call me Tor Lir. And who are you? Guard of the warden’s tower?”

A huff came out of the beast’s chest, and it took a step back, recoiling from the words Tor Lir spoke. A glint of triumph rushed through Tor Lir, aware that his words held power and with the right combination, he and the beast might be able to come to some agreement without violence.

“You bring balance to good and evil?” the beast asked, its tone deep as if to hide the lilt of surprise in its voice.

“Aye,” Tor Lir gave a quick nod, watching the creature for sudden movement.

“Then you might be able to assist me,” the beast said, crossing its hooved arms over its hairy chest. “Tell me, Nameless One, why have you come here?”

Tor Lir scratched his head, turning his expression cold as ice. He hesitated a moment before letting truth spill from his lips, wondering if he should trust the beast or resort to his own methods of extracting knowledge. A shiver rushed through him as the words left his tongue. “A few days ago, a temple friar was murdered by a strange beast that disappeared into the night. When I went into the temple, I discovered the beast was searching for treasure. A crystal formed into the shape of a winged-horse. As I dug into the mystery, I discovered two of my acquaintances also searching for the same thing. I do not know what it is, nor what power it gives, but if it sways the balance, I must interfere.”

“Sways the balance?” the beast asked and then grunted. “Why? Is there something wrong with the balance?”

Tor Lir cleared his throat, making each word menacing. “Yes. After the war between the mortals and immortals, too much good abounds in this world and runs free. One must remember, the Four Worlds were not meant to be paradise. There is both good and evil, and an overabundance of either one will cause the world to end.”

“Too much good? Do you realize your words go against the Creator and everything this city stands for?”

“I have seen more than you know,” Tor Lir countered. “I have seen paradise fall because the balance was off. The balance is swayed here. A bit more chaos and this city will fall.”

The beast growled. “There are many who would disagree with your words. Evil should be banished so good can abound.”

Tor Lir took a step toward the beast as he spit out his words. “I do not live my life based on what others think and say. I think and say for myself, and I know what my purpose is here.”

“Ah. Then if you are such an impartial member of the city, you might be able to help me. But I will need something from you, some truth you swear to.”

“Why? Are you afraid I might take the chance to escape, or harm you?”

The beast grunted. “I tell you now. There is no escape from the tower of the warden.”

“And why is that?” Tor Lir demanded.

“Because the beast of shadows you saw kill the friar dwells here, and if you try to leave or double cross me, I shall command it to slay you.”

Tor Lir’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth went dry, but questions pressed on his lips, begging to be let forth. “And how did you come to control such a creature?”

The beast laughed. “Not all secrets should be revealed. Now. Follow me. Nameless One.”

The beast marched to a stone staircase and ascended. Tor Lir followed, his eyes roving over the beautiful stonework, noting the dust and dirt that covered the carved arches. If it were the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry, each stair would sparkle, and their way would be lit by creatures of flame. As it was, sunlight flowed in from arched windows, too far from the staircase to provide escape, but allowing light as they twisted through the cool shadows of the tower. The beast’s hooves made distinct clicks, echoing through the silence. Tor Lir shuddered with each echo, the nosie making him feel uneasy, yet he wanted to know who dwelt in the castle. Why this beast? Was there really a city warden or were the rumors true? There was nothing there, just a desolate presence after the war between the mortals and immortals.

On they climbed, and the silence grew dense like the thickening of clouds on a stormy day. In some places, Tor Lir thought he could reach out his fingers and stroke the air, feeling the unsaid words twirling in oblivion. When at last they reached the top, his legs shook from effort, and the wind blew in, hard through the arched windows at the top. He glanced out in surprise at how far he could see. The brown tented roofs of homes marched like a staircase down to the port, where he saw white sails, grand ships, and sparkling waves rushing up to the shore like an eager beast ready to greet its master. Small spots moving back and forth had to be people, and he saw the large square for the marketplace, starkly empty next to the bustle of the rest of the city. The wind whipped up harder, pulling tears from his eyes. He turned from the arched window and faced the room.

The beast strode in and moved to a round chamber, a cove where the winds from the window could not reach but where the light penetrated all the same. The beast marched around to a waist-high table, covered with heavy books and parchments with objects drawn on them. Tor Lir drew near, his eyes going to the drawings. Some had horns, swords, arrows, bows, knives, and the other objects he could not name. Warnings pressed on him and an obscure sensation, dark and delicious, swayed around his mind as he recalled the things he did not want to know. Yet something compelled him, pulling him toward the source. The beast set a box on the table and opened it, gesturing with his hooves at what lay within.

Tor Lir leaned over to get a better look, coming too close to the black hairy body. The musky smell of an animal hung in the air, and yet Tor Lir sensed something else hidden in the beast’s aura. He avoided looking up as a realization swept through him, leaving cold wisps of knowledge behind. This wasn’t simply an intelligent beast. There was another mystery shrouded behind the disguise. It was up to him to unravel the mystery and stay the cause of imbalance. If he had to open his mind to knowledge, so be it.

The box was full of wiry golden hay, bunches of it overflowing out of the chest. Tor Lir almost laughed until he saw the crystal winged horse. Understanding flashed through his mind, and a lump formed in his throat. The crystal looked as delicate as an egg, and he wondered if reaching out a finger and stroking its curves would cause it to shatter. The horse’s wings were spread and one of its legs bent, as if it were about to fly away. The detailing on the horse’s mane and tail seemed lifelike, like it had been frozen in place.

“What is it?” Tor Lir breathed, knowing he looked on the treasure the friars had attempted to hide from him. The treasure that Citrine, in all her secrecy, was searching for. He wanted to know, and yet again he did not want to know at all.

“Pick it up,” the beast instructed.

Tor Lir lifted his head, his emerald eyes flashing up to meet the beast’s. The amber eyes regarded him with impassive coolness. Ignoring his misgivings, Tor Lir reached out both hands, barely daring to breathe as he dipped into the box. The hay scratched at him, a final warning to stay away from what he knew not, but life in the realm of mortals was hum drum without excitement.

He’d seen the change that came over the mortals as they went about their daily lives, fighting to make enough food to feed their family, earn enough silver to buy land, farm the land so they would have food through the winter, plant enough food so they could feed their families, and store up wealth for the younger generation. The endless cycle started once again. Babies were born, the old died, while the young struggled for life, influence, power, and more. It was no way to live. There had to be more, much more.

Since the war, people were content with their lives. They took what they could get and moved on without striving for too much. They liked the balance of work and the limited hours of play time given to them. They enjoyed their struggles and rejoiced in what small joys they earned, whether it was drinking at the tavern, enjoying the warmth of another body, or relaxing over a meal with their families. The way of mortals was not the way for him. Something within him shifted like a door long shut and ignored finally swinging over. He picked up the treasure.

The moment his fingers touched it, something old and arcane gripped him. The crystal horse turned its radiant head and its dark eyes looked directly into his. Silver wings beat, and the horse tossed its head causing prisms of rainbow light to shoot out, exploding across the gray chamber, imbuing it with colors.

Light poured into Tor Lir’s eye sockets, shutting out the grime and a roaring poured into his ears, as if the voice of wind blew directly into him instead of around him. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, and yet the intense light shifted, and he saw beyond what he had ever seen before.

He rose like a spirit, looking down on the physical world while sensing a thin fabric separating him from the In Between. He saw the physical room he stood in, gray and dirty, while his physical form stood on one side of the table, and a male stood on the other. The male was dark and hairy, but the vision flickered. The male became a beast and yet a male again, revealing his true identity.

Tor Lir could not react or reflect on it, for the light shifted again, showing him another realm beyond the physical realm in which the mortals lived. He saw shadows—black, white, and gray—and a shimmering within as creatures with sharp teeth and pointed ears peeked out at him. And then he was descending, his vision taking him down to the ground, shooting past great roots of trees into the middle of nothingness. And that was when he saw.

He stood in the In Between, the realm beneath the Four Worlds, or between it, he was unsure. White beings with tentacles shooting out of their heads stood there, and he saw black shadows with red eyes rise and fall. The white beings turned, exclaiming as they pointed at him, their cold eyes narrowing and their teeth forming horrible grimaces. Tor Lir’s breath became shallow as he saw a Green Person turn, and he thought for a moment he looked on the green giantess who had raised him. His breath rose to a crescendo, rising and falling like a song. He opened his mouth, and a scream tore out of his lips.

26

HOOK LINE SINKER

“WHAT IS THAT THING?” Tor Lir demanded, pointing a shaking finger at the crystal winged horse he’d dropped back into the box of hay. It lay on its side, its nose against the wood of the box, miraculously unbroken. “What are you?”

The beast regarded him, eyes still cool as if the echoes of Tor Lir’s scream were not reverberating through the room. The wind howled and sweat poured down Tor Lir’s head. He wiped it away as he eyed the beast, his hand raised, fingers clenched into a fist. Anger cool as ice formed in the core of his being. His eyes sought out the amber ones of the beast, and he let his cold gaze penetrate. “You will tell me,” he ordered.

The beast placed its hooves on the table, bowed its head, and a shadow rippled over it. A moment later, a lean male with a shock of dark hair and amber eyes appeared. His face was hard as he stared at Tor Lir. “I am Lord Nodin of one of the clans of the Therian.”

Tor Lir waited, unsure what Therian meant, but sure it held a key to the strange male. He wasn’t an average mortal, and perhaps Lord Nodin’s presence was why the balance was swaying.

Lord Nodin pointed to the crystal winged horse. “This object is a Clyear. Surely you have heard of them?”

“Tell me,” Tor Lir prompted. The word Clyear rang a bell, but he could not place it nor the explanation. It was probably in the wisdom kept by the Iaen. The wisdom he ignored. A sing-song voice echoed in his mind. If you want to know who you are and where you came from, go to Daygone. He brushed the memory away. The words of the green giantess taunted him.

Lord Nodin folded his arms across his chest. He wore a plain white tunic, deep cut in the middle, revealing his hairy chest. A robe hung from his shoulders, but Tor Lir was too distracted to wonder how clothes worked with the shift from male into beast.

Lord Nodin paced, walking back and forth as he talked, occasionally waving one hand in the air to emphasize a point. “Clyears. Old legends tell of the gifts from the Creator—six Clyears, each with a unique talent, controlled only by the one who holds the Clyear, its Keeper. However, although six were given, there is a seventh Clyear which supersedes them all. You may have heard of the Great Clyear of Power, and its Keeper, Alaireia the Ezinck. When one hears talk of the Heroes of Old, they were able to complete impossible feats because of the Clyear. In the Western World, the Five Warriors rose up and took down Sarhorr the Ruler. In the Eastern World, Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword quashed a civil war and took the crown.

“When a Clyear appears, it is a warning that the time is coming when countries and brethren will turn, one on another. Friends will become enemies, and lovers will slay each other with no regard to blood ties. When a Clyear appears, it is because calamity and doom are coming. This one here is the Clyear of Revelation. There are few stories about it. However, when it came to me, I understood the rule. Doom was coming to my people, and so I took it and ran, assuming the curse would follow me instead of the Therian. I roamed as a nomad for fifteen years, and at last, thinking my clan was safe, I left the Clyear behind and returned. It is worse than I thought. There is a great imbalance, and my clan is dying out. I saw I had been wrong. The Clyear appeared as a warning, and I should have used it to help my people instead of running. The Clyear of Revelation grants visions of the future and so I returned here for its wisdom. When I touched it, I saw you and understood. You are the key, the Nameless One. The one who keeps the balance between good and evil. You must come with me, back to my clan in the mountains, and restore the great powers of the Therian.”

Tor Lir’s mind spun with the knowledge, especially of the Clyear, and a great many questions rose to his lips. He kept his tone cold as he asked: “Why do you think I can help you?”

Lord Nodin paused, turning his amber eyes on Tor Lir’s impassive face. He arched an eyebrow, a bit of mirth coming to his lean face. “I don’t think. I know. Because unlike you, I seek out knowledge because it is the center of all power. And do you know who I appeal to for knowledge? The Disciples of Ithar. They have taken it upon themselves to become the keepers of stories. The Storyteller told me a certain tale of the legendary land of Novor Tur-Woodberry.”

Tor Lir froze. A ringing sounded in his ears at the words Disciples of Ithar. He recalled a dire warning of death and destruction. He narrowed his eyes, reminded of Citrine’s spell of protection, and her adamant request he tell no one she was the Enchantress. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He gaped like a fool. How could he think he was safe in the realm of mortals? How silly of him to assume he could blend in and become one of them. His power sought him out, as did the mortals. Their words spread like a poison, telling others of heroic deeds.

Tor Lir spoke quickly. “You must know, I did not act alone.”

“Nay.” A glimmer came to Lord Nodin’s eyes. “You had a companion, with beasts. Where is she? She must come with us too.”

“She has her own agenda,” Tor Lir shook his head to discourage Lord Nodin, unsure why he felt the urge to protect Citrine.

Lord Nodin folded his hands and then Tor Lir saw that dark glimmer again. “I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”

“You mean your beast of shadows,” Tor Lir countered.

“Aye. I see you have your wits about you.”

Tor Lir expected him to smile, but there was nothing malicious in Lord Nodin’s actions, aside from the dark glimmer in his eyes. “If your friend does not come, she may find the death of one of her beasts becomes imminent.”

“I will find her and request her presence,” Tor Lir said. While he sought Citrine, he would tell her to take her beasts and run while she had the chance. “Before I go, I have one question. What evil have you brought to this city?”

Lord Nodin’s fists tightened, and he looked down, a puzzled expression coming to his face. “None. Why do you ask?”

“Because something is here. I can sense it. There is an imbalance in this city, and I must find the source. At first, I thought it was in the tower, but now…I am not sure. Before we go to your brethren, we must find out what is happening here.”

“There is nothing happening here,” Lord Nodin disagreed, his jaw set.

Tor Lir glared at him. “Are you sure?”

Before Lord Nodin could respond, the tower shook, and a desperate roar sounded from beneath them. Tor Lir glanced down as the stone under his feet trembled.

“What is that?” Tor Lir hissed, holding out his hands to balance himself.

“The beast,” Lord Nodin muttered and then he set off in a run toward the steps. As he dashed, his form changed, and Tor Lir saw a black beast hurling down the steps to the depths.

27

DUNGEONS AND DANGER

ZILPHA SAT HUDDLED in a cell made of stone. She shivered from the cold, but even that did not bother her as much as Lord Nodin’s betrayal. Once he showed her the fire, he’d taken her, kicking and screaming, up to the warden’s tower and locked her away in the cell. There were no words, no explanations, just her freedom suddenly snatched away. She cursed herself bitterly, wishing she hadn’t been so blind as to leap to conclusions. Reflecting on her actions, she wished she’d trusted her brother and best friend more. They would have helped her. She should have chosen them over Nodin, who’d left her in the first place. She should have trusted her first anxious feelings when he’d arrived in her bedroom, unannounced and demanding, instead of giving in to her wayward emotions.

Plonk. The drip of water startled her out of her reverie and a deep growl reverberated through the cold stone. Zilpha leaped up, reaching for the bars and pressing her face against them. She caught her breath, peering out, but she saw nothing but cold stone in front and on either side. There was a short hallway and a torch in the distance that gave off a cool pool of wan light. Otherwise, it seemed she was alone.

Shivering, Zilpha backed away from the bars and rubbed her shoulders to bring back some warmth. Tears flowed from her eyes again and she swallowed hard, retreating into a corner to think. They would come after some time and give her some food, at least she hoped so. She had to be ready to plan her own escape.

Time passed. One wearying hour after the other, and still no one came. Zilpha combed her fingers through her hair and braided it. The weaving motion of moving her hair together calmed her frantic thoughts and brought rationality back to her mind. The lack of light meant she could not tell how late or early it was. For a while she had paced, too frightened to concern herself with thoughts of food. She cursed at herself for telling Bram not to worry about her. It was altogether too likely her brother would assume she’d died in the fire. Whoever had planned her capture was brilliant, down to the last detail. She groaned in dismay as she recalled how tight-lipped she had been. The last person to see her was Irik, and his concerns were fishing. He was likely down at the docks and hadn’t heard the news, and if he did would he think her alive? Would he come searching for her? There wasn’t much he knew about her aside from her friendship with Mathilda’s family. If he went to her family’s farm, they’d tell him about the fire and lead to the confirmation of her death. There had been enough time for her to go home as long as her meeting wasn’t too long.

A sharp pain ripped through Zilpha’s head, and she eased up on her braids, aware she’d pulled too tight in her worry. Perhaps it was payback for hurting Citrine, and this was her road. Life would always be difficult for her. When she was on the cusp of happiness or finally achieving balance, everything was snatched away.

A growl and a scent distracted her. Standing, Zilpha let go of her hair and pushed her face against the cold bars. The iron made her shiver and she squinted, peering back and forth. There. It came again, and she sniffed. A stinking sour smell permeated the air, like spoiled milk spilled on the floor. Gagging, Zilpha pulled back and covered her nose and mouth with both hands, her eyes tearing up as the stench increased.

Suddenly a guttural cry went up, and Zilpha jumped. Swallowing hard, she bent forward and peered left and right. A second later, her attentiveness was rewarded as something long and thin swiped through the air. A tail. There was no doubt about it. Zilpha stood frozen in place as she stared, unsure what to think. It was clear some beast was in the castle, something bigger than a wolf or the wild bobcats that prowled around farmlands, seeking to steal dumb animals and eat them. It wasn’t a wolf, for they did not have slender tails. Furrowing her brow, Zilpha thought hard through a catalog of all the beasts she knew about.

Another cry went up, and the smell became even stronger, though she was surprised that was possible. The tail swung out again, and then it seemed as if a massive body slammed into the stones, causing them to shake. Muffling her scream with her hands, Zilpha dived to the ground, narrowly avoiding a cluster of rocks that tumbled from the ceiling into her cell. A cloud of dust went up, billowing about her, forcing her to cough. She stayed huddled on her knees until the tremors subsided.

Lifting her head, she noted the smell remained but less intense. When she lifted her eyes to the bars of her cell, she saw an opening. Sucking in her breath, she thought she just might be able to squeeze through and escape. An ecstasy of terror and joy made her gasp as she recognized the raw taste of freedom combined with the need to make decisive decisions to ensure she was not captured again. She needed to be brave, for the wild beast was still out there making a mess in the dungeons. For a moment she questioned whether Lord Nodin meant to feed her to the beast, and tears started again to her eyes as she remembered his gentle kisses and caresses. Only to come to this. How foolish she was to think they could have something more. He’d left her before, and he’d only do so again. There was no future with Lord Nodin.

Forcing the distressing thoughts to the back of her mind, she scrambled to her feet and crept breathlessly across the stone floor to the crack. Reaching up, she touched stone and mortar. Some of it disintegrated under her fingertips, and emboldened by how quickly it crumbled out of her way, she gave the rock a hard shove. Hairline cracks appeared over the face of the stone, and she knew it might fall again if she pressed too hard. Sucking in her breath, she wiggled her way through the small opening. She pressed her shoulders against the stone and held the bars with both hands as she sucked in, sliding her body out from the prison. Within moments, she was free. Zilpha took a deep breath, allowing air to pass through her body and calm her heartbeat from the quick work. Leaving the cell was only half the battle. Now she had to find a way out of the castle, either a staircase or door that led into the light. First of all, she had to put distance between herself and the beast.

Afraid to make a sound, she lifted a foot, bringing it down gently on the stone floor. Rubble shifted below her, and she froze again. Her breathing was all she could hear, and then the sour smell from before hit her full force. She bent over, heaving. A sharp crack rifled through the air, and she jumped in fright. The structure she stood in shuddered and dislocated rocks slide down. A moment later, she saw a patch of light. It streamed a distance away, and putting her fingers over her nose, Zilpha walked toward it. The ground shifted as she moved, and she reached out a hand for the walls, yet they gave her little security. She swayed, almost losing her footing from time to time. As she approached the light, she saw shapes sitting in it. From a distance it looked like oblong objects lying on the ground. For a moment, she wondered if they were torches or even weapons, something she could use should someone choose to attack her. Another crack came rifling through the air and Zilpha moved forward again and then paused in horror and surprise.

The objects lying in the light were obsidian with a sprinkle of white spots covering them. Hairline fractures covered the objects and they wobbled back and forth. Something was inside of them. Zilpha gasped as a yellowish puss dripped out of the eggs. Swallowing hard, daring herself to be brave, she lifted her head, eyes widening when she saw where the light came from. She was in the bottom of what looked like a stone well with a grating at the top. It was far away, perhaps twenty or so feet, and all thoughts of escaping that way vanished. The chamber was round and an arched alcove led down the halls into more cells; she assumed like the one she’d been locked in.

An egg shook, and Zilpha, compelled by a magnetic curiosity, drew nearer. As she did, a shadow bent over the eggs. It sniffed once, then twice, and suddenly a snout huffed out air and a white claw reached out, prodding the eggs.

Curved claws as long as her forearm moved over the eggs, rolling them back and forth. Nostrils, thick with hair, leaned down to sniff at the eggs. A guttural growl and the stink of the sour puss increased. A roving eye turned toward her, round and wide, the pupil bloodshot as it stared at her.

Zilpha could not quash the scream that came out of her mouth, blasting through her fingers. The sniffing paused and then the eye locked her in its gaze. She froze as the thing stared at her, a liquid eye that blinked. Its depths were fierce, wild, and pulled her into its gaze. The eyes blazed with fury, and the claws turned toward her as the bulk of shadows shut out the light. Terror gripped Zilpha, unlocking her frozen fear. Turning, she fled back down the hall, past her cell as the beast roared and smashed against the wall. An eerie scraping sound came as if it were digging. In her haste, Zilpha tripped over her feet and reached out her hands to stop her fall. She landed on her palms and knees, scratching them against loose rubble. A hellish roar sounded, and she climbed back up, uttering an oath, wishing there was light, anything to help her see as she fled. And suddenly, her wish was granted. Rounding a corner, she saw a torch casting light over an old iron door. Zilpha ran up to it, her heart sinking moments before her fingers wrapped around the latch and tugged. It held fast. Locked. Behind her she heard the scraping of claws; the beast was coming for her and she was trapped in stone. She screamed, beating her fists on the door. “Let me out. Please. Let me out!”

28

BANE OF THE WATER WORLD

THE FILTERED LIGHT TURNED BROWN, blocked by a shape that floated over the Under Water World. Citrine rolled over, scrambling to regain her footing, and glanced up. What she saw made her heart falter and the breath whoosh out of her body, leaving her gazing in terror. Above her the muscular body of a sea demon swam. It was about eight feet long with arms and legs like a mortal, but the resemblance ended there. Its body was encased in hard shell, showing off the contortions of its powerful muscles. A fin ran from the top of its bare head down its back to its hindquarters. In the dim light, it was difficult to determine its coloring—either a steel gray or midnight green, blending with the shifting colors of the Jaded Sea. The creature’s powerful limbs had curved claws for hands and feet, with webbing in-between.

As Citrine watched, the claws lengthened until they were as long as her forearm. But it was the face which struck terror into her heart. Gills on its neck moved in and out, following the tradition of the fish. Its thin mouth opened and closed, air bubbles escaping in a thin stream which marked its passage. It had a flat nose and two holes where its eyes should have been, but there was nothing in those sightless pockets. The aura it gave off filled the sea, and it emitted a high, vicious cry—wild, feral and terrifying. A murky cloud of purple ink exploded, blocking Citrine’s view of the creature. Her heart pounded, and time slowed down. The screams of the Udi faded, and she felt a familiar ringing in her ears. This creature reminded her of the Master of the Forest and his dark wishes.

“With me,” someone shouted, and suddenly Aer’wyna was there. She snatched at Citrine’s wrist and pulled her down the passageway, running at full speed.

“What is that thing?” Citrine screamed. She sensed the fear that hung heavy in the air, like the scent of death after an animal was slain.

Aer’wyna spoke between breaths, her words coming out short and choppy. “She is the bane of the water world. If we don’t run, she will break the tunnels and consume us.”

“She?” Citrine assumed there was more to the story. “Why are you running? Why aren’t you fighting?”

“We cannot fight her,” Aer’wyna snapped with more anger than Citrine expected in her tone.

Citrine wanted to ask more, but suddenly Udi were on all sides, pressing together as they dashed down the concave chamber. Flashes of light and shadows erupted around her, and then a thundering came from behind, the voice of the sea shouting with fury.

Aer’wyna’s grasp on Citrine’s wrist tightened, and she moved faster, weaving among the bodies as instructions were called out.

“She’s broken through, raise the barricades!”

“Aim for the keep, swim to safety.”

“Make sure the children are protected first.”

Wails of terror sounded in the distance, and suddenly Aer’wyna pushed her. Citrine stumbled and before she could catch her balance, she fell through a hole and the light disappeared. She slid on her back, arms and legs kicking as she rode out of the rushing water. The cries, screams, and the terror of the Udi faded. The ride continued until she coasted to a slow stop, wet rock sloping down gently to place her in the bottom of an underground canyon.

Pale eyes looked at her, and as Citrine rose, she found herself staring up at a crowd of Under Water World People. There were males, females, and children in colorful garb, some wearing flowing skirts made of blue, purple, and pink, while others garbed themselves with shell-like jewelry. They looked at her, solemn and without expression, and then one by one, they fell to their knees and bowed their heads.

Citrine, doubtful they were bowing to her, turned around and saw Aer’wyna stood behind her, holding what looked like a staff with three prongs at the end. Above her a circle of jewels spun in a slow rotation, and Citrine took a step away from the Udi, bowing her head.

Aer’wyna lifted her chin, her white hair swinging around her. She gestured to Citrine. “Follow me,” and walked through the crowd of Udi. They parted for her, allowing Citrine to see they walked up a slope to where three thrones looked down upon the people. Above them a sea of gems twinkled, like stars in the night sky. Citrine’s mouth hung open and questions filled her mind, but she was determined to let the Udi explain their actions.

Aer’wyna walked up a short staircase to the thrones, where two male Udi sat, their silky hair long and flowing to their waists. They also carried staffs. One had two prongs at the end and the last had only one. Citrine assumed the leadership of the Udi was a three-tiered system, and she paused in the circle before the three thrones while Aer’wyna walked up another set of steps to the throne in the middle and perched on the edge, the staff between her legs.

Each throne was ten feet tall with a wide seat made of stone. Each end came to a tapered point with a gem melded into the very end point. Ornate carvings were on the back, but hidden once the seat was filled. Citrine imagined the stone seats could not be very comfortable. The males regarded her impassively, but Aer’wyna banged her staff down three times on the stone floor and a jewel-toned ringing went out, like a multitude of glass crashing and shattering together. Citrine’s ears rang, but she dared not move from her position, unaware of the traditions of the Udi and what they would take offense to. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ray’nava push through the crowd, coming to stand near the front. The Udi raised expectant eyes to their leaders, and a hush covered the gathering.

Aer’wyna and the two other males lifted shell crowns onto their heads, then held their staffs in their right hands. Aer’wyna stood, her voice loud and commanding as she spoke. “The Court of the clan of Luna is now in session. Prince Stefan will report on the attack, and then we shall turn to negotiations.”

One of the male Udi stood, Prince Stefan, Citrine assumed. He carried the staff with one prong and his hair was the color of sunshine. Light twinkled around the shells he wore, and Citrine crossed her arms, unwilling to be tempted by the foreign beauty of the Udi.

“Scouts report the Cryptids are on the prowl again and attack our home more frequently than they used to. We believe this is due to the increase in ships and monsters on the surface of the sea, limiting the food supply and turning the focus of the Cryptids toward our clan. While they are many, the mother of them all, Tretis, was spotted by scouts earlier today. Although they are too strong for us to fight, my sister, Aer’wyna, has a solution.”

“A potential solution,” Aer’wyna agreed, and her round eyes met Citrine’s.

A shiver passed through Citrine, but whether it was from anticipation or fear, she did not know. Now the Udi would come to the reason why she was down here in the first place.

“As you all know,” Aer’wyna continued, “we have been stalked by these terrible creatures for years. They secrete a poisonous ink which contaminates our waters, they eat our food supply, and destroy our homes with their viciousness. Old tales say they used to be like us, and are trying to become Udi again, but a wicked curse transformed them to the fallen beasts they are today. Whether or not those tales are true, we have proof they specifically target us, regardless of where we go in the under world. They are led by Tretis, and we believe if she is taken down, the others will follow, which is why Citrine, the Enchantress, has joined us today.”

Citrine froze. The Enchantress. How did they know who she was? What did they expect her to do for them? The memory of the beast with the sightless eyes and horrific claws made her sweat. She could not breathe underwater, and even if she called in her beasts, those claws might rip apart even Morag’s tough hide.

Aer’wyna’s sing-song voice pulled Citrine from her thoughts. “Enchantress. Last night I heard your vibrations ripple across the waters and felt your call for help. Your power to call those who follow you to your side grows stronger by the water. We heard of your greatness from the leviathan who calls himself Morag. He told of how you saved him from the Master of the Forest. If a beast like that does your bidding, you are powerful enough to destroy our enemies. In exchange, we will grant your desire—a haven for you and your beasts to dwell in without fear from the mortals and the power to keep it so. Citrine the Enchantress, do you agree to help us?”

Citrine opened her mouth. She wanted to tell them they were wrong, she did not command Morag, he joined her of his own free will. Although the offer was tempting, she wanted to know more about the haven they offered her and the so-called power. What did they mean?

Aer’wyna stood and banged her trident on the stone. An audible gasp went through the crowd, and then a low tune was sung out. Aer’wyna marched down the steps of her throne to stand in front of Citrine. Her expression was stern and yet a glint of compassion shone out in her eyes. “We’ve heard of the mortals, and the war between the mortals and immortals. We know there was once a time when the people groups of the South World lived in terror and hiding, waiting for the Great Conqueror to arise. We face a similar situation living in hiding, waiting for an attack. If you should help us out of the kindness of your heart, so be it. But I also know you have mighty blood in your veins, and if you gain a kingdom for yourself and your beasts, it would be a worthy gift. We know about the power of an Enchantress, we know about spells and protection, and more than that, we know about treasure. Look above you and see our collection of gems. We have anything our hearts desire. And thus, if you fight for us, a great gift will be bestowed upon you.”

Citrine’s thoughts flickered. What about the stone and the treasure that Zilpha had attempted to kill her for? Would it be worth the adventure? She thought of Old Edna creeping into her cave, and the spell of protection she used to hide her beasts from wondering eyes. She already knew it would not be enough, and here she had been presented with a chance. She would talk it over with her beasts and determine how to help the Udi. Setting her jaw, she met Aer’wyna’s gaze. “Aye. I will help.”

29

UNFRIENDLY SUGGESTIONS

LORD NODIN, in beast form, thundered down the stairs, leaping across steps until he was far ahead. Tor Lir followed, doing his best to keep up although he felt astonished by how quickly the beast navigated. The tower shook again, and he momentarily wondered how much control Lord Nodin held over the beast of shadows. What if it broke free? What would happen to the city? And then it hit him as clear as daylight. The chaos in the city was caused by Lord Nodin and his beast of shadows—it was the doom he’d brought to Sanga Sang.

The tower shook once more, but by the time Tor Lir reached the ground level where he’d first entered, it was silent, and he heard nothing. He paused, frowning, unsure which direction Lord Nodin had gone. As he wavered in indecision, a slapping sound arrested his attention. Spinning toward a gaping opening, he heard labored breathing, and then, bursting out of the depths, a young female appeared. She wore a tattered gown, covered in dirt and rubble. Blood smeared her arms and her eyes were wide in fright as they landed on him. Her expression changed from terror to surprise, and she paused in the archway, staring at him.

“Zilpha?” he asked, unable to hide his astonishment as the pieces of the puzzle fit together. Of course. She worked with Lord Nodin. It explained why she had gone to Citrine for knowledge and then on the treasure hunt. “I see.” He followed up coldly, crossing his arms. “You work with him.”

Confusion crossed Zilpha’s brow, and she glanced behind her. “Who? What?”

Tor Lir frowned. “Don’t pretend you know nothing of what I speak about. The treasure. Lord Nodin. I know. There’s no use hiding anymore. So, tell me, what happened with Citrine?”

Zilpha’s face turned red, and she looked away. “Lord Nodin? Have you seen him? Is he here?”

Tor Lir eyed her, wondering if it were possible she’d been kept in the dark. He turned his back on her, aware she would not give him further information.

“Please!” her tone was fraught with need, rising to a crescendo, almost on the edge of a scream. “Where are you going? Take me with you!”

“Why?” he snarled, glancing over his shoulder at her. “You refused to give me information before, I have no use for you.”

“But the beast.” Tears filled her eyes, a ploy to keep his attention. “It will surely slay us.”

Lord Nodin’s warning was pushed to the forefront of Tor Lir’s thoughts. It would kill them. He turned back around. “Did you see it?”

“It’s below. It saw me and thought I was going to steal its eggs. They are hatching.”

Tor Lir’s eyebrows shot up. Hatching? Did Lord Nodin have the ability to control the beast of shadows and its young?

The tower shook and groaned in warning as if it were listening to their conversation. Tor Lir held out his arms for balance while Zilpha cowered on the floor. After a moment she rose, her eyes darting about the entry way. She pointed. “There’s the door. We can leave!”

She sprinted across the stone floor, her long dark hair tumbling around her shoulders and her breath coming rough and ragged. Suddenly a roar erupted, and a sour odor wafted through the air, heavy like the scent of an animal. Tiny bird-like screeches pierced the air. Tor Lir and Zilpha ran as one, making for the door, yet before they reached it, the bull-like creature, Lord Nodin, dashed in front of them, bellowing. His amber eyes were wide in a rage, and he reached out hairy arms and snatched up Zilpha. She screamed in raw fear, and Tor Lir saw she was not aware of the power Lord Nodin had to shift his form. Her feet kicked out, but Lord Nodin did not seem to mind her thrashing. Twisting his horned head to Tor Lir, he barked out, “Time is of the essence. Go. Find Citrine and bring her to me. When the sun sets tomorrow, this city will be cast into chaos if you do not comply.”

Tor Lir’s eyes narrowed, furious at Lord Nodin’s ability to command him. He doubted they had until sunset, and yet he ran all the same, spinning to the door and throwing it open. As he fled, the last thing he heard were Zilpha’s screams. “Please. Come back. Don’t leave me alone with this monster. Don’t leave me—”

Her raw scream was cut off at the end and although he felt the need to help, he also knew no harm would come to her in the hands of Lord Nodin. He was something strange, but perhaps not a murderer. At least, not yet. Swallowing hard, Tor Lir dashed down the cobblestone road, winding down toward the sea. He took the passage that led toward the cave where Citrine hid, hoping she’d be there.

30

ON SHORE

CITRINE’S EARS rang as she walked, barefoot, along the shore. Aer’wyna had left her on a cove, far enough from the city so she would not be spotted, but close enough so she could walk back. The fishing boats weren’t out, and yet a growing din steered her in the right direction. Citrine considered calling Grift or Ava to take her back to her cozy cave, and yet she rejected the opportunity. Despite the spell of protection she’d cast over her beasts, it was still dangerous for them to enter the city or fly around it. After the message from the Under Water World People, Citrine’s sense of unease had increased tenfold. She needed to find Tor Lir, gather her beasts and flee the city before some other calamity could strike. Clenching her fists and setting her jaw, she made long strides as she strode toward the port.

White sails flared into view as she reached the wooden structure. She saw a mass of people shouting and waving on the shore as two gigantic ships slid gracefully toward the city. On the prow of each ship was carved a female with long flowing hair. Her arms were bent and hands cupped to protect a secret while the rest of her body disappeared into the wooden carving of the ship.

Citrine glanced at them and strode on, past the smelly fish, the white seagulls screeching in the air, and the shouts and cheers in the port. She raised her eyebrows, frowning as she saw a crowd gathering. She elbowed her way through the mass, frustrated at them for slowing her down. Just when she was almost through, she heard her name shouted out. “Citrine? Citrine is that you?”

Her first instinct was to run. She had to find Tor Lir, and the voice sounded unfamiliar. “Citrine!” The shout came again, a shout full of joy and excitement. Reluctantly she paused and glanced behind her. The person waving both hands at her made her pause and turn around completely. Relief swept through her. “Triften?”

Citrine’s cheeks lifted in a smile, and she held out her arms as she strode to meet her old friend. Triften slid his slender body through the mass of people congregating on the shore; some waved and clapped him on the back as he made his way to Citrine. He grasped her forearms in his hands, stopping short of embracing her, and squeezed. He grinned, his blue eyes crinkling and his open face lighting up. “Citrine.” He did not let go. “It gladdens my heart to see you. How have you been the past year?”

Citrine pulled back slightly. She and Triften had first met in the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry—a glorious paradise that vanished after Citrine and Tor Lir defeated the Master of the Forest. Although he was nothing but friendly and open, unease beset her, for Triften knew about her beasts. She’d seen awe on his face and questions she could not answer without betraying her heritage. It was one thing to tell Tor Lir and Novor Tur-Woodberry who she was, but it was quite another to reveal her identity to a mere mortal. She could only do so much with her book of spells to protect her beasts, and they were oath bound to never harm a mortal.

“Triften. . . I—”

“You’ve been here all this time?” he went on, finally letting go of her and running his fingers through his light hair. He was light-skinned and handsome, but he was shorter than her, forcing him to look up. He traveled the world telling stories of his first-hand encounters with wars and adventures across the South World.

Citrine caught her breath as she wondered what stories Triften had told about what he had seen and heard before the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry disappeared. A sudden chill shook her, but more important were the urgent words from the Under Water World People. She had to go. “Aye, I’ve been here for a time. What brings you to the city?”

Triften crossed his arms over his chest. “The autumn equinox is almost here. And the festival. I usually attend this city’s celebrations.” He stepped forward until she could smell the sea stuck to his clothing. His white shirt billowed in the breeze, showing off glimpses of his hairless chest. Citrine felt a twinge within, but she brushed it aside. It had been too long since she had enjoyed the warmth of a male’s embrace. Far too long. While she did not desire Triften, the fact that he was standing in front of her, smelling of sweat and sea, awakened her cravings. Or perhaps she was more aware now after being in the presence of the Udi.

“Oh aye, the celebration. Triften, I don’t have time to talk right now, I must be going. But I will see you during the festival?”

A flash went through his eyes, something wild and urgent. Triften’s hand came out, falling on Citrine’s arm. She paused just short of flinching. “Citrine, this is important. Does Tor Lir still travel with you? Is he here in the city?”

“Aye,” Citrine responded, and then cocked her head, wishing the words back into her mouth. “Why do you ask?”

“I desire to speak with him of urgent matters.” Triften’s voice dropped, and he leaned forward, his mouth coming inappropriately close to Citrine’s ear. “Do you know who he is? What he is?”

Citrine stood a step back, a smile coming to her face as she bit back a laugh. “Of course. He’d tell you if you asked him. He’s the Nameless One.”

A pink color came to Triften’s face. His eyes sought the ground, and he gave a nod. “Do let me know if you hear from him. I can be found at the temple.”

Citrine’s lips thinned, and her eyes widened. “At the temple? It seems rather an odd lodging. Why not the tavern?”

Triften grinned. “I have my ways.”

The clamorous voices around her suddenly took up a chant. “Make way. Make way. Disciples of Ithar. Disciples of Ithar.”

“I must go.” Triften’s smile remained, and an eager light came to his intense blue eyes. “Citrine, I hope to see you again very soon.”

Citrine almost missed his words, distracted. The words the crowd chanted whistled to her ears like arrows. A warning sounded in her mind, and a recollection came hard and fast. Disciples of Ithar. They were a zealous sect, a spin-off of the Order of the Wise and the Wise Ones. Their purpose was to guard against the rise of the immortals and keep those with great power from abusing the freedom of the mortals. Novor Tur-Woodberry had warned her and Tor Lir to stay away from them. There may come a time when they find out about you and seek to kill or consume your knowledge and power.

A fear gripped Citrine’s heart, and she momentarily forgot her mission while she watched Triften weave through the crowd. Within seconds, he was lost, and Citrine turned and pushed her way through the crowd, her footsteps speeding up into a run, her heart thudding with every footfall. The words doom, doom, doom rose in her ears.

31

DIRE CHOICES

GOLDEN LEAVES CRUNCHED under Citrine’s bare feet as she dashed up the slope to her cave. Out of breath, she called out reassurances to her beasts, letting them know she was home and safe. Although the word safe felt unkind on her tongue, like biting into a rotten apple. A sixth sense made her pause as she approached the dark entrance of the cave. A fire flickered inside, dancing across Ava’s blue scales. Her sides rose and fell, and Citrine smiled before ducking into the entrance, stepping over Zaul’s sleeping form. She ran her fingers over his tough green hide, a thrill coming to her as she saw her beasts again. Her eyes moved over to the fire and she saw a form rise, tossing back the hood of his black cloak as he faced her.

Citrine recoiled and then breathed a sigh of relief. She reminded herself that her beasts would permit no one to enter without warning her. “Tor Lir,” Citrine said. “It is good you’re here, I need to speak with you.”

“Citrine,” Tor Lir paused, his emerald eyes moving over her appearance. “What happened to you? Why are you wearing that frock?”

His words rankled her, and she scowled. She marched across the cave and snatched up one of her cloaks as she moved past the fire. She tossed it around her shoulders and stood over the fire, rubbing her hands together, grateful for the warmth even though Tor Lir’s words peeved her. “If you must know, that good-for-nothing girl, Zilpha, hit me on the head with a rock and left me for dead.”

Tor Lir snorted. “Zilpha? She’s quite tiny and doesn’t look like she has it in her. You let her wallop you?”

Citrine put her hands on her hips. “Why did you come here? To laugh at my misfortune?”

“Nay, I have serious news.” He leaned against one of the boulders, his voice dropping to a sonorous tone. “Remember when we last spoke, about the treasure?”

“What about it?” Citrine huffed impatiently.

“That’s why you and Zilpha went out to sea the other day, isn’t it? To find the treasure?”

Citrine blinked, her gaze falling into the fire. Again, she saw the crystal winged horse and the aura of sacredness that surrounded her. But before she could reach out a hand, the rock had smashed over her head and darkness took her. Citrine jerked out of the fog, meeting Tor Lir’s gaze. “Aye, that’s when she hit me and ran off with the treasure.”

Tor Lir knelt in front of the fire, meeting Citrine’s gaze. “I saw the treasure. I held it in my hands. It’s called a Clyear. Zilpha is in league with Lord Nodin, and he controls the beast of shadows.”

Citrine held up both hands. “Slow down. What are you talking about? Start at the beginning.”

Tor Lir did. He told her of the beast he’d seen and reminded her of his conversation with the friars in the temple. From there he admitted to questioning Zilpha at the tavern and following her to shore and then to the tower. “Lord Nodin is like nothing I have seen before. He is both Tider and beast. He says he is of the Therian, have you heard of such a thing?”

“Tor Lir.” Citrine frowned. “Yes. I know what a Clyear is, and I have heard, vaguely, of the Therian. How do you not know these things? If, indeed, it is a Clyear, then the words Old Edna spoke are true. Do you know where it is? Can you take me to it?”

“Lord Nodin requires that you and I return to the tower. He says we must help him break the curse over the Therian, and if we refuse, he will loose his beast on this city.”

Citrine gasped, the sharp intake of breath almost choking her. She sat down heavily and tucked her legs under her. Gazing into the fire, she sought for some kind of sign to lead and guide her in the flames. This time, there was no friendly giant, Novor Tur-Woodberry, to confirm what she should do. She clenched her fists and met Tor Lir’s gaze. His eyes were cool and impassive, which made him appear haughty; however, she knew he was only hiding his true emotions. Still, his words made her feel unsteady, and an emotion she could not explain—a cross between anger and fear—made her fingers shake as she held her hands over the fire. Firmly, she met Tor Lir’s patient gaze and opened her mouth. “I have terrible news. The Disciples of Ithar are here.”

32

A WORTHY CAUSE

TOR LIR’S EYES WIDENED, and his brows lowered. First the Clyear and now the Disciples of Ithar? Was this a test of his will to keep the balance? His fists closed. “How do you know this? Are they searching for me? You? Us?”

“Listen, let me start at the beginning.” Citrine waved his words away and her lemon-yellow eyes gazed at the fire like she was weaving a tale out of ash and smoke. “Zilpha came to me, requesting help, and what she described was the treasure you and I discussed. I must admit, I wanted it for myself, and I told her instead of payment I would search with her. We set out the day before last from the port, following the shoreline until we reached a cove. I climbed out of the boat first, in my haste forgetting that mortals are selfish and evil. She tried to kill me, and I can only blame myself for not setting the necessary precautions. When I woke it was dark, and she’d left me for dead. I moved to escape, but a creature attacked me, and then the strangest thing happened. A being came out of the water, saved me, and then took me down to her home under the waters. Tor Lir. I met the Under Water World People, the Udi, and they need our help. They live in reefs under the waters but face daily battles from a clan of intelligent monsters. In fact, while I was down there, a great Cryptid attacked them. It was an evil beast, a demon…” A frown came to Citrine’s face, and a glint of fear shone in her eyes. “She is called Tretis, the mother of all. The Udi asked me to help them defeat the monsters, and I agreed. But first I told them I had to return to land and find you and my beasts. Tor Lir, we must go to them and help them fight off the Cryptids. You are the keeper of the balance. You can keep their line from dying out.”

Tor Lir lifted a finger and brushed a shock of hair from his head. Citrine was always finding some trouble to get into and dragging him along, but not this time. Although he was curious about the Udi, he had to stay focused. “Citrine, I cannot commit to help the Udi when chaos is loose in this city. I must find the imbalance regardless of what the Udi desire. I am not at everyone’s beck and call. You must know, this city relies on our wits. We can again do what we did to the Master of the Forest. What you did.” Tor Lir put his palms together, beseeching. “You saved the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry and working together, we can save this city.”

Citrine shook her head, her eyes glowing. “Nay, it’s not salvation. I still don’t understand why you’re so concerned about the balance. We have a chance to do something heroic by helping the Udi instead of staying in this city. It’s done us no favors, and the Disciples of Ithar are here. Let’s slip away and leave them to deal with chaos. That is their duty, isn’t it?”

Citrine’s aura glowed red as she spoke, and Tor Lir realized they were about to have another disagreement. His lips thinned. “Did you not hear me the first time, or do I have to repeat myself? Lord Nodin requested our assistance in lifting the curse of the Therian. We must agree or he will release devastation on this city.”

“I heard,” Citrine snapped, narrowing her eyes. “But I don’t respond to blackmail. You have to think of a way out of this, because we are going to help the Udi. I don’t care about this city. This isn’t like the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. The mortals got themselves into battles and wars. They can figure out their situation. Besides, the presence of the Disciples of Ithar makes running around the city even more dangerous. And Tor Lir, I ran into Triften. He asked for you and I don’t know what to think. He knows too many secrets…”

Tor Lir waved his hand, brushing away her worries. “Triften is of no concern. You and I need to come to an agreement and fast. If you decline, Lord Nodin will risk the lives of hundreds of mortals who live in this city. The question is why do you want to help the Udi? What did they promise you?”

Citrine blushed, the color rising from her chest and spreading over her cheeks. Her odd eyes dropped to the fire, allowing the flames to add their glow to them. “It is none of your business.”

Tor Lir bit his lip to keep from cursing and lowered his voice. “Citrine, if we are to trust each other, you have to tell me.”

Citrine shook her head. “I’ve told you enough, all I ask is that you trust me. Besides, the Udi are beautiful and unusual. Don’t you want to meet them? I thought you were curious about this world.”

“I am,” he confirmed.

“Then you could save the Udi from monsters, isn’t that a worthy cause?” She glared at him, daring him to disagree.

Tor Lir sighed. Citrine made everything more difficult, and he wasn’t sure how to make her see things his way. Bullying or attacking her would not work, for her beasts would rise to the occasion. They had a rule: Never hurt a mortal. But Tor Lir assumed it did not apply to him. He lowered his elbows to his knees and put his hands on his head. He heard Citrine’s exclamation of victory. “So, you’ll come with me then?”

He lifted his head. “Citrine, I know where the treasure is.”

Her expression changed, and hope rose in her eyes. “Why didn’t you say so first?”

Tor Lir hated himself for saying the words that would entice her. He wished there was another way. “Because I touched it, and something within me woke up.”

33

ATTACK OF SHADOWS

CITRINE FELT EVERYTHING FADE AWAY, and her mind drifted into the void. Shaking her head, she peered out of the mist at Tor Lir. The world spun around him, and it seemed his words echoed before registering in her mind.

“There’s more,” Tor Lir went on. “Lord Nodin knows about your beasts. He might even know about you. I’m not sure where he gets his information, but he knows much more than I expected. I believe he knew you would flat out refuse his proposal, so he sends a threat, a threat I am hesitant to deliver because I know you will fight it. He said if you don’t come with me to assist him, he will start killing your beasts using the beast of shadows.”

“My beasts are protected,” Citrine hissed, anger flaring like the heat of fire.

Tor Lir shook his head. “Aye from mortals perhaps, but not from immortals and other beasts. You may need to find another spell of protection. The book of spells you’re writing is not strong enough.”

Citrine sighed, seeing surprise resonate in Tor Lir’s eyes at her lack of spirit. “I know,” she answered honestly. “That’s why I need the gift of the Udi in exchange for services rendered. That’s why I need you to come with me.”

“But time is of the essence, we don’t have time to go to the Under Water World and search for a solution to their problem. Perhaps you can employ Morag and Grift to find knowledge for you, but the threat in this city is happening now. Lord Nodin is quick and decisive. It's been mere days since you and I discussed the treasure, and he already has it. He won’t wait long. He told me we had until sunset tonight to return to the tower.”

“Fine, let’s take out the threat by killing the beast of shadows and then go to the Udi. If I am to protect my beasts, this is the only path.”

Tor Lir frowned. “My instinct says death is not the way. We should search for some other resolution.”

“It’s the only way, because it threatens my beasts. I am strong. You of all people know who I am. I defeated the Master of the Forest. Nothing will stand in my way.”

Tor Lir rose, ending the conversation. “Nothing, eh? We shall see.”

Citrine copied his movements. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the tower, and you’re coming with me.”

Citrine scowled, but decided not to push her luck. She reached for her boots. “Turn around while I change and tell me about the treasure. What happened when you held it? What did it unlock?”

Silence.

A ringing sounded in Citrine’s ears. A whooshing sound came, like a strong wind blowing in circles, and she saw with a vision that was not her own. She stood in what looked like the bottom of a well, and around her were empty shells, sparkling with a black mist, lines and cracks blurring out all light, sinking into the depths of darkness. A beast roared. She heard it clearly, and it filled her with terror. She reached out a hand, except it was not her own but the massive clawed maw of some sort of creature. Three curved claws gleamed in what little light remained in the well, and suddenly she saw little shapes, jumping and leaping, teeth nipping at her. A flood of emotion overwhelmed her, and she bent her long neck to the creatures, a high-pitched keening sound rising in her throat and spilling out as her heart beat faster. She rubbed her head against the beings and love whelmed up within. She would do anything and everything in her power to protect the small beings from starvation, capture and death. Even now they were hungry, their shrill squeaks begging her to feed them, protect them. They were confused, and she knew why. If only she could get them to climb the cylinder-smooth walls of the well, they could escape. Panic hit her full force, and she slammed her weight against the walls. They shook, and the rattling of rocks falling sounded in the distance. Leaning back, she slammed her body against the rocks again. A pain came to her side, knocking the air out of her. She slammed again and again, letting the ground shake and tremble while the squeaks of the tiny beings grew higher and faster. Blood rushed to her ears and something snapped inside her, but she did not care. She kept going. Freedom was nigh, and when her babies escaped, they would be safe.

Citrine came to screaming. Tor Lir gripped her shoulders in both hands, shaking her gently. “Citrine. Wake up. Wake up. You’re in your cave. It’s all right.”

The scream melted away, and she shuddered, peering up at Tor Lir, eyes wide. “What happened?”

He shrugged, chewing on his lower lip. “I don’t know. One moment you were putting on your boots, the next your eyes went white and you fell into something like a trance. Where were you?”

Citrine gulped. “It happened once before. I think I’m a creature, trapped in a house of stone, but this time I am escaping. It's time to break free—not to save myself, but I think I just had babies, and they must go free. Whoever trapped me is powerful, dangerous. I’m terrified of him. Or her. Tor Lir, what is the meaning of this? What am I seeing?”

Tor Lir gripped her shoulders hard, his eyes deadly serious as they searched her face. “Citrine, you are the Enchantress. Do you have the ability to change your form?”

“Nay, I may be a Tider but I am not one of the Therian. Or…” she trailed off, quashing the word: Changer. There was no need to bring evil into the conversation. All Changers were dead and their bloodline destroyed in the war between the mortals and immortals.

“Are you sure? Is there something within you that needs to be awakened?”

“No,” Citrine pushed against him, suddenly angry at his line of questioning. “There is nothing. Unlike you, I know my full abilities. I know who I am and where I came from. I know my parents and I understand the limits of my power. Yes, there is room for growth, that can be discovered with spells and relics that conduct power. But I cannot change my form. I am a mortal, not a beast.”

“Then how do you explain what you are experiencing? You clearly are a beast.”

“Perhaps it is not a beast. You know I have the ability to speak to them. Maybe my mind has become synced with one and I need to find out how I can help it. Whatever it is, it needs my help.”

Tor Lir raised an eyebrow, his face turning cold as stone, haughty and arrogant. “So, you can help a suffering beast, but you refuse to help the mortals?”

Citrine glared at him, shrugging his hands off her shoulders and ignoring the scent of pine and cedar he gave off. How did he continue to smell like the woods when they lived in the city? If anything, he should smell like the sea, and yet the essence of his birth land clung to him. It was both uncanny and desirable. Citrine cursed under her breath as she swiftly changed, pulled on her boots, and yanked on her cloak. “You’re lucky,” she snarled at Tor Lir. “If you were anyone else, I’d have Ava eat you.”

Tor Lir shrugged. “Now that is impossible. Ava and I have an understanding. She will never eat me.”

As if she’d heard, Ava lifted an ear, and it quivered. Her breathing remained steady.

“Ava, guard the cave,” Citrine ordered. “Tor Lir, lead me to the tower.” She tucked two knives into her belt. “We have a beast to kill.”

34

SHADOW BEASTS

“WHAT’S THAT?” Tor Lir pointed at the sky with an arrow. He’d retrieved his bow and quiver of arrows once Citrine had announced they would fight. For once, he was thankful for his bow and even more grateful for the sword training he’d received from Lady Hava. Although he shuddered in desire at the thought of her. He’d crossed a line he never should have crossed. It was only a kiss, but surely she would want more, and it would take all of his power to resist her.

“It’s just a bird.” Citrine’s impatient tone interrupted his thoughts. “Come on, you’re wasting time.”

Tor Lir shielded his eyes against the sun, aware his eyesight was better than Citrine’s. “I’ve never seen a bird like that—black as dust with wings like bolts of a shadow and red eyes. Look!”

The bird belched as it flew and even from the distance Tor Lir saw something like glowing coals come out of its mouth. They must have been heavy, for they dropped like stones and each one grew in magnitude before his eyes. The red stones fell to the ground with a boom, and the world exploded. Grass flew up in the air, and shards of what used to be a home burst into the air like a fountain. But instead of water, blood and dust flew out. Chilling shrieks rent the air, and another explosion rocked the ground. People burst out of their homes panicking and screaming. Children ran wild in the streets, and soldiers shouted out orders which were lost in the confusion.

More dark spots dotted the sky, hurling balls of fire down upon the city. As the bird-like creatures swooped nearer, Tor Lir saw them clearly. They had flared nostrils, sharp claws, and jagged wings. Their eyes were red, and their wings were slick and black with a wet coating on them and a curved hook in the middle of each wing. Heart pounding, Tor Lir reached back for Citrine’s hand. Her mouth was open, and her eyes roved back and forth. Her lips moved, but no words came out.

“Citrine, what are you doing? Come on we have to run!”

“I know.” Her lemon-yellow eyes met his, and he saw a purpose behind them. “I told my beasts to watch out for these creatures and see if they can escort them to safety. I’m ready.” She wrapped her fingers around his and tucked up her cloak. “Let’s run.”

They dashed up the cobblestone road, ducking from explosions, sometimes hiding behind wagons as the city descended into chaos. The temple doors were open, and the friars were calling for people to enter. Tor Lir saw a child trampled in the rush, screaming for its mother while the townsfolk ran over it. He reached out a hand in dismay, but it was too late, and Citrine dragged him onward. He ran into a merchant with goods. The male sprawled out on his back, his stomach moving in and out as he gasped for air, red faced. Someone dragged him up, shouting, and he ran toward the temple, his leather sandals flapping on his feet. Mothers held their babes on one hip and the hands of younger children as they dashed, their hair coming loose from hats and bonnets as they fled. The thunderous boom of an explosion threw them forward with the velocity of its power. A wooden building tumbled, and rubble spread around them. Citrine coughed as she stood to her feet, her face black from grime. “Tor Lir, take out your bow. You have to kill them.”

Tor Lir bit his lip as he climbed to his feet, glancing briefly at Citrine before he pulled an arrow out of his quiver. He wanted to tell her violence was not the way, yet clearly it was too late for that. He nocked the arrow in his bow and pulled the bow string taunt. Closing one eye, he honed in on his target and pulled the arrow back until the feathered end kissed his lips. Focusing on the flying beast, he took a moment to note where it was currently and where it would be when he loosed his arrow. He took a deep breath, let it out, and released the arrow. It flew effortlessly from his fingertips, smooth like he had spoken the words and told it where to go. It struck the beast, sinking into its soft underbelly. One moment it was flapping its dark wings. The next, the arrow sunk in its middle, and without a word, without even a cry, the beast fell out of the sky and landed with a plop on the road. Silence swept across the city, and then a cheer went up from the crowd.

A deathly roar sounded from the tower, quenching the short-lived celebration. It was long and mournful, and in it a painful ache that resonated with Tor Lir. He recognized and sympathized with it, knowing the reason for its pain: he’d killed something it loved. One of its babies. And then he knew with certainty the beast of shadows and the creature Citrine had become in her vision were the same. He spun to face her, darkness registering in his eyes and a sudden fury overwhelming him. Anger rolled like the waves of the Jaded Sea, threatening to repress his vision as he sprung on her, fingers locking around her arm. It was her fault he’d destroyed something created out of a pure love and beauty. “Citrine. Tell me. What does the beast of shadows want with you? Why do you see what it sees and feel what it feels?”

She shook her head without trying to defend herself. Her face went white, and liquid swam in her odd eyes. Instead of pulling away, she hung her head. “I don’t know. But we don’t have time for this. We have to go. Tor Lir.” She reached out a hand to brush his cheek, as if her touch could atone for the knowledge he held. He slapped her hand away with impatience and let her go. Turning, he ran toward the tower, afraid they’d be too late.

35

DEATH AT THE TOWER

CITRINE’S HEART hammered in her chest as she ran behind Tor Lir. She felt torn in two. Part of her wanted to call out to her beasts and warn them, yet she also knew they would come to her aid, which was far too dangerous in a city full of mortals. Even if they could not see her beasts for what they truly were, the city was in shambles, and anyone with bows, arrows, spears, and slingshots pointed them at the sky, taking down the fire-breathing beasts. More frightening than the building exploding beside her and the rain of wood, mortar, and stones was the knowledge Tor Lir believed she was linked somehow to the beast of shadows. As she ran in his wake, she knew it was the only explanation for the visions she’d seen. But why her? And how had it happened?

“Watch out,” Tor Lir shouted and then his arms were around her waist, hauling her out of danger as a wagon wheel rolled across the path and two horses dashed by, splintering everything underneath their hooves. A merchant slammed into them, almost knocking them over, but Tor Lir held her firm. She struggled out of his grip when the danger passed, and he let go, suddenly aware of their proximity.

Glancing around, Citrine saw they were halfway to their destination. The temple rose a few feet before them, and the tower appeared, threatening and impassible a few hilltops over. What had once been a peaceful city thriving with trade and life looked as if a handful of giants had stomped over it and then ran out to sea. The black flying creatures were gone, but rubble shifted and collapsed around the city. People continued to scream and flee while others cried out for help as they tried to find loved ones under the rubble.

Citrine’s lips trembled. This was chaos, and although she’d promised the Udi she would help them, first she had a responsibility to help the city of Sanga Sang. Tor Lir was right.

A high voice called out, quavering with fear. “Tor Lir?”

Citrine followed Tor Lir’s gaze and saw a female limping toward them. She had light hair in two braids, covered in dust. Two scabbards crossed her back, and her hand held one short sword, the blade crimson with blood. Her face was black with grime, but light eyes stared out, hopeful as she neared them. She glanced at Citrine, and a look of reverence came over her face.

Tor Lir held out his hands to the female, and Citrine waited for the slap of envy to come over her. But it never came. For some reason the other female did not make her angry, even though she embraced Tor Lir, leaning heavily on him for a moment. When she pulled back, her eyes were wet. “I waited for you at the temple and then we heard shouts and screams. One of those terrible creatures came in, but the stone is solid. The friars are bringing people in to hide from the attack, and I came out to help guide them. I did not expect to see you here. Is this your companion? The one you spoke so highly about?”

Citrine was surprised to see a blush cover Tor Lir’s face as he angled his body toward her. “Aye. Lady Hava, meet Citrine. Citrine, this is my friend, Lady Hava. She is also my instructor, teaching me to use the blade.”

Lady Hava held out a hand, and Citrine found herself taking it, unsure what to do about such obvious admiration. “It is a pleasure.” Lady Hava smiled, her entire face lighting up. “I have long desired to meet you. You are strong and more beautiful in person. I’ve seen you a time or two at the market, but I was too frightened to approach without an introduction.”

Citrine let go of Hava’s hand, unsure how to respond. She glanced to Tor Lir for guidance, her skin prickling with discomfort. “I don’t know what to say. Most people are not pleased to meet me. I am unsure what lies Tor Lir is filling your head with.”

“I don’t lie,” Tor Lir said without warmth. His expression turned hard.

Hava’s smile never left her face. She glanced from Citrine to Tor Lir, and then her face changed. The smile faded, replaced with worry. “Do you know what’s happening?”

Tor Lir pointed to the tower. “Aye, there’s a beast in the tower which is trying to escape. You should stay inside while we go fight it.”

Hava lifted her sword. “I can fight. May I come with you?”

Tor Lir nodded before Citrine could disagree. She scowled, but a memory came to her mind of her journey in the Boundary Line Forest with Tor Lir. A fearless warrior, Agrim, and his tribe captured them. In retaliation, Citrine had Ava attack the tribes’ people, learning, too late, that Tor Lir had struck a bargain with the tribe, his goal to gain an army to fight against the Master of the Forest. Her words of protest died on her lips. Perhaps Tor Lir was right to include Lady Hava, although she was short and slim and quite beautiful, even under the grime. She eyed Tor Lir with almost the same expression of adoration she’d given Citrine. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Come with us, but promise to leave when the fighting gets too much. I don’t want you to stay in harm’s way longer than you need to.”

Citrine frowned. Tor Lir would never say such a caring thing to her. Eyes narrowed, she crossed her arms and followed Tor Lir and Hava past the temple.

Hava set a quick pace up the hill, speaking in a low gentle voice that easily carried to Citrine’s ears. Every now and then, Hava’s gaze went to the sky above, and she constantly wiped at her face and nose. She was strong, holding her grief within, ready to do what needed to be done before she gave in to dismay. Citrine respected her in that moment until she listened to the words Hava was saying and her heart gave way to dismay.

“It’s a terrible time for this to happen,” Hava said. “The harvest is now and with the festival coming up, we won’t be able to celebrate with all the work that needs to be done to repair the ruins. It seems the damage is heaviest up here, near the wealthier end of the city, but there’s no telling how many of those creatures are out there. If even one escaped and went to the port or the farmland, it’s more than enough to destroy the harvest and make winter difficult for us. Even with trade, there’s nothing that can bring back lost food, and I doubt the city of Ellsmore has the ability to provide enough. Sanga Sang pays its dues to Ellsmore, but still…and then there are the rich like my father, hoarding without need. I know he will not be generous when the time comes. If anything, he will try to capitalize on the doom of this city.”

“Is that so?” Tor Lir hummed, adding little thought to the conversation.

“Aye.” Hava paused and glanced at the sky. Seeing nothing, she went on. “The friars will do their best, but they are already overtaxed as it is. They have additional mouths to feed, mouths that were expected now that the Disciples of Ithar have returned and are staying there.”

“Returned?” Citrine asked, desperate for knowledge. “Do they come every year?”

“Aye,” Hava spoke quickly. “Around the harvest they come to join in the festivities. I think there is something else they are here for. They ask many questions. Regardless, the friars are secretive in their knowledge and study of the Four Worlds. I admit, I am curious. If I were still on speaking terms with my Father, I might use his name and study there with the disciples. They know so much, and their leader, the Storyteller—”

“Leader?” Citrine hissed, stopping in her tracks.

Tor Lir glanced back at her, his eyes warning her not to say more. Hava glanced at her, eager to share information, no suspicion in her eyes. “Aye. He’s not necessarily the leader, but he’s one of them, high up, I can tell. He travels often, and oh the stories he tells. You have to meet him.” Hava brought her hands together as if to clasp them before realizing she still held her sword. Sorrow swept the joy and wonder from her face. “If there’s anyone left. It will be a miserable winter if the fields are destroyed.”

“The Storyteller,” Citrine pressed. “What’s his name?” She didn’t want to believe it, but she realized the signs had been there all along. Even in the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry, there had been something about the Storyteller she could not put her finger on.

“Triften the Storyteller. He traveled with the army of White Steeds during the war. In fact, he is friends with all the great heroes. He knows the Rulers of the West in the Constel Heights and King Mattio of the Torrents Towers. He helped with the founding of Ellsmore, named after Eliesmore the Great Conqueror. He even knows the seafarers, Captain Wekin and Captain Yamier…”

Citrine’s head dropped, and while Hava continued to march and walk, her thoughts drifted away. Triften? A Disciple of Ithar? What did it mean? Was the warning Novor Tur-Woodberry had given her and Tor Lir true? Would they seek her out and kill her if they found out who she was? Was that why Triften had demanded to know of Tor Lir’s whereabouts? And then Hava’s later words rang like a bell. Triften knew Captain Wekin and Captain Yamier, the treasure hunters. They alone were the ones who could help her find the stone. But what of the gift of the Udi?

Indecision ripped at Citrine and, lost in her own thoughts, she did not notice where they were until Tor Lir lay a hand on her shoulder. They came to a halt, just below the stone tower. Citrine tilted her head back all the way to stare up at it, and still she felt she could not see the top. And then the ground trembled, and a painful howl filled the air.

36

FORCED CONTROL

“WE NEED A PLAN.” Hava rounded on Tor Lir, shaking dust from her braid.

Even in disarray, Tor Lir thought she looked beautiful. He nodded at her and shifted his gaze between her and Citrine. “We go in the front. It should be unlocked. There are three inside that I know of. Lord Nodin, Zilpha, and the beast of shadows.”

“Lord Nodin?” Hava asked, her sword falling to her side and her mouth hanging open.

“Zilpha.” Citrine muttered, rubbing the back of her head in remembrance.

Tor Lir glanced from one angry face to the next and then raised his hands. “Listen, you cannot let your emotions get in the way.” His chest swelled as he took control of the situation, and it felt good, leading them and having them listen to him without argument. “Hava, I have reason to believe Zilpha and Lord Nodin work together. Remember, at the tavern? Lord Nodin came to Zilpha’s rescue that evening before we could get much out of her concerning the treasure.”

“You told Hava about the treasure?” Citrine interrupted. Her lips thinned with displeasure.

Tor Lir raised an eyebrow at Citrine. She had no room to judge him when she was off making plans with the double-crossing Zilpha. But he said nothing of those thoughts. “We had an agreement. Lady Hava is starting off on her own and needed assistance.”

Citrine’s glare turned to Hava. “But you mentioned your father?”

Lady Hava’s face turned red, and Tor Lir wished he could protect her. Citrine had no right to dig into private family matters. But Lady Hava spoke softly without dropping her gaze. “He is abusive. I made a bargain with him for my freedom. He disowns me as his daughter and I am no longer a bargaining piece for him to control.”

Citrine frowned. Tor Lir could tell there was more she wanted to know, but instead she nodded. “Oh. I am sorry.”

Hava shrugged in discomfort and turned back to face Tor Lir. “Please. Continue.”

“Right. Citrine, I believe Zilpha used you to get to the treasure so she could deliver it to Lord Nodin. We discussed already, but I add it for Hava’s benefit. I went to the tower earlier today, Hava, and saw the treasure for myself. Lord Nodin will be expecting me, so I will handle him. Hava, take Zilpha, and Citrine, take the beast of shadows.”

Hava’s face paled. “Won’t we need all our strength to fight the beast?”

“It belongs to Lord Nodin,” Tor Lir explained, “and he led me to believe he has the ability to control the actions of the beast. Whether that’s true doesn’t matter. If we have Lord Nodin, we can keep him from releasing the beast. In fact, I’m surprised it hasn’t already been released since its babies escaped. Besides, Citrine has a way with beasts. Should she need our assistance, she will let us know.”

Tor Lir watched Hava turn to Citrine, disbelief and a hint of fear marring her confidence. But Citrine was grinning, a glint of mischief in her lemon-yellow eyes. Tor Lir’s stomach flip-flopped at her expression. It was wicked, incorrigible, and yet it made him desire her. He shook himself and pulled an arrow out of his quiver. “Ready?”

Hava, in a surprising act of boldness, turned and marched to the door, sword held at chest level, just below her breasts. Lifting a booted foot, she kicked, and the door swung open, displaying a haze of rubble and smoke. The tower still stood, but pieces of it had fallen inward, destroying the beauty of some of its ornate decorative curves. Hava crouched, squinting through the haze, and Tor Lir walked up behind her, holding his bow, arrow nocked in it, over her head. His eyesight allowed him to see through the haze. There was no one in the courtyard. He looked up at the stairs. Lord Nodin might have gone above to secure the treasure. There had certainly been enough time for him to run up the stairs and back down, but Tor Lir had the feeling Lord Nodin would be at the top of the tower, far from the beast and waiting for him to return with Citrine.

“I know where the beast is,” Citrine whispered, her soft words floating to his ear. “I will reason with it.”

Hava cocked her head back and then stood, moving further into the chamber. “Perhaps we should stay together. Let’s all go—”

“No.” Citrine hissed, her voice taking on an unfriendly tone. “I will do this alone. Go find the others and we’ll meet back here when this is done.”

Hava’s eyes widened, and Tor Lir knew Citrine did not want her gift discovered. He nodded, placing a hand on the small of Hava’s back. “We’d better do as she says. Come, I think they are at the top of the tower. Prepare yourself. It will be a long climb.”

The tower was eerily quiet as they walked over broken stones and rubble, making for the spiral staircase that was still intact. Occasionally, a painful howl reverted through the air, and Tor Lir hoped Citrine would succeed in overpowering the beast with her mind. Again, he recalled the great water beast, Morag, and how it had entered her service. Why the beasts loved and followed her was still beyond him. Even though she spoke to them the way mere mortals spoke to each other, and he’d never seen mortals treat each other with the same respect Citrine gave her beasts.

Mortals abused and used each other for personal gain, they had pointless fights and squabbles. There seemed to be none of the respect for the plants, the animals, and the circle of life as it was in the forest of Shimla. Undoubtedly the Iaens had their faults, but growing up among them had made him more understanding when things went wrong.

He paused, his heart beating faster as he realized he missed the woods. He missed his people. When he let his thoughts drift, again the words of the green giantess who raised him rose to his memory. If you want to know who you are and where you came from, go to Daygone.

The word buzzed in his mind, and visions flashed, the In Between, the darkness between the world and then the underworld where the creatures with white tentacles for hair dwelt. He swallowed hard and saw a strange light coming from his hands. He held them up, stunned to see they were shimmering with green light. The shimmer would not have been noticeable in daylight, but in the dim light of the tower on the spiraling staircase, he saw it clearly. A lump formed in his throat, and he knew what he was looking at. He’d seen the shimmer before. It was the aura of the green giantess. It was the shimmer of power. There was something within him, and he’d repressed it too long. Now it was fighting to get out.

37

CITRINE'S FAILURE

CITRINE CREPT down the spiraling staircase. Her eyes strained against the darkness, shifting into night vision. She imagined her eyes glowed like miniature lanterns, casting a pale yellow sheen across the ground. In a few places, the stairs were broken, and she came across an archway, the door hanging off its hinges. The air stank, smelling of bile and bodily fluids. Turning back toward the stairs, Citrine took a deep breath of fresh air before descending into the muck. A low growl emitted from deep below, and as she descended, a bellow vibrated within her chest. A swirl of emotions rose like the tide rolling up on white sands. Pain mixed with an intense longing for freedom, to fly like the little ones did and discover what happened to them. The emotion coursed through Citrine’s veins, thrumming within, threatening to burst out of her skin. She reached fingers up to her neck, trying to keep from clawing at the walls. For a moment, she did not know whether she was herself or the beast.

A few moments later, her vision cleared, and she gasped, almost gagging on the stench. Reaching out a hand, she supported herself against the stone wall while she reoriented herself. Excrement covered the floor, but her eyes widened when she saw the cells. Shallow hollows in the stone made a small room with bars over it. Most of them were empty, but the one she peered into had long bones in it, some longer than she was tall. She recoiled in surprise and then a hatred flashed in her eyes. The masters of the tower kept some beasts in those cells until they rotted and died. Citrine scowled, her hands balling up into fists. She thought of her magnificent beasts, their proud heads, sharp scales, soft feathers and their attitudes, strong and independent. She understood why they swore allegiance to her. It was for protection and to ensure their freedom. A freedom she believed all beasts should have and which, more importantly, she wanted for herself—a haven where she’d no longer have to hide from mortals or from the Disciples of Ithar.

She stopped when she reached the end and another archway showed a shaft leading up to sunlight, much like a well. She ducked underneath it, eyeing shattered egg shells with dried puss on them. She put two and two together. The shells were from the fire-breathing babies that swarmed the city. When she turned around, she almost tripped over her feet, and her heart thumped in her chest as she threw back her head to take in the full form of the beast that towered over her.

It stood on four legs with a pointed tail twice the length of its body. Its powerful legs allowed it to stand eight feet tall. She recoiled, hissing as she took in its appearance. It looked like a black panther with wicked curved fangs hanging out of its mouth, red eyes and a leathery pair of wings on its back. It snarled at her. A rough pink tongue the size of her face came out.

Citrine marveled, staring up at it, and then she held up a hand and cooed as she fought to establish a connection with the beast. “You have nothing to fear. My name is Citrine the Enchantress. I have come to help you and release you from captivity. No more will you be trapped here. You are free to fly. If you should choose, you may come under my blessing and I will protect you, as I do with all of my beasts. What say you? What will you choose?”

She repeated her words, walking closer, almost moved to tears at the matted fur and the blood in the barbed tail of the creature. The creature screeched—a high piercing keening—and it rose up on its hind legs, its claws ripping through the stones, causing a high-pitched irritating scratching sound. Citrine screamed, clasping her hands to her ears as the horrible sound jolted through her, like claws ripping down the soft skin of her back, sinking close to her spine. The beast snarled, and its red eyes glimmered as it turned on her. Citrine backed away, recognizing the fear and anger in its eyes. She yanked her knives from her belt and held them out up in front of her. “I know you do not mean it,” she shouted. “I give you freedom and mercy, safety from harm. You were wronged in the eyes of a mortal; I will not repeat those transgressions. Look at me and see who I am. Change the color of your eyes. Look at me!”

She stood her ground for a beat, hoping the beast would hear her voice in its mind and relent, but it fixed her with its perilous gaze and came on, moving one clawed foot in front over the other. The barbed tail came up, and Citrine felt it wrap around her waist, squeezing like the tentacles of a sea monster. She let out a scream, flailing as it lifted her up. She kicked her feet, gritting her teeth in vain as she lifted her daggers and plunged them into the creature’s tail. It gave an ear-piercing scream, and suddenly Citrine felt what it felt. It was wild, too far gone for her to bring it back, and controlled by something deeper and more powerful. The love for its children. The tail around her waist tightened, and then the creature lifted her higher and let go. For a moment Citrine felt the buoyancy of flying and an exhilarating joy shot through her before she slammed into the stone wall and knew no more.

38

DUPLICITY

ZILPHA SOBBED as the beast held onto her, roaring as the castle shook around them. It let her go, and when she turned around, hands clasped in front of her to plead for her life, she saw none other than Lord Nodin standing tall. His arms were crossed in front of him, and he wore a plain white shirt. It was loose at the top showing off his hairy chest, the chest she’d laid against those nights ago, thinking he was hers. How foolish. Her sobs dried into hiccups, and she swiped at her face, eyeing him in confusion.

He spoke, his tone low and sonorous. “Zilpha. I haven’t been entirely honest with you, and for that I apologize. Will you come with me to the tower? I will explain all.”

Zilpha hiccuped and then covered her mouth with her hand. Her limbs trembled, and she sank to the stone floor, unable to hold herself up. “What was that back there? A beast? And then I saw a monster, and now you’re here. What is happening? Did you burn down my home on purpose? Does my brother think I’m dead? What about my friends?” Her voice rose to a shrill crescendo and then she realized she was half screaming and half crying from effort.

Lord Nodin crouched beside her. “Come. There is food and drink in the tower. I am sorry about all this, but it had to happen for my mission to be accomplished.”

Tentatively he put his arm around her and then helped her stand, leading her to the staircase. She let him guide her, one foot after the other as they crept upward. The tower was still once again. The rumbling and shaking had disappeared after Tor Lir left. Zilpha briefly wondered what he was doing there, but weariness overtook her, and she vaguely stumbled beside Lord Nodin until they arrived and he led her to a seat. He held a cup to her lips, and she drank, gulping down the cool water, her parched lips relaxing. Raising her head, she eyed Lord Nodin, aware of the grimy condition of her clothes. A blush of embarrassment spread over her neck, but his amber eyes stared kindly at her before he spun, his long robes twirling with him. He walked to the other side of the room, and Zilpha allowed her eyes to rove around the chamber. Behind her was an arch, and light poured in from a window with bars on it, keeping the wind from blowing in too strongly. The air was cool and fresh without the strong stink of the dungeons. In the distance, Zilpha thought she heard cries and screams, and there was a slight acid smell in the air, but only a hint. She wrinkled her nose and then relaxed, too tired to wonder what was taking place outside of the tower.

Lord Nodin returned and sat a plate down in front of her. Zilpha leaned over, snatching up a hunk of bread and meat, biting into them as her stomach growled. She was well aware of her indecent actions, but her stomach would not allow her to stop. After a few swallows, she sat back, glancing anxiously at Nodin, who sat down on the other side of the desk. It was covered in papers, feathers of ink, and a square box with a loose top set in the middle. A sword lay beside it, and Lord Nodin briefly touched the handle with a gloved hand before glancing at Zilpha. He nodded in encouragement at her food and then sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s a long story, but I dare say there won’t be another time. Zilpha.” He leaned forward, lifting a finger, and then scratched his head as if taking back his thoughts. His fingers curled into a fist, and he frowned. “If I tell you my tale, I cannot let you go free again. We are bound in this doom together. Only, I am sorry you got wound up in this sordid mess. It is not for the faint of heart.”

Zilpha wanted to glare at him and fight back, but a heavy fist of fear pounded in her heart, and she only looked at him. Her stomach seized up as she took yet another bite, and suddenly she did not feel hungry any more. Her hands stilled, and she stared at the handsome amber-eyed male.

“As you know, I am Lord Nodin the Tider, but I am of the clan of the Therian in the Cascade Mountains. The Therian are mountain folk, keeping to themselves because of their unique ability to change from mortal to beast. The shift is something that makes most people fear us, and at times we’ve been accused of being in league with the great enemies of mortals, the Changers. There was once a time when the Therian harbored a Changer, and that is a black mark against our reputation.”

Zilpha stiffened in shock, almost unable to take in his words. She’d never heard the term Therian before, but she knew of the great war between the mortals and the immortals, and the three Changers who ruled the South World for over a hundred years, a rule that was stained with blood. Massacres had been common in those days, and anyone who resisted had been brutally tortured and left to rot where the animals of the ground and the birds of the field could eat their flesh. But then the Great Conqueror arose, dissolved the Green Stone, and saved the South World from the iron rule of the Changers, setting free the people groups to live in peace and harmony. Zilpha recalled Mathilda’s words, speaking of Citrine the Herbalist and her ways, which might be against the Creator. There were still people who sought all kinds of evil, and they had to be captured and punished. Remembering the treasure, Zilpha shivered and turned her ears to Lord Nodin’s tale.

“The Therian were redeemed for a time by the Rulers of the West who helped us regain Stronghold, the seat of power in the Cascade Mountains. But it became clear peace was not our road. Strife rose between the rogue wildlings of the mountains, and other clans came to fight for Stronghold. That is, until I found the treasure—the Clyear of Revelation. When I touched it, I knew trouble would rise, and you’ve touched it and seen for yourself the strange visions it provides. I thought I could protect my clan from the visions of the Clyear, and I fled here with it. I thought if I stayed away, the visions would not come true, and treasure hunters would not invade my homeland, seeking the power of the Clyear. But I missed home, and despite the new home I’d made in this city, and you, I left, but I could not take the Clyear with me. I did not mean to bring this kind of relentless woe on your life, but my unintentional actions have left you bereft. I see it now. Clyears come in a time of need—warnings of the coming doom. I did not know it then, but we need the Clyear and we need its visions so we know what to do to save my homeland. You see, I returned and found Stronghold in chaos. There are terrible things happening to my people. A wild parasite is taking over their bodies, changing them from mortal to beast. When you brought me the Clyear, it showed me a vision of two people who can help. They are powerful, and they must come with me to the mountains to save my people. I needed the Clyear from you to see this vision, and I know my actions have ruined your life, which is why I propose you come with me.”

Zilpha opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and a few of them fell out, running down her face and dripping down her chin. “Nodin. Why would you do this? And what of the beast?”

“The beast is mine to command, until it turns completely and closes itself off from my commands. It is only a matter of time, which is why we must leave. I’m afraid my actions and the time it has taken have doomed this city. As we speak, the children of the beast are loose, bringing chaos to the land. The people groups will take up arms, and they will be on our door step if we do not do something.”

As he spoke, a low growl rose up from the belly of the tower.

Zilpha shivered, rubbing her arms. Her stomach felt nauseous, and she wished she hadn’t eaten the bread and meat so quickly. “Why did you burn my home and lock me up?”

Lord Nodin’s eyes narrowed. “I did not burn your home. That was Lord Arden. He desired to turn his homesteads into farmland to make more money. Apparently, the debt is not working out for him, and he gains more slaves instead of coin. He was going to take you as a slave that day, and I intercepted him and hid you before he could. Instead, he had his workers burn down the homes to prepare for next year’s planting season.”

Zilpha crossed her arms, a cold sinking into her bones. Her next words came out as a whisper. “Why should I believe you?”

Lord Nodin shrugged. “You have no cause. A great wrong has been done to you, but I ask you to remember the night we spent together. That one moment of beauty was true and honest. Despite all this fragility and the secrets, you mean more to me than you know, which is why I took lengths to save you. I knew the Nameless One would appear on my doorstep, so I locked you in the dungeon until I could speak with him. I need him and his companion, the one they call Citrine, to come with me. And I must ask you for one further favor. I need your help in capturing them when they return. They will be armed. They will want to fight. We must take their weapons and render them useless. Are you with me?”

Zilpha shook her head, trembling. She wanted to go home and put this behind her. She wished she’d never met Lord Nodin. This city, the debt, all of her struggles and her future melted away under the destruction. She turned toward the window, tears running down her face. “You tricked me.”

Lord Nodin shook his head as he stood. “I did not know it would lead to calamity. Believe me if you wish, or don’t. It does not matter. What matters now is the course of action we take. You can flee into the madness of the city and become a slave to Lord Arden. He is cruel and abusive, even to his own flesh and blood. Or you can help me. Despite the darkness of my words, I offer escape and I offer hope. This dark day will end, and there will be sunshine at last, but I need you to fall into line, and I need the power that the Nameless One and his companion carry. Only then can we speak of a future full of hope. So, I ask you, despite your misgivings and your fear, despite your world being turned upside down, with my promise to help you regain all that you have lost, will you assist me in my quest?”

Zilpha looked up at his clean-shaven face as her tears cleared. His amber eyes shone with transparency and truth, and for just a moment she let herself imagine what it would be like to be his, truly his. Now his strange mannerisms and his distance made sense. It wasn’t her he was throwing away. He had a duty to his people. She stood, coming to a decision as she asked one last question. “But why? Why do you care about the mountain folk? You escaped. Why go back?”

A muscle twitched on his jaw and his eyes turned hard. “Because I am the rightful ruler of the Therian.”

39

FOOLED AGAIN

TOR LIR TOOK the stairs two at a time with Hava following behind. He held his bow in one hand and an arrow in another, but it was too difficult to run with an arrow nocked in his bow. He was thankful Hava was there with her sword. She was quick and fearsome as he’d discovered during training. There was a relentless energy burning within, and her aura was light but fiery. He did not know what she wanted, aside from freedom from her father, but she was talented with the blade. During the war, she could have instructed an army. He wondered what made her zealous to become an expert with the sword. There was no call for it during a time of peace. He was more prone to talk himself out of a situation although some moments seemed to call for violence.

The staircase curved, and at each bend Tor Lir paused, half expecting Lord Nodin to hurl out of the shadows and cast him down. They had a deal, but Lord Nodin was shrewd and Tor Lir knew he could expect some form of resistance. Moving quickly, Tor Lir arrived at the landing. The arched chamber rose before him, and Lord Nodin stood at the desk in his Tider form, watching out of narrowed eyes.

“I did not expect you to come with weapons.” He frowned, and his amber eyes flickered from Tor Lir to Lady Hava. “This is not the lady of the beasts. Where is she?”

Tor Lir’s lip curled. “She did not respond well to the threat to her beasts. She is here and soon you’ll know where.”

“Lady Hava?” a female voice interrupted, and Zilpha moved into view. She held the box in both hands, and her face was peaked from stress and her eyes red from crying. Anger laced through her words like a serpent reaching out to sting Hava.

Glancing back, Tor Lir saw Hava’s eyes narrow, and her grip tightened on her sword. “Are you in league with the foul play of Lord Nodin?”

Zilpha gritted her teeth, her brown eyes flashing. “This is your fault. You ruined me in the marketplace, and now you come here with accusations. It is not fair—”

“Nothing in life is fair.” Hava’s scowl deepened. “I demand to know what the meaning of this is.”

Zilpha raised her chin, her eyes turning cold. “As a spoiled Lord’s daughter, you come here with your demands, but it is you who shall be the prisoner this time. You destroyed the happiness of my family, and Lord Nodin has agreed to help avenge me.”

Hava pointed her sword at Lord Nodin, and Tor Lir stepped forward, raising his hands, holding the bow in one and an arrow in the other. He let the hostility in his tone ring clear as he lowered his weapons to the floor. “I call a halt to all accusations. Surely we can solve this without violence and bloodshed. It is clear there is bad blood between us all. Lord Nodin, the plan has changed. The beast of shadows let loose its children, and they have destroyed parts of the town. There must be repercussions for what you allowed to happen.”

“I did not allow it to happen, it happened because you did not act in the swiftness that is needed. I control only the beast of shadows, not its offspring. Now that you have arrived, we must leave before more doom falls upon this city,” Lord Nodin said.

Tor Lir pursed his lips. “What of the beast?”

At that moment, a roar echoed from below, and Lord Nodin’s face turned white. He rushed out of the chamber and peered down over the edge. Then he spun back to the others. “We have a problem. The beast is free, and I no longer have control over it.” His jaw tightened as he glared at Tor Lir. “What did you ask Citrine to do? Now we are all dead.”

“Unless we kill the beast of shadows,” Tor Lir responded, lifting an eyebrow.

Lord Nodin clenched and unclenched his fists, realizing he’d been backed into a corner. Tor Lir watched him with narrowed eyes. If the beasts were free, Lord Nodin no longer had a bargaining chip or a reason to blackmail them. Now he would have to believe Tor Lir’s word and rely on honesty and truth. Tor Lir and Citrine would have a choice in helping the Therian instead of being forced into it. Tor Lir crossed his arms with satisfaction, waiting for Lord Nodin’s next move.

Lord Nodin spun, and his hand shot out, grabbing Zilpha. Hava sidestepped him and moved her sword in between them. “No! No more plans and no more running.”

Lord Nodin chuckled and slapped her sword away, pulling Zilpha to his side. “Where do you think we have to run? This is now the safest place in the city.” He lifted a whistle to his lips and blew it.

Tor Lir did not hear a sound, rather he felt waves ripple through the air. The first ripple went straight through him, the second gave off a burning smell, and when the third hit him, a vision flashed before his eyes. He saw a white light, smoke and snake heads, dancing in an odd breeze. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, and it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Green light shimmered in his fingertips, and he thrust his hands behind his back, ashamed of the strange light. But no one was looking at him. A dark shadow swept across the barred window. Claws gripped it for a moment, and then the beast of shadows roared and disappeared into the quickly darkening sky.

“What did you do?” Hava leveled her sword at Lord Nodin and Zilpha. The hilt gave a distinct tremble even though her face betrayed none of her emotions.

“I called for reinforcements. Now let us go down and find your friend. Citrine.”

Hava stepped closer, keeping her sword lifted.

“Put it down,” Lord Nodin barked. “We both know you won’t be using it on me. Not unless you wish to have blood on your hands and become a hunted outlaw of this city. There are still laws of the mortals and of the Creator. I am friends with the friars of the temple. If you spill my blood, they will return a blow for a blow, regardless of who your father is.”

Hava tilted her head, allowing her eyes to meet Tor Lir’s gaze. She murmured under her breath, asking him a question. Tor Lir recognized the request even though he did not understand the words. She desired his leadership, and in her zealousness, she was perfectly capable of rendering both Lord Nodin and Zilpha powerless without his assistance. Surprise warmed his body. Unlike Citrine, Hava actually listened to him and looked to him for guidance in precarious situations instead of pressing on with her headstrong, reckless ideas. He nodded once, and they sprang into action.

Hava leveled her sword at Lord Nodin’s throat. He ducked and kicked out a foot, hitting her in the shins. Hava yelled, but she wore thick boots that deflected most of the blow. She swung her sword, but before it could come all the way around and slice Lord Nodin’s arm, Zilpha, forgotten in the fray, smashed the box over Hava’s head. Hava collapsed, a trickle of blood running from her head. The box ripped open, dumping hay across the floor. And the crystal winged horse. Tor Lir did not know why he did it, but he dived, arm outstretched to catch the treasure. Even though the visions were frightful, he knew if he held the treasure, he had the greatest bargaining chip. But he was too slow. The crystal winged horse smacked into the hard stone and disintegrated, turning into a silver mist as it melted into the ether. It hung for a moment, forming the body of a female. A finger pointed due north, and he almost heard the words in his head. Go to Daygone. Without delay. It disappeared, and only then did he realize he lay on the ground with Lord Nodin’s foot on his neck.

40

DANGER TO ALL

IT WAS dark when Citrine woke. She could tell because she thought she saw glimpses of starlight from the opening of the well far above her. The beast of shadows was gone, and a missing chunk of stone in the archway told her it had escaped. She uttered an oath as she rose, her body sore from the beating she’d taken. She lifted a hand to her head, surprised it came away bloodless. Although the blow had been hard, her body had taken it well. She scowled. The last thing she needed was more bruising but all the same her plan had failed. Rising to her feet, she crept out of the arch, retracing her steps out of the dungeon to the main floor of the castle. Her lips were dry and her throat parched, but she moved swiftly, wondering what had happened to Tor Lir and Hava.

As she approached the main floor, she heard low voices. Her fingers fell to her side, gripping one of her knives as she snuck in. The courtyard was lit up with torchlight, and in the center of the torches stood an amber-eyed male who must have been Lord Nodin. Zilpha stood beside him, her arms crossed and her eyes shifting back and forth in fear. She chewed her bottom lip. Her face was dirty, and her hair hung in limp knots around her face. Hava stood across from her, hands tied behind her back. There was a red bruise across her face and anger in her eyes. Her sword was gone. Tor Lir stood beside Hava, also with his hands tied behind his back. He spoke in low tones while Lord Nodin paced back and forth, shaking his head. Suddenly, his eyes landed on Citrine’s, and she paused, like a mouse caught in a trap. She could break his bones if she desired, but she was unsure, for her friends were in his clutches.

“Ah.” Lord Nodin motioned toward her. “I see you have finally decided to join us. Come. We are preparing to fight.”

Citrine walked toward them, aware four pairs of eyes examined her. “Why are my friends tied up?” she demanded.

“They tried to attack me.” Lord Nodin shrugged. “But I am not the enemy. I suppose you let my beast free and now it is beyond control.”

“Beasts are not meant to be controlled,” Citrine snarled. She locked her gaze on to Zilpha and pointed with her knife. “You! I should cut you for betraying me and leaving me for dead. I hope you have found nothing but hollowness in the embrace of the treasure.”

Zilpha dropped her head, eyes seeking the ground. “I am sorry for what I did. I was desperate, and I thought there was no other way. I see now I was wrong.”

Citrine paused, surprised at the apology, and then recalled the strange creature sucking at her insides. “I was left for dead, eaten alive, and taken by the Under Water World People.”

Lord Nodin lifted a hand. “Such violence. I must note I only threatened violence and never carried it out. But if that is all you respond to, you might tempt my hand. I called my winged companions to join us, but it will be some time. In the meantime, we are preparing to fight my beast of shadows, Chimera.”

“That’s the name of your beast?” Citrine asked, letting her hand with the knife fall to her side. “What did you do to it?”

“Before I explain, I need your word that you will not attack me and Zilpha again. We are not your enemies. I only requested you, Tor Lir, and you, Citrine, to come to this tower to hear of a quest. But you came armed to fight, and this is regrettable. Citrine, I will untie your friends if you all swear.”

“This is my fault,” Tor Lir spoke up, his voice low and even. “Your beast of shadows seemed a threat, and I suggested we all come armed. But I agree not to attack you or Zilpha, should you take a risk and untie us.”

Hava spoke up next. “I swear by the Creator, as long as you keep Zilpha away from me. Zilpha, I understand you are angry, and I realize we started off on the wrong foot. I don’t know your story, and you don’t know mine. I thought only of saving myself with the actions I took in the marketplace. My father blackmailed me, and I know excuses don’t make it right. I realize I could have come to you and chosen a different path, but I did not want to become a homeless peasant.”

Zilpha swiped at her face. “You let me take the fall,” she whispered, the accusation hanging in the air like a drop of poison on the edge of a dropper.

Hava lifted her head, eyes flashing. “I did.”

Citrine noted she did not apologize again. All the same, Lord Nodin lifted a blade and cut the rope from their hands. He stepped back, putting himself between them and Zilpha. “Zilpha is blameless in this. I knew her from years past and unfairly asked her to carry a token for me. The Clyear of Revelation that you, Citrine, helped her find.”

“But it is broken now,” Tor Lir spoke up.

Citrine’s head snapped around to his. “Broken?”

Lord Nodin waved a hand. “Nay, it is not broken. It dispersed when it hit the stone floor, but it will reform itself. In fact, as we speak, it likely lies in the tower, and there it will stay until we return. I am tempted to bury it or cast it into the Jaded Sea, like Zilpha had the foreknowledge to do. But it provides clarity, and without it I would not have known what to do. It has a bond with Tor Lir, I can see the shimmering within reaching out to him.”

Tor Lir shuddered, and Citrine saw a darkness in his eyes. She wondered if it was the knowledge he was running from and the reason he wanted to escape from the immortals and focus his mind on the shallow knowledge of the mortals. She watched him, but other than the shiver he gave off, there was no other expression of disgust.

“How are we all involved?” Citrine asked, her temper calming within. “I made a promise to the Udi I must keep.”

Lord Nodin raised an eyebrow. “Are they in trouble too? It seems chaos seeks us all out. If they can wait, the matter at hand will affect those in the mountains and beyond. I believe the consequences of not taking actions will unleash a dire evil on the cities beyond the Cascade Mountains. If I may be frank with you, the Therian are in trouble. I told Tor Lir something of it. I thought bringing the beast of shadows with me would provide more answers, but it has brought only death. What you don’t know is the beast of shadows used to be a Therian. She was my cousin, and although we were not close, I thought I could save her. We are linked by blood, which gave me some power over her and allowed me to send her commands and directives. But her mortal body was invaded by a parasite, and after a time her brain grew foggy and her transformations became increasingly alarming, until she became the beast of shadows. She would not change back and became more animalistic by the day. I knew there would come a time when she became beyond saving, and the Clyear of Revelation revealed this truth, also telling me the beast within would seek to multiply and destroy all. When I traveled back to the mountains, I discovered my cousin is not the only one with this disease. There are more, and I do not have the expertise to do something about it, but both of you do.” He included Tor Lir and Citrine in his gaze, and in that moment, Citrine understood. She felt his strong desire to protect his people and the helplessness he experienced at being able to do nothing. All thoughts of protest died on her lips, and she met his amber eyes with understanding.

“And do you feel it too? Is there wildness rising in you?” she asked, her voice gentle. She tucked the knife back into her belt, knowing she would not need it.

“Aye. There are hints of it. I do not know how long it will take. Months. Years. But if the Therian turn into wild beasts, many will be slain by their hand, and the line of mountain folk will end. According to tales, you saved paradise. Can you save the Therian?”

“I understand and I admire your honestly. But you shouldn’t threaten us. Tor Lir and I will help.” Citrine felt the eyes of Zilpha and Hava on her, a new respect growing in them. “First though, we must save Sanga Sang and give the beast of shadows relief from its wild life. I don’t know what, but at times I can sense what it senses and feel what it feels. Why is that?”

“We must consult the Clyear of Revelation when we return, but for now time is of the essence,” Lord Nodin said.

As if echoing his words, there was a crash, and screams came from outside.

“Each of you take a bow and quiver of arrows,” Lord Nodin ordered. “Zilpha”—he lay a hand on her shoulder—"stay here, guard the tower, protect the Clyear.” Citrine watched, feeling an ache in her throat as he leaned forward, his lips grazing her cheek. Turning away from the affection, Citrine reached for a quiver of arrows, her ears burning at words she’d once said. Perhaps arrows were not for cowards and she’d misjudged the weapons, as she’d misjudged many things in life. Cries came again, and, grabbing a torch in her other hand, she followed Tor Lir and Hava out into the night.

41

TO KILL A BEAST

SMOKE COVERED THE CITY, and hungry torch light flared across the hillside. Lord Nodin led the way to the temple with Tor Lir, Hava, and Citrine following in his wake. Questions streamed through Citrine’s mind as they sped up into a run, the rhythmic thumping of their booted feet moving in pace with her heartbeat. Where was the city warden? Why had the beast of shadows laid eggs? Would it attack her beasts, and if so would they recognize what had once been a mortal and become a beast?

Mistress. Grift’s thoughts sounded in her head. Are you safe? Something terrible is happening in the city.

Grift! The beast of shadows is loose. It and its offspring are attacking everything. I am going to stop it. She paused just short of using the term: kill. She did not think Grift would appreciate knowing she was going to kill a beast, a beast she’d once thought to add to her collection. Again, she recalled the matted fur and long claws. It could have been a beautiful creature.

Do you need help?

Nay, the beast is dangerous, but I could not forgive myself if you were hurt.

Mistress, that is not the way. I will come to your aid should you ask.

I cannot ask you to do this for the mortals are hunting it with arrows of fire. What if they accidentally pierce your side?

I will keep watch, lest the creature comes to this side.

If you see it first, contain it. Will you pass my message on to the others, Ava in particular? I will reach out to Morag.

Aye Mistress.

Grift’s voice faded just as a building collapsed. Citrine slid to a stop as the rubble blocked their path. Hava leaped up on it, holding her hands out to steady herself as she climbed over the rubble. Tor Lir followed her, and Lord Nodin reached out to point Citrine onward. She nodded, her boots sinking at her first step. She bent low and then she felt it.

Her wings were outstretched in the breeze, and her mind was muddled with nothingness. There was something she was supposed to remember, but it was gone, lost when she’d taken to the skies. There was nothing but a roaring anger and determination to wipe out each of the structures. She shook her long tail, letting it drag across a rooftop and yank it off. Shouts echoed around her and high-pitched screams. It interrupted her thoughts, and she growled, hatred rising in her. She lashed out and heat scorched her throat as a fireball rolled out, setting fire to the building. The screams increased until they became smothered under the rubble. A belch came out of her throat. And the roof of her mouth blistered with pain, but she did not care. Her hatred was firm. They deserved death for what they had done to her children. Then she heard a twang, and a fireball roared out of the darkness, hissing and sparkling as it arched toward her. Stretching out her neck, she dived, but she was too late. As she swung her tail around, the fireball smacked into her chest. She lashed out, a screech tearing from her raw throat. Another fireball warmed in her belly, and she flew faster, letting out one, two, and then three until her throat felt like melted wax and she wanted to dive into the sea for relief. But the shining body of water had its own dangers. An eel-like shape hung near the shore, lemon-yellow eyes glaring at her and pointed white horns daring her to approach the waters. She wheeled. Unwilling to fight that battle, she turned inland and headed back toward the tower.

Citrine snapped out of it, her eyes watering. Tor Lir’s hand landed on her back, warm and gentle. He pulled her to her feet, his green eyes filled with concern. “Citrine?”

“It is down by the sea, but it’s headed back this way. The arrows of fire hurt it.” She trailed off, wrapping both fingers around her throat as if she could still feel the blistered burning.

“Is there anything left?” Lord Nodin’s voice halted, filled with emotion for once. “Is there anything mortal left of it?”

Citrine dropped her head, wishing to be paired with the beast no more. She opened her mouth and whispered the words. “There’s only hate and anger, payback for killing its offspring.”

Lord Nodin’s mouth set in a thin line. His long strides moved him over the pile of rubble and then he ran again. “We take our stance at the temple. They have an open roof we can shoot from.”

Citrine swallowed hard. The temple was where the Disciples of Ithar were staying, but would they know her and Tor Lir? Was it a risk she should take? She tried to catch Tor Lir’s eye as they ran, but at that moment, the heavens opened up and rain poured from the sky. It came as both a relief and a curse. The fires burned out around the town and people fled for cover. Yet it also made it difficult to see the beast of shadows as it soundlessly glided overhead. Citrine’s fingers twitched, and then they were there. The doors to the temple were open, and friars stood on either side, hustling people into the hall, guiding them down into the passageways beneath the temple to help them stay hidden.

“We need access to the roof,” Lord Nodin bellowed. “If any of you are archers, come with me, and we will kill the beast once and for all.”

Torches flickered, and silence met his command as the people groups turned to face the newcomers. Citrine saw dirty faces, blood-stained clothes, and hopelessness. They had been ready to celebrate a great harvest only to be met by death and destruction. Something struck a raw nerve within, and she wanted to help them and tell them it would be all right. But this was only the first, and if the Therian were slowly turning into beasts, there would be many more cities like this one. She’d seen the damage and destruction. She had to do something.

Suddenly a male moved out of the shadows, a fist raised high. Mixed feelings rushed through Citrine at the sight of her old friend. Triften. “We fight!” he shouted, bloodlust ringing in his words. “Are you with us?”

There was a roar, and Citrine became swept up in the fever of battle as they rushed up a spiraling staircase and came out on the top of the temple. It was unfinished with stones piled in a corner, collecting pools of water as the rain poured down. An alcove hung over the arched entrance to the staircase, and Lord Nodin called out instructions to the multitude of archers. “Keep the torches under the alcove, light your arrows and then wait for my command. The beast responds to fire.”

Tor Lir held a torch high, and the archers lined up. There were about twenty archers—a combination of male and female, young and old. Some had smudged faces, sodden hair clung to their scalps, and a wet sheen glittered on their cloaks. As Citrine watched, she saw each of them glance at Triften and nod, and she realized she was in the thick of the Disciples of Ithar. She glanced at Tor Lir, but he did not seem to notice the danger, or if he did, he ignored it.

The wind howled in the sky, and Citrine’s teeth chattered. Suddenly Hava was there, handing her a glowing arrow. Citrine took it and carefully nocked it into her bow. The fire hummed and flickered with a life of its own like some small beast coming out to play. Citrine saw the color of her eyes mirrored in the flame, and like an omnipotent vision, she saw Morag stretched out in the waters near the shore. Ava flew out of the cave with a shriek, leaving Zaul to guard it. Grift flew alongside Ava, circling back and forth. They were there, waiting for her. If she could protect them a little longer, until she saved the Therian, and until she completed her deal with the Udi, they would be safe from mortals and immortals alike.

A bulky shadow hovered above them, gliding close to the castle.

“Take aim,” Lord Nodin shouted, running to the edge. He propped a foot up on the battlement and took aim himself, his gloved hands brushing his mouth. The archers lifted their glowing flames, and one by one pointed them at the beast. Citrine’s heart sank as she watched them, and her hand came down, the glowing ember pointed at the stone wall. “On my command,” Lord Nodin bellowed. “Three. Two. One. Fire!”

The arrows crested through the air in an arc, the hissing of the fire and rain like a symphony of music, rising up. Fifteen of the arrows struck home, and a terrible cry rent the air. The beast moaned as it dropped like a stone into the streets.

Citrine fell to her knees like she’d been punched in her gut. She heard the scream of a mother attempting to rescue its offspring and avenge their deaths. She heard the cry of a mortal, allowed to rest at last, as the wild thoughts of hate went out of it. She felt the pain and fear melt away into the embrace of death, and just as strangely as it had come, the odd connection to the beast faded away, leaving her bereft and hollow.

An arm came around her, and Tor Lir knelt by her side, rain drops running down his angular face. He looked at her, his green eyes full of compassion. Their faces were inches apart as they stared at each other, and with a start, Citrine realized Tor Lir felt exactly what she had felt. Her fingers reached out, and she took his hand and squeezed it, nodding at the unspoken words. Now she understood why Novor Tur-Woodberry wanted them to be together. They had a similar power. She was aware of hers, but Tor Lir was only now wakening to his, and he needed her help. They held hands, staring at each other as a cheer rose from the archers, and soon it rang from each balcony and throughout the streets. The beast was dead.

42

HARVEST FESTIVAL

ZILPHA TWISTED her chestnut-brown hair above her head and turned. “How do I look?” she asked Mathilda.

“Lovely,” Mathilda beamed, twirling in her green gown. The bodice fit close to her chest and then billowed out around her hips, leaving her plenty of room to dance. Zilpha wore a dress made of yellow silk, given to her by Lady Hava, who sought to make amends. It was the day of the Harvest Festival, and although much of the city was being rebuilt, the city warden—who did not live in the tower after all—had declared they must celebrate the harvest to bring hope and encouragement to the city. The beasts were dead, and miraculously the harvest had survived the attack. There would be plenty of food for the coming winter, trade would thrive, and laborers would flock to the city to help them rebuild.

Lord Arden had been imprisoned for breaking a contract and burning down the homes of the people who were in debt to him. Their debt was forgiven and much of the silver was going to be used to help rebuild. Zilpha, although homeless, was spending some time with Mathilda and Bram, who were soon to be married. All misunderstandings and confusion were gone, yet a choice still lay before her.

“There will be food and dancing, and Zilpha, I’m so happy you’re back and fine. Life can return to normal now.”

Zilpha tried to smile and then moved to grasp her friend’s hands. “I have something to tell you and Bram.”

Mathilda smiled and tucked a white flower into Zilpha’s hair. “There, that’s a finishing touch. Whatever your news is, it better be good news this time. Are you getting married?”

Zilpha laughed, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. Married. What a life. “I’ve been thinking, with everything that’s happened during the last week, it is time for a change. Lord Nodin is traveling back to his homeland, and he’s taking a small group with him. I think I’ll go with them.”

“What?” Mathilda pulled back, shock and dismay written on her face. “Bram, get in here, you need to hear this.”

Bram walked in, a grin on his face. “Ladies. You both look beautiful,” he smiled, offering each a bouquet of flowers. “Now, Mathilda, you don’t look happy. What is Zilpha telling you?”

“I’m sorry, I could not hold back.” Zilpha sought Bram’s eyes. “I had to tell her. I’m going away for a time.”

Bram scowled. “Ah. I know. But not before our wedding.”

This time it was Zilpha who turned in surprise. Mathilda giggled and then sniffed. “Now I know why Bram rushed it. We thought with the harvest it would be the perfect time to celebrate a marriage. And now with you going away, it makes sense. Will you come back?”

Zilpha thought of the people she would travel with. Lord Nodin and his mysterious past. Lady Hava, banished from her home and disgraced by having her father thrown in prison. There was Tor Lir, the tall, handsome Tider, with pointed ears—she’d seen them—and Citrine with the odd eyes and her knowledge of nature. Perhaps the people she traveled with were against the Creator and his ways, but she would learn. She thought wistfully of Irik down by the harbor. She’d miss him and his hope for something more. He would be sorry to see her go, and she hated disappointing him. But then again, she was a Cron, and Crons were desperate for adventure. She felt as if a voice in the wind called out to her, and she wanted to go more than anything and see what took place in the wild lands beyond the city. She knew it was dark and dangerous, but she’d also found friendship and trust, and perhaps love. She wanted to see it through. If anything, she could return, and Mathilda and Bram would be waiting for her.

“One day, yes. But let’s not think about that now. Let’s just celebrate. Here and now. As we are.”

43

DISTANCE YOURSELF

CITRINE STOOD on the edge of the green field, watching the harvest celebration take place. The sun shone down in golden splendor and the yellow grasses waved in the warmth. She wrapped her arms around her chest and smiled. There was a wedding taking place, Zilpha’s brother, and the delightful smells of sweet and spicy foods filled the air. There was sweet wine and hot bread and tankards of ale. A group of drunken sailors sat singing at the top of their lungs, clinking their mugs together. Children with long light hair ran wild, shrieking and giggling in the sunlight. All was as it should be.

Someone came up beside her and she turned, surprised to find Triften the Storyteller. He was dressed smartly in royal gear as if he were going to stand before a king. He wore a brilliant forest green cloak that fluttered out behind him as the breeze stirred it. His blue eyes sparkled, and his cheeks were flushed pink. Despite how much shorter he was than her, something about his aggressive movements intimidated her. Accusations aside, he did not seem like a Disciple of Ithar. After the beast was killed, Lord Nodin, Lady Hava, Tor Lir, and herself were allowed to leave, with only some suspicious mutterings from the friars. That had been days ago and since then, Citrine hadn’t heard any word from the Disciples of Ithar. There was nothing for her to fear so she smiled at him. “Triften, taking a break from storytelling?”

“Aye.” Triften gave a short laugh, and then his blue eyes turned serious. “Citrine, I wanted to have a moment of your time. I have something to tell you.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a scroll. The seal was broken, but it was tied with string. Pulling the string off, he handed it to Citrine.

With an arched eyebrow, Citrine took the scroll and unrolled it. It was a drawing, scratched out of charcoal but done quite well. It was the likeness of a male with a long face, high cheek bones, longish hair and pointed ears. Citrine stared, her heart climbing into her throat. Her voice came out small and far away. “This is Tor Lir. Why do you have this?”

“You should be aware,” Triften spoke gravely. “The Nameless One, Tor Lir, is not who he says he is. He is not like us, and by that, I mean he is not mortal, and I have reason to believe he is dangerous.”

“What? Why?” Citrine sputtered, trying not to give herself away.

“I saw the events that took place in the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry over a year ago, and I find it odd that I come here, and it is under attack by a beast. It seems wherever he goes, chaos follows him. We live in a time of peace and yet it seems dark creatures are called to him and follow in his wake. He is officially under investigation by the Disciples of Ithar. I am letting you know so you can distance yourself from him.”

Citrine stared, unsure what to say.

Triften’s hand rested on her arm. “Oh, and Citrine. One more thing. He doesn’t have a shadow. That in and of itself is reason to arrest him, but the leaders want proof, and proof is what I will give them.”

Letting go of her, Triften took the scroll from her shaking hands, rolled it up and strode away. Citrine stared after him, unsure what to think or say. She looked to the skies and took deep breaths to calm the panic within. Only one thought hung clearly in her mind. It was time to run.

REALM OF ICE

LEGEND OF THE NAMELESS ONE BOOK THREE

1

ORENDA

LOW GRUNTS and muffled snores purred through the smoke-filled air of the camp. Ten-year-old Averl crossed her skinny brown legs as she perched cross-legged on a flat stone near the fire circle. Blue flames sparked and sizzled as her grandmother poked at the charcoals, stirring the ashes to life. Grandmother’s wrinkled skin sagged on her bony arms, but her brown eyes were as clear as a cloudless day. Grandmother focused on the stick clutched in the claw of one hand and the bowl of ink, dark as the midnight sky, in her other.

Averl pinched her fingers together, determined to be patient. For once. Her copper eyes took in the jagged cliffs surrounding the encampment of her people—the last of the Ezincks, also known as the Tribe of Minas—as they prepared for sundown. The hunters had returned earlier with a meager supply of meat, and the fragrance of it washed over the camp, for the hour of the last meal was almost upon them. Averl squared her shoulders, ignored the twitch of hunger in her belly, and peered up at her grandmother. “Is it time?”

The stick paused mid-jab. Grandmother pulled it out of the ashes and tapped the end with her brittle fingers. “Aye, Averl.” Her voice sounded like the low hum of wind brushing dead leaves over stone. “It is time.”

Her necklace of multicolored stones rattled as she turned her hunched body to face her granddaughter. Not that she was particularly old—only fifty years—but life in the mountains was unforgiving and demanding. Grandmother swirled the stick in the pot of ink and pulled out the tip, glistening with liquid.

Averl swallowed hard and straightened her back, determined not to move during the ritual.

“Ten moons you have lived. Ten moons you have been blessed to dwell among the living.” Grandmother chanted as she touched the ink to Averl’s forehead, carving a pattern of runes over her brown skin. “My love. My young one. You have the strength of the ground within you, the light of the moon in your eyes, and the path of the wise under your feet. May you flourish under the Green Light in a world ripe with opportunity. May you find the path that brings you prosperity, and may the wind ever blow grace and goodness on you. May you find the desires of your heart and bring life and love back to our people. We fade. We die. But you are our hope.”

The stick tickled her skin as the symbols appeared, bold against her dark tones. Averl wrinkled her nose and held back the laugh that bubbled within, a proud pleasure growing as her grandmother spoke. Grandmother’s steady fingers traced a flower in bloom, a symbol for growth. A stone to represent the core of the Cascade Mountains, her home. Yet as Grandmother traced the shape of an arrowhead, something tingled inside Averl, sending a euphoric buzzing through every inch of her body.

A thudding pounded in her heart like the roaring of an avalanche turning the lightness of snow into a formidable power, strong enough to shatter rock and bury trees. When the painting was finished, her eyes flew open. A gasp escaped from her lips, as though she’d been running up the mountainside. Quickly, to avoid showing disrespect, she bowed her head and opened her palms to accept her grandmother’s blessing. The correct response came to her lips. “May the words you say fall to the ground like seeds, blossoming tenfold to a hundredfold.”

“So, it shall be,” Grandmother echoed.

Brittle fingers came under Averl’s chin and lifted her face.

Grandmother smiled, showing off a row of straight teeth. A lightness came over Averl. She grinned boldly, proud to be a member of the Tribe of Minas.

Grandmother placed her palm on Averl’s heart. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

Averl’s copper eyes glowed as she nodded. Her body still hummed with a mix of savory pleasure and terrifying discomfort. “What do you call it?”

“Orenda is the power that dwells with us. It empowers us to achieve our desires. You must learn how to tap into it. I have no doubt—” Grandmother paused mid-sentence, and her eyes rolled back in her head until only the whites showed. Her hand came down hard on Averl’s thigh, gripping as though she feared a blizzard’s winds would sweep her off the mountainside.

“Grandmother!” Averl screamed. A bubble of fear rose within her. Unable to stand, she snatched at her grandmother’s arms with both hands and shook her. “Grandmother! What is it? What’s wrong?”

The hubbub of the tribe ceased, and female warriors dashed over to Averl, eyes wide at the sight of Grandmother.

Her breathing ceased, and her mouth hung open.

“Grandmother!” Averl shouted over and over again, a sob breaking through her voice. Not now. Not like this. “Please. Please. Please.” She closed her eyes to find the ball of energy and forced it to surge through her once more.

Suddenly, Grandmother gave a cough.

Her eyes rolled back, and she sat up, wheezing but firmly waving away anyone who would help her. As the tribe gathered—skinny legs, spears in hand, and stone jewels adorning wrist and neck—Grandmother stared at each of them in turn. Her eyes glittered with madness in the dimming winter light. “Be warned,” she croaked out. “A storm is coming, and with it comes the devastation of the mountains.”

“A winter storm?” Averl asked, fingers shaking as she sat back down, wanting to touch her grandmother’s leg to ensure she was solid, still alive, but not daring to with the tribe gathered near.

Grandmother shook her head, rattling her stone necklace. “Nay, I do not know whether it is metaphorical or physical, but a storm is coming. I sensed it when you gained access to your Orenda, dear Averl. Nay. We must all prepare. For it is because of the Therian. They bring strangers to our mountains, and with the strangers comes the storm, and after the storm comes the end.”

Gasps and cries echoed across the encampment. Averl’s shoulders slumped, and her excitement at feeling the energy of nature conflicted with fear. There were many clans in the mountains, but the Tribe of Minas had an alliance with the Therian. How could the Therian betray the Tribe of Minas by bringing evil to the mountains? Averl’s fingers curled into fists. Someone had to do something. Someone had to stop the Therian.

2

MEMORY

MIDNIGHT. Tor Lir stood alone in the circle of white stones. The tops of the great rocks rose ten to fifteen feet in the air and were rounded, creating perfect nesting sites for eagles and other birds of prey. Winter winds howled in fury, for they could not penetrate the sacred circle. Tor Lir faced the middle of the circle, his back to the wind, purposefully shutting out the realm of mortals. He held the Clyear of Revelation in both hands like a sacrifice, decisions warring within him. Should he take the risk? Did he want to know the truth? Would the Clyear of Revelation answer the question he held in his heart? He was afraid to ask the question, but also afraid of not knowing the answer.

Time would not make the choice easier, and so he stepped to the center of the circle and placed the Clyear in a patch of thatched grass, weaved together like a nest. It lay like an egg. As he backed away, colors shot out across the ground and rolled into a gray fog. The Clyear disappeared into a white mist, and the thing that remained made Tor Lir cringe.

His heart thumped loud in his chest and blood pressed against his eyes. His gloved hands tightened into fists, and he looked at the diabolical thing that stood there, black as a moonless night with curved horns coming out of its head. Emerald eyes gazed upon him and sent a shiver of dismay down his spine. He steeled himself, forcing away the fear that threatened to send him into waves of panic. Questions spilled from his lips. “Who are you and why have you appeared to me?”

Features flickered across the black surface of the thing's body, and a wolfish grin appeared and faded, leaving nothing but impenetrable darkness, just as velvet and haunted as the moonless midnight hour. “You know who I am. What I am. I have only separated myself from you. You see me with your naked eyes. I am you. And you are me. Together, we are one spirit. The mortals have something similar to what we have. They walk and talk without noticing what only light will reveal. Darkness. Darkness alongside everyone. They gave it a name. A friendly name to obligate their fear and shame, the shame of being followed by darkness and continually having to choose between good and evil. Choices hound the mortals day after day, and they have forgotten what it is like to be without morality, without the choice between darkness and light.”

Tor Lir’s green eyes narrowed, and a coolness seeped into his words. “Speak plainly. What do the mortals have that is similar to what we have?”

“Don't you see?” The sinister being lifted its arms.

The clouds parted. The wind died down, and a sliver of moonlight, thin and wan, cast its light into the circle, illuminating the horned being.

Tor Lir crossed his arms.

The being copied him, moving in the same heartbeat, long arms folding around its body.

Tor Lir swallowed hard and dropped one hand. His head itched as a shadow of knowledge passed over his mind, like the clouds revealing the moonlight.

The being also dropped one hand.

Tor Lir took a step, and paused as the being copied his actions like a looking glass, a mirror that did what he did.

The puzzle clarified itself, and words of astonishment dripped from Tor Lir's mouth. “Mortals have shadows but it is nothing more than the light, revealing what is hidden. Shadows are not separate entities from a person—”

“Go on.” The being waved an arm, encouraging him to speak his mind.

Tor Lir's mouth went dry, and the blood drained from his face. “I am an Iaen—one of the immortal creatures of the forests of Shimla. I know I have a shadow but you cannot be mine.”

“Why not?” the being growled. It grew in height until it towered above Tor Lir, a threatening, featureless face glaring down at him. “Have you seen your shadow during the daylight? The time when mortals go outdoors and work? Don't you know there is a reason they hide during nightfall and lock themselves indoors? They are afraid of the night, afraid of their shadows, afraid of what the darkness will bid them to do. Deeds done without being seen are dark deeds, evil deeds, this they know, but perhaps you do not understand this. You are the one who is lacking in knowledge, knowledge that is your birthright and yet you run away from it. You forced my hand by using the Clyear of Revelation. It is only as strong as those who wield it, and you held a question in mind. You wanted to open your eyes to the things that are unseen, that follow you. You asked, and I appeared. I am your shadow.”

“Shadow.” Tor Lir repeated. The words tasted bitter in his mouth, and hidden knowledge glimmered like starlight—impossible to see and yet difficult to ignore. The itch on his head grew sharp like the point of a thorn as he tried to remember if he'd ever seen his shadow.

He closed his eyes, recalling Citrine’s bright hair, threads of her blue dress blowing in the wind, and the ripple of her shadow bouncing behind her as they strolled through the rolling hills of the South World. Sea-tinted air kissed his lips as he recalled the rustle of the wind when he flew on Ava’s back. The long shadow of the beast stretched out below, but when they landed and he dismounted, there was nothing there. No shades of darkness. No shadow. Memories blurred one after the other, yet when he looked back, the absence of his shadow stood out sharply. He drew a sharp breath in, hissing as the truth struck him. He did not have a shadow, but why?

The words of the green giantess who raised him came to mind, as did his last conversation with her. She was the Queen of the Iaen, a Green Person, and a hero who played a hand in the great war between the mortals and immortals. At least, that was what she called it, but in truth, it was the war between the mortals and Changers.

Changers were dark beings formed accidentally out of the Creator's spark. As the tale went, during creation the Creator was distracted by his assistant, and three sparks fell, becoming Changers who thought themselves above all and sought to destroy the people groups of the Four Worlds in their endless quest for power and paradise. Their names were not uttered among the people groups, and yet they were known in tales and ballads as the Heroes of Old who saved the Four Worlds from utter destruction and kept the people groups from extinction.

Tor Lir allowed his mind to drift toward memories long buried, thinking of the queen who raised him. Ellagine. He had come from her. At least, he thought he had, until her their last conversation. Threads of it drifted to him, and with a hiss, he recalled the words he'd said to her.

Tor Lir stood in the green wood, gazing up at her angular face. He spoke, sure and steady of himself with that bold knowing that youth tend to have. “You have nothing to fear from me. I am not a Changer. I do not love, and therefore I will not destroy the world because of love. I am the opposite of love. I am the opposite of fear. I am not swayed by emotion.”

“Will you take a name?” she whispered.

“Names are powerful. I will be called a thousand things, but I will never share my true name.”

She pointed north, her calm words ringing in his mind. “When you want to know who you are and where you came from, go to Daygone.”

He'd paused, surprised. “I came from you.”

She shook her head. “No. I may have borne you, but you did not come from me.”

Then she gave him a piercing look as though she were trying to read his thoughts and peer beyond his bold façade to see what he was hiding. He put up his hand to ward off her gaze, knowing she was powerful and might see his thoughts. “Please. Don't look at me like that. You have nothing to fear. I have come to keep the balance. The world is at peace.”

The memory faded and Tor Lir blinked, staring at his shadow, recalling the lost things he'd chosen to forget. “I am not a Changer,” he spat. A coldness filled his body, shutting out emotion. He'd allowed emotion to sway him and in doing so he’d forgotten the flavors of Shimla and the potent flare of the immortals. The edges of power had drifted from him, and he missed the woods more than he realized until the moment he stood face to face with his own shadow. The wind howled around him, screaming, and suddenly shapes stepped out of the stones and sat down within the circle.

Tor Lir ignored them as he glared at his faceless shadow. The features had all but blurred into nothingness, and a hollow, empty feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. “Tell me. Shadow. Why have you appeared to me; all these years you’ve been part of me. Why now?”

The shadow's voice was as cold as Tor Lir's, ringing in the same cadence. “I cannot read the future, that is your power, but I can remind you of things forgotten. Recall the words to the song, the song that flows in your blood and has flowed in your blood since the beginning of creation. Remember the words. Remember your calling and what you are meant to do.”

The itch on Tor Lir’s head burst, and pain flashed behind his eyes, instantly fading into a distant memory. He heard a voice singing and distinctly recalled being held and rocked back and forth while a feminine voice sang.

Long may you live

Long may you prosper

Spread your seed far and wide

May your bloodline

The new breed

Grow ever strong

Blood of the undying

Blood of the immortal

Blood of the mortals

Blood of my blood

Long may you live

Long may you prosper

You shall walk in the light

You shall walk in the dark

You will blend with the air and land

Of shadows and sorrow

Of love and light

Of mischief and mayhem

Of follow and forgiveness

Long may you live

Long may you prosper.

He opened his eyes. The melody had always been in his thoughts, the faint thread at the end of each heartbeat. When he heard the pure words, something inside of him hardened.

The shadow continued in the same cold tone. “Did you wonder why chaos follows at your every step? You blame the Enchantress, the one they call Citrine, mother of all beasts. But in fact, it is your true nature, for what is your purpose if you are not solving a mystery?”

Tor Lir gnashed his teeth, held out his hand, and extended a finger to point at the shadow. It copied his movement, and both of them took a step forward.

“I am you and you are me,” the shadow said. “But you choose to forget, and you cannot forget who you are. This is only a small piece to the puzzle. You must go to Daygone. You must uncover the truth, take up your power, and begin your life’s work.”

The shadow wavered, growing thin as it spoke its last words. Its black finger touched Tor Lir, and a sudden coldness rushed into his body. He shivered, consuming his shadow, allowing it to become part of him once more. Then he turned to face the beings who had intruded on the circle.

3

BEINGS

THE BEINGS WERE PETITE—NO more than four feet tall, if that—and drifted in the air even though they did not have wings. Their white hair looked like the tentacles of an Actimic—a great water monster—and they glared at him with solemn faces and lidless eyes. They were ugly and fearsome, but Tor Lir was too angry to be afraid. He glared back as a slow realization dawned.

He’d seen the white beings before. In the first vision the Clyear of Revelation had given him. Who were they? What was their connection to the Clyear? And why were they appearing to him now?

As if the beings could hear his inner thoughts, they spoke. Their voices weaved together in a strange unison and came out as hard as diamonds.

Something akin to fear fluttered in Tor Lir's chest not only at the sound but also at the words they spoke.

“We are the Truth Tellers. When we appear to mortals and immortals in this world, we must demand a price. An exchange must be made. If you do not heed our words, someone you love will perish. Beware. Be warned. The price you pay is death. But you have not called us. You have run from us. But we come all the same to warn you. During a time of war, we appeared to your father and asked that he cease his quest, for his actions would cause the world to come to this. Better for the Four Worlds to be destroyed during the war than endure what is to come. And you are what is to come. The new breed. Right now, you think you walk in the light, but you have seen with your own eyes your doppelgänger, your shadow. Darkness breeds and it comes, regardless of the light that stands. You have a choice in what happens to the realm of mortals. You can guide the Four Worlds into the light of good or the darkness of evil. You. Alone. Have the power. But you walk away from it. You resist. Go to Daygone. Read the book of your people. Take up the cloak of knowledge and become the first. Establish the Order of the Iaen.”

“Truth Tellers,” Tor Lir returned. “Riddle me this. You know who I am and who gave birth to me. Tell me. Why all the secrets? Why must I go to Daygone when you stand in the In-Between and you can tell me what you know?”

They hissed at him and darted back, their tentacle-like hair rising straight up on their heads. As one, they held up their hands, warding off his questions. “Knowledge comes with a price. You were born because of a curse, because of what your father did.”

“And who was my father?”

“We cannot share that knowledge with you, but heed our words. You have the blood of Changers running through your veins, that same blood that used to run in the Therian. If you go to the mountains and face down your foes, you will meet descendants of those who hide the evil one, the first Monrage. Beware, lest your blood dooms you. You shall not repeat the mistakes of those before you, but you make enough on your own.”

The icy coldness in Tor Lir’s body gave way to hot waves of anger. It crept through him like a tidal wave, and suddenly prisms of shimmering green shot out of his fingers. “I am not a Changer, but you would have me go to Daygone, the place where all evil began and went to die. Do you think I am a fool? I know those stories.”

“Go to Daygone, before you destroy the world with your lack of knowledge.” The ground shuddered, and the stones trembled. The Truth Tellers floated closer to Tor Lir, unnerving him with their lidless, colorless eyes. “And take the Enchantress with you. When we observed her in the Boundary Line Forest, we perceived your futures intertwine. You need her, and she needs you. Go. You were warned.”

The ground shook under Tor Lir's feet at the last words of the Truth Tellers. They lifted up just as a crack split the ground and the first stone fell forward, like a finger curling into a fist. Dust rose like a gray cloud, but Tor Lir did not flinch. He stood still, fists clenched, watching as the Truth Tellers floated to the opening. One by one they climbed into it, descending into a pit of darkness.

Wind surged into the circle like fingers of ice reaching out for him. Ignoring it, Tor Lir dashed to the hole in the ground. Leaning over, he peered down. Nothing was there.

On the current of the wind, he thought he heard laughter, carried away as the sudden storm rose to a pitch, flinging his cloak around his body and tossing his long black hair. Standing, he lifted his arms up and let out a roar, but whether it was anger, frustration, or madness, he did not know. His voice carried out over the wind until it sounded like the scream of a being not of that world.

When he finished, his arms came down. As soon as his fists touched his sides, the wind vanished as if he’d commanded it, leaving only the cold air of the night. A silver twinkle caught Tor Lir’s eye, and when he turned toward it, he saw the Clyear of Revelation.

He tucked it into his tunic, cursing under his breath. He should have known; he should have fled the moment he saw the Clyear. The knowledge he'd feared and the memories he'd repressed had chased him down. It was part of him, a part he could no longer ignore. He needed to go to Daygone. He needed to find the book of his people and read it, understand what had happened, what Queen Ellagine of the Green People had hidden from him. It was time to stop living in the curse of his forefathers. He had to know who he was so he could change the Four Worlds and keep the balance.

4

TRICK

A CRACK RANG out as the stone struck ice, and a zigzag crack split the flawless ice of the pond. Citrine lifted her chin in triumph and turned to see what expression Hava’s face held.

Hava pushed the fur hood off her head and folded her gloved hands together. “You win,” she conceded. “Your stones went farther than mine. You are good at this, aren’t you?”

Citrine scowled. A game of throwing stones across the pond was a momentary distraction from the journey. She shaded her eyes against the sunlight to see where their companions had gone. Lord Nodin and Zilpha were little more than blurred objects in the distance, setting a rapid pace as they continued up the sloping mountainside. And Tor Lir. . .Citrine frowned when she thought about him. He’d stayed behind the night before, claiming he’d catch up with them by nightfall, leaving her in the company of Hava. Citrine had to admit that Hava wasn’t all bad.

Swinging her arms, Citrine resumed their monotonous walk. “I’m bored,” she groaned. "Day after day we march along and it seems like we'll never reach the land of the Therian and this Stronghold that Lord Nodin keeps talking about. It was fine when we left Sanga Sang on horses, but ever since we left them at the foothills. . .” She trailed off.

“It has been a few weeks.” Hava fell in step with Citrine. “We have time to enjoy the beautiful landscape. Look at those mountain peaks.”

Citrine crossed her arms and snorted. “Sure. They are lovely. Stop trying to make me feel better. I'm tired of walking, and there's nothing to look at other than all this white, white, white. White mountain peaks glittering in the distance. White snow dusting the ground. White ice across the ponds and lakes, so hard we have to chip a hole in order to drink it. I want to arrive so we can fix this and leave. Why did you decide to come, anyway?”

Hava's head rose and her chin jutted in the air like a turtle emerging from its shell. A gust of wind whipped up, and she tucked her head back into her furs and paused. A flush came over Hava's face, and she dropped her eyes to the ground.

Citrine examined Hava’s blushing face and bit the inside of her cheek to keep a sarcastic remark from bursting out. Hava. Usually she disliked everyone, but Hava’s company was less tiresome than Zilpha’s. That and the fact that although Tor Lir liked Hava—which annoyed Citrine, although she refused to consider why—Hava had an openness to her that made Citrine feel less flighty. Hava did not get angry at Citrine’s quips, nor did she try to compete for Tor Lir’s attention. It was mildly frustrating since Citrine enjoyed making others feel uncomfortable and holding them at a distance. But Hava seemed immune to her unfriendliness.

Still, Citrine wanted nothing more than to relax in paradise with her beasts. She stilled her mind.

Grift.

Aye, mistress.

See anything out there?

A day’s flight from here there is a structure. It might be the Stronghold you’re traveling to.

A day’s flight. Relief coursed through Citrine. Thank you, Grift.

Mistress. . .

Aye?

I still don't understand why you are walking. I could fly you there in no time.

“Citrine. Citrine!”

Hava shook her arm, and Citrine flinched. “What?”

“What happened? Your eyes glazed over like you weren't here.”

Citrine pulled back, forcing a smile to her face. “Nothing,” she lied. “What were you saying? About why you came?”

Citrine shook away the connection to Grift and moved swiftly up the path. Pine trees rose on all sides, and a light dusting of snow covered the ground, one that would probably melt away if the sunlight continued.

Hava went quiet, and when she finally spoke, her tone was soft. “After everything that happened in Sanga Sang, I could not stay there. Everyone knew my father, and in their eyes, I will always be my father’s daughter. With my family’s reputation destroyed, it’s better that I start over somewhere else. Besides, I am curious.”

Citrine tugged on her fur and risked a glance at Hava. Hava’s light eyes met hers, full of questions. “What?” Citrine asked, attempting to keep the snap out of her tone.

Hava blushed and swallowed visibly. “I’m curious about you and Tor Lir. He's like no one I have ever met, all at once charming and kind but. . . different. I've seen the pointed ears he tries to hide, and I don't think he's a Tider like you.” Hava twisted her hands together as she trailed off. “Will you tell me?”

A sudden sickening sensation twisted through the pit of Citrine's belly. She furrowed her brows. “Tell you what?”

“How did you meet him? What brought you together? And what keeps you from being with him?”

“With him?” Citrine spat out the words like they were poison and then laughed at their absurdity.

Hava did not move or speak, only stared with a calmness in her eyes.

The mirth died in Citrine’s throat. With a sigh, she spun around and started walking with her head down against the wind. Memories rose in her mind so strong they almost brought tears to her eyes. She'd been angry during that time. She'd just lost everything, and then Novor Tur-Woodberry welcomed her with open arms. He gave her a home, but she'd failed to protect her beasts and allowed the Master of the Forest to manipulate her.

Citrine shook herself, thinking about stories she'd never spoken aloud, words she'd never said to another person. Her beasts knew all, and they loved her, unlike her former lover—Hansel. She did not know Hava well, but something inside of her wanted to share, or at least give her a piece of information that would stop her questions.

The words came out in a rush. “It was a while ago. We had a mutual friend who told us we might be beneficial to each other. Tor Lir is like. . .” She trailed off, her ears burning as she considered what would be appropriate to say. “He’s my duty, my responsibility.”

When the words left her lips, they seemed true somehow. She’d promised Novor Tur-Woodberry to show Tor Lir the world and show him why he should care about right and wrong, good and evil, light and dark.

“You seem bound somehow,” Hava went on. “I thought it would make sense if you were with him, but there's something else.”

The way her words came out rubbed Citrine the wrong way. She drew herself up rigid, and her voice went hard. “Listen, Hava. I have a past I don't want to talk about. I know you're curious and if you must know, once upon a time I had a home, a garden, and a lover, but the people turned on me. At least Tor Lir never has. That's all you need to know.”

Hava made a small sound in her throat. “I’m sorry, Citrine, I didn't mean to pry into memories that make you unhappy—”

A crack broke the stillness of the air. Citrine jerked, her heart beating fast in surprise. The ice of the pond had split, and even from the gentle slope, Citrine saw the stones she and Hava had thrown sink into the still waters. A buzzing began in her head, and a whooshing rushed through her ears with an intensity the wind did not have.

Pressure built up around her nose, and a multitude of voices whispered in her mind. A chorus of yelps, shouts, screams, barks, and whispers. A cold, slithering sensation made her skin crawl, while a velvet darkness crept up on the edges of her vision. The eerie scratch of the voices shook her to the core, and she bent over, wrapping her arms around her waist in a futile attempt to shut out the rising madness. Whatever it was, something bad was coming, and a sense of warning surrounded her.

The stillness of the mountain slope seemed sinister, as though hidden eyes watched them. Citrine reached out for Hava and pulled her along with her as she began to run. “Come on, let's catch up with Lord Nodin and Zilpha.”

Zilpha looked like a terrified child. She huddled in her furs next to Lord Nodin’s tall form, her face red and lips dry and chapped from the wind. Lord Nodin wore a brown fur, but his dark head was bare. The two paused and acknowledged Citrine and Hava as they caught up. A familiar longing twisted through Citrine as Lord Nodin's amber eyes held her gaze just a moment too long. There was something else—hidden and uncanny—behind his eyes. Her instincts told her she should hate him for how he’d treated her and Tor Lir in Sanga Sang. However, now that they were out in the wildlands, she felt her distrust shift to something she dared not name. Was it attraction? Or the peculiar way Lord Nodin’s domineering personality reminded her of Tor Lir’s arrogance?

Lord Nodin took a step away from Zilpha, who almost cowered beside him. Citrine frowned at the slight girl. Given everything that had happened in Sanga Sang, Citrine preferred to keep her distance from Zilpha, who seemed content to fawn over Lord Nodin. Zilpha rubbed her hands together and tugged at her furs as if they would grow bigger and fluffier the more she yanked on them.

Lord Nodin rubbed his chin. “Where is Tor Lir?”

Citrine’s eyes narrowed, and she shrugged. “I haven't seen him since last night."

Hava took a step toward Lord Nodin. “The circle of stones we passed yesterday fascinated him. He told me he wanted to inspect them and would catch up with us when he finished.”

Lord Nodin frowned. His amber eyes shifted to the road they'd just traversed. “He has the Clyear with him. I hope he's not thinking of forsaking us.” He shook himself, and his voice took on an orderly tone. “We make for cover and will rest tonight in the cave near the foothills. Tomorrow we will begin our climb, and if we are lucky, my winged friends shall carry us the rest of the way.”

Citrine's shoulders slumped, but Grift’s words from earlier gave her a spark of hope. “How long will that take?”

Those unreadable amber eyes sought hers, and this time a chill passed through her again, a reminder of the warning she'd felt when the ice cracked.

“Not long.” Lord Nodin turned around. “A few days at most. Stronghold is not as far into the mountains as one might think.”

“Who are your winged friends?” Zilpha asked, almost tripping over her own feet as she followed him.

“The Xctas.” Lord Nodin's voice carried through the wind. “They are the kin of eagles. A few of the Therian can transform into Xctas and share a bond with them.”

Citrine puzzled over this as they moved forward again. Did the voices she'd heard belong to the Xctas?

The whisper of voices roamed around her, louder than the wind in the trees. Memories flashed. A demon in the forest. Voices swirling through her head. Visiting the ocean with her father. Blood dripping down her face and a Silver-White-Heart whispering words of doom in her mind.

Clenching her jaw, she fought to surprise the memories, but a sense of foreboding rose so strong she felt nauseous. Breathe, she reminded herself. Don’t let the voices in. Don’t lose control.

Was it the thin mountain air? She took deep breaths, one after the other, to calm herself. What she would give for the air of clarity, her herbs, a tea, the warmth of Grift's fur, or a night without Lord Nodin, Zilpha, Hava, and Tor Lir.

Citrine’s thoughts continued to circle as they traveled, and Hava walked by her side, a silent companion. Sunlight faded, giving way to a brilliant sunset. Nodin's rough voice cut through her musings.

Up on a hill rose a thick cluster of trees around the open mouth of a shallow cave. The scent of pine hung heavy, and snowdrifts had gathered around the base of the tree. Citrine’s footsteps slowed as they ascended. Hava pushed ahead, but something made Citrine pause. She glanced back.

A lone figure moved up the path, following their footprints in the snow. The falling light played a trick on her eyes, and for a moment she thought she saw a shadow with horns, dark and diabolical. She blinked, but it was only Tor Lir marching toward her. His emerald-green eyes locked on hers. He lifted a finger and pointed it at her.

5

TRUTH

“TOR LIR, WHERE WERE YOU?” Hava asked. Worry creased her face.

Tor Lir peeked into the shallow cave. The words of last night still rang in his mind. He needed to sit down and tune out his consciousness, but too many questions swirled in his mind. A path without light seemed to lay open before him, and he craved answers. Ignoring Hava's question, he locked his gaze on Citrine. Her lemon-yellow eyes returned his stare before she returned to helping Hava arrange the firewood. In one move, Tor Lir strode over and gripped her arm, bringing his lips close to her ear. “Citrine, I need to speak with you. Alone.”

Zilpha gasped, and Hava rose, her face tight. “Tor Lir?”

Citrine narrowed her eyes at him, but she spoke to Hava. “It's okay, I'll go with him.”

His grip tightened on her arm as he dragged her out of the cave, toward a clump of trees.

“Tor Lir, you're hurting me,” Citrine hissed.

Surprised at the vehemence in her face, he let go and crossed his arms around his chest to protect himself from her anger. Citrine was a few inches shorter than him, and her eyes flashed as she stared up at him. Defiant. The white hood of her fur had fallen back, and her hair danced in the unceasing wind. It looked rather red today.

She spoke first, her eyes scanning his face. “Why are you acting strange? Your face is pale. Your eyes are red-rimmed. You didn't even speak to Hava, and she's only here because of you.”

Frustration burst out of him in a growl. He tightened his fists until his nails made indentations on his palms. “Citrine.” Her name felt strange on his tongue. “I had an encounter last night, a strange vision given to me by the Clyear of Revelation. I must ask you, has there ever been a time when white creatures appeared to you? Perhaps in a dream or a vision?”

He leaned forward until he could almost taste her breath, longing thrumming within him and a desperate desire to know. Had the Truth Tellers appeared to Citrine? Did she understand how his and her futures were intertwined? What had she kept from him?

Citrine tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Her long fingers trembled, but she frowned and shook her head. “White creatures? What are you talking about?”

“Think,” Tor Lir demanded, but her fierce expression did not soften. Words were whispered in his ears as though carried on the back of the wind. Words he should say to remind her of what she’d seen. He made his voice gentle. “Think back to before we met in the Land of Lock, when you were in the Boundary Line Forest. Perhaps you saw white creatures with hair like tentacles, floating.”

Citrine froze. Her eyes flicked, and a hint of fear washed the color out of her face. Tor Lir watched as her memory washed over her, bit by bit, like the first light after a dark night. Her jaw dropped, and her lemon-yellow eyes widened. A small sound came from her throat, and her fingers closed around her fur cloak, clutching the top together. “Hair like tentacles?"

His lip curled. “Aye. I need to know what they said to you.”

“Nothing,” Citrine spoke quickly, the lie bursting out between her trembling lips. “They said nothing. Tor Lir. What happened last night? What did you see?”

“I need to know what you know first. You saw the white creatures? You know what I speak of?”

“I do but. . .but. . .” she stammered, and her eyes roved back and forth. It was plain she understood what he asked of her yet sought an escape from revealing what she knew. “It was so long ago, before I met the Master of the Forest. I think it was my first night in the forest, and I hid in a log to sleep. When I woke there were creatures talking.”

Tor Lir moved closer, hungry for the knowledge while Citrine blinked up at him, fear written across her face. The words hovered on the tip of her tongue.

He slowed down his thoughts and let the coldness drift through them so he could issue a command. “Tell me.”

“I…I…” Her eyes dropped as she gave up the pretense. Her tone dropped. “They spoke about balance. There was a Him they mentioned. He had free will, but he came to keep the balance. There was also a Her they were going to send to him, to keep him in check. One of them said they were not supposed to meddle with the fate of the Four Worlds, so they set a test.”

Tor Lir's lips thinned. “Set a test to see what would happen.”

“Tor Lir, why are you asking me these things?” Citrine asked. “What do you know?”

“Those white creatures you saw, they are the Truth Tellers, and they appeared to me last night.”

Citrine stepped back, widening the gap between them. Her jaw moved up and down, but nothing came from her mouth.

Tor Lir kept his expression calm and studied the tilt of her nose and her pert lips. Any moment, she’d regain her speech and bombard him with her thoughts. “I can see you’ve heard the term; you know them by name. Perhaps they did not speak to you because they require death for knowledge.”

Citrine’s eyes glazed over and her voice came out in a whisper. “I’ve heard of them. Truth Tellers. They appear to Treasure Hunters and, like you said, they demand death. But not in all cases. The legend of Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword and his companions says they let the Treasure Hunters go free. But they spoke of doom and death. Tor Lir, why did they come to you?”

Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together.

He cocked his head at her. “You are afraid. Why?”

Citrine’s eyes flashed. She waved a hand in the air. “Why? Look around you. We are entering the realm of ice, where the Therian are changing into terrible beasts. The Truth Tellers—who come bringing doom to the world—appeared to you, of all people. And we are being hunted.”

Hunted. That was new. Tor Lir recoiled and stepped back. Loosening his fists, he ran his fingers through his black hair. “Hunted? What makes you think that?”

“Don’t change the topic,” Citrine snarled. “Tell me what the Truth Tellers said and I’ll consider telling you.”

Her temper was back. It was not the time or place for it. Tor Lir moved closer to her. His eyes roamed over the bare hillside, and although he saw nothing moving other than dustings of snow, he lowered his voice all the same. “The Truth Tellers came for two reasons. The first was to warn me about this world. They said I can impact the fate of the Four Worlds, but I need knowledge to do so. The second reason is because they want me to go to Daygone to gain said knowledge, and you must come with me, for we belong together.”

Citrine’s bitter laugh rippled through the air and echoed off the hill. “We belong together? Every time I try to leave you, something hurls us back together.”

Tor Lir shrugged. “Just as Novor Tur-Woodberry said.”

“Don’t speak of him,” she snapped. “And of course you have power, you are the Nameless One, you keep the balance, although I don’t think there should be a balance between good and evil. Also.” She held up a finger. “I want you to listen. Hear this from me now. I am NEVER going to Daygone with you. Never. Ever. Ever. That place is evil. In fact, it is the birthplace of evil. Haven’t you heard of the war between the mortals and immortals?”

“Between the Changers and mortals, you mean?”

Citrine blanched but pushed on with her tirade. “Don’t correct me when I’m speaking to you. And now you speak of Changers? I don’t know what you’re twisted up in, but I’m not coming. I have to find a home for my beasts—it is of the utmost priority. After we finish with the Therian, I am going to the Udi, and you are coming with me.”

She moved closer to him with each word until her finger stabbed into his chest. She punctuated her words with a jab at him. Her eyes flashed, and Tor Lir imagined, for a moment, sparks would come out of them and set fire to the land of ice.

“Once we kill the monster for the Udi, I will go to paradise with my beasts, and you can go to Daygone. Alone. Besides, you can’t go there. Two great dranagins rule there and keep anyone from entering that land.”

Tor Lir grinned. Details. “You can tame them and add more beasts to your collection.”

“Ava would go wild,” Citrine muttered. “She is getting too big, and no one can manage her.”

“Except you,” Tor Lir affirmed. “Besides, those details we can discuss later. I’m just telling you what the Truth Tellers told me. Now share, who is hunting us?”

Citrine stilled, and her head fell forward, almost touching his chest. Momentarily he allowed his thoughts to flit toward Hava, and he felt just the slightest twinge of remorse. She was so pure, untainted, why had he allowed her to come with them? True, he cared about Hava, but something had changed after they had slain the beast in Sanga Sang. After he looked into the Clyear of Revelation. He should have left Hava alone, should have driven her away.

Pushing those thoughts away, he went ahead and wrapped an arm around Citrine’s waist. Instead of hitting him—like he expected—she sagged against him. The bad news was taking its toll, and her aura of fear snapped around him. She was holding onto something she should have shared with him earlier.

“Triften came to me before we left Sanga Sang. He had a letter, a notice or something. It had your likeness on it, and he said the Disciples of Ithar want to arrest you, but they need proof.”

“Proof?” Tor Lir released Citrine and spun away. He paced back and forth, shaking his head. Arrest him? Why? Novor Tur-Woodberry had warned him and Citrine about the Disciples of Ithar, but he did not understand why they’d found out about him so quickly. Unless…He faced Citrine. “Why? What do they know?”

Citrine glanced down and behind him. “You don’t have a shadow.”

A humming began in Tor Lir’s head. He looked down, heart thudding in his throat. Citrine’s shadow fell behind her, but his wasn’t there. The memory of his shadow, dark and diabolical, returned. Blood pulsed behind his eyes, but he forced himself to calm down, forced his emerald gaze to meet Citrine’s. “Are you afraid of me then?”

Citrine shook her head. “No, I just want to know why.”

She studied him so intently he wanted to look away.

“I can’t tell you that,” Tor Lir replied. “I am immortal. I am mysterious. All the questions you hold in your mind, I cannot answer.”

“Do you know why?” she persisted. “If you won’t tell me I understand, but surely you know why you don’t have a shadow.”

Tor Lir scowled. His pulse raced. Why was she asking these questions? Why now? He had to stop her line of questioning. “I do. But enough of this talk. Let’s return to camp. The others will wonder what kept us so long.”

6

SNOWFLAKES

SILENT SNOWFLAKES TWIRLED OUT of the sky, some resting and others melting on the road. Citrine blinked against the brightness, a sharp contrast to the shade of the cave. She had woken before the others and tiptoed out of the makeshift bed of furs she shared with Hava. Tor Lir was missing, but that wasn’t unusual. He’d told her before he had no use for sleep. Lord Nodin and Zilpha were nothing more than lumps under brown furs, and she scowled in their direction. Everyone had someone. She did not appreciate them pairing off during their adventure. Citrine pulled the fur around her shoulders and walked outside. Tilting back her head, she let the snow settle around her face and neck. It tickled when it landed, and she lifted her hands and let out a soft laugh.

Mistress.

The connection came out of nowhere. She jumped. Grift?

Turn around.

Her eyes widened just the slightest bit, and then she smiled when she saw the beast perched on top of the cave. A strange sensation swept through her, as though she wanted to cry. Grift. You are magnificent.

It has been a long time since I’ve seen you happy.

Citrine moved around the side of the cave to climb the rocky slope. Her breath puffed out like white mist, and she grinned as the snowflakes melted under her touch. There is no time for joy, Grift. I feel something akin to doom coming for me. And Tor Lir shared dark secrets I want no part of.

Mistress. A word of advice. Happiness is fleeting but varies from moment to moment. When you experience a complete sense of peace and contentment, you are happy, but true joy comes from enjoying each moment for what it is, nothing more, nothing less. You often attach emotion and worry to each moment, but there is no need. Forget about the things you heard last night and what will happen today. Sit with me for a spell and enjoy the snow. It’s a rare treat. Although it has no stories to tell, it is beautiful.

Citrine stilled. Grift was often right, and when she took his advice she felt better. Throwing her arms around his neck, she nestled her head in his fur. He was warm, and his purr of contentment vibrated around her. The dark sense of foreboding melted. She crossed her legs on the rocky top of the cave and opened her palms to the sky. A gentle wind stirred the snow into simple patterns, brushing snow clumps off the heavy-laden pine trees. Citrine’s fur fell off one shoulder, and the wind danced through her loose hair like fingers giving her a loving caress. Her face grew ruddy with cold, but a slow buildup of contentment bubbled in her heart.

Closing her eyes, she took one deep breath after the other, using the smell of pine to calm herself. No grandiose clarity struck her, but as she meditated, a calmness dissolved her anxiety.

“Citrine.” A deep male voice startled her out of her reverie.

She looked down at Lord Nodin. He stood just beyond the mouth of the cave in a brown fur that brushed the snow-covered ground. His dark brown hair fell to his shoulders, and the wind tousled it like a playful child. His amber eyes examined her bare shoulder and catalogued the way her feet were tucked under her.

Feeling exposed, Citrine rose and yanked her furs around herself. The sensation of calm evaporated like melted snow, and a distinct unfriendliness edged her tone. “You are up early.”

Lord Nodin’s expression did not change. “It is first light. I was able to connect with my friends—the Xctas—they are waiting for us in the clearing ahead.”

Citrine shrugged.

Lord Nodin continued to examine her. “They said there was a disturbance in the air. A great golden beast flew by, but not one of their kind.”

Citrine’s gaze fell to where Grift had been minutes before. Lost in her thoughts, she had not noticed when he’d left. “I see.”

“Be alert,” Lord Nodin warned. “The Therian have many enemies.”

Citrine shuddered, and the foreboding sensation returned, like a black cloud resting heavily on her shoulders.

She walked down the slope, intending to return from the cave, but Lord Nodin’s hand snaked out and caught her wrist. She jerked to a stop, and a tingling sensation went down her back. A warning? Desire? He stepped closer, and she did not—could not—move or react to his proximity. Instead, she inhaled. He smelled like the wild woods, and a sudden pang of longing for a garden struck her so deep she almost leaned into his arms.

“Citrine. A word.” Their eyes met. Amber and lemon-yellow. “I know you collect wild beasts, but tell them not to tread here. It is too dangerous.”

Her voice came out low and throaty. “Only I tell my beasts where they can or cannot tread.”

“Consider yourself warned.”

But he did not let go, only stared at her as though issuing a silent challenge. Who was Lord Nodin? A shifter and yet a Therian ruler? What did he really want with her? For she sensed something deeper there.

His eyes changed for the briefest moment, and she saw something raw and wild in his gaze. Something that frightened her. He cocked his head, and his hand caressed her cheek; his fingertips were rough. “You’re like one of them, aren’t you? A wild beast who won’t be tamed. What would it take to break you?”

She flinched away, unnerved at the way his eyes bored into hers. Quick as a flash, she raised her palm and slapped him across the cheek. The sound rang out like a crack of thunder. Vicious words came to her lips and died as Lord Nodin chuckled, a hand going to his face to ease the sting.

Citrine spun on her heel. Her heart beat strangely in her chest as she crept back into the cave.

A tundra met them as they trudged uphill to a clearing where feathered creatures awaited them. Citrine studied them, and a thrill went through her. There were five winged birds—Lord Nodin’s friends, as he called them—with white and gold feathers and curved beaks. Their eyes were sharp and beady and peered at her as though they could read her mind, but when she opened her thoughts to hear what they said, there was nothing. A second thought crossed her mind. If she could not hear their thoughts, they were not beasts but mortals. A sudden discomfort niggled at her. How could she ride a mortal with her body pressed against its feathers? Did Lord Nodin know this and persist? Her eyes drifted to him, but he was speaking to the beasts, who acknowledged him without words.

Citrine glanced at their curved talons, sharp enough to rip the flesh of her body from core to core. They were shrewd, powerful, and she would not want to be on the wrong side of those beasts. Their wings spanned well over twelve feet, and their forms towered above her. Citrine shrugged off her pack, eager to be off, but her book of spells was heavy and she wasn’t sure she trusted it to do well in flight. She considered calling her beasts. Grift could fly her, or even Ava. She trusted them much more than the Xctas called by the Therian.

“Mount up,” Lord Nodin called, strolling to Zilpha’s side. “We will reach Stronghold before sundown.” He spread his long fingers around Zilpha’s waist and helped her up on the back of one of the Xctas. He stayed with her a moment, showing her where to put her hands.

Citrine watched them, and a bitter laugh rose on her lips. Her eyes shifted to Tor Lir and Hava, who had already mounted up and were grinning at each other over golden feathers as though they shared a grand secret. Tor Lir’s words of last night rang through Citrine’s mind. She scowled, stepped over to the Xctas, and gracefully swung up on its back.

You’re the Enchantress?

The words filtered through her mind so quickly she started and almost fell off. She wasn’t used to new creatures talking to her, much less a creature she was riding. Err. . . Yes. I thought you were Therian. Your minds are so quiet.

A low rumbling came to her as though the Xctas were laughing. We were forewarned to keep our minds still around you. You have the ability to read our thoughts and communicate with us in a way the Therian never can. It is a rarity, and I am honored to carry you.

Citrine breathed a sigh of relief. But before she could say another word, the bird spread its great wings. They blasted into the air with powerful strokes that made her hair stand on end. The frosty air gusted past her so quickly her breath was lost and her stomach flipped. A grin came to her lips as the wings beat the air again and again. They soared up into the blue skies. Dark thoughts drifted away as snowflakes peppered her face. Her hands went numb. She burrowed them deeper into the warm feathers, but it did not matter, for her love of flying overcame all.

7

ARROWS

WIND WHIPPED tears out of Citrine’s eyes. Ignoring the wind, she struggled to see, eager to catch the first glance of Stronghold. Curious thoughts filled her mind. She pushed them to the Xctas. Do you have a name? Do you enjoy living here? Do you fly back and forth often? What are the Therian like?

A low rumble came from the Xctas. You have many questions. It would spoil Lord Nodin’s surprise if I answered them all.

Citrine stiffened. What surprise?

I jest. The rumble came again, and the Xctas curved to the side to fly above the others. I am called Redtail, but names are more important for mortals than for my kind. I prefer to make my home in the heights. Once my debt is fulfilled, I will go there. Nodin is a kind master and only calls when he is in desperate need. My kind have always been loyal to the royal line of the Therian. After their restoration by the Rulers of the West, I see no reason not to continue. The food is always plentiful, and they offer shelter through the storms and fight our enemies with us.

Enemies. Citrine blinked quickly. What enemies do you have up here? Aside from the wolves? What other troubles do you have?

The Therian and the Ezincks—known as the Tribe of Minas—made peace, but they are not the only kind who dwell in the mountains. Have you heard the tale of the Rulers of the West and how they restored Stronghold to the Therian?

Ah. During the war?

Aye. Wild clans rise from time to time—the outcast, the banished, the leaderless. Occasionally, they unite under one flag and ride against the Therian and the Tribe of Minas, but as long as the Therian hold Stronghold, they have an advantage. Until they began to transform into feral beasts. That’s why you’re here. Isn’t it?

Citrine sucked on her cheek. Lord Nodin believes myself and my companion, Tor Lir, can discover why the Therian are transforming into wild beasts and losing their mortality. If she were to be honest with herself, she had not thought through the plan she and Tor Lir should have come up with. Now they were approaching Stronghold, she needed to think about a solution to the Therian’s problem and discuss with Tor Lir. A craving wormed its way up her belly. Tor Lir had promised she could look at the Clyear when they arrived, something that had long been denied her. Surely the Clyear of Revelation had the answers for how she was to save not only the Therian but also the Udi.

The Therian have a temporary solution, although I doubt it will hold. Redtail’s thoughts grew distant and then silent.

Citrine recognized he was shutting her off from his thoughts, but she did not mind. He’d given her enough information to mull over. A gust of wind made her bright hair fly straight back, and she untucked one hand from the warm feathers to pull her fur closer.

Below, she saw fir trees, wrapped in green and white. They dotted the mountain slope, some scattered and others tightly knitted together as though they kept their trunks hidden from the cold. Citrine imagined animals lived in those clumped clusters. Hints of pine hung in the air, rich and sharp. Citrine wished she could dismount for a moment, pull out her book of spells, and paint the air with words. She gasped. Book of spells. Of course. If she had the right ingredients, she could concoct a spell to cleanse the Therian. Whatever they did, it must have been evil for them to turn from mortals into monsters. Once she arrived at Stronghold, she would cleanse it and use the Clyear of Revelation to figure out what to do next. Excitement made her fingers tremble, and a satisfied smile came to her lips. She recited the herbs she needed—cedar, rosemary, lavender, resins—hoping she’d packed enough, for there was nowhere to gather herbs in the white tundra.

A range of icy cliffs rose, and the Xctas banked sharply, heading straight toward them. Citrine thought she saw something silver wink in the air. Brushing hair back from her face, she strained her eyes. Was it Stronghold? The fortress made of ice built into the mountainside? It was past midday; they had to be close.

The silver light flashed again, and a shout echoed across the peaks. Citrine squinted as sunlight made everything glitter, and then a hiss invaded her thoughts. Citrine. They will kill you.

Ava! she breathed, almost laughing. You frightened me. What are you talking about?

The arrows, Ava’s disgruntled hiss came again.

Citrine sat ramrod straight and stared down, past the cliffs where the land met again. Dread crept up her shoulders. Ava. If there are arrows, get out of here. Warn the others.

Before Citrine could think or say anything else, a volley of arrows hurled from the sky. Involuntarily she ducked and flung up her hands to protect her face. “Redtail. Watch out,” she shouted.

Redtail spun out of the way and began to climb, leaving the others behind. Citrine uncovered her face. Arrows zipped by, making a sharp whistling sound. They were beyond the cliffs now, and a patch of snow and evergreen trees appeared.

“Tor Lir!”

She heard Hava’s desperate shout and turned in time to see an arrow sink through the Xctas Tor Lir flew on. The bird wheeled, and a fountain of red covered its chest. One second it was in the air, the next it dropped like a stone into a waterfall.

Citrine’s chest climbed into her throat. A sickening feeling consumed her. She wrapped her arms around her middle and shivered as the Xctas struck the cliffs and fell over them. A fur-covered figure landed just shy of the cliffs. Tor Lir. Was he still alive?

A muffled cry came from the air. She clasped her hands over her lips. Thoughts flew to her beasts, but she knew they were safe and—she hoped—far away from the Therian. More arrows filled the air. Nodin shouted directions, and then a jumble of voices filled Citrine’s thoughts. Fears collided as the Xctas lost control of their thoughts and soared higher, desperate to get away from the arrows. The air grew thin, a single drop of blood fell from Citrine’s nose. Swallowing hard, she willed herself to focus and stay in the present. If she fell apart, she couldn’t help, but she also couldn’t see their assailants. Squaring her shoulders, she peered down, certain they were beyond the reach of arrows. Wind roared through her ears, and she saw tiny spots below her. Another Xctas had been hit and sank into the ground, sending a fountain of ice and snow into the air.

Citrine’s breath caught, and a frenzy of thoughts echoed through her mind. She pushed them away just as an arrow sliced through one of Redtail’s wings and they fell.

8

DEFIANCE

TOR LIR GASPED in the snowdrift, and a rasping breath burst out of his chest. He coughed but otherwise lay still, grateful the snow had cushioned his fall. He closed his eyes and used his power to examine his body, connecting to the soft tissue and hard bones and ensuring everything was working as it should. He moved the blood around in his body, forcing the bruises to fade away until he was one and whole.

It was a while before he opened his eyes and sat up, satisfied he had healed himself sufficiently. Flexing his fingers one by one, he stood gingerly to his feet and glanced away. Whiteness shimmered under the pale reach of the faded sun and the glare of the Green Light, making him blink. He turned in a slow circle, noting the trees on one side of him and a steep embankment on the other, pointing downhill. He shuddered to think how hard it would have been to heal himself if he’d tumbled all the way down the cliff. His bow and arrows were gone, and his pack had fallen off his back at some point, likely over the edge of the cliff.

A slight wind stirred, and Tor Lir sighed at his bleak surroundings. He was lost in the Cascade Mountains, so one direction was as good as any. A high point would be best, for he still held the Clyear of Revelation, and it was likely that Lord Nodin—if he survived—would send a search party to lead him back to Stronghold. If evening fell without a retrieval, he would need to find shelter, and the scattering of trees in the distance looked comforting. Glancing toward them again, he saw something move.

Tor Lir narrowed his eyes, forcing his penetrating gaze across the glittering snow to make out the shape. It moved again, a small shape low to the ground, flickering back and forth. A smile came to his lips, and for a moment he thought it was one of Citrine’s beasts, coming to rescue him. It would be like her. As he strode through the snow, his boots sinking deep, a lightness swelled through his chest. His fingertips tingled, and when he looked down, his feet rose to walk above the snow. A sigh of pleasure came from his lips, and he squared his shoulders. Yet another revelation of his uncanny power. When he looked at his fingertips, there was a slight shimmer of green, and a vision of his shadow, dark and evil, made him shudder.

He looked up. The creature on the edge of the clearing was a lone fox. He squinted, for the brilliance of the snow made it hard to see with the light, but he could have sworn the fox was staring at him. As he neared, he saw the creature clearly. It was slightly smaller than a fox, with a white pelt, delicate paws with neat, curved claws Triangle-shaped ears pointed straight up and the insides were pink. The heart-shaped face of the fox dipped, and the black nose quivered at him.

Tor Lir tilted his head to the side as the fox pawed the ground and swished its bushy tail as though dusting away its footprints in the snow. It was the eyes—perfectly round and swimming with an intelligent darkness—that captivated him. The white fox pawed the ground once more, then trotted off. It wanted him to follow it.

Tor Lir hesitated just a moment, but there was nothing for him in the snowbank, and he had a sinking feeling it did not matter where he went. Maybe the fox was one of the Therian and would lead him to Stronghold. He turned his back on where he’d fallen and followed the creature.

Slender trees rose out of the ground, offering slight shade from the falling snow. They wound their way through them and farther ahead were massive gnarled pine trees as old as the foundation of the world, their green branches heavy with snow. A soft sound came to his ears, and after a moment he realized it was snow sliding off the tree branches and pooling on the ground, adding drift to drift. The fox trotted up a hill, ears pricked, and paused, turning back to look at him.

When the ice-blue eyes met his, he knew she was a female. Briefly his thoughts flickered back to his first encounter with the Boundary Line Forest and the thin waif he had followed. She worked for the Master of the Forest but ended up helping him. He wondered if the fox was the same. Who would she be when she transformed? Would she speak to him?

The air was chill, and steam drifted from his mouth, so thick he thought it would turn into a snowflake and fall to the ground. Gray clouds rolled in front of the sun and at some point, it began to snow. Lazy, fat snowflakes drifted back and forth in the slight wind, in no hurry to reach the ground, their final resting place. A shiver shook Tor Lir’s body. He wrapped his arms together despite the warm fur that covered his body. He needed shelter soon.

The fox came to a space between two pine trees and paused. Her tail swished, and she peeked over her shoulder, eyeing him. Tor Lir had the distinct feeling he was being invited into a sacred place where she did not lightly bring visitors. But curiosity overrode his trepidation. He stepped through the invisible door, and the chill melted away.

Thick pine needles rose above him like a canopy of green with brown walls, the trunks of trees, but somehow not trees. He blinked. A delightful feeling came over him. Was he in an enchanted wood? He held out his blue fingers as though the warmth were a fire and took in his surroundings. In the center of the clearing was a bed of moss at waist-height. A fur cloak rested on it, and below it were bundles, perhaps food for the night.

The fox pawed the ground and trotted in a circle, and then, in one bold movement, she transformed. Her face changed, and she grew, tall, lean, hard. Her foxlike face remained, somehow mortal and foxlike at the same time. She had a heart-shaped face just like the fox with smooth skin as pale as the winter snow. Eyes as blue-gray as a cloudless day and full lips, red as polished rubies. She stood a foot shorter than him, with white hair trailing down her back to her waist. Her hands rested on her hips, showing off her full beauty, as calm and perfect as the morning after a winter storm.

Tor Lir swallowed hard as he gazed upon her nakedness, heart pounding with lust as she posed for him. Ever so slowly she turned, showing off her lean curves, the swell of her small breasts, the curve of her stomach and the plump roundness of her hips. Once her back was to him, she bent over the bed and picked up the fur cloak.

An ache stirred in his lower abdomen, and his eyes narrowed, yet he did not avert them from the position of her lovely bottom as she bent over, showing him a clear view of what hid between her legs. She faced him again as she tossed the white fur over her shoulders. It cascaded around her back, and when she pulled the hood over her face, Tor Lir saw it resembled a fox, complete with pointed ears and dead eyes, glaring at him.

Her gray eyes scanned his body in an entirely lewd way, as though she wished he were naked too. Taking a step closer to him, she lifted a hand, her long fingers tiptoeing across her chest to play with her breasts, rolling a nipple between two fingers. When she spoke, her voice was as gentle as the falling snow. “Want to play?”

Tor Lir knew his eyes were hooded with a blatant lust he could not hide. It had been too long since he’d held a female and tasted her delights. His thoughts flickered back to the Jesnidrains of Shimla, his first conquest, and the irritation that followed. This was different. There was no time for dalliances because he needed to return to his companions. “I am tempted. But I am in the middle of something.”

An eyebrow half raised and her fingers dropped away from her nipple. “A quest?”

He tore his gaze away from her breast and met her gaze. “Aye. They invited me to Stronghold. Do you know it?”

Her eyes darkened, and he saw a flash of something. Anger?

“Ah.” She licked her ruby lips. “Stronghold. The Therian stole it. From us.”

Tor Lir studied her face. He should have been alarmed and yet he was drawn to her. “Stolen. Us.” He repeated her words. “You are an enemy of the Therian?”

Her lips curled, and she wound a strand of thin hair around her pale white fingers. “You are a friend of the Therian?”

He smirked. “Friend is too strong of a word. My presence was requested, but I have not decided.”

She bared her teeth, only a quick flash he took to be a grin. Lying back on the bed her fingers moved across the furs, rubbing them back and forth, slowly, sensually. She spread her legs and peered between them at him. “Oh?” Her voice was high and sweet. “Maybe I can invite you to change your mind.”

“And join you?” He tried to keep his gaze on her face, but it slid down to the dark spot between her legs.

He should turn his back on her and run before she entrapped him in her web, but going back to the Therian meant he had to face the things he did not want to consider. Again, he recalled his shadow—dark and diabolical—and the white tentacles of the Truth Tellers. Their words were seared into his soul like a brand. He waved his hand in front of his face to bat away the thoughts and turned back to his delicious companion. She offered the sweet fruit of her body and it would be easy to give in, easy to bask in a pleasure he’d long denied himself. And for what? Hava? No. She was pure. Innocent. Mortal. She wanted him, yet he kept her at a distance because she was too good for him. He could not corrupt her with pleasures of the flesh. Thoughts of Citrine rose and fell as the lady rubbed her legs together.

“What do you offer?” he asked, a smile curling around his lips.

She arched her back and her breasts bounced. Her voice was husky when she spoke next. “What do you want?”

Tor Lir scratched his head. “I admit, it has been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, but you must know, there are people I care about with the Therian.”

She shrugged her white shoulders and shook her hair back. “Who cares about them? I never asked you to care, I only asked you to enjoy the moment with me.”

He tried to frown, but his mouth would not turn that way. “It is a terrible idea.”

She grinned and raised a finger, poised right over that place between her legs. “It is wicked. Don’t you want to be a part?”

He stood still. He knew as soon as he’d walked inside her home, the circle, there was no going back. It was his turn to shake his fist at fate and do as he desired. Pleasure first, and he would deal with the consequences—if any—afterward. “Who are you?”

“Don’t ruin this with words,” she purred. “Come to me. I saw you from the air and knew I wanted you.”

His fingers went to the buttons of his tunic. “I must go.”

A snarl burst from her lips. “Stay. Satisfy me.”

She arched her back and flipped onto her stomach, shaking her bottom at him. The tantalizing display of flesh, warm and smooth, in a setting of snow heightened his senses. Something dark rose in him, heady with passion. He dropped his fur, and it fell with a soft whisper into the snow.

He paused, knowing he should run. His companions were being shot out of the sky. Should he leave them and succumb to lust while they fought? Again, his thoughts flickered back to his shadow and the Truth Tellers. Why should they ordain his life? He would do as he desired. And so he unfastened his belt and strode toward the delicious stranger in an act of pure defiance.

9

RESILIENT

REDTAIL BEAT his wings furiously as they glided toward the snowy ground. Citrine squeezed hard with her legs and leaned forward, ready to roll off the Xctas as soon as they reached the ground. The arrow had lodged itself in Redtail’s wing, embedded among his thick feathers. A hoarse screech came out of Redtail’s throat. Citrine laid a comforting hand on his neck and considered what she’d say if he were one of her beasts. Nothing helpful came to mind as they circled toward a clump of trees and the howl of wolves filled the air.

A chorus struck as they neared the ground, and when Citrine deemed it was safe, she leaped off Redtail’s back, tucked her legs under her, and rolled into a nearby snowdrift. The thump of her landing blew all the air out of her body. Her breath tore gasps out of her throat, and her vision swam. As she struggled to regain her senses, her fingers grasped at soft snow and then for the knife at her waist. The snow bank offered a shallow hiding place. Scrambling to her knees, she peered out over the landscape. White met her eyes, strewn with gold and red feathers from Redtail’s wings. His body was gone. Had he managed to gain cover? Fir trees, heavy with green needles and snow, rose on her left, offering shelter, and to her right the cliffs jutted up, creating nooks and crannies for archers to hide in.

Citrine craned her neck to the sky, seeking a trace of Lord Nodin, Zilpha, and Hava. A moment later, a body dropped down beside her. Knife gripped tight in her hand, Citrine spun to face the intruder and breathed a sigh of relief. “Hava.”

“Are you hurt?” Hava drew one of her swords, her gaze shifting from Citrine to the forest of fir trees.

“Nay.” Citrine glanced at her knife, suddenly feeling inadequate. “Have you seen the others?”

Hava chewed her lip and eyed the sky. Her voice went small. “I saw Tor Lir fall. Do you think he’s alive?”

Citrine scowled. “He is surprisingly resilient.”

But Hava’s mind had already turned to other things. “Look.” She pointed with her sword, a frayed edge of worry coming to her tone. “I thought I heard wolves when I fell.”

Citrine followed the edge of Hava’s sword. Across the snowbank, creeping out of the trees came two-dozen gray and white wolves. Yellow eyes gleamed, and bushy tails stroked the snow. They bared their teeth and growled at something beyond Citrine’s line of sight. She glanced to the right, and her heart stilled. Out of the snowy embankment, a handful of archers appeared. They were covered in gray and white furs, and they had dark skin and black hair. Ezincks. One by one, they raised their bows, aiming for the wolves. Others drew knives, some long, others curved, and moved forward, crouching, ready to take on the wolves.

Hava stiffened beside her, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What is this? A clan war?”

Citrine’s thoughts flickered back to Redtail’s words. You have many questions. It would spoil Lord Nodin’s surprise if I answered them all. Was this the surprise? But it did not add up. According to Redtail, the Therian and the Ezincks—the Tribe of Minas—had made peace. If the wolves were the Therian and the Ezincks were the Tribe of Minas, why were they attacking each other?

A high cry sounded.

Citrine startled as short, stout, fur-covered people rushed out of the snow. They waved axes in their hands, and although there were no more than twenty of them, ran as though they were an army of a hundred to face the wolves. The wolves continued to howl and pace in place. Waiting for an unknown signal.

A shout came from the air, and Lord Nodin circled down on an Xctas, next to the wolves. “With me,” he bellowed. He lifted a sword and pointed it at the fur-covered creatures.

Without hesitation, the wolves rushed toward the small army.

Citrine bit her lip in confusion and watched as snow flew through the air. Specks of white turned red. The wolves snarled and snapped. The fur-covered clan chopped and hacked. Meanwhile, Lord Nodin sat on the Xctas and watched with hodded eyes.

Why wasn’t he joining them? What was he waiting for?

Hava tugged on Citrine’s elbow. “Do you think those wolves are Therian?”

“They have to be, Lord Nodin just commanded them.”

“Who do you think the people are?”

Citrine recalled Redtail’s words. “Ezincks and mountain folk that oppose the Therian.”

Hava’s face went pale. “Should we help them?”

“And get killed?” Citrine pressed her lips together and grabbed Hava’s arm. “Nay, this is not our fight. We wait until they are done and then resume our journey to Stronghold.”

Hava frowned. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Citrine shrugged.

Hava went on. “But these are our friends. We shouldn’t let them down.”

Citrine’s eyebrow shot up. “Friends? I wouldn’t call the Therian friends. Don’t you remember how Lord Nodin treated us in Sanga Sang?”

Hava’s voice gentled. “I do. But we agreed to help him, help his people. Doesn’t that include fighting their battles with them?”

Citrine almost rolled her eyes. She did not have enough details nor motive to risk her life for a clan war. Instead, she concentrated on her beasts and opened a link of communication to ensure they were far from her.

“What are you thinking?” Hava asked, her fingers tapping impatiently on the hilt of her sword.

Citrine peered behind them and held up a finger. “Wait.”

She thought she saw a tiny figure high on a ledge, peering down at them. It appeared to be a female, perhaps a child, with long black braids flying in the wind. She held a spear in hand and watched the battle taking place, cold and expressionless. A ripple of fear shot down Citrine’s spine, and she shook herself, determined to get ahold of her senses. Fear was not something she was used to facing, although the unusual circumstance weighed on her more than she expected. She squeezed her knife and saw something dark rush toward them.

“Hava, get down!” she cried, diving flat on the ground.

A spray of snow went up, and she heard rather than saw the keening whistle of an arrow.

There was a cry, and then a strangled moan as the arrow sunk into the throat of a wolf.

Hava raised her head and brushed snow out of her face. “Where did that come from?”

“Behind us,” Citrine confirmed, scanning for more archers, but the snowy embankment did not reveal its secrets.

“We have to move,” Hava said, her voice low and filled with anxiety. “If we make for the trees, we will have shelter.”

“Aye, but. . .” Citrine trailed off and jerked her chin in the direction of the forest.

Between them and the firs were the wolves, the stout people, and the archers.

Hava rose and making for the snowdrift. “We can’t just sit here and let them shoot us; we have to do something.”

Citrine let out a groan of frustration. Did Lord Nodin lead them there only to be caught in an ambush? Surely this was not his doing, for he needed their help.Whispers of mistrust hummed around Citrine’s ears. She looked up at the cliffs once more, but the child with the black braids had disappeared.

Hava’s scream brought Citrine back to present action. Her ears attended to the clash of swords, the snarls of the wolves, the whistle of the arrows, and the chopping of axes, cleaving through ice, bone, and flesh. Hava had already left the safety of the snowdrift and swung her sword as a fur-covered person hurtled toward her. She ducked, but the blunt end of an ax slammed into her legs, knocking her flat on her back. She hurled snow at her assailant’s face and swung her sword.

Citrine’s fist clenched around her knife. She straightened her back and strode boldly around the snowdrift. An arrow sank into the snow, inches from her foot. Fear gripped her, and a gray wolf almost knocked her over as it leaped up and caught the throat of a fur-covered person.

The iron smell of warm blood assaulted her senses along with the sound of teeth sinking into flesh. Screams filled the air, high and low, full of pain and remorse. It was the noise, the ceaseless noise that forced Citrine into action. Anger settled deep in her bones, overriding her discomfort, and she ran to Hava’s aid.

Hava was on her knees, fighting the fur-covered person. Up close, Citrine saw it was a male with a thick beard and bright, intelligent eyes. A wave of familiarity came over her, and she paused, suddenly reluctant to plunge the knife into his back.

“Citrine, get down!” Hava shouted. She leaped to her feet and kicked out a foot, sending the male toppling. He was quick to regain his weapon, but instead of charging, he ran away.

Hava bowled into Citrine, knocking her flat just as another whine wailed through the air. Arrows. Citrine lay still, listening to the sounds of retreating, the cheering from perhaps the Therian while the Tribe of Minas and the fur-covered people disappeared back into the hills, using the cliffs to hide their retreat.

Hava rolled off her, allowing Citrine to climb to her feet and watch the retreat. A lone wind swept through the fir trees, almost stealing her breath away. Silence crept over the short-lived skirmish, leaving thudding hearts and red faces puffing out clouds of mist.

Citrine turned to Hava. “Come on. It’s over. . .”

Words faded into a muted shock.

Hava lay on the swell, her body twisted and her face white. Drops of blood dripped out of her lips, but it was the broken shaft of an arrow in the middle of her chest that made Citrine drop to her knees. Her mouth went dry, and her vision swam. “Hava!” she cried, pressing a hand against the blooming flower of red staining Hava’s shirt, tunic, and heavy furs.

Hava’s fingers moved feebly. Her red mouth moved, but blood, not words, came out.

“I’m sorry,” Citrine whispered, unsure what else to say.

She took Hava’s fingers in hers and sat with her as the lingering life faded out of her body, her eyes staring up at the cold, unfriendly sky. A deep sense of foreboding filled Citrine as she sat, numb. They hadn’t even arrived, and everything was already going wrong.

10

CHAOS

AVERL MOVED AWAY from the cliffs and started up the path back home. Blood pulsed hot through her veins after what she’d just witnessed. It was not what she wanted, but she was only a child—it was not her choice. Whispers of darkness filled her ears, and the humming in her belly would not go away. She glanced at her fingertips, surprised there was no white light pouring from them. Orenda. She still did not understand it, and yet she liked the idea that the spirit of the mountain blessed her and poured its power into her.

“Averl?” a female voice called. “What are you doing out here?”

“Agrella,” Averl mumbled, dropping her head, black braids bounding on her back. She’d been caught by one of the female warriors.

Agrella stood five and a half feet tall. She was thin and wiry with a bead in her nose and gold circles in her ears. She wore her shiny black hair in one long braid that fell just below her shoulders. In one hand she carried a spear and in the other a bow. Instead of fur she wore deerskin as her only protection against the elements. It was easier for warriors to fight in deerskin that followed the natural curves of their bodies instead of a heavy fur.

Agrella shook her head, but her hand landed gently on Averl’s shoulder. “You were supposed to stay safe, stay at home with your grandmother instead of watching us. It’s dangerous out here, even more so now.”

Averl shook her head stubbornly, knowing that Agrella would not punish her beyond a kind rebuke. “I couldn’t. I had to see what the strangers looked like. Did you see them? Will they leave now?”

Agrella’s lips thinned. “Nay, but I hope we frightened them enough for them to leave. A few of the Queen’s warriors went down even though we warned them not to get too close.”

Averl shuddered. The Queen. The Tribe of Minas had heeded grandmother’s warning and sought out the Queen, who was an enemy of the Therian. She’d come up with a plan in exchange for an alliance with the Tribe of Minas and together they’d set up an ambush to frighten off the strangers.

Averl did not like it. For as long as she’d been alive, the Tribe of Minas had had an alliance with the Therian. Forsaking that alliance felt wrong. Weren’t they going back on their word? All because of a prophecy? Anxiety jolted through her, but she forced the next question out of her lips. “Are they dead?”

Agrella frowned. “You are too young for this, although you feel the power of Orenda. Treaties and betrayals should be left to the elders. Don’t worry about what will happen.”

“I can’t help it,” Averl sighed. “This is our home, and grandmother was frightened. I don’t want to lose my home because some strangers came to the mountains. I know the old stories. Each time strangers come to the mountains, they make something happen. War breaks out and things change. I don’t want anything to change.”

Agrella paused and knelt in front of Averl. Laying aside her weapons, she took the child’s hands in hers. Her dark eyes went grave. “Averl. I promise as a sworn warrior of the Tribe of Minas, I will do my best to keep our tribe safe and keep change from ruining us.”

Averl nodded, because Agrella would want her to. But the power of Orenda swelled within, and she knew the situation was not up to the Tribe of Minas. The winds of fate gripped her, and fear tightened around her body like a deadly embrace.

11

REVULSION

NAKED BODIES INTERTWINED in a bed of moss with furs falling over the side. Tor Lir took deep breaths, unable to keep the smug smile from his face. She was better than expected, delightful, exquisite, and they’d explored each other over and over. He could tell it was late in the day now, perhaps after nightfall. Each time he got up to leave, she reeled him in again like a fish caught on a hook. He thought he’d never tire of tasting her delights. But the hour was late. Shaking her off him, he pulled on his clothes, careful to check the spot where he’d tucked away the Clyear of Revelation. It was still there, safe and sound. When he finished dressing, the lady perched on her bed of moss. She bared her teeth at him, foxlike teeth sharp and pointed in her mouth. Then she held out her hands. “Give it to me.”

Tor Lir almost laughed as he arched an eyebrow. “I have given you enough for today. I should at least try to find Stronghold.”

She frowned at him. “Not your body. The relic you carry.”

Tor Lir stilled. His hands fell to his side and clenched into fists. She knew about the Clyear of Revelation. What had she said earlier? She’d seen him from the sky and wanted him? A coldness grew within Tor Lir, and suddenly her circle of warmth lost its attraction. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Her eyes lit up, and a smile of malice covered her pale face. “I am the Queen. The Frost Queen. And who are you?”

A snake of revulsion slithered down his back. He’d never heard of her, but there was much he did not know. “I am the Nameless One. I keep the balance between good and evil. Be warned, I have powerful allies on my side.”

She laughed as though he’d told a joke and leaned forward. Her breasts swayed but his lust was sated; he did not desire her anymore. “The Nameless One? You are funny. Don’t you know there isn’t a balance between good and evil and never should be? There are just desires. Mine and yours. We were united earlier in our desires, but now you have something I want, and if you don’t give it to me, I shall resort to violence.”

Tor Lir let the warmth seep out of his tone and looked into her eyes. He slowed down his thoughts and let a command issue out of him. “You will let me go in peace. Our roads will divide and you will find another way to get what you desire.”

The Frost Queen snarled, raised her hands, and leaped. In a flash, she shifted into a white fox and launched herself at Tor Lir’s chest. He went down hard, banging his head into the ground. His eyes blazed with surprise. Before he could react, the fox was on top of him, scratching and snapping at his chest. The Clyear fell out and awkwardly rolled a few feet away. Ignoring the sharp, pointed teeth so close to his face, Tor Lir lunged for the Clyear. His fingers brushed it just as the fox leaped off him. She changed back into a regal female, snatched up the Clyear in one hand, and pulled a sword from under her bed. It looked like an icicle, long, wet, and sharp, glinting in the fading light. She bared her teeth and snarled again, whipping the sword around.

Tor Lir raised his hands. He was unarmed, his shirt hung in tatters, and she’d ripped the skin near his throat. He backed away as though giving himself up. She grinned, and Tor Lir kicked.

His boots sent a spray of snow into her face. She ducked and snarled as she batted the snow away. Holding the sword straight out, she dashed for him. Tor Lir dodged and stuck out a foot to trip her, but she leaped over him and swung her ice blade around. It connected with his back and sent him sprawling yet again. He balled up snow in his two fists and came up roaring, hurling snowballs at her with his full strength. She slashed them away with her blade, and her eyes glowed blue as she advanced on him, her blade moving so quickly it almost made him feel dizzy.

He backed away. Cursing. He had nothing with which to defend himself against her sword. When he brought his hands up to protect his face, they glowed green, shimmering with a power he did not know or understand. But that did not stop her. She swung, and he blocked her blade with his arm. It sliced through his shirt and ripped open his skin, sending a white-hot pain through his body. He blocked her next blow with his other arm, and she cut through his shirt into flesh. Red hot blood dripped down his limbs, and a vague weariness settled in his bones. She swayed in front of him as his vision blurred, but suddenly the darkness faded and the spots in front of his eyes cleared. He hurled his body toward her, determined to ignore the pain, cast her down, and regain the Clyear. She skewered him like a boar on the point of her sword. It sunk into his side, a blade of fire, ripping through the organs in his belly. She yanked the blade out, sending agony through his body. Thrusting it toward him one last time, she roared with anger as the blade sunk deeper, cleaving through flesh to find bone.

12

DEAD

TOR LIR WOKE to flares of pain running up and down his arms, a sharp comparison to the cold on his back. He lay still and sent feelers through his body, seeking the torn flesh and weaving it back together. Energy poured through him and left his core with an empty, gnawing feeling. Hunger. Thirst. He lay still for a while, letting his powers work through his body. The pain lessened. It would take time to heal, but the bleeding had stopped.

Dark green firs met his eyes. He sat up. He’d been left in the forest, and his blood had seeped across the snow and ice. When he lifted a hand, it was bloodless and white, and his fingertips were a cool blue. Cracked lips trembled under his fingers, and he searched the ground for his fur. It was gone, and night had swept over the mountainside.

He brought his knees to his chest and buried his face in them for warmth. What should he do? He needed to find his friends and reach Stronghold, but he did not know the way. Walking farther into the woods might lead to another distasteful encounter. When he lifted his head, an amber-eyed beast was watching him. Tor Lir gazed at it, expressionless. Amber. He always associated it with Lord Nodin, but the thing that stared at him was not a bull but a bear with massive jaws and powerful legs. The eyes were unreadable, and Tor Lir was unsure whether it was an intelligent beast or one already too far gone. It put its nose down to the ground and shuffled toward him, eyeing him now and then as it neared, as though to ensure its prey would not balk.

When it was ten paces away, it shifted so quickly Tor Lir felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. He eyed the male that stood in front of him, covered in brown furs, like the bear had been. The former bear spoke first, his voice deep and yet no more than a whisper in the night. “Are you the one called Tor Lir?”

“Aye.” Tor Lir nodded, concerned his voice would not be enough. It felt reedy, thin against the light winter wind that stirred the branches of the fir trees.

“We’ve been looking for you,” the male said. His amber eyes dropped down to the blood splattered across the clearing. “Are you wounded?”

Tor Lir glanced down at his chest and held out his arms. His clothing hung in tattered ribbons, stained with dried blood. “Not anymore. I am healing.”

The male stared for a moment as though he did not understand the words Tor Lir spoke. Something flickered in his amber eyes, a question perhaps? Or just mere surprise? “Do you have the strength to travel to Stronghold?”

Tor Lir shook one foot and then the other, trying to shake some feeling into them. He took a deep breath and forced the blood to flow through his veins, ignoring the stinging sensations that shot through his body. He pressed his lips together, stood, and forced his groan of discomfort back down his throat. He took a few steps, but his legs held, and so he nodded at the male. “Aye. Lead the way.”

The male walked in front, glancing back from time to time. His eyes regarded the trees, and he walked quickly. “We are in the domain of the Frost Queen,” he whispered. “It is her we must watch out for.”

Tor Lir bit back a bitter laugh. “She has already had me; I do not think she shall return.”

The amber eyes bored into him. “She did this to you?”

He merely nodded. There would be time to speak of his misdeeds later. He swallowed hard, just thinking of Citrine’s expression. Usually, it was he berating her for her hasty decisions and impromptu actions. In one swift moment he’d betrayed them all. His stiff fingers would not form into fists, so he gritted his teeth instead. Once he recouped in Stronghold, he would take up weapons, hunt out the Frost Queen, and demand the Clyear of Revelation. She would pay for what she’d done to him.

“I am Elbron. Nodin’s cousin,” the male went on, his voice cold. Distant. “He tried to help my sister, but I understand she perished under the weight of the beast. I hope you and Citrine can heal us.”

Tor Lir said nothing, and yet he understood the hope. He cast out, hoping to catch the male’s aura, but just like the air and the crunch of snow and ice under their feet, there was nothing on the mountain but cold. Emptiness. A frost meant to chill people into submission. And yet the Frost Queen had used it on him. He cursed himself and his weakness, for he knew the fallout would come, and there would be consequences for his actions far beyond what he could see.

It was pitch dark when they reached Stronghold, a massive castle of ice carved out of the jutting mountainside. Wan lights, pale and yellow, flickered in the arched windows, which appeared like gaping eyes, black and bleak, a horror in the stark whiteness.

Tor Lir noted the guards—he assumed—that followed them toward the ice bridge. Gray wolves with long, pink tongues padded behind them. Giant furry bears paced the slope, scouting for intruders, and massive bulls bellowed at their arrival. Silver gates carved with sculptures of ice swung open, heavy and creaking with age. Inside, Tor Lir saw the Tiders, the Therian, lining the crystal walls. It was colder than outside, if possible, and they stared at him with their stone faces, hard and unfriendly. He recognized the aura they all gave off—fear, distrust, and anger.

Tor Lir lifted his chin and shifted his eyes forward, unafraid and unintimidated by their stances. He heard the guttural growl of animals and the sharp bark of the wolves. He was not welcome. A bitter taste came to the back of his throat. What had become of his companions?

He followed Elbron into the gloom, down arched, curved halls with walls carved out of crystal. The air shimmered as though the ice crystals spoke to each other in whispers, awed voices repressed by the passage of the Therian. When Tor Lir blew out his breath, it froze into black mist and dropped to the ground. The slick wetness turned to ice which crunched beneath his booted feet. A low vibration went through his body when he saw colors dance underneath the casing of ice. The Therian were dark and mysterious, but this, this was curious. And then he heard it. In a distance, a low wail rang up, high and thin, but fraught with pain. Answering moans accompanied it, wild and feral, like an animal caught in the sharp jaws of a trap, fighting to get free but knowing it was only a matter of time before the end came. An ending that would be long and brutal. The meaning behind the voices was clear.

Let me go.

Let me escape.

End this misery.

He sent out feelers as they walked, his mind coming up hard against the strange imbalance the Therian dwelt with. The curse. The change. But there was nothing but impassive, unemotional cold in those halls, aside from the creatures far below, waiting for the end of their lives to come.

“In here,” Elbron grunted, pausing in front of a double-door. They towered fifteen feet high and arched into the mountainside. The wood of the doors, if it was wood, had been painted a royal blue, a sharp construct to the gray shadows of the rest of Stronghold. A gold knocker shaped into the jaws of a wolf was mounted on each door. Elbron pushed against the door, his muscles straining until it swung inward, silent and heavy.

Warmth flooded Tor Lir’s body with such an intensity it stung. Shaking his frozen limbs, he stepped inside. Heat flared across his face. Narrowing his emerald eyes, he swiftly took in the shape of the cavernous room. A bright fire burned in the center, raising a tent of heat across the room. Long tables covered one side of the room where families sat, eating, drinking, and staring at the newcomers. On the other side were bedrolls. Tor Lir’s lips drew down in a frown. This was no kingdom; it was a hiding place.

The doors shut behind him with a clap of finality, and a sinking feeling swept through Tor Lir. The light shifted as someone stood, and his eyes roved over and met Citrine’s. Her face was pale, her eyes wide, red, and her aura snapped around her in a fiery combination of anger, grief, and relief. Tor Lir recoiled and studied her manner as she approached him, a question in her eyes as she took in his torn clothing and the dried blood on his tunic. She twisted her hands in front of her, and he saw she still wore her pack which carried her book of spells and the herbs she’d carefully selected for their adventure into the mountains.

“I knew you weren’t dead,” she breathed.

Tor Lir almost took a step back, but she paused before she reached him. The relief on her face was plain, but there was something else simmering just beneath the surface. His eyes flickered over the Therian again, searching for Nodin, Hava, and Zilpha. Where were they?

“Citrine.” He lowered his tone and moved closer to her. “Listen.” The admission of his deed pulsed against him, begging to be let out. His face flamed under Citrine’s wide-eyed gaze, and he knew, once he confessed, he would lose her trust. The trust he barely had in the first place. She hardly tolerated him now, much less than if he spilled his secret.

Lemon-yellow eyes shimmered at him. “I can’t listen to you, Tor Lir.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, an act of comfort that was so unlike her, Tor Lir almost flinched away. “Listen to me. We were attacked. . .The arrows. . It’s Hava. She leaped in front of an arrow to save me and got hit. It happened so fast. I could not save her. She’s gone. Dead.”

Everything within Tor Lir went stiff with shock. He gaped at Citrine. Her mouth moved, but he could not hear any words. Instead, the words from the Truth Tellers swept through his mind. Beware. Be warned. The price you pay is death.

Hava was dead. Somehow. Someway. Her death was his fault. He’d tempted the wings of fate not only by sleeping with the Frost Queen against his better judgement, but also by ignoring the wishes of the Truth Tellers. A tiny voice of protest whispered inside his head. Perhaps this was the outcome the Truth Tellers wished for, perhaps there was nothing he could have done to stop it. They extracted death in exchange for the information they gave him, and he thought he could escape their wishes. A bitter rage rose within him, and he gripped Citrine’s arm. Hard. Spittle flew from his lips when he spoke. “I know who is responsible. They will pay.”

13

ANGER

CITRINE WATCHED emotions flash across Tor Lir’s face. Horror. Sorrow. Anger. And then vengeance. Deep and furious. Citrine swallowed. His reaction was. . .unexpected. But she would use it. His attitude would inspire him to finish the business with the Therian quickly, which meant she could return to her beasts and her final quest—the Udi. Already the gloom and cold had settled in her bones, giving her an odd ache. She longed to be away and basking in her garden under warm rays of light.

She wiped Tor Lir’s spittle from her face with the back of her hand, imagining, for a moment, she saw a horned beast, frothing at the mouth as it roared.

“I am sorry,” she continued. “Hava was my friend too.”

His grip on her relaxed, but the smoldering glare of fury remained in his emerald eyes. When he spoke next, his tone was cooler than the walls of Stronghold. “Will you take me to her?”

Citrine glanced at the Therian and made eye contact with Nodin’s amber-eyed cousin. Elbron. He was big and burly, as his bear form foretold. His mortal form was a reflection of it, with corded muscles on his powerful thighs and big arms. He seemed immune to the cold with his fur cloak tossed behind his broad shoulders and his bare arms on display. Rugged clothing covered the rest of his muscular body. He wore his dark hair long, pulled back from his face and gathered into a topknot on his head. A jagged scar ran from his temple across his cheek and ended just before it cut into his lip. How it missed his eye was a miracle. His amber eyes were deep set, haunted, and his face lined. There was no joy there, and Citrine felt a tug of sorrow every time she looked at him. Which was often. Instead of holding her gaze, Elbron dropped his eyes and shifted toward the door.

Citrine turned back to Tor Lir. “One of the sentries will take us, but first, eat. It is past time for the last meal, and you must keep up your strength.”

Tor Lir scoffed and crossed his arms. “I have no need for food.”

Citrine put her hand on Tor Lir’s arm and steered him toward the giant doors where Elbron waited. “Come then. Elbron will take us to the crypt. Nodin and Zilpha have retired for the evening. We’ve been ordered to rest here and begin our work on the morrow.”

Tor Lir said nothing else, his silence dark and penetrating as they left the room. Elbron lit a torch and held it high as they traveled deeper into the maze of ice. Citrine pulled her fur tightly around her, her mouth set in a hard line as the events of the day replayed in her mind. Tears pressed now and again on the edges of her vision, but she fought them back. It would not do to lose control. That was what night was for. When at last she lay down and hid her face from others, she could let sorrow worm its way through her heart. Hava had been brave, a fighter, and perhaps, if time permitted, a mate for Tor Lir. And just like that, everything had been snatched away.

The dark foreboding pressed against Citrine again, and she shivered, torn between calling her beasts and fleeing from Stronghold, or staying to see it done. But she needed Tor Lir with her when she went to visit the Udi, and so she remained. She reminded herself of the end goal, of the haven where at last her beasts would be safe. She could plant a garden and dwell in peace without interference from mortals who brought chaos and ruin to her life. She could not get close to anyone again. It hurt too much to deal with their trials and troubles, for they ended up dragging her down with them.

The crypt was cold and so far underground it seemed as though they walked into the heart of the mountain. Arched walls curved away into the stone, and a pale blue light shone out from the crystals inside the walls of ice, providing a shadowy light for those who ventured into the place. Shallow boats made of ice held frozen bodies. Most of them were covered with words written in the ice or a sculpture perched on top. It was an odd ice cemetery. Citrine shuddered. It was just as creepy as the first time she’d come down to lay Hava to rest. Her pace slowed, and she allowed Elbron and Tor Lir to take the lead.

Elbron led them up a set of stairs to the circular area where Hava’s tomb was. The covering hadn’t been pulled over her yet, and she lay with her luscious hair in two braids and her hands folded over her chest. Citrine thought it was only right she be buried with her swords; one was in her hand while the other lay by her side. Her face was pale, and it looked as though she were only sleeping.

Tor Lir’s pace slowed as he walked up the steps and stood above her, his face bent to hide his expression. Citrine tugged at the fur around her neck, suddenly uncomfortable at peering into such an intimate part of Tor Lir’s life. It was clear from Hava they hadn’t been lovers, and Citrine wondered if his thoughts would have changed, given time. Although in the end, Tor Lir seemed more concerned about his endeavors than smiling at Hava across the fire. Was that what he was feeling now? Remorse? Shame?

Citrine’s eyes grew hodded as she watched him, until her face felt frozen and she wanted to leave. A warm shadow passed over her, and she looked up at Elbron. His bulk made him seem like a towering giant beside her, even though he was only a head taller than she was. He nodded at her, his eyes cast down, in deference or reverence, Citrine could not tell.

At last, Tor Lir finished, and when he turned around, his face was pale but calm, without a ripple of emotion. He took a deep breath, and his eyes met Citrine’s. She withered under his gaze, wanting to say something inappropriate, but now was not the time. She lifted an eyebrow. “We can have a ceremony for her, before we lay her to rest.”

Tor Lir shook his head. “There is no time.” He turned to Elbron. “Do you know where the weapons are? I need a sword.”

Citrine started, and her eyes roved over Tor Lir. It was true; he had lost his fur cloak and his bow and arrows, but why the sudden need for a weapon? A dark thought lodged deep in her mind, and words felt heavy in her mouth. “Why do you need a sword?”

Those emerald eyes were almost hostile, defiant when they met hers. “To get the Clyear back.”

14

RESPONSIBILITY

ELBRON’S HEAD CAME UP, and his eyes flashed as they glared at Tor Lir.

Citrine’s shrill voice echoed through the crypt. “You lost the Clyear?”

Tor Lir held up his hands as if to ward off Citrine’s anger. “You don’t have to shout at me. I’m well aware of how upsetting this news is, and I accept full responsibility. That’s why I have to go get it back.”

“From who? From where?” Citrine’s nostrils flared, and her face flushed. “What will Lord Nodin say when he finds out? It’s the entire reason he wanted us to come back here.”

Elbron shifted, and his head came up. His gaze roamed from Citrine to Tor Lir. “The Clyear of Revelation?”

Citrine stared at him. “Aye, he told you about it, did he?”

Elbron’s thick brows lowered, and his jaw tightened. “I’m beginning to think Lord Nodin hasn’t been truthful with either of you. He was always prone to deception and if I had to wager, he’s found a way to save the clans and put in a bid for himself as ruler of the Therian.”

Tor Lir stared and Citrine’s jaw dropped open at the accusation. She racked her brain. Did Elbron’s accusation fit with what she’d seen of Nodin’s character? She recalled Sanga Sang. Nodin had used Zilpha to do his dirty work instead of handling it himself. He’d tried to extort herself and Tor Lir once he’d found the Clyear of Revelation. And then there was the matter of trust. Should she trust the word of Elbron—regardless of his rugged looks and the scar that made him darkly attractive—or the word of Nodin, who had brought them here? Brow furrowed, she considered their options.

“Speak clearly,” Tor Lir demanded, his tone as frosty as the stale air of the crypt. “What do you know?”

Elbron studied Tor Lir. Then his amber eyes met Citrine’s lemon-yellow ones. He needed to know if he could trust them. And why should he? Nothing had been said or done to encourage him to confide in them, except that they were there to help. According to Lord Nodin. Citrine still cringed when she recalled the battle and her unwillingness to assist with the ongoing feud the Therian had with their neighbors. Was it really her place to interfere? She simply wanted to solve the mystery that shrouded the Therian and return to her own agenda.

“The truth is, there is no one left to be the rightful ruler of the Therian.” Elbron’s deep tones echoed through the silence. “Those who ruled the clans left years ago, during the Great War between the mortals and immortals. They gave their allegiance to the Rulers of the West and dwell in Castle Range in peace. It was said in the early years they used to return to visit, but now they have left us to fend for ourselves, and the grip of darkness comes again. Nodin found the Clyear. And I know not what visions he’s seen through it, but I believe it showed him how to create events to his benefit so he could return as a ruler and hero.”

“What about the creatures that are going mad?” Tor Lir asked.

His posture and tone reminded Citrine of when she’d first met him. He’d seemed cold and arrogant, and there were hints of it again. He was shutting down. Was it because of Hava’s death or losing the Clyear?

Elbron’s scar glinted in the pale light as he looked away. “I don’t know.”

It was too soon to have this conversation. Citrine took a step toward Tor Lir and changed the topic. “How did you lose the Clyear? Who has it?”

It was Elbron who interrupted, gesturing to what was left of Tor Lir’s shirt. “It was the Frost Queen, wasn’t it?”

Citrine dropped her eyes to examine Tor Lir’s arms again. She’d had questions when he first appeared, but the news of Hava’s death had been too pressing to keep to herself. While his skin underneath his clothes was smooth and unblemished, his sleeves were in shreds as though they had been sliced through again and again. His tunic was torn in places, and the dark stain of blood covered his stomach. A cold shudder went down her spine, but the anger in Tor Lir’s face told her he did not need her sympathy.

“Aye. She deceived me. When I tried to leave her presence, she attacked me with a sword.”

Citrine snorted. “I thought you had a better read on people. You read their auras. You’re supposed to be the Nameless One, not someone who succumbs to queens.”

The reaction was so swift, Citrine couldn’t move. Tor Lir’s hand shot out, closing around her forearm so tightly she thought her bone would snap. He yanked her up against his chest and glared down at her, his breath hot and eyes murderous. “Do not laugh at what you know nothing about. Enchantress.” He threw her name at her, unashamed to reveal her secret in front of Elbron.

Citrine stared at him, shock reverberating through her body. For just a moment her vision changed, and she thought she saw horns and red eyes, glaring at her. A scream of terror rose in her throat, and then he tossed her away so violently she almost fell. Elbron’s arm caught her about the waist. His chest was solid, safe as she leaned against him, catching her ragged breath.

Anger faded from Tor Lir’s face. He ran a hand through his dark hair almost sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Elbron. Where is the armory? We cannot delay.”

Citrine clung to Elbron, the fight knocked out of her. One question rang in her mind, a question she had asked before. Was Tor Lir evil? What did the Truth Tellers know? Why wouldn’t he tell her about his shadow?

“It’s too dark to venture near the Frost Queen’s domain. Her creatures see at night and do her bidding. Nay. It would be wise to return in daylight.”

“Darkness does not bother me,” Tor Lir protested. “Besides, I cannot rest until I have my revenge.”

Revenge. An odd word for Tor Lir to use. Citrine regained her footing and lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes at Tor Lir. “I agree with Elbron. We should rest, regain warmth. And you need some new furs. Stay here and keep vigil for the night, I care not. If you are going to get the Clyear back, I will come with you in the morning. You promised I could look into it. I intend to hold you to your promise.” She moved toward the entrance of the crypt, artfully closing the conversation. “And Tor Lir.” She glanced back at his dangerous emerald eyes. “Don’t touch me like that ever again, or I will make what the Frost Queen did to you seem like child’s play.”

Without waiting for his response, she marched away into the darkness with Elbron’s heavy footfalls behind her.

15

SORE

ZILPHA OPENED HER EYES. Her lids were heavy and her throat, thick, sore. An ache pulsed in her nose and crept up her hairline. She was cold. Oh, so cold. Even though Lord Nodin had piled fur after fur on the bed, she could not stop shivering. It was the cold, the terror, and death. Again, she recalled the pale face of Hava, shock and terror still etched on her unseeing gaze. Zilpha's fingers shook, and her stomach convulsed. What had she gotten herself into?

At first, she thought it would be easy to leave her home in Sanga Sang and travel to the mountains. After all, Lord Nodin's words had tugged on her heartstrings, and she was desperate for love and protection. Once she heard his side of the story, she’d forgiven Nodin for his mistakes. Despite his cryptic actions, he had a good heart. It was noble of him to desire to save his people and take back his kingdom.

But the kingdom of ice was unfriendly and frightening. She wanted nothing more than to return to the peace of Sanga Sang with the weekly marketplace and the Jaded Sea often in sight. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she thought of her young brother, Bram, and his new wife—her best friend—Mathilda. Why hadn't she stayed with them? The adventure was nothing like she'd imagined. Her body was cold and weary. Citrine and Tor Lir seemed nothing more than dark clouds of doom glowering at each other before sneaking off to scheme and plan. And Nodin—Lord Nodin—was the most curious of them all. He was often distracted, distant, and moody. Could she still trust him?

Toying with indecision, she peeked out of the covers and gave a sigh of relief when she realized Nodin must have slipped out earlier. Her gazed flicked across the small room. Aside from the furs that covered the bed and the floor, it was bare and gloomy. A lone candle twinkled in an alcove, giving her no reference of time. But it was the muffled voices that gave her pause.

"Where did they go?" Nodin's deep tones came through the other side of the wall.

Zilpha strained her ears, for the response was lower and she almost missed it.

“They armed themselves and set off at sunup. The tracks lead north. You know what is up there.”

“Aye,” Nodin concurred. “Do nothing but watch. See that they return. We cannot mount an attack against her. What about the wild ones?”

“Secured in the dungeons below us, but they will not hold. We cannot keep track of all those who turn wild. What happens when the frenzy grows and they break loose? We should be far from here or else they will swallow us alive.”

“Calm yourself. I have returned to resolve this problem and save us from further death.”

The other voice turned unfriendly and cold. “I am well aware of what you think you will do. Be sure you follow through and don't end up running away in disgrace again.”

There was a snarl. “Run? How dare you bring up the past when someone among us is a traitor.”

There was a pause and then a snort. “Nodin, the accusations you make are dangerous. What makes you think there is a traitor?”

“You were out there yesterday, weren’t you? Patrolling the borders, ready to escape myself and my friends back here, to Stronghold. You saw the archers, didn’t you? Saw who they were? We had an alliance and they turned against us. Why? I only sent word of my coming here, to the Therian. How did they know about us? How did they find out so quickly?”

“Look to your Xctas, but do not bring accusations here! The Therian are nothing but loyal—”

“And wild,” Nodin cut off the other voice. “Wild and ruthless, aren’t we? Someone does not want me here, and I intend to find out who.”

“Then you should know there are those who would follow you, but there are also whispers. Last time you came, the wildness started. Be on guard. . . .”

The voices drifted farther away and Zilpha cowered under the blankets, body trembling, but this time in fear as well as from sickness. Thoughts churned. Was what the other male said true? Did Lord Nodin have enemies among the Therian? Was he disgraced? She thought she knew him, despite the many faces he had shown her. But during their journey to Stronghold, she'd seen the way he stared at Citrine and Tor Lir, as though he wanted to open their skulls and rip thoughts out of their minds. She saw the way he commanded the Xctas and the Therian during the scrimmage with the other mountain folk. Above all, she knew it was not safe to be in Stronghold, where wild creatures—like the one that had been killed in Sanga Sang—threatened to break free.

A sob tore out of her throat, and she clasped the furs over her head as she recognized Lord Nodin’s need. He was attracted to power. He longed to be in charge, control his fate and the fate of others. Wasn’t that why he forced her to find the Clyear? And pulled Citrine and Tor Lir—two powerful unknowns—into the journey with them? Darker thoughts plagued her mind. Did he really need their help? And what about the Clyear of Revelation? He hadn’t looked at it since she’d returned it to him, and he even let Tor Lir carry it. If it was such a precious relic, Nodin should protect it, keep it safe. Instead it was out there in the wild, where Tor Lir had fallen.

Shadows of fear blurred Zilpha’s eyes. She lay down and pressed her lips together to hold back tears. Why had she joined them? She did not want to be part of death and destruction. She just wanted to go home.

16

THERIAN

FROSTY AIR TINGLED in Tor Lir's throat. Lifting a hand, he shaded his eyes against the glare of sunlight shining on snow. They'd started off at dawn with swords in hand. Tor Lir had scowled, unimpressed with the armory. He'd been expecting something like what Novor Tur-Woodberry had, forgetting that the Therian were part beasts, and often claws and teeth substituted well for spears, swords, and arrows. He clutched the long blade in one hand and gritted his teeth, thinking again of the Frost Queen and how she’d deceived him. There was much about the lore of the world he did not know. Who was the Frost Queen? Some sort of Therian, that much was clear. But why didn't she live at Stronghold? What was her story, and why did she need the Clyear of Revelation so badly?

Tor Lir shook his head to clear his mind of the things he’d seen in the Clyear. As he did so, a single thought warred in his body. He could call for his shadow, for he held more power than he realized and his alter self—his shadow—seemed to know much more about it. Tor Lir chewed his lower lip, and a surge of anger went through him. He gripped the sword hilt tighter and thought of Hava's dead face. Hava had deserved better than a death on the mountains, and if he hadn’t wooed her, hadn’t kissed, she might have stayed in Sanga Sang instead of coming on this dangerous quest with him. She was different from Citrine. Gentle, willing to listen and include him in her decisions. His jaw tightened. Hava had believed in him. She saw his good side, his desire to help others and protect the balance between good and evil. He’d lost sight of the precious gift of her company. He’d taken it for granted and hadn’t done enough to protect her. If only he’d talked to the Truth Tellers, told them he did not accept their offer.

A cold shudder went through him, and he glanced at Citrine, who walked ahead with Elbron. Strands of blue hair peeked out from her fur, and she walked with an easy gait, staying close to Elbron’s hulking form. Regret tasted like ash in his mouth. He’d lost control with her last night, and her anxious aura told him she was still upset, and with good reason. He never should have handled her in such a manner, but the future was shining bright, loud and unknown, and a hidden thought flickered in his mind.

Who was he? Where did he come from? What was his name? Who was his father?

What happened in the past that shaped his future? He knew it was something big, and it had something to do with the Changers who wreaked havoc on the Four Worlds. Was he blood of their blood? A chill ran through him at the thought, and he almost heard the voices of the Truth Tellers. You. Alone. Have the power. But you walk away from it. You resist. Go to Daygone. Read the book of your people. Take up the cloak of knowledge. . .

But what if he didn't want to know? Citrine's words rang again in his mind. What if he was evil? What if he'd misunderstood his task? His shadow was dark, something from the underworld that should not be seen. It was his shadow he needed to protect the world from, for it was dark, seemingly with a mind of its own. Doubts flickered in his thoughts along with a deep-seated hunger for intense power. What did he truly desire?

When he looked down, a green glimmer shone about his fingers. He focused on it, and an undercurrent rippled through him, warm, like the first flame of fire, gentle, soft, but with the potential for so much more. He recalled the wild currents of the Jaded Sea. What if there was something inside of him that would be uncontrollable when released?

“Elbron.” The gentle tones of Citrine’s voice cut through his musing. “Tell me about the Therian. How did they become shifters?”

An unsaid word hung in the air. Shifters. Changers. Tor Lir swallowed his thoughts and focused on stomping through the light dusting of snow, one footfall after the other. His ears pricked to hear Elbron’s response.

The Tider shrugged his burly shoulders; he looked like a hulking giant with his bear-like furs and scarred face. “It is how it has been since Creation. We were born in the mountains, and legend says in order to survive the intense cold and brutal elements of winter, we changed our shape to take on the likeness of the beasts who dwell up here in the mountains. Bulls. Bears. Wolves are the most popular. There are some of our kind who cannot transform, and we drive them out, for if they cannot shift, they cannot survive up here. It is better they go to warmer lands. During the war, the clans suffered, and there were those who claimed an evil power came to walk in the midst of the Therian and gained them with her blood. Ever since, unsought massacres have sprung up, and entire clans have been slain. The Therian were forced to take the Tribe of Minas as brides to ensure the line of the Therian continued, and even then, there were those who were born without the ability to shift. Some claim it is because of the mixing of blood between the Therian and the Tribe of Minas that this curse had come upon us.”

“Blended Ones and Purebloods,” Citrine mused. “But didn’t the war address those issues? Aren’t people groups free to mix with each other? Do you believe the curse is because of mixed blood?”

Elbron shrugged. “It is doubtful there are pureblooded Therian left. Most have mixed their blood with others, for during the war the old died off or were slain, leaving the young, those with mixed blood, to uphold the traditions of elder days. We have Stronghold, but the respect of our clan is dying out, and our enemies see we are weak. They come to take what is rightfully ours.”

Citrine made a small sound in her throat as though she disagreed. A moment of silence followed, and Tor Lir glanced at her back, curious to hear where the conversation would go next. He wanted to ask questions of his own. Who was the lady with hints of evil power who walked among the Therian?

“Who are your enemies? What are you warring about?” Citrine pressed. “It makes my job difficult if there will be endless fighting. I don’t intend to get in the middle of a feud.”

“You are already in the middle of it.” Elbron’s voice went gruff. “The Frost Queen and her minions are the number one enemy, and the Tribe of Minas has some animosity toward the Therian, even though we did come together, before my lifetime, to fight for Stronghold.”

“Ah. The Frost Queen,” Citrine lifted her chin and glared back at Tor Lir.

He felt personally affronted by her glare, but if only she knew what he’d done. Her accusation last night, although unfair, was true. He claimed to have power and yet all he used was his sixth sense about balance and his tongue. When it came to a battle, he was woefully unequipped and powerless. He’d had Hava teach him sword-fighting, but unarmed he was weak.

“What power does the Frost Queen have?” Citrine asked.

Before Elbron could respond, a shadow fell over the snow and a figure stepped out of a clump of pine trees and held up a hand.

17

BALANCE

CITRINE COCKED her head at the person who stepped out of the trees and realized it was the same fur-covered figure she’d seen earlier during the battle. It was a girl of perhaps ten years of age—possibly older or younger—but her frame was thin, and a glossy black braid trailed down into her furs. She was an Ezinck—one of the people groups that usually lived in a forest and had a sacred communion with nature. Her face was painted with swirls and black marks, and her eyes were odd, staring at them as she held up her hand.

Elbron cleared his throat and moved toward the girl, a growl escaping from his lips. “What are you doing out here? You’re too young, it’s too dangerous. Go home!”

Citrine shuddered at his direct command, but the girl ignored him. “You should go back,” she whispered, her direct gaze falling on first Citrine and then Tor Lir. “Your presence here can do nothing good. It’s said that outsiders should never interfere with what happens in the mountains, and I believe that is true. You appeared in the sky and war broke out again. You need to go. Leave us in peace.”

Citrine raised an eyebrow and sucked on the inside of her cheek. The words wrapped around her like a veiled threat. How could she let a child frighten her? Memories of Novor Tur-Woodberry’s Paradise danced on the edges of her memories, and she recalled the child—Kai—who made her wish for things that were not possible. A longing stuck in her throat, and out of habit she reached out threads of communication to her beasts.

Tor Lir crossed his arms and came up alongside her. Citrine scowled, stopping short of reaching out a foot to trip him up. It was petty, but she was entirely frustrated with him for a reason she could not pinpoint. Was it his frozen grief? His silent fury? As she spent more time with him, she noticed an attraction, an awakening within. It frightened her.

“Who told you these things?” Tor Lir asked, no expression on his smooth face. “Do you see the future? Do you know what will happen if we leave? A plague has broken out in Stronghold, and we are the only ones who can save the Therian. Let us do that and then we will be on our way.”

The girl’s nostrils flared, and her eyes flashed as she glared at Tor Lir. Her gaze fell to his sword, and she spat in the snow. “My grandmother says outsiders like you are always arrogant and believe they know what is best for the world. You know nothing about us. Leave. While you can.”

“Did your grandmother send you?” Tor Lir asked coolly, his tone mocking.

The child scowled harder and her gaze darted to the pines. “No, but someone had to tell you before you ruin everything!”

Tor Lir opened his mouth, but Citrine slapped his chest lightly. “Be quiet,” she snarled. “Your words are getting us nowhere.” She stepped forward, proud to remember she was much better with beasts and children than Tor Lir. “I am Citrine,” she told the child. “And I do not wish to be here either. Who is your grandmother? May I speak with her?”

Elbron turned and blocked her, his amber eyes boring into her face. “Citrine,” his tone dropped. “You don’t know about her people, nor do you want to.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Citrine returned softly. “There is an air of animosity here and I want to find out. You and Tor Lir back off and let me talk to her.”

Elbron shook his head. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Because of what you know? Or because of what I might find out about the Therian?” Citrine snapped. Her annoyance at the situation and Tor Lir surfaced, forcing her to lash out at everyone. She pushed past Elbron, ignoring the shiver that went through her as she brushed against his burly bulk. She had to stay focused on the mission. Go to Stronghold. Save the Therian. Find the Udi. Save them from the sea creature. Gain a home for her and her beasts. She kept the scowl off her face as she walked up to the child. Her quest was all coming down to saving people, which was ironic considering she only wanted to save herself. Why did chaos follow her? Was it her or was it Tor Lir? Thoughts of white beings with hair like tentacles made her shudder. If the Truth Tellers were appearing, something much deeper and darker was going on. Wasn’t it? Didn’t they only appear when events would lead to the end of the world? Or perhaps her imagination was getting the better of her.

The child shuffled back toward the tree line, and Citrine sensed a vibration coming from her body. Her eyes were large in her face, and although the fur covered her body, Citrine could tell she was unnaturally skinny underneath. Was her tribe starving?

Citrine dropped her voice. “I saw you before during the battle. You watched the archers shoot us out of the sky.”

The child narrowed her eyes, and a hostility flashed in them. Citrine shifted in discomfort. She’d said the wrong thing. “I do not reproach you,” she hastily said. “Only, you are right. You dwell here in the mountains and you know the ways of the people groups who live here. I was asked—against my will—to come here and resolve the crisis the Therian face. But I sense you know more. Will you help me? Will you tell me what you know?”

The child’s gaze roved over Citrine’s face—cold and calculating, like the way Ava examined her prey before pouncing. Finally, bitter words came to her lips. “My grandmother says those who meddle in the affairs of others cause chaos. You will upset the balance in the mountains. You should leave.”

“Balance,” Citrine repeated, stung. A thought drifted to her. Slow and surely. Eyes misting over, she recalled every incident she’d been involved in. Was it possible that Tor Lir’s arrival had inadvertently swayed the balance? All this time had she assumed everything was her fault when it was his? But nay, blame was too easy to pass around, she had to take responsibility for her own actions. “Please. I want to know more. My companions will stay here while I go to your grandmother with you.”

The child frowned and then she pointed. Citrine turned around, looking past Elbron and Tor Lir to where the child indicated. As she did, the vibration she felt near the child ceased. When she spun around, snow flew up in her face. The child had disappeared back into the trees.

Citrine cursed.

Tor Lir snorted. “Tricked you, eh?”

Citrine scowled. “If you say one more word, I will personally relieve you of your tongue.”

Tor Lir quirked a brow but wisely said nothing more.

18

WAIT

ELBRON POINTED at a dip between two hills at the rise of the mountain, covered with ice and snow. Greenery retracted from the areas as though banished by some foe, and a chill wind blew, forcing Citrine to cover her nose with fur.

“Down in the valley, you will gain entrance to her domain,” Elbron said. “I will stay here and wait.”

“Wait?” Citrine sputtered.

Elbron’s amber eyes gleamed as he looked down his nose at her. “I have no desire to confront the Frost Queen with you.”

Citrine coughed and snorted, wiping her eyes with her fur. “But you can shift into the bear. Why are you afraid?”

“It is not fear. It is sense,” Elbron rejoined, his eyes darkening.

Citrine examined him. Thick scar. Odd eyes. Big arms.

A whistling came through the air, and she turned away, reaching out threads of communication. Grift. Ava. Where are you?

Grift’s response came first. Right above you. Hidden by the clouds. I never go far when you are in need.

Citrine’s heart warmed. How did you know?

I sense it. There is something uncanny in the air. I don’t like it.

Ah. So he felt it too. Is it like a vibration? Because I feel it too.

I know you made a promise, but we should leave as soon as possible.

This again. Citrine’s fingers reached for her knife. Trust me. We will. As soon as I have answers.

The connection faded, replaced by Ava’s dominant vibrance. Hunting boar in the mountain ranges. They present a challenging target but well worth it for the meat. Sweet meats. Ava all but hissed.

Ava. Citrine grinned, and a fierce longing for her beasts swept through her. Iron determination rose. She wanted a home. She needed to be with her beasts in safety where they could hunt and seek together. Enough was enough. I might need you. When you get done hunting, come back this way and do watch out for arrows.

As you wish.

Citrine lifted her chin and glanced at Tor Lir. “Ready?”

Instead of responding, Tor Lir gave his sword a few expert swings before taking the lead.

“She’s a seductress,” Elbron’s warning barreled toward them.

Citrine jerked her chin back at him, but instead of meeting her gaze, he stepped back into the shadows of the trees to hide.

There was nothing much to see, except white upon shades of gray. Their footfalls left deep prints in the snow, but when Citrine looked down, she saw Tor Lir walked above the snow while she sank in. Scowling, she let the silence between them stretch thin and taut like a string that would snap under the tension.

“I slept with her,” Tor Lir admitted. “Seductress or not, I knew it was wrong, and I gave in to temptation.”

Citrine gaped openly at Tor Lir’s blunt display of honesty. Why was he telling her this?

“At first I thought she was one of them. The Therian. She can change into a fox, and I assumed she would lead me to Stronghold. All this time, I’ve been seeking a way to escape. Citrine. . .” His emerald eyes glowed. “You once accused me of running away from something, and you’re right. I am. I’m not sure who I am—”

Citrine held up her hand, uncomfortable with his confessions. “You do know who you are. You are the Nameless One who balances good and evil.” She couldn’t help adding some sarcasm to her last words. “Although there shouldn’t be a balance between good and evil.”

“No.” Tor Lir sped up. “There’s more to who I really am. I recall my mother.”

Citrine lengthened her strides, astonished at the turn of the conversation. Studying Tor Lir’s angular face, she could see nothing but cold hostility in his expression. As usual. With hints of his charm and the uncanny scent of the forest that always drifted around him. Where was the calculating, annoying Tor Lir she’d met at the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry? “I thought a green giantess raised you?” Citrine offered.

Tor Lir gave her a sidelong glance, his long lashes sweeping down to his cheeks. Reaching up, he ran limber fingers through his black hair.

To Citrine, the movement showed off a strange handsomeness, and she felt a bloom of warmth pass through her. A sigh of frustration escaped her lips. Was she drawn to every male? Had it been so long since she’d been held?

“Citrine,” Tor Lir said her name gently, like a lover. “It is not good for me to hold my anger inside, and I must come clean to you, the one person I have known throughout my adventures in the realm of mortals. The Truth Tellers warned me. Something dark is coming, and the path I travel is full of uncertainty. I don’t want to drag you down with me, but I need you.”

Citrine blinked, but no response came to her lips. Instead of speaking, she lifted her face and examined the landscape. They descended into the valley, and the air was luminous. Gray rock rose up on either side, and after a while, an opening came into view. It was like the doors in the halls of the Stronghold, with silver bedrock instead of blue.

As they drew near, a shadow stirred from beneath the archway, and a short male moved in front of the door. He stood about four feet tall, and a thick black beard grew past his waist, almost to his feet. Pale eyes glared at the two, and the male tapped a pickaxe against the ground. A cloud of smoke drifted above his head, and he pulled a pipe from his mouth. It was only then Citrine noticed the faint scent of tobacco that hung briefly in the air, quickly dissipating in the wind.

“Who infringes upon the doorstep of the Frost Queen?” the male demanded.

19

TERMS

TOR LIR STARED down at the male, noticing he resembled the Singing Men who lived with Novor Tur-Woodberry. Perhaps he was a kind of Fúlishité. Hair covered the male's face, making it impossible to gain a sense of his expressions, although his voice betrayed he was not impressed. Tor Lir squared his shoulders and took a deep breath to calm his tone. Words snaked out into the cold, accusatory and demanding. "The Frost Queen stole something from me—” Citrine poked him in the ribs. "Us. We have come to take it back."

The Fúlishité glared from Tor Lir to Citrine. Turning, he lifted his ax and tapped on the gates. A grating sound made Tor Lir put his hands to his ears. The stone doors were dragged open inward, and the Fúlishité set off into the opening without glancing back.

Tor Lir hesitated, but when Citrine moved toward the gates, he followed, eyeing their surroundings with discomfort.

The cavern walls curved up at odd angles, and a light shone out of them, purple and blue. A silvery aura hung like a light and permeated the halls. It was cold, much colder than Stronghold, and Tor Lir wished he had another cloak inlaid with fur to keep him warm.

Beside him, Citrine slipped and gasped, her hands flailing for support. Tor Lir hesitated and then dropped his arm around her waist to steady her. Instead of elbowing him in the ribs, she drew closer, her hands shaking with cold. His heart lurched, and he wanted to tiptoe his fingers down the map of her body and explain, once again, how sorry he was for dragging her into the disaster. As thoughts crossed his mind, he realized the desperation for forgiveness wasn't aimed toward Citrine at all. It was just that she was the only one alive to hear his supplication. The words he desired to say were meant for Hava, not Citrine.

He recalled their last words as they left the cave and followed Lord Nodin to meet the Xctas. He’d been determined to forget the dark words from the Truth Tellers, and the terrifying aura of his shadow. His conversation with Citrine only added to his frustration, but that morning, among the snowflakes, he felt a purity as he spoke with Hava. She’d made him laugh, lightened the air around him and banished his dark thoughts. When they reached the Xctas, she’d invited him to ride with her. He’d hesitated, then declined, knowing she only wanted to draw closer to him, and he needed to pull away and be alone with his thoughts without hurting her. If only he’d said yes, when she fell, he could have healed her, could have saved her.

But Hava had been slain, and if the arrows were from the Frost Queen, he had to make her pay. The terms had changed; if the Truth Tellers could demand a life, he could also demand a life for a life.

The halls widened. Drawings appeared on the walls, and carved sculptures were perched along the corridor. One of a tiger, another of a bear, and yet another of a lifelike wolf. Tor Lir started when he saw the first one but quickly realized it was only blue ice, adding a hostile air to the cavern. The silent Fúlishité padding on was unnerving, and then Tor Lir began to hear it.

Echoes hurled through the air like a thousand tingling bells that whispered secrets into the walls of ice and pass musical words one to another. After a few moments of listening, Tor Lir realized it was digging, most likely more Fúlishités chipping away at the ice, and he could see why. It reminded him of the forest of Shimla and the caves of the Iaen where jewels glittered in abundance, pouring out of the walls like water from the sky. A lust for shining diamonds filled his heart with a hint of nostalgia. When he was young, he'd steal jewels from the Rainidrains and gift them to the Jesnidrains, winning over the females with glittering diamonds, ruby jewels, and emeralds that matched his eyes. They liked those the most. The more colorful, the better. But he was young and playful back then, and no one he'd known or cared about had died. Again, he saw Hava's smile, and the fierceness in the way she held her body as she taught him how to use the sword.

A twitch in his arm made him reach for the hilt of the blade, but the halls curved and opened into a majestic cavern. Tor Lir's eyes were instantly drawn upward, and his jaw dropped at the thousand shining icicles that hung like chandeliers from the arched ceiling. A thousand spikes that could fall and skewer them like spears through a wild boar. A hush hung in the air, as though someone was taking a deep breath and continued to inhale forever. Whispers shook the air, and more of the short-bearded males roamed around the room, ignoring them.

The Fúlishité who had led them moved to the side and pointed his pickaxe toward the center of the room where a staircase, carved of stone, led up to a wide dais. On top stood the Frost Queen.

Tor Lir's body went rigid, and he removed his arm from Citrine’s waist. She said nothing, just stared from Tor Lir to the Frost Queen.

The Queen was dressed in a shapeless cascade of white fur, and yet although it did nothing to add to her beauty it certainly did not take away from it. But Tor Lir's heart hardened, and he saw her not for her physical beauty, but for the conniving of her heart. A deep-seated hatred rose, and even though the room was full of short males armed with axes—some with hammers—he pulled the blade free and strode toward the stairs.

High laugher filled the air. “You survived my onslaught. No mortal would have survived my attack, which only confirms you are something else.” She wagged her finger at him, and then her eyes roamed over Citrine. “And you brought the Enchantress.”

Tor Lir paused, slightly taken aback by how much she knew. Who had told her about him and Citrine? Had she looked into the Clyear of Revelation and discovered who they were? But it did not add up. How did she know to attack them and take the Clyear for herself? He pointed the tip of the blade at her and stopped just short of the stairs. “I demand that you answer for your crimes. You set your warriors against my companions and me when we were on our way to Stronghold. You caused the untimely death of someone young and full of promise. You stole the Clyear of Revelation—which does not belong to you—and left me for dead. These crimes you must answer for.”

The Frost Queen dropped her hands to her sides and moved to the edge of the stairs. Her pale, white skin glimmered under the shades of blue crystal, and her eyes locked on Tor Lir's. His gaze did not waver as he stared into the pools of her eyes that were impossible to read. The hush in the air wrapped around her words, amplifying them in her hall. “You come to my home and demand reparations. You must be stupid, and here I thought you might be wise beyond your years.”

“Perhaps we can come to a deal,” Citrine interrupted, her voice loud, bold in the cavern.

Tor Lir hissed. “There can be no deal—“

The Frost Queen raised her hand. “I believe there can be. What do you want?”

But her gaze never left Tor Lir's.

“I want the Clyear. I also want your life, but I will settle for one.” He made sure his words were cold, letting her feel the weight of his anger. Violence was not something he felt often. Perpetuating violence went against his nature, but the Frost Queen deserved death.

She pressed her lips together and pointed a slender finger at him. “You shall have neither.” Her gaze went to Citrine. “Now, I will speak to you, because you have some sense and do not disrespect my home by demanding my head.”

“Were you responsible?” Citrine asked, breathless.

Tor Lir was surprised with how level-headed Citrine acted.

The Frost Queen paced. “Responsible? Why yes. I always accept responsibility for my actions. You have come to the Cascade Mountains brought by whom? None other than Nodin. The reproachable Nodin, who calls himself a Lord. Do you know his nature? Do you know what he is like? He will use anyone and everyone to get what he wants, and he desires to rule the mountains. His desires infringe on my domain. His actions will bring death to all the mountain folk, and yet you stand by his side, defending him. There have been casualties on both sides, many before you ever arrived.” Her gaze returned to Tor Lir. “So, don't blame me for death. The death of a few to save many is worth it.”

“If it is the plague you speak of, we know about it,” Citrine interrupted, her voice firm. “We came to stop the Therian from turning wild, not get involved with your petty feuds.”

"Oh," the Frost Queen gave a bitter laugh. "Yet you insist on your way. You pretend you know. I tell you; I will make a deal with you." She pointed at Citrine. "Here are the terms. I will give you the Clyear, and you will allow me to keep him." She pointed at Tor Lir. "The Nameless One."

Tor Lir gritted his teeth. "That's not good enough," he said and dashed up the stairs toward the Frost Queen.

20

DEAL

CITRINE WATCHED in horror as Tor Lir dashed up the stairs, swinging the blade at the Frost Queen. A sinister grin came over the queen’s face. She lifted a hand, palm facing up, and brought it down. Icicles dropped from the ceiling and hurled toward Tor Lir, who continued, unaware.

A scream tore out of Citrine’s mouth, and she threw up her hands, afraid to watch him die. There was a thump. Heart racing, Citrine dared to look. Tor Lir lay flat on the dais; his sword had disappeared, and icicles pinned him down. The Frost Queen put a foot on Tor Lir’s back and leaned over him. “I preferred you as a lover.”

Then she descended the stairs, white furs billowing out behind her, her pointed, pale white face focused on Citrine. Horror dawned on Citrine, and she froze, cold and quaking, kicking herself at their folly. She’d thought Tor Lir had more sense and would speak first instead of giving in to violence. Usually their roles were reversed, but now she saw there was something much deeper going on with him. It did not seem like grief, but what was it? What was wrong?

“Now.” The Frost Queen came to a halt in front of Citrine. Her large ears and pointed chin resembled the face of a fox. “What do you think of my deal?”

Citrine’s thoughts flew back to the Master of the Forest who’d tricked her. Eyes narrowed, she faced the Frost Queen. “I know a bully when I see one. I also know when I’m beat.” There was no way she could call her beasts into the cavern under the mountain.

The Frost Queen gave a cool smile. “I’d hoped we would be allies, but I believe the Clyear will be enlightening. So, take it. Leave. Cure the Therian. And then return for the Nameless One. I would have words with him first.”

Citrine hesitated, her eyes going to Tor Lir, who strained—teeth gritted—against the ice holding him firm.

The Frost Queen continued, her hands moving under her furs. She dropped her voice and leaned forward, as though she was sharing a secret. “Reserve your judgement until you see what the Clyear has to tell you. Trust me. You’ll change your mind afterward.” She winked and licked her top lip, as though she were about to seduce Citrine.

Citrine shivered and stepped back. She had to figure out a way to leave with both Tor Lir and the Clyear. “Will you let me speak to him?”

The Frost Queen’s eyes narrowed into slits. “No.” Her hands appeared again, and this time she held the crystal winged horse in both hands, as though it would break. She took a step toward Citrine. “The time for speaking is over. Take it and leave.”

“Just go,” Tor Lir’s ragged voice rang out. He strained against his bonds, but the ice held him fast. “You have the Clyear and that’s important. Leave. I will figure this out.”

The command jolted Citrine, and she bit her lip, eyes gliding from Tor Lir, face down on the dais like a sacrifice, to the ermine-covered Frost Queen. White lashes were tinted with ice, and her eyes were blue like the shimmering that hung in the air. Under her furs she appeared fragile, but her expression warned of her inner strength.

“Tor Lir,” Citrine whispered, wanting to say something, anything to comfort him. Promises to return died on her lips, even though she needed him for the next quest. Instead, her gaze went to the Frost Queen. “Will you keep him alive?”

The Frost Queen smirked. “He is no good to either of us dead. Besides, I tried to kill him once. It appears he does not go down quickly.”

“Leave,” Tor Lir demanded, his tones sending a vibration down her back.

The hum of icicles forced her to swallow hard, and even though she did not want to, she glanced up. It would do well to leave before the pointed ends were embedded in her skin. There was nothing to bargain for here. They’d walked into the lair of the monster and she was lucky enough to leave with her life and the Clyear.

The Frost Queen produced a bag of leather and unceremoniously dumped the Clyear into it before pushing the bag toward Citrine. “I wouldn’t advise touching it with your bare skin until you are ready. While this Clyear is not as powerful as the great Clyear of Power, it will show you truth, as long as you hold a question in your heart.”

Citrine’s fingers wrapped around warm leather. With a final glance at Tor Lir, she turned and marched away as best she could on the slick floor, ignoring the curious gazes of the Fúlishités.

They followed her as far as the entrance, where the gray doors opened to allow her to exit. Heart in her throat, she almost ran through the gates, fearing that all along the Frost Queen was toying with her and it was a trap.

Great gasps escaped her mouth as she headed uphill, away from the Frost Queen’s lair. Grift’s whispered tones came to her mind. What happened?

I’m fine, but I need time to think. Do you know where Elbron went? He might be in his bear form.

Grift went silent and then said, Watching from the trees.

Thank you, Grift. Hide for now. I will let you know if I need you again.

Part of her was tempted to call Grift to meet her on the next hilltop. She could run if she wanted to; with the power of the Clyear of Revelation, she could go to the Udi, assist them in their hour of need, and gain access to her personal version of paradise. The thought tempted her and tugged on the deep strings of longing. Ever since her lover, Hansel, had turned on her, she’d been lost and floundering, longing for a place to call home, safety for her beasts, and yes, if she were honest with herself, a replacement for Hansel.

She allowed herself a moment of self-pity and ducked under the needles of a pine tree, searching for a place to hide from prying eyes. Dusting snow off a rock, she sat down cross-legged and rested her back against a fallen log. The leather pouch lay heavy in her lap, and she let a hand rest on top of it, feeling the shape of the crystal through the thick material.

A sob came to her throat, and she closed her eyes to better recall how happy she’d been before everything shattered. Even though there had been minor angst in her relationship with Hansel, she missed the way he made her feel. It was his chocolate-brown eyes that had captivated her first, and then his gentle kisses, stolen in the twilight. When she leaned against his broad chest, she felt hope that she could be normal, like all mortals. What false hope it had turned out to be, and he, the one who claimed he loved her, had turned her over to the people.

Her life had changed. Things were much different, and she was stuck with Tor Lir. As she thought of him, she realized she wasn’t as frustrated nor as angry with him as she assumed she’d be. Like Citrine, he was different from the mortals and had something unique he carried within him. But he was insistent on denying or hiding his power, and even though he’d slept with the Frost Queen—although the abhorrent hatred the two had for each other was clear to see—Citrine could not deny the attraction she had for him. She lifted her chin at the thought she’d long pushed away. He was a prisoner of someone who had tried to kill him, and all she could think of was getting him back and all to herself again. It was the not knowing what he truly was that gnawed at her. Who was he?

Heart in her throat, Citrine almost ripped open the leather bag. The knowledge she sought lay in her lap. Perhaps she would ask the Clyear of Revelation about the Therian and how to stop the plague of wildness later. First, she had a more important question.

When her fingers touched the solidness of the relic, a vibration sizzled through her fingers. Pulling it out, she cupped the crystal winged horse in both palms and turned it from side to side, examining it from each angle. Aside from the vibration that hummed through her, exciting the very blood in her body, there was nothing visually that made it stand out.

Citrine glanced around the wood one last time, to ensure she was alone and no one was watching her. Then, feeling rather foolish, she held the Clyear up to eye level and spoke. “Tell me. Who is Tor Lir?”

21

REVELATION

THE HUMMING SOUND INCREASED until it seemed like the roar of the wind. Citrine’s chest tightened and her nostrils flared as her vision changed and a chant whispered through her thoughts.

Beware. Be warned. The price you pay is death.

Pictures rose before her, and it seemed like she had the eyes of an Xctas and flew over each incident.

A black tower rose in a land of ruby and obsidian. A desolate land, chilling, horrible, and beautiful all at once. Fingers of ice gripped Citrine, and she watched as a tower rose before her. Inside were three. Two males with black hair, but one had ruby red eyes and the other emerald green eyes. Eyes the color of the Green Light that hung in the sky, the same color of Tor Lir’s eyes. The third was a female with wings on her back and her face in her hands, as though she were weeping. The emerald-eyed male stood in front of an altar, and he leaned over a thick black book, reading. He did not notice, but the words on the page seemed to shift into blood, black and red, and pour out on the floor, twisting into revolting shapes.

The vision changed. Violet and blue light erupted, and a cyclone of green encircled it. Lightning bolts shook the air, burning it with the strength of power sizzling through it. Emotions, thick and potent, clung to the light. Vengeful anger. Ferocious betrayal. And a pure rage so deep and bitter it seemed an endless pit of violence.

Citrine attempted to blink and shrink away, but the Clyear held her firm, forcing her to gaze into the eye of the storm.

Ruby light flooded her vision, and she saw a ring, a blood-red jewel, fall from the sky into the destruction of a smoking land. The emerald-eyed male walked out of the rubble, his face twisted in anger, and he held the Jeweled Sword in his hand.

A third vision came, and when it rose Citrine wanted nothing more than for the horror to stop. Tears came to her eyes, and she stretched her fingers, trying to drop the Clyear and withhold the vision. It was everything and nothing she’d been prepared for. She twisted and shook as bile rose in her throat. But the Clyear held her firm, forcing her to look until she could not tell if her eyes were open or closed.

Greenery clouded her vision. A forest appeared, misted in golden light and the twinkling of a thousand gems. A couple walked through the woods, pausing under trees to kiss, their eyes alight with intensity. When the light caught their faces, Citrine saw a green giantess and with her was the same emerald-eyed male who carried the Jeweled Sword. They disappeared into a bower, light casting shadows of lovemaking across the glade.

The next vision showed the green giantess, heavy with child.

There she was again, holding a babe, singing to him, playing with his wisps of black hair. When he opened his eyes, they were the color of emerald stones.

Another vision consumed her, and she saw the male with the Jeweled Sword walk into the dark tower once again. This time he ignored the book and walked toward the throne. An onyx scepter lay on top of it. The male opened himself up; green light flooded out of him and poured into the scepter. The words he spoke were audible. “I seal you. Only my blood shall unlock the power of creation. I seal this curse. Let no one break it.”

The final vision rose, showing a thousand sunrises and sunsets. A male walked into the tower and picked up the onyx scepter. Green light flooded into him, consuming his mortal form. He grew in strength and his body disappeared, turning into a black soul, red-eyed with curved horns. Fangs came out of his mouth, and when he lifted his clawed hands, the apparition disappeared. The green light vanished, and only the mortal remained. A sinister grin covered his face. Turning, he lifted his hand and green light poured off him in waves. When he faced the Clyear, Citrine saw it was Tor Lir.

The Clyear released Citrine. She hurled it away, fingers shaking. She threw herself over the log, bent over at the waist, and gagged and vomited until she could breathe no longer.

22

ICE

ICE PRESSED into Tor Lir’s cheek, and moisture ran down his neck. Icicles pinned him on all sides and when he tried to move, the hold became stronger. Pale-blue light flickered, and his ear went numb as he waited. The chipping sounds continued in the distance while the Frost Queen paced in circles around the dais. Ever so often, Tor Lir caught a flash of the white fur of her garment, and anger seethed within, so hot he was surprised his skin did not melt the ice block he lay on. Time passed in an agony of slowness, and the knowledge that Citrine and the Clyear were safe—although it could have been a trap—did little to ease his conscience. For once in his life, he’d given in to his violent urges when he should have been strong, much stronger than he was. Words were his vice, not violence. When had he become impulsive and started acting like Citrine? Was he losing himself in the realm of mortals? Again, the memory of the Truth Tellers hung before him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. It was their fault. They drove him to it, but it was up to him to get himself out of the awkward situation. To calm himself, he closed his eyes and let his consciousness drift away.

When he awoke, much later, his mind was calm and ready. He would think his way out of this instead of giving in to animal urges of violence. He opened his eyes, and a gasp escaped his lips. The Frost Queen lay mere inches from him, assessing him with gray-blue eyes. Hints of pine, tobacco, and the taste of winter’s first snow hung in the air, and Tor Lir’s stiff body went rigid. A malicious smile crossed her lips, and then disappeared. "You have questions for me. Don’t you? Why don’t you ask them?”

Tor Lir studied the sharp features of her pale face. His mouth was cold, and it took a moment for the air to rush between his lips. “Why don’t you free me?”

The Frost Queen raised one eyebrow and blinked several times. “Why would I do that? You tried to kill me when you were free.”

“We are even. You tried to kill me first,” Tor Lir snorted.

The Frost Queen waved a finger in the air. “You and I are not even. You are my self-proclaimed enemy. I only needed the Clyear of Revelation, and my quarrel is not with you. But you seem to want to get in my way, which is why you are my prisoner now.”

Tor Lir groaned inwardly. Should he take her up on her offer and ask? Knowledge might be the key to his escape. Licking his dry lips, he asked: “Why did you let Citrine go free? And why give her the Clyear if you need it?”

The Frost Queen shrugged her shoulders, enough to open up the front of her fur. Tor Lir glimpsed the bare skin of her shoulder but averted his eyes. She was not attractive to him anymore. A white hand reached out to caress his face. Like the ice, her hand was cold, but when he tried to flinch away, the icicles held him fast. He grimaced.

“You are beautiful,” she whispered, a haunting, lost look coming to her eyes. “They say the Creator is a vision himself, more breathtaking than the glorious beauty of the world. For it is in his likeness we were created, and in his eyes, we see true beauty. It is unimaginable, but I believe if the Creator came to walk among us, you would look similar to his compelling beauty. You are perfection in every form, but what are you? I did not ask for the Clyear, I had my own, personal reason for needing it. You think me harsh, cruel even. But I only do what needs to be done for the good of my people and for the good of the Cascade Mountains. The Therian must die. They perpetuate all that is evil in this world.”

Tor Lir gritted his teeth. “It is not up to you to decide who lives and who dies.”

“No?” She slapped his cheek lightly, playfully even. But when she spoke, her words were hard, and her voice rose with each line. “When the Therian create monsters who kill without regard for life, I think I can choose. When the Therian force the Tribe of Minas to offer the young, their own blood, to become wives of those bloodthirsty monsters, I think I can choose. When the Therian break their promise and allow the mountain folk to starve out in the cold, without the shelter and safety of Stronghold, forcing male, female, and child alike to succumb to the elements, I think I can choose.” She sprang to her feet and turned her back on Tor Lir. Her hands morphed into paws with sharp claws. “When the Therian allow my children to die, blood of my blood, then I will choose who lives and who dies. So, don’t talk to me of life and death.”

Each word sank in like a stone. Tor Lir went quiet. His thoughts went back to the first time he’d left the forests of the Iaen, his people, to walk among the mortals. Assumptions were always wrong. He had to hear from both sides to understand the truth. The knowledge hit him so suddenly he jerked and moved his body an inch. He’d judged the Frost Queen before he knew her, and although her actions were wrong—theft and attempted murder—he realized she had acted out of desperation. He closed his eyes. Words welled up in him, an order, strong and clear, a command she could not ignore. “Release me and I will listen.”

The Frost Queen spun around and glared at him. “Don’t you see? It is too late for that. You had your chance, and now it’s mine. I need you as insurance, to verify Citrine will return. And when she does, she will be on my side. You’ll see.”

Tor Lir pressed his lips together. Hard. There were words he needed to say, but his pride wouldn’t let him. The Frost Queen had used him in every way possible and still would not recognize him. He desperately wanted to teach her a lesson but found himself intrigued by her story. What happened in the mountains? What didn’t he know? What had Nodin lied about or omitted from his tale of woe? “If you will not release me, at least see things from my side,” Tor Lir offered. “I came to the mountains to fix a great wrong. There you will agree with me, do you not? The Therian are turning wild, and they asked me to come and stop it.”

The Frost Queen crossed her arms over her furs and tapped a bare foot against the ice.

Tor Lir plunged onward. “You had your people shoot us out of the sky and in the process killed someone I cared about. Very much.”

The Frost Queen opened her mouth and closed it. Her eyes darted across the room and returned to Tor Lir’s face.

He almost smirked. His words were sinking in. “You took the Clyear, a priceless relic they charged me with protecting. You made me look bad in front of the Therian, but more than anything, you tried to kill me. You didn’t ask. You just seduced and took. And now you want my companion to be on your side? Perhaps it’s your past that drove you to act like that, but if you continue, you will make more enemies and fewer alliances.”

Her eyes went cold. She knelt down in front of him. “The Clyear of Revelation is not a priceless relic. True, it is an ancient power, one that shows you the truth, whether you wish to know or not. Often the truth is horrific. It is better to dwell in ignorance, but I needed confirmation of a vision. A vision that gave me a new alliance against the Therian. I don’t care how I come across. I want results. When I saw you, I thought you might be wise, you might be an ally, but it was easy to seduce you. Delightful even.” She gave him a sly grin. “Perhaps I did not handle the interaction between us as I should have, but tell me. If I had asked for the Clyear, would you have given it to me? A stranger in the wood?”

“No,” Tor Lir replied reluctantly.

“How else was I supposed to gain it for my needs?”

He looked away.

She prodded him with her finger. “I tried to kill you. I admit it. Beautiful as you are. I am driven by a need for vengeance. If the Therian continue unchecked as they have been, it will be the ruin of the mountain folk. Tell me. Did you see one of their wild creatures? Did you see what it can do?”

“I did,” Tor Lir admitted.

“Now in this one thing, you and I will agree. We have to stop the Therian. But more than that I want them to pay for what they did to my children, to my people, and to the mountain folk who just want to live in peace. Enough is enough. Will you help me?”

Tor Lir opened his mouth, but no words came out. Clouds of frost rose in front of his face, and he stared at the Frost Queen. Spellbound. He wanted to ask what the Therian did, why she hated them, who her children were, and what truth she’d seen in the Clyear. But the cold crept through him, and words wouldn’t leave his throat. If the Frost Queen was right about the Therian, it was his duty to stop the madness, and it would coincide with his original quest. But was that what she wanted. The way her eyes roamed over his body made it seem as though she’d like to eat him alive.

He shuddered. But when he did, he realized the revulsion was gone and lust was back to betray him. Again. Then he saw the flash in her eyes as her fur fell off. She leaned over him, her heat making him yearn for warmth yet desire to flee all at the same time. Although she wasn’t naked underneath, he felt a twitch, and a curse came from his lips. He closed his eyes and tuned her out.

23

BIRTHRIGHT

CITRINE AWOKE, frantic, limbs flailing, unsure of how much time had passed. She sat up, washed out her mouth with fresh snow, spitting one last time for good measure. Now she understood how Zilpha felt. The visions she saw were dark. Perhaps evil. It was too much for one soul to bear. Did Tor Lir know this? Surely, he did not. All he talked about was the green giantess who raised him. The lady he would not call mother, although it was plain from the visions that was who she was. But then there was his father, tormented and powerful beyond all mortals—and perhaps even immortals. From all accounts, it appeared he’d made a deal with the dark ones in Daygone. Was that the tower in Daygone? And if it was, who were those people?

Even as she thought those things, she realized there was only one person who could verify her visions. Triften the Storyteller. He’d traveled with Eliesmore of the Jeweled Sword. The One who had saved the Four Worlds from the Changers. The One who had set the Green Light in the sky that it might reign eternal, like the light of the sun. Who was Eliesmore? What had he done? He’d been through something, and at last lay aside the power of the Green Stone. Which meant Tor Lir’s birthright was that power, a power that could change the world and corrupt everyone. Was that what he carried inside him?

If so, Tor Lir was exactly who the Disciples of Ithar thought he was. If he went to Daygone, he would take up his birthright and become invincible. But if that were the case, why would the Truth Tellers want him to go there? Surely that much power would be impossible to control and he would become dangerous, evil. At times, he already frightened her. On no account could she allow him to discover what was in Daygone. She had to keep him as far away as possible. And if she could not? She and her beasts would have to follow him to Daygone and stop him from taking up that power.

Dread lay heavy on her heart, and so lost was she in her musing she did not hear the snow crunch. “Citrine?”

A scream tore from her lips, and she clasped her hands over her mouth when she saw Elbron’s hulking form. Her body shook, and she melted back down on the log, sobs tearing from her throat. A grunt told her he was there, unsure of what to say or do. Too frightened to be embarrassed, she reached for him. Without hesitation, he sat down and wrapped his arms around her, giving her something solid to hold onto while she sobbed out her fear.

When the flood of tears abated, her eyes stung and her throat was raw. She buried her runny nose into Elbron’s furs and held onto the front of his cloak. Tight.

“What happened with the Frost Queen?” he asked.

Citrine sat up, still holding onto him. One of his arms circled her waist, and she was thankful for his steadiness, as though it could protect her from the visions she’d seen. For a moment she’d forgotten about the deal she made that left Tor Lir a prisoner. Confused thoughts fought to untangle themselves and find an answer for Elbron’s question. Again, she remembered tossing the Clyear of Revelation—something she’d longed for—away like a cursed object. Memories came back to her of Old Edna, an unwelcome visitor from Sanga Sang, who warned her against seeking the treasure. Well. Old Edna had the last laugh now. She’d sought the treasure. Found it. And wished she’d never laid eyes on it. Now she had knowledge, truth, and she had to do something with what she knew.

“Where is Tor Lir?” came Elbron’s next question.

Citrine met his amber eyes and decided to tell him the truth. “He is the Frost Queen’s prisoner in exchange for the Clyear.”

Elbron arched an eyebrow. A hand came up to stroke his beard. “Prisoner. I thought she might have killed him.”

“She won’t,” Citrine rejoined bitterly. But it would be better if the Frost Queen tried to kill him again. Better than him finding out who he really was.

“I assume you looked into the Clyear?”

Citrine nodded. “It was awful.”

Elbron’s hand came down and cupped her cheek. His palm, although rough, was surprisingly warm, and she nestled into it, keeping her eyes on his calm face. His rugged scars made him seem more attractive, more mortal, and a deep, intense longing vibrated within her.

“You don’t have to tell me. If you don’t want to.”

She saw something else in his eyes. Sympathy? Understanding? Here she was, crying over the frightening things she’d seen. A past that showed the future. Yet he sat there, with his people turning wild. He could be next, but the patience in his eyes was clear.

“Elbron.” Her voice went soft with need. She didn’t know him, but out of everyone she was surrounded with, he seemed the most honorable. Something flickered beyond those amber eyes and his thumb stroked her cheek. Waiting.

An unsaid question hung in the air. Citrine’s reservations faded when his hand slipped lower, his thumb running over her lips. She kissed his fingertips in invitation. His face moved closer to hers, the angry scar faded from a battle wound, a mark of glory. Citrine closed the distance between them, parting her lips as they met his, rough, warm, gentle, as though he hesitated, afraid of hurting her. But Citrine did not care. She pressed against him, pushing her tongue into his mouth and inhaling his scent of pine and fir. A low growl came from his throat, and his hand traveled down her neck to her chest, caressing the curves of her breast, tracing an outline over her heavily covered body.

The kiss lengthened, and they pulled back, noses touching, gasping for breath before diving again as though they were leaping off a summit into new territory. Citrine longed for the warmth of Stronghold, for they could only go so far in the snow-covered drifts. Just as she opened her mouth to taste him again—heart thudding, longing stirring in her lower belly—Tor Lir’s face flashed before her mind. She paused and pulled away.

Elbron stroked her chin but did not press her for more, although his amber eyes were pools of desire. Citrine breathed deeply, attempting to catch her breath and fight off the smile that dimpled her cheeks. Despite everything going wrong in the mountains, the blip of desire calmed her. She felt level-headed, clear-thinking, ready to devise a plan.

His hand dropped to her lap and the feather-light touch of his fingers ran down her wrist, toying with her open palm. “I think I can trust you. Even if you were hired by my cousin.”

“Blackmailed. Not hired,” Citrine corrected him.

“Either way, you are here. If I wasn’t plain before it’s because I wanted to watch you and discover whose side you were on. The Frost Queen openly disapproves of Nodin. If she had the Clyear of Revelation and let you walk free, you must be trustworthy.”

Citrine’s brow furrowed. “You mean that you trust whoever the Frost Queen trusts?”

“Aye.” Elbron looked at her keenly. “The Frost Queen has been trying to stop Nodin for some time. We thought he was gone forever, then he returned and with him came the plague. When the plague got out of control and affected us directly, he set off again to find the Clyear and put an end to it. I believe he knows he can fix this, and when he does, the clan vote will sway in his direction and he will be the leader of the Therian, for he will have proven his merit and dedication to the people.”

Citrine stared off into the snow, considering Elbron’s words. Her forehead creased. “You don’t want him to be the leader?”

“Anyone who uses lies and deceit to become a leader does not deserve the trust of the clans. The Therian are not perfect. We have had our share of violence and hard times. But if we are to change, we need a leader we can trust.”

“Who rules the Therian now?”

“No one. We have a circle of elders, and if any decision must be made, a vote is cast.”

“But why Nodin?” Citrine asked. “And do you think he caused the plague?”

“Nodin has a complicated history with the Therian,” Elbron admitted.

“Does he?” Citrine frowned. “In Sanga Sang he made claims, but your words make me wonder how much of what he said was true.”

Elbron’s eyes narrowed. “Nodin has a way of stretching the truth. We grew up together, along with my sister, Chimera. The Therian have a tight community. We all know each other and tales of Heroes of Old. It was those tales that made Nodin restless, impatient with our lives here and curious for more. Adventure beyond the mountains. He enjoyed the stories of heroes and the deeds they performed to save the world. As children, we often reenacted those stories. One day we went to the cliffs where the Therian used to meet with the Tribe of Minas and demand brides in order to extend their bloodline. We were young, not all of us could shift yet, and Nodin’s younger brother fell and broke his legs. We called for help, but by the time the elders came and took him back to Stronghold, he died. Nodin took it hard, but even so the Therian seemed to turn against him, blaming him for his brother’s death.”

Citrine’s thoughts whirled. The death of a child. What would that do to a family? A community like the Therian?

Elbron shook his head. “I did not blame him, although I did not see what had caused the fall, what had truly happened. Afterward, Nodin changed, and his desire to be a hero rose stronger than before. He started acting out, causing strife only to resolve it in order to prove himself as a hero, a savior. The elders saw through his act. I believe it was around the time he found the Clyear of Revelation that they told him to leave and come back when he was willing to be one of them, part of the community. It was a relief when he left, for darkness follows him like a shadow. At first it was grief, for his parents died before he left. Murder or accident, no one can tell.”

“Do you think he had a part in the curse? Causing the Therian to turn wild so he can save them? Save you?” Citrine asked, unsure what to make of Elbron’s tale.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Nay. There are darker powers at work. Some believe we are cursed because our bloodlines are mixed. Others believe it is because of who walked among us in the past.”

Citrine shuddered, and her eyes flickered over to the Clyear, which was sinking into a snowdrift. A lump formed in her throat. “Who walked among you in the past?”

Elbron scratched the back of his neck. “It is naught but rumors, but some say in the dark days, the Monrage walked among the mountain folk and cursed us with her power.”

Citrine recalled the visions from the Clyear and shook her head hard, as though to fling the visions out of her mind. “Say no more,” she begged.

Elbron’s hand tightened around hers. “Citrine. There’s more. I feel I must be honest with you. You must find a way to destroy the plague and cure the Therian. On behalf of the Therian, not on behalf of Nodin.”

Citrine raised her eyebrows. “Of course. You have my word, Elbron.”

“Good. Then you should also know I stand with the Frost Queen.”

Citrine ripped her hand out of Elbron’s grasp. “You are her spy?” she almost shouted, searching for distrust in his open face.

Elbron narrowed his eyes at her. “Obviously. Why else would I lead you here, away from the safety of Stronghold? Why else would we sit here, in her land, when we are clearly in enemy territory? She is the reason I found Tor Lir, and I bow to her as my Queen, not this nonsense Nodin is attempting to escape with. The choice is yours. Where do you stand?”

Citrine’s jaw moved, but no words came out. It all made sense.

Elbron began to pace while Citrine mused. “You looked at the Clyear. You had to know,” he prompted.

Taking a deep breath, Citrine twisted her hands together in her lap and faced him. “I did not look in the Clyear to find out how to heal the Therian. I looked for another reason, and what I saw was horrific. I am loath to use it again.” She gestured to the winged horse lying in the snow. “Perhaps you will?”

Elbron glanced to it and a fierce scowl came over his face. “Tempt me not! Relics such as these bring nothing good to my people. You may look, for you are not of this land. But do not return it to Nodin. It will give him an unfair advantage if he looks into the Clyear and learns the truth of what I’ve done.”

“Such cryptic messages,” Citrine murmured. But her tremors of fear were gone. Taking the leather pouch, she covered the Clyear with it, then studied Elbron’s scarred face. His amber eyes studied her, and she saw a question deep within.

She held out her hand. “I trust you, Elbron. I will return to Stronghold with you and help fight this plague.”

His hand closed over hers, sending a riot of warmth through her breast. She smiled at him, feeling safe and only slightly confused at the change in their situation. Momentarily her thoughts flickered back to the visions of the past she’d seen, but she shook her head to clear her mind. She had to focus on the task at hand, and later she would handle Tor Lir.

24

NUMB

THE NIGHT WAS NOT a pleasant one. The Frost Queen left Tor Lir pinned to the dais, gradually turning blue. His limbs had stopped shaking long ago, and his entire body was stiff. Even moving his lips brought a bitter pain, and he felt the low pulse of his heartbeat slow to a sickening thud.

For the first time he faced thoughts of death, and the irony of his immortality dangled in front of him. This was a bitter torture. If only his anger would dissipate, if only he could listen to the Frost Queen. Her story centered on her need to avenge her children. Beneath her intense, sexually charged exterior, he knew she had a heart. Raw. Bleeding. Full of rage and agony.

He closed down his emotions and attempted to gain a sense of right and wrong. Balance, as he called it. Fate had led him to the doorstep of the Frost Queen. If she needed justice, then the Therian were in the wrong. How could he help her and heal them? For either way he’d been sucked into the fate of the mountain folk, but death loomed around him. His thoughts flickered to Hava. How dare he let himself care for her. Was it possible that the Truth Tellers ripped her away from him, leaving only Citrine to force his hand? Send him to Daygone? He waited for the pulse of anger, but there was none, only a numb devastation, empty and cold, like his repressed emotions.

He pushed away his conflicted thoughts and as he did a vision rose in his mind's eye. He saw a shadow with two horns, rippling in front of him as though the reflection was in a pool of shimmering water. He almost heard the cold voice in his head. I can help you escape.

I do not want to escape, he rejoined.

You do. And you are more powerful than you realize. If you stop being afraid and dig deep, you can free yourself. I will always be here, lurking in the background, pushing you to step into your true calling. It is a joint goal we have. For I am you. And you are me.

You are the effects of a Changer. This I know, Tor Lir argued. And I am not a Changer.

Nor are you a Green person. Your secrets spill out of you and attract attention. Others are paying attention, and if you let the Frost Queen treat you like this, what will others do to you?

She has good intentions. She is angry at what they did to her people.

That is a shallow excuse. What she is doing is wrong.

What the Therian did is wrong. Who am I to choose a side?

The time to sit back and listen is over. You must take action.

Truth. He had to make a choice, it was just—what choice did he have? And what was the “right” course of action?

He opened his eyes. Crystals shimmered around him, and a humming vibrated in the pit of his belly. Closing his eyes again, he focused, pricking his ears to hear the hush of voices. There it was. The sound of the crystals. The incessant tap-tap of digging. Whispered voices in the ice walls. The mournful howl of wolves and something else, darker, deeper, reaching out to him.

Tor Lir latched onto the sensation and allowed it to ripple through his mind. Focusing on the icicles which trapped him, he thought a command. Mist poured out of his lips. “Be free. Let go.”

The humming faded to silence. Tor Lir opened his eyes and whispered through blue lips, “Be free. Let go.”

An icicle snapped. The sharp crack rang loud in the night. Another slipped free and slid across the dais. One by one they let go, some returning to the ceiling. Others scattering into the gloom.

Relief surged through Tor Lir until he saw a green glow emanate from his arms. A sudden exhaustion came over him, but he fought it off. He had to move and thaw his body before he disintegrated like the icicles.

“It took you longer than I expected to free yourself.” The Frost Queen’s amused tone filtered through the open room.

Tor Lir would have jerked with surprise if he hadn’t been frozen. He had not realized she was nearby, watching him the entire time.

“Dawn draws near, and I need an answer from you, Nameless One. Will you help me bring down the Therian?”

He tried twice before sound came from his lips. “What is it you want me to do?”

“My people are building tunnels. Our plan is to breach Stronghold, create a diversion which will draw them to the depths and then trap them. So, there is only one route in and out. Our guarded tunnels. From there we will be able to bargain, and if they will not listen, we will shut down the tunnels.”

Tor Lir considered. “What does that have to do with me?”

“You must create the avalanche that swallows Stronghold.”

Tor Lir’s lips curled. “You overestimate my power. You should have asked my companion, Citrine.”

The Frost Queen shrugged. “I gave her the Clyear of Revelation. She will be our eyes and ears on the inside along with my other spies. If we trap them inside with the wild beasts, they will come to reason much faster.”

“How can you ensure no one will be harmed?”

“I have many spies. They are responsible for getting the people underground where the tunnels open up. My people are ready to break through. At sunrise, you shall cause an avalanche, or I will send my archers to slay the Therian.”

“Perhaps you are not as powerful as you think,” Tor Lir countered. “I have no power to start an avalanche, and you don’t have enough archers to take down the Therian.”

Her eyes blazed, and a malicious smile came to her lips. “If you will not work with me, so be it. I will condemn you to death.” She reached to her side and stepped into the light, drawing her sword as she did so.

Pain laced through Tor Lir’s thawed body, and he was surprised to find he could rise.

Slivers of ice trickled down his chest. An ache, old and cold, began in his bones. “Ah.” He stood slowly, his limbs creaking as he faced the Frost Queen.

Their eyes locked. Bold and unflinching.

She lifted her chin.

He narrowed his eyes and took a breath. “You looked in the Clyear of Revelation and found the answer you sought?”

Triumph rang through her voice. “Now do you understand?”

25

HOLLOW

A HOLLOWNESS SETTLED in the pit of Citrine’s stomach. Nausea rose and again she toyed with her conflicting feelings as she lay in the warmth of furs. Elbron was kind enough to let her stay in his quarters, although aside from some impassioned kissing, nothing had gone further the night before. Daylight would be upon them soon, and while Citrine knew what she wanted to do, needed to do, something held her back. The visions of Tor Lir, the past, and who he might become rang in her memory, reminding her something much bigger than herself was at work. Although she knew she should focus on the task at hand, reach out, ask, and look into the Clyear, every time she started toward it, her fingers trembled and she lay back, afraid and unsure. Furiously, she wiped away tears of self-pity and warred against calling Grift and leaving. Confrontation was never easy. Although she’d won against the Master of the Forest and rallied against the beast that threatened the port-side city of Sanga Sang, this was something else entirely.

“Are you ready to look into the Clyear?” The rumble of Elbron’s voice from across the room sent vibrations through her.

With a sigh, Citrine rolled over and tumbled out of the layers of fur to avoid answering the question. Instead, she dressed quickly and ran her fingers through her bright hair, noting strands of blue in it. When she turned around, Elbron’s amber eyes met hers.

We need to make a plan,” she told Elbron. “Lord Nodin—Nodin, whatever you call him—wants to call the voting leaders to meeting today. What are we going to say? They know Tor Lir was here yesterday, unless you were as stealthy as you thought you were bringing him back.”

“We tell them the truth,” Elbron said. “Tor Lir lost the Clyear to the Frost Queen and she is holding him for ransom.”

Citrine spun around, eyes traveling the ridges of Elbron’s back. “I see. Then what?”

Elbron stood and pulled a fur around his shoulders. He padded to the door of the chamber. “You will not like this next part. But you must see the beasts.”

“I’ve seen them before,” Citrine offered. “Your cousin.”

Elborn’s shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry,” Citrine offered, recalling what it was like. “I shared thoughts with her.”

Elbron quirked an eyebrow as he faced her. “You shared thoughts?”

Citrine bit her lip. “It’s like I could sense what she was going through when she battled between being mortal and turning wild. Eventually the wild side won over and there was nothing left but a burning desire for revenge. They killed her children.”

Elbron walked closer with every word. “I did not know this. Why did no one tell me?”

“I did not think it was my story to tell.”

“Nay, and Nodin would not share this. So, they seek to replicate. No wonder the Frost Queen is so adamant.”

“There are potions.” Citrine gestured. “If the beasts must feed, I can make a mixture that keeps them from reproducing.”

“Are you a kind of healer?” Elbron asked.

“Nay.” Citrine almost smiled. “I understand herbs and potions.”

Elbron crossed his arms. “What do you need? It’s winter and nothing grows here.”

Citrine moved to her bag. “I brought a few supplies. I’ll have to take a look.”

Elbron nodded. “I’ll bring us some food while you find what you need. Don’t let anyone come through that door aside from me.”

Citrine cocked her head.

“It goes without saying,” Elbron explained. “We are Therian. We shift into animals. We get what we want. Always have. The others call us cold and unfriendly. It is the way of the Therian. The way we survive.”

He turned to leave, and Citrine smiled to herself at the hint of danger in his voice. The Therian were a mysterious tribe, and although their halls left her cold, there was something else, shimmering under the surface, that called to her.

Just as Elbron swung the door shut, a furious growl filtered up from the distance, and Citrine felt the floor beneath her shake. She held out her arms for balance, but the tremors continued as though a rift underneath them were opening. Citrine’s mind flashed back to the stone she’d thrown in the frozen pond and the crack down the surface of the ice, cleaving open a hole for things to slip through. She felt like that stone, teetering on the edge of the unknown. Her heart kicked. She lunged for her bag of supplies and her book of spells. It would not do to lose the work she’d spent so long compiling. Every spell, every chant, meant something, and she intended to use each one of them.

Elbron stumbled back into the room, eyes wide, as the quaking came to a halt. Their eyes locked. “It sounds like the beasts,” he announced. “We should go down below to ensure everything is as it should be.”

Citrine gave a quick nod and tossed her pack onto her back. “I will prepare a potion once we are down there.”

He held out his hand to her. She took it and ran with him down stone passages to a set of stairs that led down below. To the dungeons.

Screams and cries echoed off the stone walls, a mix of fear and anger as the Therian lashed out.

“We are under attack!”

“There are archers on the bridge”

“Get below, to the keep!”

“We should fight.”

“Nay, there are too many, and the rocks will come down on our heads.”

“Run!”

Citrine saw families dash ahead, the children staring back, horror written across their pale faces. Some of the Therian had shifted into their beast forms and trotted below, growling and snarling. Others hung back, waiting, watching, ensuring everyone made it to safety.

The ground rolled, shaking and shuddering like the body of a sea serpent as they ran. Elbron leaned against the walls when the tremors struck, often holding up Citrine until the rumbling subsided and they could run on.

Around them Citrine heard shouts and wails, and the repeating command to venture down below, to the dungeons. Although why were they all headed below instead of fighting? But then she recalled how many enemies the Therian had. Roars echoed, and her head swam as voices chimed in, the call of beasts, wild and furious. Uneven ground made her stumble and, heart in throat, she held tight to Elbron as though he were a beacon that could lead her to safety. Only they traveled into the heart of the storm, down into the depths of Stronghold where the wild beasts lived.

A sharp reminder of what had taken place in the tower of Sanga Sang came to Citrine. She recalled trying to tame the beast until it overpowered her will and escaped. Would it happen again? Would she fail? Questions buzzed through her mind. The yawning gap of darkness opened before them, and Citrine pulled back, heart pulsing. “Do we have to go down there?”

26

TRAITOR

ELBRON HELD OUT HIS HAND. The torchlight flickered, showing off the edge of his scar. Citrine swallowed hard. She was an Enchantress. When had she begun to fear? But she heard the voices whisper around her, thick with fear and desperation. Why should she go down into their dungeon and endure their presence? The closer she went, the harder it became to keep the voices out. “Stop here, just for a moment,” Citrine begged. “There's something I need to do.”

“Hurry,” Elbron ordered, glancing up and down the passageway. A frown formed on his lips at the delay.

Therian brushed past them with dark, gleaming eyes, nodding silently in acknowledgment.

Swallowing hard, Citrine backed up against the wall. She placed her hands against it to steady herself and closed her eyes. The rush of voices surged around her, begging, pleading for release. Lost in confusion, the jumbled thoughts thrummed together as though they were the source of the quake, the vibration that shook the foundation of Stronghold. Citrine forced her thoughts outward, speaking to the voices that chimed within, seeking control over them. The mountain of voices rose, babbling in confusion until Citrine felt herself sink, overwhelmed. She wanted to drive the voices away, will them somewhere else, into another being, but the willpower rose and fell within her. Gritting her teeth, she pushed her fingers against the stone walls, feeling every chink and cranny. Using the strength in her fingers, she pushed her thoughts toward the voices. Hush. Go to sleep. Nothing will harm you.

There was a moment when the torrent subsided, and Citrine let out a deep shuddering breath. But then they came back as relentless as before, twisted and angry. Citrine pulled away from the wall and let out a groan of frustration, almost bending in half at the weight of the sudden pressure she felt. A ringing began in her ears, and she fought to retain control and push back the rising wave.

“What is it?”

She heard Elbron's voice in the distance, and then a hand came up, cupping her cheek, forcing her eyes to focus. A hand lightly slapped her cheek. “Citrine! Come back!”

She jerked, head falling back, and just like that the voices disappeared.

Citrine opened her eyes. Her heartbeat slowed. Lifting a trembling hand, she put it over Elbron's warm one and sought his amber eyes. “I’m here,” she said. “I was just listening.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, and his eyes searched her face as though her expression could provide an answer. “What did you hear?”

Citrine cocked her head, conflicted between telling him and keeping her secrets to herself. What did she truly know about the Therian? They were beast-like, rough and wild, and yet she sensed more behind the tense distance at which Elbron held himself. To give herself time, she responded with another question. “What do you mean?”

Elbron worried his lower lip between his teeth. A growl burst from between his lips. “You are a Tider, a mortal, aren't you? But not Therian. Nor powerless. Like the Frost Queen, you have access to power. You can hear the creatures, can’t you?”

Avoiding his eyes, Citrine nodded.

Enchantress.

The words hung on her lips. Tor Lir had spoken it earlier, but Citrine hadn’t taken the moment to explain the meaning behind that word. Even though some part of her suspected he might believe her without judgement. Her body sagged. “I came to help. That is all.”

Sensing she did not want to speak further, Elbron pushed away just as another rumble shook the foundations.

“Elbron? Citrine?” a voice interrupted.

Citrine’s head snapped up, and she instinctively took a step closer to Elbron.

Materializing out of the darkness in the hall appeared Lord Nodin. His amber eyes glittered in the low light and his arm was around Zilpha’s waist, holding her up. Zilpha sagged against him. her eyes downcast, a flush across her pale cheeks, her shoulders slumped. She was sick, unwell from travel and perhaps something else. Citrine sniffed, thinking of her limited herbs and whether she should do anything to help Zilpha, the foolish Cron who’d brought this all on herself. Did she not see past Lord Nodin’s empty charms?

Nodin’s eyes narrowed in displeasure when he saw Citrine and Elbron’s joined hands. Citrine felt as though something was crawling beneath her skin, and she dropped Elbron’s hand as though his flesh burned hers.

Nodin spoke first, his voice cold and commanding. “Stronghold is under attack. I ordered our people to come down here, and the rest of the lords follow in my wake. We will hold the council below while the mountain shakes and shifts. Something, someone is angry.”

Nodin’s gaze bored into her, and Citrine flinched, aware of the same slight feeling of tingling around her as when they traveled. She realized what it was now. Nodin saw her as a challenge, and she was attracted to confidence and power. A pang struck her, hard and deep, as she realized what she’d been fleeing toward ever since Hansel, her former lover, had betrayed her. Her first attraction had been toward Novor Tur-Woodberry, the kind giant who owned Paradise. He owned the land, and all creatures, plants and animals included, looked to him. Citrine had wanted him, wanted what he had from the moment she stepped onto his land. And then Tor Lir appeared. The Master of the Forest beckoned, and all of her illusions had shattered. And now the shadow of attraction she felt toward Nodin clarified itself. She was lonely. Out of her element. Willing to give in to Nodin’s odd attention and Elbron’s embrace. But the truth—a truth she’d long denied herself—was that she was desperately curious about Tor Lir and terrified of getting close to him. He oozed knowledge, hints of power followed him, and although he was arrogant and cold, she’d seen the change in him. Especially when they were in Sanga Sang. Especially when they killed the beast. Could it be. . . it was Tor Lir she wanted after all? But what about the revelation the Clyear had given her? Citrine leaned back against the wall. Stunned at her inner thoughts and then furious with herself and the circumstance she was trapped in.

Meanwhile, Nodin continued speaking. “Where is Tor Lir? And the Clyear of Revelation?”

Citrine felt a glint of glee as she watched Nodin’s expression. “As you recall, we were attacked before we reached Stronghold and Tor Lir went missing.”

Nodin’s brows lowered. “Ah. But he returned.” His gaze went to his cousin. “Elbron, you were personally tasked with finding him and bringing him back.”

“Which I did,” Elbron growled, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Citrine sensed the electric energy in the air and went on with her speech, curious to see how Nodin would react. “He lost the Clyear to the Frost Queen. We went out this morning to reclaim it, but now he is her prisoner.”

Nodin’s eyes narrowed further and then he turned. “Zilpha. Go ahead. I will find you.” He cupped her face in his hand. His eyes softened almost for a moment. Then he kissed her forehead and let go.

Zilpha stumbled and leaned against the wall to hold herself up. “Nodin, please. Don’t do this,” she begged. “It’s not too late, you can confess—”

Nodin shook his head. “Go, Zilpha.”

Biting her lip, she turned, took a deep breath, and ran past Nodin, back up the hall from whence they had come.

Citrine gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Where was Zilpha going? If she went back up there, she’d meet the attackers and could end up like Hava. A strange premonition came over Citrine, and she recalled her shop on the Jaded Sea, the faint scent of sea-stung air and the tan, naked bodies of the fishers as they went about their work. That was where Zilpha belonged, had always belonged, and not out in the cold.

When Citrine turned back to the present she was surprised to see that Nodin had let Zilpha go without making a move to call her or run after her.

Nodin’s gaze rested on her. “Citrine. You should follow her. Perhaps she will listen to reason if you go after her.”

Citrine opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure of what Nodin proposed.

Ignoring her, he strode up to Elbron, and his tone went cold. Deadly. “You let the Clyear fall into the hands of the Frost Queen. Do you understand what will happen if she looks into it? She will see the truth and she will win. The Therian will die. Stronghold will be retaken. You need to go back to her. Immediately.” Nodin’s tone dropped lower still, as though he faced a deadly enemy and would not let them escape. “Take an army if you have to. Call the Tribe of Minas to bring their archers—”

Elbron raised a hand, interrupting Nodin’s rage. “We cannot call the Tribe of Minas. They fought with the Frost Queen against you when you returned, and I met a scout on my way to the Frost Queen. The Tribe of Minas has turned. They are no longer our allies.”

Nodin growled, and his hands went back behind his back, twitching into something more beast-like. “Elbron. You have betrayed us all.”

27

TRUTH

CITRINE’S BREATH caught as she studied Nodin’s posture. His words rang through her mind. He knew. He knew Elbron was the spy. Did he also know she held the Clyear?

“We cannot attack the Frost Queen,” Elbron argued. “Why did you return if not to take down the Frost Queen once and for all? And the Clyear of Revelation was supposed to assist you, if you looked into it.”

“I did,” Nodin shouted. “I saw Citrine and Tor Lir, and I brought them here to help us.”

“To heal the beasts? To stop the plague? Or to help yourself become Ruler of Stronghold?” Elbron demanded.

The ground shook again, but not from the attack. This time, it was the measured steps of a group of warriors marching down the passageways. There were about twenty of them and they came to a halt behind Nodin. Warriors. His warriors.

“What is this?” demanded a male with a white mark on his forehead.

“Galendir, you would not understand,” Nodin barked. “As head of the warriors, I task you with going to the Frost Queen. Set up a siege, sneak in if you have to, but we must get the Clyear back.”

“My lord? The Clyear?” Galendir asked.

“The Clyear of Revelation; we cannot heal the beasts without it,” Nodin snarled.

“I heard something about ruling Stronghold,” Galendir scowled.

“You heard right,” Elbron affirmed. “I’m afraid we’ve been taken in by his lies. Nodin seeks to rule Stronghold, not save us from the beasts. It is his fault we are turning wild. He brought the parasite that began this.”

Astonished gasps filled the air, so many that Citrine turned around. Behind her she saw pale eyes, glowing in the flickering torchlight. The clans of the Therian stood behind her, the males, females, and children, watching, waiting. It seemed as though the council was taking place after all, in a crude, abrupt way.

The Therian crept closer, straining to hear, and Citrine realized how precious life was in the narrow halls, close to the dungeons, where the wild animals struggled to gain freedom. She glanced at Elbron, hoping he would catch her eye and wishing he’d wait until they were officially gathered as a council to make this announcement. It seemed dangerous, careless in the narrow passageway, and the rage on Nodin’s face made her feel uneasy. But Elbron did not look at her. He moved forward, fists curled, and for a moment she thought he would shift into his bear form.

“Is this true?” a female’s voice cried out.

Questions filled the air, a torrent of confused voices, as the Therian looked from one to the other.

“It is true,” Elbron thundered, taking another step toward Nodin. “For too long we have ceased to see him as a threat, but you recall it was when Nodin arrived that the curse began. He took my sister with him when he left, on the pretense of seeking out a healer, but now she is dead. He brought back Citrine, who is a healer, and Tor Lir, who holds some kind of uncanny power, and also the Clyear of Revelation. But it was when he looked into the Clyear of Revelation that he realized he, alone, could rule Stronghold. If he saved his people from death and destruction. Isn’t that right, Nodin? You thought if you healed us from the plague, we would give you our undying loyalty. You thought we wouldn’t find out what you’ve been up to all along. We were at peace before you rose to a lofty status in the world. We had laws and alliances throughout the Cascade Mountains, and yes, we had enemies, enemies who left us alone as we left them alone. But now all we have is death. Our bloodline is dying out, our people are dying out, because of you!”

“You have no proof,” Nodin roared, stepping closer to Elbron. “I came to save you, save the Therian. Our bloodline has been dying out since the war. It’s nothing new. And I’m the only one who decided to do something about it. And what do I get? Accusations? Judgement?”

Citrine’s heart beat a pitter-patter of fear in her chest. Her gaze dropped to Nodin’s feet, which had already transformed into the hooves of a bull. She swallowed hard, and her eyes shifted through the audience, but the crowd pressed in on both sides, determined to hear the words the cousins spoke.

“I have returned with a solution, and you call me out as one seeking personal gain. If this is the thanks I get, I can simply leave. But I will not walk out without the things I brought. I, personally, will go to the Frost Queen and demand the Clyear. You can rot here with your self-righteousness and your lies.”

The ground trembled harder, and Citrine was forced to hold on to the wall to keep her balance.

“We are under attack. You can’t leave,” Elbron snarled. “Besides, I call for the council members and lords of Stronghold to decide here and now what we will do with Nodin, the traitor. I put it to a vote.”

A guttural growl came from Nodin’s lips. “There shall be no vote!” he screamed.

He stamped his hoofed foot and put his head down. His horns grew, thick and curved, as his full transformation took place. He roared and charged at Elbron.

Citrine screamed as a volley of howls went up. In the blur, she saw the Therian shift into their beast forms, and a horrible wailing filled the air. She sensed a roar that made all the hair on her body stand up straight, and the halls shook with such violence she pitched forward. Shouts filled the air and torches fell, one by one. Stone came crashing down as the hall caved in on itself. The shouts of anger turned to screams of pain, and Citrine felt pressure, immense pressure, as they were cast into blackness.

28

VIBRATION

THE FROST QUEEN led him up through curved walls of ice where the sound of digging rang like crystals clinking together. Chills still racked his body, but he said nothing, all the while wondering what he would do if he had the chance to look into the Clyear of Revelation again and ask it another question. It seemed to reveal the innermost desires, what one sought to hide from, and above all: truth. His thoughts returned again to his struggle. He’d come to balance good and evil, but he was nameless, untethered. Who was he? It was time to understand, and suddenly a burning sensation welled up within. A thirst for knowledge and nothing else. He narrowed his eyes and watched his dangerous companion, her silent footfalls, the brush of her hair, and he thought of her, furry and foxlike trotting ahead of him, nails scratching against the hard surface. Defiance rippled through him, and again he wondered whether he should assist with her devious plan. A plan he did not fully understand. But she was hurting, seeking revenge. Isn’t it what the Truth Tellers would want him to do? Anger flared. It was the Truth Tellers’ fault. They’d taken Hava from him, and in defiance he’d do as he pleased. But his conscience whispered to him, begging him to discover more.

“Tell me. What really happened to your children?” he asked.

For a moment he wasn’t sure if she would answer him. And then her voice came, a wistful, remorseful longing in her tone. “Blessed be the sacred dead. They were young, less than seven moons. Their father was Therian. It was forbidden, foolish on our part, but when one loves, all barriers are broken. When I discovered I was with child, I swore I’d do anything to protect them, keep them from hardship. But the Therian have always sought to undermine my domain. They captured my husband, my children, and claimed they would return them to me if I obeyed and kept the mountain folk from attacking Stronghold. The children got sick and died in captivity, at least that’s the story I was told.” Her voice rang with bitterness. “Their father died to avenge them and left me with nothing. Shortly after, I discovered the heart of the mountain, the power that dwells here, and I learned to use it. My domain may be safe, but Stronghold is the seat of power in the mountains, the place where we should all dwell with access to the gems of the mountains and the tunnels. It could be another mine, it could bring us wealth and riches, but the Therian are selfish. They want the kingdom of ice all to themselves.”

Tor Lir considered her words, comparing them with what he knew of the history of the mountains. “During the war, the Rulers of the West united the mountain folk and gave Stronghold back to the Therian. What happened?”

The Frost Queen gave a barking laugh. “What happened? What always happens once the good people are gone once a generation dies out or leaves? Those who search for personal gain will win again. The Therian have always been demanding and ruthless. They think themselves the rulers of the mountains. They need to know they cannot do whatever they want to do, or allow children to die. This strife is not how the Creator intended us to live.”

The Creator? Tor Lir frowned but sensed the maddened edge in her tone. He quickly steered the conversation to a safer topic. “Tell me, what do you know about the Creator?”

“What do you want to know about the Creator? Surely you studied the ways of the Creator as you grew up.” The Frost Queen brushed his words aside.

“I grew up in the forests of Shimla,” Tor Lir told her, curious to see what her reaction would be. “The Iaens know deep secrets, but I never wished to dive too deep into their knowledge, for then they would have wanted to me to stay.”

“And you wanted to leave,” the Frost Queen filled in for him. “Why is that? You look like a king.”

Tor Lir smirked. “A queen raised me. But no, I did not want to rule. It was not my calling.”

The Frost Queen cocked her head. “Perhaps it is. You held the Clyear of Revelation for a time. I’m sure it showed you something about your future that made you feel uncomfortable.”

She laughed, a sharp sound that clashed against the crystals shaking above them. One fell, scattering shattered ice across the ground. Tor Lir recalled the Truth Tellers, and his eyes went dark. His horned shadow seemed to rise before him, and he recalled tales of Changers. He knew, with certainty, he was not one. Not one of that blotted race. But if not, who was he?

Tor Lir sensed a warmth, and light as they came up aboveground, moving through arched hollows into daylight. They stood on a wide ledge which look out across the mountainside. Mountain ranges rose below and above them with a wild, craggy beauty. Tor Lir gave a sharp intake of breath, and his muscles relaxed at the sight of such beauty. “What is this place?” he asked.

The Frost Queen moved to the center of the ledge, where a circle had been drawn in the ice. What looked like the sharp edge of a sword poked out of it. If Tor Lir did not know any better, he would have assumed the Frost Queen planned on stabbing him in the circle and offering his blood as a sacrifice to the Creator.

Extending a finger, the Frost Queen rested it on the pointed tip. “Few are worthy to come here and see the edge of the world,” she whispered with reverence. “The mountains are dangerous and full of the unknown. Although many beasts have been captured and tamed, there are still some who remain in slumber, hidden from the world. In the days of war, the Heroes of Old captured the flying, fire-breathing beasts, dranagins, who lived under the mountains in the east. But no one asked about what dwells under the mountains in the west, and no one thought to wake it up. Except for me.”

She smiled—a wild, satisfying smile—and her throat moved as she swallowed. Her fur fell off one shoulder, leaving a glimmer of white skin glittering in the sunlight.

Tor Lir felt something hard within him. She was cold. Relentless. Beautiful even. But desperate. She had lost everything and was bent on revenge. She had everything to gain and nothing to lose now. Her reckless actions and her mind were bent on one thing: the destruction of the Therian. He supposed they deserved it from her point of view, for their terrible actions. Another side of him wanted to understand more, and yet a wariness held him back. He was tired of the mortals and their problems, tired of figuring out their mysteries and trying to save them. Whether they deserved it or not. Hadn’t they fought the Great War against the immortals? Hadn’t they won? Why wasn’t it enough? Why all the scrabbling and warring between clans and people groups?

Sometimes he wondered if he were the source of the chaos. But this, this was not him. It was the mortals. Try as he might to appease them and lay their worries to rest, another problem, another mystery appeared, demanding attention as soon as he solved the last.

Emotion faded, and he gave the Frost Queen a blank stare. “What will you wake up?”

“You travel with an Enchantress,” the Frost Queen skirted the question. “She tames monsters. I saw when I looked into the Clyear and it all became clear. You’re one of her monsters, aren’t you? And if I awake another, will she tame it?”

Tor Lir thought of Morag the water beast, Grift the golden griffin, Ava the dragon with blue feathers, and Zaul, the oversized lizard. “Her monsters are her concern.”

The Frost Queen laughed. “I thought as much. Give me your hand.”

Woodenly he walked to her side and reached out a hand to touch the blade. Instead of cutting him it was solid, gentle. She pressed his hand against it, and he felt a hum; something vibrated within him.

“There is a tribe of Ezincks that dwell here,” the Frost Queen remarked. “They call themselves the Tribe of Minas, and they are fierce warriors. In the past they had a deal with the Therian, a sacrifice, often an unwed female, in exchange for protection. Their number was dying out, as were the Therian, but after the war both parties grew in number. The Therian, however, did not stay faithful. They committed crimes against the mountain folk time and time again. They cannot be forgiven, so the Tribe of Minas came to me. I promised to help them, and now it is time.”

“What is that vibration? That sound?” Tor Lir stood across from her, both hands on the ice now. He could see his reflection and hers in it, two individuals with a common purpose but different approaches.

“You feel it, don’t you.” The Frost Queen seemed pleased. “After I heard about my children, I came here and felt it for the first time. I didn’t know what it was then, so I went to the Tribe of Minas for answers. The natives called it Orenda. The power that clings to the mountain folk. It is potent here. It grows and swells within you. Some say when you are aligned in your thinking it can create miracles. Some say it’s the power the Rulers of the West used when they fought the last battle to take over Castle Range. It often manifests as white light, as the stories say. It comes from here, and if you can capture it and hold it within, it might be a useful power to have during your later adventures.”

“Orenda,” Tor Lir repeated. He glanced over at the Frost Queen, a slow smile curving his lips. “Later adventures? So, you will not kill me after this?”

She laughed. “If you help me, I will not kill you. I no longer feel the desire to be responsible for your death. Citrine will come for you. I know she will. Now focus. Close your eyes and concentrate on the vibration.”

Tor Lir allowed the warmth to envelope him. “Is this what you saw when you looked into the Clyear of Revelation?”

The Frost Queen kept her eyes on the surface as it rippled and trembled. Her eyes were lost in its blue light and her nose twitched. “You and Citrine both have access to Orenda. Now focus and stop fishing for information. You think I don’t know your game, but I would not be queen if I did not see right through you.”

Despite himself, Tor Lir smiled and gave in to the sensation. The blade moved, pointing downward and a faint roar sounded. It increased, a thunder like a storm hurling over the edge of the cliffs to devastate the land. Tor Lir’s hands trembled, and the blade of ice shook, rattling the ledge they stood on until Tor Lir wondered if it would break apart under his feet. The trembling escalated. The Frost Queen threw back her head and took a shuddering breath. Somewhere, Tor Lir heard a roar of pain as though a blade had been slammed into a creature, goading it awake. He lifted his head as white stone and gray rock exploded across the Cascade Mountains.

29

VOLCANO

SLIVERS OF ICE FLEW, and the mountain gave way with a deathly shudder. A terrible roar surrounded Tor Lir, like a storm at sea, but something much larger than that. The gray mountain peaks trembled, and snow erupted off of them like a white volcano. Stones rattled loose and boulders heaved down the mountainside, collecting snow, smashing against trees, becoming rounder and larger until they looked like massive snowballs rolling down the mountainside. White spray filled the air, and the roaring intensified.

As the whirlwind of snow rose, Tor Lir faced the Frost Queen, and he felt, once again, she’d betrayed him. But this time he would not resort to violence. He kept his tone even. “Is this what you expected? Is this what our joint power created?”

Her ruby lips curled, and she brushed back her snow-white hair. She pointed back to the vortex of white. “Don’t look away now, the show has just begun.”

A pinkish flush covered her cheeks, and Tor Lir studied her, recognizing the warring emotions within. Part of it was anticipation, but the other part was fear. She had tempted fate, made her move, and the way events would play out was now out of her control. It had to be why she’d sent Citrine back to Stronghold with the Clyear of Revelation. They each had their part to play, like a game of cards, each taking their turn. An uneasy feeling snaked through Tor Lir and he backed away, holding onto the wall to keep his balance as the storm increased.

A flash of light came out of the storm, and then a booming crackle of what sounded like thunder. The white mist cleared, and the mountain erupted. Chunks of rock and dirt hurled through the air, and Tor Lir could have sworn he saw a paw. Pink-padded with curved, black claws.

He took a step closer to the edge and squinted. The roar came again, like the cry of a beast awakened from its slumber. This time a long snout with a black nose appeared along with white-gray hair, blending in with the snow. A hairy leg as thick around the trunk of an elder tree slammed down on a chunk of broken rock, sending a flurry of snow and rock rolling down what was left of the jagged mountainside.

Horror and wonder filled Tor Lir, and something deep within his belly pulsed. As if his eyes were opened to the knowledge, he understood why Citrine collected her monsters, her beasts. There was something breathtaking about the colossal size of this new beast, something raw and wild that tugged at him and made him want to see what great feats it could do. Letting go of the wall, Tor Lir walked to the edge of the ledge. Icy-cold wind rattled through his clothing, and the stone under his feet shook. But he ignored it. Craning his neck, he struggled to see the monster that he’d helped the Frost Queen awaken.

A pink tongue swiped the air, tasting the snow and then threw back its head and growled. The deep, heavy sound shook the mountains, and when the creature put its head down, Tor Lir saw a bear.

At least, it looked similar to a bear, covered in thick white fur. It had feet the size of age-old trees and a massive head that seemed as big as a hill. Its jaws were wide, revealing curved fangs that glinted in the light as it roared. Eyes, red and crazed with rage, scanned the sky as the bear sat back on its hunches. Suddenly, the problem with the Therian paled in comparison to the gigantic beast.

Tor Lir stared, taking in its appearance, and its curved claws. If the mountain folk were lucky, they would be far away by now, because fighting a beast like this was impossible. It would destroy everything in its path.

Turning around, Tor Lir studied the Frost Queen. She, too, had left the safety of the arched tunnel and stood out on the ledge, hands clasped at her breasts, staring at the monster they’d awoken. Wind whipped her hair back, and he saw her white teeth set in a mad grin and her eyes, wide and wet.

“You want Citrine to tame this monster,” he almost whispered. It was not a question, just an acknowledgement of her desire.

The Frost Queen licked her lips, her eyes never leaving the beast. “Yes. But only after it destroys the Therian.”

30

RUN

AVERL TUMBLED DOWN THE MOUNTAINSIDE, gaining speed as the storm raged above her. Something slammed into her back, knocking the air out of her. A whimper escaped her lips, and a wetness slid down her cheeks. Snow. Tears. Perhaps even blood. Her feet kicked, struggling for purchase. If she kept sliding, she’d end up buried under the mounting snow. And then a hand gripped her elbow, yanking her against a warm body. Averl almost sobbed with relief. Wiping snow out of her face, she turned to face one of the Ezincks. Agrella. “Averl,” she shouted over the thunder, her mouth set in a hard line. “Run. Get out of here.”

Teeth clattering, Averl nodded her understanding. “The outsiders have come. As we feared, they awoke a sleeping giant. We will all die if we stay here.” Agrella shook her head, eyes dark with fury, grief, and determination. “Head west, toward the Green Stone. Its light will keep you going. Don’t stop until you reach Oceantic.”

Averl opened her mouth, but the wind blew snow into it. She gagged and coughed. “What about grandmother? What about everyone else?”

Agrella gripped both of Averl’s shoulders in her hands. Hard. “Listen to me. You cannot go back. You cannot stop. The monster is faster than all of us. I will do what I can, and we will join you. Find the Rulers of the West. You will be safe there. Understand?”

Averl nodded. Her vision blurred and swam, but she fought against the wind and placed a hand on her heart. Agrella pushed her away and ran, just as the mountain shook again.

A growl split the air, so loud Averl cowered, hands over her ears. Her heart quaked in her chest, and her feet stumbled. But she couldn’t fall. If she didn’t stay upright, she’d be buried under the snow. Rocks would press down upon her, sending her to an early death. Something brown stuck out of a snowbank, and Averl reached for it, relieved to find a tree branch to give her leverage against the thick snow. Her limbs trembled with exhaustion, but she focused, setting one foot in front of the other, leaning on the branch when the ground convulsed.

Another volley of snow threw her off her feet, and she tumbled headlong to a cliff. She saw the sharp crags of the rocks and a waterfall, thundering down to an icy death. Snow poured past her and hurled over the cliff. A scream ripped from her throat, and she thrashed wildly as the snow pushed her toward the edge. Her arms and legs struggled, attempting to stop the onslaught of the snow and push her back. The branch she carried snapped, and her fingers tore free, bloody, perhaps broken.

A blood-curling yell came from her lips as Averl was swept over the edge. The scream made her feel better, and she kept her eyes wide, turning her head back for one last view of the monster. The giant bear stood up on its hind legs and roared, a bellow in her direction, filled with the scent of rotting flesh. Averl whirled her arms one last time, pedaling against snow and air. Her stomach flipped, and a horrible sensation filled her. Death. She was airborne out over the cliffs, and when she fell into the freezing river, the ice, snow and rock would crush her.

Tears filled her eyes, although there was nothing she could do. Her thoughts flew back to grandmother, the stick painting runes on her brown skin, the warmth of the fire, and the warning. The strangers who came and destroyed her world. A buzzing sensation began in her belly, and something clamped around her waist.

Averl’s scream died and her head fell back, gazing at a ball of gold which blocked out the swirling white storm. A sigh escaped her lips as she stared at the creature that carried her. It had the face of an eagle, the body of a lion, and broad wings which beat hard and fast with a desperate intensity. They soared about the falling rocks, the churning wind, and the blizzard of snow. Relief surged through Averl. What was this beast? Why had it saved her? Were there more? Would her people be saved after all? If so, they could survive and go on. A sob of gratitude poured out of her lips.

31

PRESSURE

PRESSURE SQUEEZED CITRINE. She opened her eyes. One of her legs was trapped against something soft and furry. Wet liquid pooled around her, and she took a breath. Dusty air filled her nostrils, and a niggling began in her throat. She coughed, the sound loud in the blackness. Stones jarred and shifted around her, and she heard low moans. Desperation clawed at her. Faintly, in her subconscious she heard voices. They whispered and wept, some in pain and others in fear.

She strained to listen to the beasts, but their words were unintelligible. Her thoughts flickered to her beasts on the outside. Would they know what happened? She pushed her thoughts toward them, seeking to make communication with first Grift, then Ava. Zaul would be too far away, and Morag was supposed to be in the deep waters of Oceantic, keeping an eye on the Udi until Citrine was free to return to them. A fuzzy sound met her ears. Frustrated, she pushed against the rocks that held her prisoner. Stones rolled around her and moved, sending a cloud of dust her way but giving her better air flow. She pushed again, opening and closing her eyes as she swayed and stood to her feet. Blackness met her eyes. She fumbled and searched for a light, but as she reached into her bag, her fingers brushed against the shape of a wing. The Clyear of Revelation.

Almost holding her breath, Citrine slowly pulled it free and felt it in the darkness. There was one wing, and her fingers touched the slope of its back to the lines of its legs, one of which ended in a sharp point. Gone. Broken. She chewed her lower lip and moved her fingers faster, finding the other wing gone. When she brought her hand up to where the head had been, there was nothing but broken shards, shattered by her fall. An ache began in her middle. Was she wounded? She desperately wanted light, to examine the broken Clyear—what the cousins had fought over—although now she wouldn't be able to use it.

Citrine took a deep breath. She could do this without the Clyear of Revelation. After all, it had been her wits that helped her defeat the Master of the Forest. Standing tall, she ignored the discomfort in her bones, threw back her head, opened her hands, and listened. Her mind weaved through the babbling voices and forced its way through the stones where she was buried so far underground. Her head thumped, and then she caught the threads of communication, a voice she could understand.

Grift.

Mistress. Where are you? Are you alive? We must get out.

Grift. It's okay, she lied, disliking the panic she heard in Grift’s thoughts. I am in the Therian's Stronghold, near the dungeons. The mountain shook and collapsed. I have to find my way out; can you tell me what is going on out there?

A beast erupted out of a mountain.

A beast? Citrine almost laughed. What kind of beast? Surely no beast can be powerful enough to cause such an avalanche.

Grift snorted. It is like a white bear, bigger than the temple in Sanga Sang, with huge claws and thick jaws. It is frightened, angry, confused, and destroying everything in its path. I found a child whom I am taking to safety. I will return for other survivors.

Grift. Numbness swept over her. Be careful. Some might mistake your intentions and take you for an enemy. You should go away while you can. I will figure out a solution to this madness.

Mistress. What of Tor Lir?

Citrine sighed. He can take care of himself. The Frost Queen has a purpose for him.

As you wish.

The connection to Grift faded away, although Citrine found she could still connect to it if she wished. She took comfort in that. Keeping her eyes closed, she searched for Ava.

A scream dove through her thoughts and shattered her concentration. Citrine opened her eyes. Pale lights flickered in the distance. Her heart thumped a warning in her chest. It could not be torch light. She assumed it was a beast, but whether it was Therian or one of the wild beasts, she was unsure. It could see her in the dark, and shortly after she heard a sniffing sound.

Rocks moved around her, and then a torch lit up the gloom. Citrine glanced around and saw she wasn't the only one to escape the crush of rock and stone. Most of the warriors who had been with Lord Nodin were near the collapse, and piles of rubble blocked the way back. Citrine glared at the blockage, as though it would fade under the hostility in her gaze.

Forgetting Ava, she dashed to the stones and began to move them, searching for Elbron underneath the crush of rubble. She worked quickly, unsure whether she was burying him farther or releasing others who were trapped.

"Come with me," called the person with the light. "We need to move further in before the rest of the passageway collapses."

Ignoring the call, Citrine dug until her nails snapped and broke and her fingers bled. Around her she heard others doing the same. She could hear low weeping across the passageway as Therian found Therian, some alive, others crushed by stone or mauled when the fighting broke out.

Citrine blinked back tears, furious at her lack of results. What had happened to Elbron?

Stronghold trembled, and at last she realized her quest might be in vain. Standing, she wiped her hands on her short shift, pulled the ragged fur around her shoulders, and moved on, following the light deeper into the shadows.

"What happened?” a female's voice called out.

"We've angered the mountain," a voice answered.

"This is a punishment, a curse because of who we are," another Therian wailed.

Citrine set her jaw and shut her mind against them. She had no desire to comfort the grief-stricken Therian, but there had to be a solution to the wildness, and more than anything, she wanted to escape. How foolish she’d been to let Nodin convince her and Tor Lir it was of the utmost importance to save the Therian. If only she had known about his slick words and lying tongue. Nodin. She hoped he lay dead under the rubble. Fury overtook her grief and frustration as she walked.

As they descended into the deep, the whispers of the wild beasts became a shrill scream.

Citrine froze, aware she walked into the unknown and had to be mindful. Her fingers went to her knife, but it was gone. Lost in the rubble. Then shouts broke out.

"Back, get back! One is free!"

"We need to kill it."

"What if it's one of our own who can be cured?"

"We can’t. It will kill us if we don't kill it first."

A howl, deep and wild, filled the air. Citrine shivered, reminded of her visions in Sanga Sang. For a moment, she smelled blood in the air. Vicious emotions swept through her. There was a madness just out of her reach. Then she heard a roar, this time from behind her. Spinning, she saw a horned shadow leap through the air. It moved past her in a blur, and although the passage swam in shadows, she could have sworn it was the shape of a beast. Was Lord Nodin still alive? And was he going to do the right thing this time and save his people?

32

WILD

ENERGY SURGED through Citrine as her fighting instincts took over. Without thinking, she snatched up a heavy rock in each hand. She weighed them in her palms. Screams and cries echoed around her, making her hair stand on end. The darkness only heightened her fears, but there was no way out, only through. She dashed toward the madness, heart thudding in her throat.

A flight of stairs almost caught her by surprise, but she stumbled down them until she saw the first beast, its eyes pale lights in the darkness. She threw the rock. It slammed into the side of a beast, who roared with pain before falling to the side. Citrine tossed another one, taking down a second beast just as hot breath touched her shoulder. She lashed out with her fist as sharp teeth scraped across the skin of her knuckle. Citrine dropped to the ground and rolled, hurling her body over stones. Pain rifled through her body, and vaguely she heard someone shouting. "This way, there's an enclosure up ahead."

Something slammed her into the wall, knocking the breath out of her. Citrine wiggled away, an ache from the blow forming in the pit of her stomach. With a gasp, she came to her feet and scrambled blindly. A wet smack filled the air. Bones cracked around her, and screams became muffled in death throes. She smelled blood mingling with dust and stone. A pungent musk hung in the air. Beasts, imprisoned together and forced to feast on each other's flesh. Citrine gagged against the overpowering smell of decay and pulled her fur cloak over her nose. But when she tried to run, her cloak yanked her back. It was stuck. Using both hands, she tried to pull it free. The ground belched, heaving her upward. Citrine's arms and legs wheeled through the air, searching for purchase. The bundle on her back slipped away, and a scream left her lips. The book of spells, the book she'd worked so hard on. She could not lose a year of work, not again. Her fingers shook as they reached out for something solid and met fur.

Dread filled her, and a hush of voices overcame her. Holding onto the fur, Citrine tumbled and her feet met solid stone. With a cry she fled until a hand grabbed hers. Therian. Not beast. Although it was hard to make that distinction anymore. The person dragged her into a narrow passageway just as a beast hurled itself at them. A squeak left her lips, and then a hush came over her as she entered a light-filled room.

The entrance was just wide enough for a person to squeeze through, but too narrow for a beast. Torch light flicked across the room, and a handful of people stood or sat, some holding their heads, others caring for various wounds. The last of the Therian. Citrine glanced at the person who had led her there. A stranger. Her eyes scanned the room, and she took a deep breath, keeping the panic down. They were all strangers, those she'd seen when she first entered Stronghold, people she had not yet had the chance to meet.

The male who had led her there raised his hands as though quieting everyone down, although they were already silent. Citrine froze where she stood beside him, taking in the somber faces of old and young alike.

"I am Colden; many of you know me as one of the Lords of the Therian, but the time for titles is over. You saw what happened out there. Despite our differences, we know it was not because of our enemies nor because of what Lord Nodin did. Nay, that was an act of nature, of the mountain coming down around our ears. We always knew there was a possibility this could happen, and now that it has, we have to decide what to do. We are safe, for now, but lack food and water. We will not last long down here, for our exit is trapped not only by rock but also by our own who have turned into wild beasts. I would ask that we not give in to panic and devastation yet. We must act together if we are to get through this together. First, I would ask that we section off into groups to talk through a plan of action and discuss together in a cohesive voice. We need volunteers to look for exits, we need weapons to fight the beasts that were once our own, and more than anything, we need food and water to sustain us."

"What about Nodin and Elbron? Are they dead?" someone asked.

Colden shrugged his broad shoulders. "We don't know. When the passageway collapsed it was difficult to see in the dark. If they survived, they will join us here. They know the way. For now, all we can do is wait for more survivors to come until we have volunteers who will seek them out."

Citrine noticed a few of the Therian looking at her. Their faces were dark, unfriendly, and suddenly she wanted to leave. A feeling of being trapped came over her, and her stomach hurt.

"What about her?" someone asked. "Nodin brought her here to help us!"

Colden turned toward Citrine. His face was large, flat, and a beard covered his jaw. He wore a gray fur loosely around his shoulders, and his chest was bare. He folded his meaty hands. "What do they call you?"

Citrine frowned. "My name is Citrine."

"Citrine. Brought here by Lord Nodin. Do you have the power to help us?"

That was the question she'd asked herself all along. But her bag of herbs was gone along with her precious book of spells. Citrine patted herself through her furs and felt the pieces of the Clyear of Revelation. She wondered, briefly, if it would come back together if she pulled it out, and give her a vision of how to help the Therian. And help herself escape. She could not die trapped in a cave full of strangers. She'd be damned if she let that happen. Even with the help of her beasts, there was no way they could move the stones to set her free. A vacant expression came over her face, and she recalled the hall of the Frost Queen and the constant sound of digging. She closed her eyes, closed her mind, and listened.

There. Far in the deep. Beyond the frustrated whispers of the wild beasts and the moans of the dying, she heard something else. It was faint, but it rang out against the stone, like something hard striking something just as hard, again and again. Digging. Could the mountain folk be digging toward them? Was it possible?

"Can you help? Or are you mute?" Colden's irritated voice demanded.

Citrine snapped back to the present and opened her eyes. Her lips curled up, and she raised her chin. "Give me some time. I might have a way to help us escape."

33

STORM

THE BEAST ROARED and the mountain trembled in response. An appropriate response, Tor Lir thought as he crossed his arms. Ice surrounded him, fissuring as the quake continued. Tor Lir waited for the dizzying sensation of fear to push all logic out of his mind. It never came. Nothing but smoldering discomfort perched on his shoulders. He eyed the Frost Queen, who stared, intoxicated, at the creature, basking in its beastly fury. He understood that lust for power, the pull of chaos, the destruction of her enemies. The beast was awake, the mountainside ripe for destruction. He was part of this.

"You can speak plainly now," he told her, his voice as cold as the frost that covered the ledge they stood on. "Why did you wake this beast? What is your plan?"

The Frost Queen turned lidded eyes on him. "They made me suffer," she whispered, her fingers clenched into fists. "Now it's their turn to suffer for their misdeeds."

Tor Lir pointed to the massive bear. "You are aware this beast will take down the mountain, and if Citrine is buried with the Therian, how can she tame it?”

A hollow sensation passed through him, an emotion he could not name.

"She is resourceful. She will find a way," the Frost Queen declared. "But you are right, the Kodiak will bring down the mountain; we must return below."

"Kodiak?" Tor glanced at her as he backed away.

The bear reared up on its hind legs, bellowing in confusion and anger. The air turned stale, and a sharp wind blew Tor Lir's hair flat on his head. He shielded his eyes with his hand as snow whipped up. The bear bounded off in the direction of Stronghold.

"Kodiak. It's the name of that creature, an unusually large beast that rules the mountains. He will destroy everything in his wake until she stops him, but we called him forth using Orenda. When the pool of power is drained, he will die."

Tor Lir's brow furrowed. "A pool of power?"

"Aye." The Frost Queen beckoned to him. "When I looked into the Clyear of Revelation, I saw what caused the Therian to turn wild. Orenda seeped into their water supply, likely encouraged by the Therian they call Lord Nodin. They began to turn wild, one after the other, and nothing can bring them back. It will cease when the line of Therian are destroyed or the pool of Orenda is empty."

"I don't understand, how can power empty or run out?"

The Frost Queen laughed. "It is how power goes. Surely you know? Power is given to a few and for some once they use up all of their power, it fades and never returns. Others have an endless supply. Orenda is meant to be infused or taken in. Once it is within you, it is yours to keep. Forever. As far as I know. If it is outside of you, and not awakened, it will fade into the ether, the In-Between as some call it. You have used the power of Orenda to awaken Kodiak; it is within you. In the same way, Citrine will use the knowledge the Clyear grants her to awaken the power of Orenda within her. It will give her the strength she needs to tame Kodiak."

"What if she did not look into it?" Tor Lir demanded. "You base your plan on mindless assumptions."

The Frost Queen shrugged. “Come." She moved farther into the passage. "We should hurry before this ledge collapses. There's a reason I changed my mind about killing you. If Citrine does not tame the beast, you will have to."

Tor Lir stared, and a sudden fury rose so strong he thought he’d choke on it. He wanted to reach out with his bare hands and rip something, anything, apart, but he did not understand the emotion. Why was he stirred to violence when he usually used his words to resolve situations? What was it about the Cascade Mountains and the Therian that brought out the darker side of him?

"Then you have sent her to her death," he stated.

The Frost Queen shrugged. "I tried to kill you; I do not see why it matters."

His jaw clenched. "Because you are soulless," he growled.

A flush came over her white face. "I am doing something about the things that happened to me. Most people sit and wait for something to happen to them in their lives, but I refuse to be that way. I take matters into my own hands, I take action and, yes, those actions have consequences. I am aware, but I have accepted my fate. Now come and stop asking questions."

A lump stuck in his throat, and he thought of what he’d seen in the Clyear. His shadow offered to help, to reveal a slice of power that could assist him. Was he willing to dig into a dark knowledge, something that might be evil in exchange for salvation? But who was he saving and why? Would stopping the beast be enough? His heart pounded, and he tasted blood in his throat as he considered. When he looked down, he saw a green shimmer around his hands.

Another roar smote the air, shattering icicles. Cracks splintered up the ledge, and the once-firm ground beneath Tor Lir’s feet trembled. Regardless of the danger, he moved closer to the ledge, ignoring the Frost Queen’s shouts.

White fury surrounded him. Screams and cries echoed in the wind as it whipped up, hurling snow across the peaks. There was the mineral smell of blood in the air. Snow fringed his eyelids, and a deep abiding cold made his teeth chatter. He glanced back to look at the Frost Queen, but the ferocity of the storm hid her from view.

He took another step toward the void, sucking in air so cold it felt like it would freeze his lungs. Was he mad? Had he lost his mind? But there was nothing left to lose and so he took another step until he teetered on the edge of the ledge.

A chunk fell away, lost in the moaning wind. Stones rolled down all around him, crashing and banging against ice and rock. Roars and howls filled the air and then a flash of lightning, bright, intense, cut through the storm. Or was it fire? For the faint smell of roasting meat came and faded in the wind.

Tor Lir crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. In his mind he pictured his shadow, a green flame, white tentacles, and words. Words he did not want to hear gusted around him.

Ever since he'd left Sanga Sang, he'd made mistake after mistake. He'd resorted to violence and selfishness, let his friends down to die in an attack, awoken a beast who would destroy the mountain folk. He did not know why, but he wanted to save them; he wanted to stop the madness. And so, he took one final step. His foot touched nothing but air as he stepped off the ledge and dropped into the storm.

34

POWER

CITRINE SAT STIFFLY against the solid wall, blocking out the voices around her. Occasionally a wild beast would hurl itself at the narrow opening and shake the room. Soft murmurs rang out as worries were vocalized, but Citrine ignored them. She was lost in her own thoughts. When she closed her eyes, she saw a white mist, a ball of Silver-White Light. It bloomed, sending out fingers of energy like flower petals. If Citrine reached out, she could have it to herself, have it as her own. When she breathed in, the light floated nearer until the haze glowed about her. She stared at it and remembered. Words spoken in the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry came floating back.

A future will come when the mortals must flee and run to the caves and canyons to hide from the domain of the immortals. For those without death will rise, and the Creators will have free will to enact their reign of chaos. . . The release of uncanny power will be the ultimate downfall of the mortals.

When it ceased speaking, the light invaded her. It rushed forward in a halo of glory, smashed into her chest, descended into her throat, and sent a tingling sensation from the tips of her toes to the bottom of her belly and the pads of her fingers. A heady elation filled her, almost like the euphoric sensation of pleasure. She took another breath, and it centered in her core, twirled around her, and squeezed.

Suddenly, she saw in color. Golden light wafted from her fingertips while an eerie glow centered on her. It was like she was a spirit looking down on a vacant body. She closed her hands and opened them again, watching the light dance on her palms. The realization thudded through her, and she sat up straight as the vision faded. Eyes closed, she listened, and for the first time understood the wild whispers. They pressed around her in a frenzy of angst, but she held firm and reached out her mind to leash them.

One by one, she found the threads of communication and touched them with her mind.

The memory of a slap almost made her grab her cheeks. Mother always said she should listen, but never control the beasts. But these were wild, too far gone, and if she did not exert control, they would break the sacred vow she held her beasts to and harm the mortals. It did not matter if they had brought this upon themselves; more than anything she needed to get out of there.

Her thoughts flickered back to Elbron and Nodin, and with a pang she wondered if they were still alive. And what about Zilpha? Conflicting emotions rose. What happened to her? Had she fled only to be buried under rubble? Nodin had hoodwinked Zilpha, and because no one spoke up to stop her, the mistakes and mistrust had led to her demise. Citrine chewed on her lower lip and then pushed the thought away. She would not take on Zilpha's plight; she had enough to worry about. Once she got out of this mess and found Tor Lir, they could grieve properly for the people they'd lost in the cursed Cascade Mountains.

Threads of communication wrapped around Citrine like vines, and she knitted them together, creating one point to communicate with the creatures. As their frantic whispers cascaded, she pushed white light through the thread, basking in the ambience of her newfound power. It flowed toward the beasts with the single command Citrine ordered:

Hush your cries. I am here. Mother of all beasts. I will protect you, but you have broken the oath, the vow. You shall not harm another. Around us the walls and stones fall, but your cries make it worse. If you want me a find a way for you to live, hush, listen.

The moans faded but came back just as strong. It was as though she tried to tame a wild horse that bucked and wheeled, champing at the bit, struggling to regain its freedom. Citrine’s mind flashed back to the tower in Sanga Sang where she had tried and failed to control Chimera, Nodin’s cousin, Elbron’s sister. She recalled the death of the creature and how it made her feel, the strange sorrow that billowed around her. She reached out with the white light and tried again. This time she could not call her beasts and flee. She had to face whatever was down there, in the dark and cold, trapped among the rocks.

Hush, oath-breakers. Listen to me. I am Citrine the Enchantress. I protect the beasts who follow me, but you must cease this wildness. You must swear to follow me.

We will not swear, a wild voice came back, slamming against her thoughts with such force Citrine almost physically flew backward. A flare of anger scratched her throat, and she opened her eyes.

The dark eyes of the Therian stared back, and when she looked down at her hands, she saw a golden glow. She stared. Something odd was at work. What was it? Whatever it was, being near the Therian had awoken something uncanny with her, but they would all die if she did not come up with a plan. The beasts were stubborn, but when she searched her feelings, the fear wasn’t as strong as she expected.

She squared her shoulders and faced the Therian.

“Do you have a plan?” Colden asked.

Citrine pointed to the door. “We are going out there.”

Colden crossed his arms. “Why?”

Citrine lifted her chin. “Because you are the Therian. This is your home, Stronghold, a home you’ve long fought for in the past. Once again, you are being attacked and yet you hide when you have the power to shift into beasts and drive back the wild ones that dwell in your midst. You drove them to the dungeons here, refusing to let them run free. Surely you have the power to hold them back while we seek escape. We don’t know if the avalanche will continue, we don’t know if the rocks will crash down upon us and trap us here, so we have to move while we have the time. I just need to find the route.”

“She’s right,” a voice near the entrance said.

The Therian collectively turned, and Citrine took a sharp breath in. Nodin stood before them. A purple bruise covered the side of his face, and blood dripped off one arm. His amber eyes had gone a shade darker.

A shiver went up Citrine’s spine, and she scowled. “Where is Elbron?”

Nodin glared at her. “Crushed.”

Citrine folded her arms. “How did you escape?”

His gaze went darker still. “A bull is hard to slay.”

“As is a bear,” Citrine rejoined.

A sudden image of Elbron’s bear form being skewered by a bull made her feel sick. Had Nodin killed his cousin? Had he gone too far?

She glanced around the room. Tension hummed thick, ready to explode. When she looked back at Nodin, his pupils had dilated and slowly, he transformed back into a bull.

“Stop him,” Colden shouted. “He’s turning wild!”

35

ALONE

COLD ENVELOPED TOR LIR in its deathly embrace. When he opened his eyes a whirlwind of ice and snow swept past his face in a ceaseless blizzard. When he closed his eyes, there was nothing but blackness as dark as the evening tides. Breath fled from his body, and his limbs went numb. The blanket of whiteness was like a cocoon of safety, nested away from the woes of the Therian, the treachery of the Frost Queen and the cries of the mountain folk whose very existence was being wiped out by the perilous beast: Kodiak.

Tor Lir moved, picking a direction at random since there was no path. A faint tremor shook the ground, forcing him to pause and re-adjust his thoughts. Initially, when he'd fallen, it was from an intense desire to get away from the Frost Queen. Her overwhelming lust for vengeance stirred him in ways he did not intend. His thoughts were conflicted and leaned toward violence in her presence. Now that he was free of her, a clarity came to his mind. He stretched out his hands, although the wind beat against them, creating tiny cuts on his clothes and skin.

He should be dead from exposure, the chill, and the relentless slant of the storm, but an urge drove him on.

There was a faint pull like a hint of the purest perfume that wafted in the wind. It played with him, a seeker's game, and each step in the right direction brought a warmth to his body. The closer he moved, the warmer it grew, and yet the storm blinded him, forcing him to walk by the pull in his heart.

Alone. His thoughts flickered back to his years growing up in the green forest of Shimla. The innocence and beauty of nature compelled him to explore its boundaries, and when he visited the arbors of the Jesnidrains, pleasures untold were brought to him. He did not realize the unexpected blessing of being an Iaen then, but as he walked, he considered the desires of mortals, and how sharply they contrasted with his. Mortals longed for treasure, they fought for power; they used work as the measuring stick upon which they attained their goals. They fought and bled and desired and yet were never content with what they had. Their short lives seemed nothing more than an endless quest for something unattainable, something they could not carry into the afterlife when they passed and their souls traveled to the Beyond. Yet in his quest to bring balance to the South World, he'd seen what the mortals sought, what they lived for. After all, he’d had the chance to gain it all when he lived in Shimla.

Power was his birthright, although he'd tossed it away. The desire to rule the Iaen seemed tedious. How could he rule over a paradise where the pursuit of pleasure was the only goal? It was the sheer complacency of his kind that encouraged him to leave and seek life in the realm of mortals. A place where he did not understand the laws of the land but the distinction between right and wrong were clear in his head.

Theft. Murder. Trickery. Betrayal. Destruction. Abuse. Slander.

It was easy to distinguish between right and wrong when it came to those basic things, regardless of intent. But when it came to making judgements and choosing who would suffer the consequences and who would walk free, it become increasingly confusing. After being close to the Frost Queen, he grasped her need for revenge, and the intensity with which she held herself away from the world, her sole focus on repaying those who made her suffer, who killed her children. The Therian. But was it up to her to choose who would suffer? Should she be allowed to enact her revenge? Tor Lir thought not, especially when her revenge affected more than the Therian.

Briefly he recalled the Ezinck child that he, Citrine, and Elbron had come across on their way to the Frost Queen's lair. What of her tribe? What happened to them when the giant bear unearthed itself? Their camp was likely gone, destroyed in the onslaught. Even if they lived in caves, the mountain could not take much more.

His thoughts turned to Citrine, likely buried in the depths of Stronghold. He set his jaw as he thought of her. Citrine the Enchantress. He could not lose her. The realization struck him with a small degree of astonishment. He'd promised the green giantess who raised him that he would not destroy the world because of love, but he felt on the brink, and with some annoyance he considered what his true feelings were. It was clear, and he could freely admit he cared about her and what happened to her. Regardless, he'd cared for Hava too, and it brought nothing but death to her. A fate Citrine could not share. She was too important to lose, for she belonged with him.

A certainty came over him, and he brushed his fingers through the air, seeking something to hold onto as the wind threatened to blow him over. He needed to save her. It was his sole purpose now. Because of the Frost Queen, the mountain folk were doomed. He'd do what he could to save them, but he needed to save Citrine and find out what his purpose was. After he helped her with the Udi, he’d persuade her to go to Daygone with him.

Threads of clarity drifted to him. He was no longer afraid of who he was, what he was. He wanted to know why he was born and for what purpose; he wanted to know what frightened the green giantess, and why she was always uncomfortable in his presence. And then there was the song, the unending lullaby that whispered through his consciousness, flinging meaningless words at him until it controlled him. He wanted wisdom. He'd seen the world and what the mortals offered, and in the year and half he’d gained no great glories, nor obtained knowledge that encouraged him. He was above them and their ways. It was only the darkness of the mortals that allowed him to see. It was their imperfections and their nobleness that made him realize there was more he could do to shape the world.

Heat flared up his legs, distracting him from his thoughts. He blinked. White. Black. Nothing else. But he was closer. The numbness faded from his knees down, and the whispery sensation in his chest grew stronger. A deep pull surged through him, like water against a dam, waiting to burst free. His hands sought purchase, and he stamped his feet, seeking a liquid.

If the Frost Queen had told him the truth, he should find the source of that pool. Orenda. The power of the mountains that filled him. If he consumed it all, the giant bear would slumber again, or die. Uneasiness made him twitch. He did not know how to consume that power, but if he called upon his shadow, if he let down his iron resistance, he could save what life was left in the mountains. He would not shy away from who he was or let his weakness cause such a great calamity again.

After a time, the wind dropped. Tor Lir was unsure how long he had walked through the storm. Vague humps rose on either side of him. Snowbanks. The wind curled around him, sending snow in gentle circles. The flakes were as big as his hands, allowing him to see the intricate designs, each contrasting with the other yet just as beautiful. The scent of pine trees hung in the air, although there was nothing but all-consuming whiteness.

Tor Lir took a breath and saw mist curl around him, as though he once again sat in the fire at the home of Novor Tur-Woodberry and smoke curled out of a pipe. He remembered Citrine's tears when Novor Tur-Woodberry's land faded away. Losing the connection to paradise had been devastating for her. To come from nothing and have everything one desired snatched away was a hard burden to bear. But bear it she did, and he had not understood. Not then. Now he only caught glimpses of what mortals must have thought of him. He came across as cold, arrogant. The mortals misunderstood him and his intentions.

Even now, he walked alone, and he needed something other than his shadow on his side.

It came to him in a blur. The wind died away, and he stopped on the bank of an impossible pool. Above him rose layers of snow banks and gray rock, as though he'd walked to the bottom of a mountain. There was no sky around him, no ending above or below him, only a vague whiteness that sparkled with an intensity that hurt his eyes. He blinked against the brightness and wondered if he were at the bottom of the world, or somewhere in the vast In-Between where the Truth Tellers dwelt.

Beneath his feet, the bank sloped down into a riverbed. Shimmering in the brightness with collected motes of white mist was a milk-white pool. The substance in it was thick like clay, and Tor Lir had a strange compulsion to dive in, head first, and drink the liquid until it was gone. If this was the pool of Orenda, it was endless, and he had no way to drain it.

His thoughts flickered, trying to make sense of the energy wafting from the surface of the pool. Old tales did not mention the pool, nor much of what happened in the mountains. He thought back to the Rulers of the West. It was said they had a power, and he wondered if it had awoken in them when they went to the mountains. According to the Frost Queen, those who had it would not lose it, but he could take it away. If he used his shadow, he could take it all away and ensure no one else could misuse the power as the Frost Queen had. Would it be enough to kill the giant bear?

He stretched out his hands as though he would bless the pool. Nothing shimmered in the water, and he took a step down, closer to the surface.

His step made a soft crunching sound and then over the water, he saw a horned shadow. His shadow. The dark thing walked up out of the pool, as though it dwelled there, and hovered in front of Tor Lir.

Tor Lir met its eyes, aware that he looked on himself. However, he could not stop a slight sensation of unease. The shadow stood as he did, feet apart, arms folded.

Animosity hung in the air, a faint hint of the warring between his inner thoughts, reflected in the darkness that took form before him.

"We must destroy the pool," he said.

The shadow stared back. "I am you. And you are me. What are you proposing?"

Tor Lir’s voice went cold. "I am not proposing anything. I am telling you, because you are me, and I am you. We will destroy this pool. Together."

The shadow took a step toward him, and then another. A terrible premonition came over Tor Lir as the shadow stepped forward until they were almost touching. He closed his eyes and inhaled until his shadow was inseparable from him once more. The stirrings of power awakened in him, and he walked into the pool.

36

BURIED

THE BULL that had once been Nodin grew horns on its head. A snout appeared where its face was, and its eyes turned black. Thick, hairy arms and legs took the place of his flesh, and hooves formed from his feet. His went down on all fours, shook his head back and forth, horns glinting in the low light, and charged the room.

Citrine’s hands trembled as she backed against the wall, making slow movements toward the exit. Growls filled the air, danger on the outside, danger on the inside. The Therian transformed into massive gray wolves and brown bears. Curved teeth met the bull’s side, and guttural howls filled the air. The scent of blood and fur hung in the air, and among the cries were the snap of bone, the rip of flesh, and the tearing of skin as the Therian fought. Feeling nauseous, Citrine took her chance and slipped from the room out into the dark hall where the wild beasts awaited.

She lifted her hands and gathered the threads of communication once more. This time she ignored the trepidation in her thoughts, the words her mother had forbidden her to use, and exerted her control over the wild beasts.

Stay still. Let me walk through you in peace.

Snarls met her and low growls, but they did not come for her. Turning, she fled into darkness, leaping over broken rock and making her way farther into the underground. Stale air pressed around her, adding to her concerns. She had no idea how deep the path went on, nor how much air was left. If everything above them was trapped, it was only a matter of time until they all expired from lack of air, food, and water—if the inner feud of the Therian did not get them first.

After a while, the sound of digging rang out loud and clear. Citrine’s shoulders relaxed, and she followed the sound until she came to a wide cavern. It was there the work was at its loudest, sending echoes dancing through the air. She entered the cavern, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the walls, where crystals lay embedded and gave off a faint blue light. Citrine sighed with relief. It was here she needed to bring the Therian. She glanced to the walls, aware that she had lost her way and did not know how to get back. A shriek filled her thoughts.

Citrine! Where are you?

Ava. She pressed her lips together. I am buried in the Therian's Stronghold, trying to get out. Where are you?

Get out of there. We need to leave. A monstrous bear is tearing down the mountain. You will be crushed if we don’t flee now.

I know that, Ava. Citrine sighed. The Therian are at war and I’m deep underground in a cavern. I think the Fúlishités of the Frost Queen are digging a tunnel this way. Once they come through, I’ll make my way back to her caves, if they aren’t underground, and find you.

What about the bear? It will destroy everything, Ava shrieked again.

Citrine went still, taking in the weight of what she was about to do. How big is it, Ava?

As big as a mountain, its breath stinks, and one of its paws will knock me out of the sky if I get too close. Shall I kill it for you?

Yes, Ava. Citrine blew out her breath. Forsaking her oath for the first time. Ava. Burn it.

Before the threads of communication were severed, Citrine heard Ava hiss and then roar. For a moment she was with her beast in the air, arching back her neck to create a fireball. Heat would flare from Ava’s throat and then a liquid of fire would consume the bear. Citrine balled her hands into fists. She would save as many as she could, although from the sounds she heard in a distance, she did not know how many.

She chewed her lower lip, and her thoughts flew to Tor Lir. Where was he? What was he doing? Tears smarted in her eyes. Why should she care?

The digging stopped, and it was a moment before Citrine heard a gentle smacking sound. She turned her attention back to the rock just as a hole opened up. Two beady eyes in a heavily bearded face gazed at her. But it was the sight beyond those eyes that made her give a muffled cry. Her hands flew to her mouth, and she stared, quivering with desire.

37

EMERALD

EMERALD FIRE EXPLODED across the pool, licking up the slippery surface. Tor Lir watched as though he were not there, merely an impartial observer as the green fire poured from his fingertips.

So that was what the shimmer had been, a potent power underneath his skin that he carried around with him. He racked his mind, trying to remember if he’d ever seen the green giantess use this strange ability. But try as he might, nothing jolted his memory.

Another uneasy thought came to mind. He’d seen the green shimmer on the giantess’s skin many times. It seemed to show through when she grew agitated. There were words she spoke, chants in another language, but he could not recall her doing it when he was near. Something was hidden from him. But what was it? And why did she hide it from him? Why did she not take on the responsibility of telling him who he really was and why she’d brought him into the world? Was it because of a mistake she’d made that she did not want him to repeat? Was she trying to ensure he was unmarked by the visions that haunted her? Or was she leaving him to the winds of fate, the call of the Truth Tellers and the tug in his heart. It was up to him to choose his own path and determine whether he would walk a fine line between light and dark or plunge wholeheartedly into good or evil.

Smoke billowed through the air like an emerald cloud on a clear day. An incandescent shimmer filled his vision, and the raw scent of power imbued the air. He sniffed, unable to describe what it smelled like. The fire raged like a hungry beast, licking up the milky-white pool, and yet it did not spread any farther. It was contained in the circle, a ceaseless fire.

Tor Lir dropped his arms and his gazed moved skyward. How would he find Citrine? He needed a connection, a trail that would lead directly to her. A thought blinked into his mind so strongly a grin came to his face. He focused his gaze on the sky, took a deep breath and shouted with all his might, “Ava.”

His voice boomed from the depths of his belly with a surprising resonance. The call echoed off the mountain tops. Cheeks pulled, back the grin stayed on his lips and he shouted again and again. Out of all of Citrine’s beasts, Ava was partial to him. He admired her fearsome beauty and was well aware she could understand him; he just did not have the same ability Citrine had to connect with her beasts with her mind.

A crack in the pool drew his attention back to the walls of fire he’d created. Flames had consumed the milk-white liquid, leaving a hole in the ground where the pool had once been. Tor Lir stepped back, although the fire still burned. A rushing sound came to his ears like the roar of a wind, only there was no wind, and his fingers twitched in the stillness. Warmth flamed his face, and his eyes grew wide as he realized he needed to stop it.

He held out his fingers and called out a command. “Stop.”

Flames leapt into the air, higher if possible. Tor Lir took a step back. “Stop.”

The hole in the ground spread like a mouth, opening up wider and wider as though it would swallow the mountain. The ground shook, and fissures opened up. Tor Lir continued to back away, his eyes widening as the rock in front of him dropped away, diving into the black hole. The fire swirled into it and the thunder of the mountain drowned out all sound. Panic furled through Tor Lir, and he shouted repeatedly. “Ava. Ava!”

38

STONE

LIGHT GLITTERED, and there it was. A lemon-yellow stone. The same color of her eyes. Around it other jewels shimmered behind the ice, promising wealth to those who mined the tunnels. Time slowed down for Citrine. The stone she’d originally searched for but gave up after she heard about the Clyear of Revelation. Excitement tingled in her fingertips. It was pure luck the stone was here.

“Oy. Who are you?” a voice demanded.

Citrine paused in her tracks, a scowl crossing her face at the interruption. The beady eyes belonged to a four-foot-tall Fúlishité. A mane of silver hair ran from his head past his waist, and his mouth was lost in the bush of his silver beard. He raised frost-covered eyebrows at Citrine, kicked out the last of the rubble, and stepped out of the wall. Once he moved out of the way, another Fúlishité followed him, and another, and another.

Citrine ignored the question and continued on her path to the stone. It perched at eye level, a few feet away from where the Fúlishités’ tunnel opened up. The stone glimmered behind a sheet of ice. She just needed a knife to dig it out. Her fingers went to her waist, but she was defenseless. A curse left her lips. She’d foolishly lost the knives that Novor Tur-Woodberry—the friendly giant—had given her. Her eyebrows creased, and she chewed her bottom lip.

“Who is she?” a Fúlishité, perhaps the same one, asked.

“Is she deaf?” another chimed in.

“Besotted with treasure from the looks of it,” mumbled a third.

“Nah,” a grumpy voice added. “That’s the one that came to see our queen.”

“Which one?”

“The one she gave the Clyear.”

Citrine sighed, spun around, and shuffled back a few steps. An army of Fúlishités filled the chamber. When they came out of the tunnel, they’d dropped pickaxes by the entrance. The Fúlishités were dressed in leather with knives in their belts, an ax on their shoulders and a crossbow on their backs. They were prepared for a battle, a war. They formed rank after rank, standing shoulder to shoulder in a straight line, ready to march into the depths of the mountain.

“What are you doing here?” she squeaked.

The silver-bearded Fúlishité stepped forward. He did not carry any weapons; instead, he folded his arms across his chest. “Ah. She speaks. Who are you? What are you doing down here?”

“I am Citrine, the Enchantress.” She lifted her chin, proud of herself for using her title, Enchantress. It rolled off her lips as though it belonged there. “I suppose you serve the Frost Queen?”

“Aye,” he snorted. “She gave you the Clyear. You’re supposed to be killing the beast.”

Killing the beast? The question hung on Citrine’s lips, and she recalled the monster both Grift and Ava had spoken about. Her hands went to fur, and she pulled out the shards of the Clyear. It faded in her hands, misting away to a silver nothingness. Citrine blinked hard and felt a hollowness in her chest. Anger laced through her. “I’m supposed to kill the beast?”

“Aye, that’s why she gave it to you,” the silver-haired Fúlishité went on, his tone taking on a distinctly unfriendly tone.

“I. . .” Citrine trailed off, at a loss for words. Why didn’t the Frost Queen share her plan instead of leaving Citrine in the dark? She’d looked into the Clyear of Revelation, but for the wrong reasons. If she hadn’t been curious about Tor Lir, she might have seen the truth the Frost Queen wished for her to see.

“Stop mouthing off, Dorian,” a dark-haired Fúlishité said. “My lady, if you would, it is not safe here. You need to follow the tunnels to safety.”

Citrine glanced at the dark gaping hole and down at herself. It would be a tight fit but. . . “As you wish. I would like a word with the Frost Queen. But first I need an ax.”

The Fúlishité called Dorian shrugged. “Have your pick. Tell us, where are the Therian?”

Citrine’s eyes narrowed as she studied their sharp weapons. A chill went through her, but this time not from cold or excitement. “Warring among themselves. Some of them are sane, but others have gone mad. Did you come here to kill them?”

Dorian scowled. “It is not your concern.”

“But it is,” Citrine demanded. “I need to know. Did you come to kill them or save them? Did you trap them down there? Where there is no way out?”

Dorian’s scowl deepened. “If you must know, someone needed to take action. And so we did. We blocked the exits, trapped the Therian in their own fortress, and stole their supply of food and water so when this moment came, they would be desperate to save themselves and make a deal. We will take care of the wild creatures, and if the others agree, we will lead them to safety.”

Relief surged through Citrine at their words. It was as the Frost Queen said. They had come to save the Therian. She nodded, releasing them from her questions.

The army of Fúlishités turned, their feet whispering on the stone floor as they marched out of the cavern. Citrine watched, but dark feelings gave her pause. Could she trust the Fúlishités to keep their word? After all, the Frost Queen had awoken a monster. She was desperate, ready to take intense actions. Citrine’s fingers clenched. She needed to visit the Frost Queen.

A golden twinkle pulled her gaze away from the Fúlishités. The stone. Her stone. The sensation of pleasure made her move. Snatching up a pickax from the pile, she returned to the wall and swung. The ice cracked under her first blow, chipped with the second, and shattered with the third. Shards scattered down the wall and floor, leaving the gleaming stone free to the open air.

A grin split her face, and her fingers shook. Dropping the pickax, she ran her fingers over the bumps on the surface of the stone. It came free, tumbling into her palm as though it belonged with her. The rough stone filled up her palm, and there was a weight to it. Her fingers closed around it, and her eyes glistened with tears.

Citrine waited for the revelation. For strength and power to flow through her. For a deeper understanding of the world she lived in.

At first there was nothing, and then she felt a nudge. Something was being pushed toward her mind. Life buzzed around her, within the very stones. She heard sound like she’d never heard it before and voices far, far away, close to the barrier where life and death intersected.

There was more, but something touched her shoulder.

Citrine jumped. A hairy Fúlishité stood before her, his face covered by his beard, but it seemed as though his eyes twinkled and laughed at her. “If you are quite done treasure hunting, I will take you to the Frost Queen.”

She sighed and put away the stone. “Lead on then.”

She would examine it later. After she found Tor Lir and her beasts flew them out of the mountains. She glanced back with regret as the army of Fúlishités marched down the passageway. Had the Frost Queen just sent them to their deaths?

39

PIECES

CITRINE WAS RELIEVED when the tunnel ended. It was almost too small, and she had to bend over and, in some places, crawl on her hands and knees. During the trek, she realized she could not hear the wild beasts anymore, and when she reached out threads of communication, there was nothing. In her excitement about the lemon-yellow stone, she’d forgotten to hold on to the wild beasts. Or perhaps the Therian had won the battle against them and they were all dead.

A sinking feeling came over her, and she thought, again, of Elbron and his protective ways. How disappointed he would be at how everything turned out. And Zilpha in her innocence, trusting in Lord Nodin’s false promises. Citrine bit her lip as the Fúlishité led her to the Frost Queen. Even Hava had fallen to the doom of the Cascade Mountains. Citrine wished she had fled when the premonition of doom had struck her instead of continuing on into what seemed like the eye of a terrible storm.

The stone under her feet trembled now and then—small quakes that made her reach out for the wall, something steady and secure. Even the depth of the kingdom under the mountain frightened her. She wanted to be free, out in the wild winds, soaring on the back of Grift or Ava.

When they reached the hall of the queen, Citrine’s hand went to her mouth. The icicles that hung from the ceiling had fallen, covering the hall with pieces of ice. The Frost Queen paced on her dais, white furs trailing behind her. At the sound of their approach she turned, and a smile came to her lips. Tossing her white hair behind one shoulder, she strode down the steps, hands outstretched. “Come at last? Have you slain the beast?”

Citrine scrunched up her nose, confused. She paused an arm’s length from the Frost Queen and glared at her. “What are you talking about? I haven’t killed the beast. I’ve been trapped with the Therian and their horrible wild beasts. Where is Tor Lir? I much desire to speak with him.”

The Frost Queen dropped her hands, and her eyes narrowed. “What of the Clyear of Revelation?”

Citrine shrugged. “It broke when the avalanche began and disappeared into a fine mist. It was not my intent, but I was not aware a monstrous beast would be let loose in the mountains. Tell me. Was this your doing?”

The Frost Queen took a step back, a haughtiness coming over her face. “Tor Lir and I used the power of Orenda to awaken the beast. Now the Therian will pay for what they have done.”

Citrine paused, a mixture of emotions surging through her. What was Orenda? Where was Tor Lir? Why had he given in to the Frost Queen’s demands when he’d seemed so set on killing her? “I saw the army you sent after the Therian. Do you intend to save them? Or kill them?”

“Are you my enemy too? Would you seek to judge me?” the Frost Queen demanded, her lips turning down.

Citrine raised her hands, confused. “Why are you doing this? There are people in the mountains, people who did not deserve for their homes to be stripped away because you need revenge.”

“People can resettle,” the Frost Queen said, without repentance.

“Not if they are dead!” Citrine all but shouted. “Where is Tor Lir, and where is the beast? I need to put an end to this.”

The Frost Queen’s lips thinned. “He leapt off the ledge at the top of my kingdom, perhaps he is dead too. I assume he went to stop the beast, after I helped him awaken his power. A poor thanks.”

Citrine blinked. Dead. Tor Lir? Everyone could not be dead.

Fear stole her breath away, and a realization bloomed. She cared. She truly cared what happened to Tor Lir. After everything they’d been through, she wanted to see him, to know he was safe. The visions from the Clyear of Revelation whirled before her. If he were dead, he would not go to Daygone and take up his power. She should be happy. But. . .why was there a hollowness inside? Why did her fingers shake again? But if the Frost Queen had helped him awaken his power, he did not need to go to Daygone. He was dangerous and needed to be contained. Could she bring herself to make the right choice?

When her voice came out, it sounded tinny. “You helped him awaken his power?”

The Frost Queen waved her hand. “The power of the mountains. We called it Orenda. There is a pool of it under the mountains, and those who dwell here feel its effects. It’s the reason the Therian can shift, the reason I control the icicles, and why the Tribe of Minas are such excellent hunters. Unfortunately, they did not enter my kingdom in time. The demise of their tribe is regrettable, but this is all for the greater good. Chaos comes to the mountains, but it will rebirth something greater, something better.”

Citrine stared, numb with horror. The words of the sacred oath hung in her mind. Never harm another. “But. . .but you just killed everyone.”

The Frost Queen turned. “If you have come here to judge me, you may leave. Don’t you have a beast to kill?”

Citrine fumed. “Show me where the ledge is.”

40

BEAST

THE HIGHER CITRINE WALKED, the more the ground shook. It was uneven and broken in places, but she persisted. She reached the top out of breath and bent over, sucking in great gulps of ice-cold wind. Her fingertips were blue, and the wind howled like a furious beast, awoken from its winter slumber. An opening showed a blur of whiteness and broken edges of rock, possibly where the ledge might have been. She used her hand to shade her eyes, struggling to see. And as she did, she saw movement in the mountains, a streak of fire, and then a terrifying beast.

Her jaw dropped. Heart racing, she backed away several paces, taking in black, burnt fur covering the impossibly huge body of a gigantic bear. She swore, raking her mind for words to calm herself. It was as big as a mountain, with paws that could kill her in one swipe. Citrine took a deep breath and clutched the fur thickly around her. As she did so, she felt the stone. Her stone. Her fingers shook as she pulled it out and held it up to the light. Could the stone help her kill the beast? Because as much as she wanted to see it in all its majestic beauty and add it to her collection, there was no doubt in her mind. Too much destruction had already happened. She needed to kill the beast.

Tears streamed down her face as she stood there, and she was unsure whether she was crying for herself, the beast, the Frost Queen, Tor Lir, the Tribe of Minas, or the Therian. They would be all gone shortly, and perhaps so would she. Before she began, she closed her eyes and sent out a whisper.

Grift. Ava. Where are you?

Grift was the first to respond. I saved as many as I could, but I can’t find any more now. The storm is too great. Where are you? It’s time to go home.

Thank you, Grift. I have to do one more thing. I must kill the beast.

I will find you.

I’m in the mountain, Grift. The Frost Queen’s mountains. Stay away until the beast is dead. It’s too dangerous.

As you wish.

A sob stuck in her throat as she envisioned her golden beast flying through the mountains, saving random people as they fell. She recalled the little girl that had come to her in the wood. The little girl who watched with a fear, and her heart caved. She had to know. Grift. One more thing. Tell me. Did you find a little girl with black hair in two braids?

I did. She is safe.

Citrine nodded, and her eyes narrowed. Homeless. Tribeless. The little girl would be like her. Momentarily, Citrine wondered if she could find her and take her under her wing. But she pushed the thought away. She had too much with her beasts as it was, and the endless search for a home for them. Taking on a child would be too much, and she’d lost her book of spells, a book she needed to rewrite once again.

Anger forced her movements, and she took a step back toward the broken ledge when a roar shook the cave. Fire spurted across the snow, there for a moment and then snuffed out by the wind. But it had done its work. The bear reared back on its hind legs, screaming with pain.

Ava, Citrine called again.

Burning it down, the reply came. Brief. Instant. Severed.

Another flame of fire lit up the storm and then. Tell him to stop calling me. He’s distracting.

Who? Citrine asked as she lifted the stone. Power surged through her, but whether it was from the stone or Orenda, she did not know.

Tor Lir, Ava hissed. He’s calling my name over and over again. Tell him to stop.

Tor Lir. A surge burst through Citrine and she knew what to do. Ava. Go find him. I will take care of the beast.

There was silence, but Citrine assumed Ava heard and would obey. She sent out feelers toward the bear and connected to it. Its mind was a mass of frustration, anger, pain, hunger. It wanted to sleep, but the wild world was confusing. The wind, ice, and snow made it angry, for it wanted to hunt and there was not a food source available. The coldness made it want to hide away, back under the mountain and sleep, but dig as he might, there was nothing, no way for him to return to his resting place. Worst of all, there was a pesky flying creature that rained down a terrible pain that burned his fur. He wanted nothing more than to be away from all of it, back down whence he’d come, away from the light, the storm, the pain, and the gnawing hunger.

Citrine took in all those sensations at once, and it was too much. She held onto the stone and gasped as she forced her mind to wrap around the beast, tearing through its consciousness and forcing a peace on it. Control. It was time for her to take control.

Everything else faded when she connected with the beast, and a song billowed out of her thoughts. Hush now. I am here. To lull you back to where you belong. Calm your wild strivings. The mountain is your home. Give in. Give in. Let go of your angst. Calm the storm within. It will calm the storm without.

She continued in that vein, a rhyme of her own making, and slowly she felt the beast give in. Its lumbering ceased, its mind calmed, and a haze came over it. The giant bear sat down on its hind legs and then lay its head down. The storm whirled a while longer and then calmed down. The snow fell out of the sky. Ice glimmered in the air. The shaking of the mountains subsided. And just before the bear went to sleep, Citrine saw the color of its eyes. They were the same as hers. Lemon-yellow.

Her heartbeat quickened. It was hers. Her beast. She could tame the monster. Excitement surged through her, and she stepped closer to the broken ledge, seeking a way down so she could talk to the beast. As she did so, she heard a voice in her mind as though it were shouting, and then a ball of yellow flew toward her. Citrine backed away and let out a strangled cry as Grift landed beside her.

Citrine. We have to go.

Grift, I’m not done yet. I think I can tame the beast.

Grift shook his head and his fur waved back and forth. He stretched out his lion-like body. Now. We have to go now. Something terrible is happening. I saw Ava dive to save Tor Lir. A black hole is eating up the mountain.

As though to confirm his words, the entire mountain began to shake. Citrine tucked away the stone and sprang up on Grift’s back. When she looked down, the ledge swayed beneath her and broke into pieces, sending stones rolling down the mountainside, cracking on the ground. Billows of snow rose, but the wind had ceased, leaving nothing but the sound of stones rolling downhill. Citrine buried her fingers in Grift’s fur as they soared high into the air, and her eyes widened at the sight below.

There was a swirling pool of blackness like a cloud from the underworld. It swirled up and around, eating through the land and sucking everything down, down into an endless void. A faint smell like sulfur rose, reminding Citrine of the Master of the Forest. Her eyes flew to the giant bear, the new beast that would be part of her collection, but it did not wake. Before her eyes she watched the entire mountain get sucked into the void, taking with it the kingdom of the Frost Queen, her army, the giant bear, and Stronghold.

It happened so quickly Citrine’s scream remained in her throat.

Grift wheeled in the air, adding speed to his flight, and they flew as fast as they could away from the destruction of the Cascade Mountains.

41

DEVASTATION

ZILPHA LEANED over the back of the Xctas, watching in horror as the black hole ate the mountainside. Snow, rock, and ice poured into it, and with a swirling shudder the hole expanded, drowning the ferocious beast, the pine trees, the sharp towers of Stronghold, and slabs of the mountain, burned into an everlasting ruin. Screams died in Zilpha’s throat, but she clasped her hands to her mouth, shaking from horror and the cold. It pressed around her, relentless, ferocious, and the panicked beating of the Xctas’ wings did nothing to calm her.

All of a sudden, with a blast of frigid air, the black hole closed and the mountains quaked with fear. Zilpha took a gasping breath and wiped snow from her eyelids. The silence after the storm was even more terrifying, and she looked around, watching the snow settle after the destruction. In a distance she saw a blur of gold flash past the mountains. Another creature? Carrying a survivor? She pointed, and the Xctas wheeled, turning that way as though it understood her thoughts.

Zilpha blinked back tears, surprised she’d escaped at all. Her memories flashed back to Stronghold. She’d run through the melee, up to the towers where a few of the Xctas awaited. They were Nodin’s escape plan, in case things went wrong. But when Nodin saw Zilpha’s fear, something inside him had changed. At least, that’s what he told her. He was sorry. This was not what he had planned. There were traitors in their midst, aligned with the Frost Queen and determined to sabotage his efforts at every step. They’d likely already won over Citrine and Tor Lir, and if needed, she could flee, return to Sanga Sang.

When Citrine and Elbron confronted Nodin, Zilpha had taken her chance and fled. Her bones ached, and her head throbbed. But her desire to escape, to live, to survive was stronger than any other emotion. Even as tears streamed down her face and the foundations of Stronghold shook and shuddered under the onslaught, she continued onward. The winged creatures waited for her, dodged the arrows from the attack, and whisked her away from death and devastation.

The Xctas slowed its pace and alighted on a slope. Its eyes wide, head bobbing in terror. Zilpha tumbled off it and gasped, taking in the slight form of the child who stood on the ledge, sobs wracking her body. Zilpha’s arms came out, reaching for the child with long black braids. She held her tight, patting her shoulder, holding on as though they would save the mountains from the onslaught.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We escaped. We will be okay.”

The child held on to her for a long time, shoulders shuddered as she wept. And finally, she pulled back, wiping ice and snow from her face. “They killed them. They killed them all,” she whispered, young voice cracked and raw. “If somehow, someway, they escaped, I want revenge.”

Zilpha looked down at the child, but she did not have the heart to tell her. Revenge seldom was the answer. Instead, she said, “Come with me. I know a place where we can live. Everything is going to be okay.”

Even as Zilpha said them she hoped the words she spoke were true.

42

RUBBLE

CITRINE HUDDLED UNDER THE FURS, but she could not stop shivering as Grift flew her across the mountains. The black hole had unexpectedly closed, and everywhere she saw piles of snow, charred ruins, and a shattering of rock and rubble. The end had come for them in one day. Everyone was dead. The thought of it made her want to vomit again, and she trembled on Grift's back until he alighted in a cave.

This is where he is.

Citrine nodded and slid off his back, hoping her feet would hold her. She swayed and leaned against him for strength, allowing her eyes to take in her surroundings. The cave yawned high on a mountaintop where the storms could not reach it. Snow banks were piled high with ice and from where she stood, she could see the back of the cave, a solid sheet of ice that glimmered and hurt her eyes.

Leave us, she commanded Grift. But don't go far.

Grift spread his golden wings and lifted off, sending a sudden gust of cold wind which chilled Citrine to the core. She glanced behind her, noting the ledge was slick and crusted over with black ice. It would be easy to trip and fall to her death—or send someone to theirs. She regarded it, and her lips curled. Squaring her shoulders, she strode into the cave.

The dimness of it struck her, but a silence hung in the air and for that she was grateful, after the whispers of the wild beasts had threatened to drive her over the brink of sanity. She felt that new feeling in her chest, the warmth and buzz of power. A shaft of sunlight pierced the interior of the cave, and for a moment Citrine thought she saw a creature’s silhouette against the back of the cave. It was dark and diabolical standing on two feet with horns coming out of its head. It was covered in a coat of black that seemed to crawl with shadows. Eyes, red as ruby yet dark as blood, stared at her.

Fear clawed through Citrine, and she blinked, but it was only a trick of the light. Swallowing down her fear, she took another step, and he appeared.

She opened her mouth to shout at him. Hit him with her fists. Drive him away. But his changed appearance made her mouth hang open.

Emerald-green eyes met hers. They were wide, round, and glittered with a wet sheen, like a jewel bathed in water. When he shook back his head, his hair was blacker than she’d ever seen it, reminding her of the feathers of a raven. Although clothed, his entire body seemed to glow with a white shimmer, but there were dark circles around his eyes and a sad tilt to his mouth. His brows rose, and he made a sound in his throat. Arms open, he dashed toward her.

Citrine took a step back, but it was all she managed before he swept her into his arms. Pulling her tightly against his body. She smelled the soft hint of the first fall of snow mixed with pine and fir. A sob sat deep in her throat. She should let go, pull away, but she could not follow through with what she'd planned to do here.

“Citrine,” his voice was a velvet whisper in her ear. “I thought I'd lost you too.”

And then his hand came up, fingers twined through her hair and his lips were on hers. Hard and insistent. His tongue pressing against her lips.

Waves of emotions rippled through her, and Citrine opened her mouth, accepting, nay, welcoming the kiss.

A moan escaped her lips as she leaned into him, although her conscience pricked her.

On the one hand, she should not be doing this. She'd come with a steely resolve to take him down. Again, she recalled the slickness of the cave entrance and how easy it would be to push him over.

There was no forgiveness, no explanation for what he had done and what the Clyear of Revelation had revealed he would do. Yet, as his fingers twisted through her hair, impulse crackled through her, and a thirst made her meet his lips with an energy that matched his.

Resistance faded away. Her arms went around his waist with a frantic desperation, pulling his hips against hers until she absorbed his warmth. The feel of his hot mouth against hers ignited a flame of euphoria stronger than the power that helped her escape. She shivered as their desire entwined, and although her eyes were closed, she could have sworn there was a soul tie that flared up like smoke and twisted together, uniting them as one.

She pulled back, flustered, and swept her bright hair out of her face. Tor Lir’s angular face hovered above hers, and his gaze was dark, tortured even. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought. . .I don’t know what I thought, but I can’t lose you too. I know I am supposed to be stronger than this, but after the Frost Queen woke the beast, I lost all constraint. Citrine. What happened? Where’s the Clyear?”

He held her firmly against him, so close his breath appeared like a cloud that kissed her swollen lips. Citrine touched his cheek to keep him from turning away. She took a deep breath before her willpower could fade away. “Tor Lir. I looked into the Clyear once, because I wanted to know who you are, where you came from, and why you are here. I saw dark things, past, present, and future.”

“I am not those things,” Tor Lir breathed, his eyes going wide and his grip on her tightening further. “If you believe those visions you saw, you are wrong. I may be immortal, and I may have the blood of the Green People within me, and the Changers, but I am not them. I will not destroy this world because I am strong and powerful, and I want to rule. I will not turn this into my paradise, as the Changers before me did. You have walked with me all along, you’ve seen the things I’ve done to help people, to change the balance, to defeat evil. You cannot think I am like them.”

Citrine stared at the light in his eyes, the curve of his lips and the sound of his words sinking into her, persuading her, changing her mind. “Oh, Tor Lir,” she whispered. “But did you see what happened here?”

“We cannot blame ourselves, it was a combination of the Therian, the Frost Queen and power in the hands of those who did not deserve it.”

Citrine knew he was right, and yet the words flowed from her lips all the same. “Tor Lir, do you know who you are? Do you know who your father was?”

He blinked, and a shadow came over his face. “The Clyear told you?”

“I saw it.” She hesitated, unsure how he would react to her words. “Your father was a hero, but I think your mother tricked him. He did not know you existed. I think you were a stolen child, born because of your father’s great power.”

Tor Lir’s arms loosened, and a shadow came over his face. His words came out hard and clipped. “Don’t play with me, tell me. What was his name?”

“They called him Eliesmore. The Great Conqueror. He left a powerful gift for you in Daygone. The power of the Green Stone. Don’t you see? You can’t go there, you can’t take up that power, the power of Creation, and descend into madness. I’m begging you, please don’t do this.”

Tears came to her eyes, and she angrily brushed them away, wishing she could go through with her plan but knowing, after she’d told him, there was no way she’d be able to.

He hurled himself away from her, a string of curses coming to his lips. For a moment the shape of horns flickered behind him, and Citrine recoiled. A scream came to her lips because she saw it. A shadow, his shadow. Dark and diabolical.

“Tor Lir?”

“That is not my name,” he whispered, his eyes lost, haunted. “I know who I am. I am the new breed.”

“What does that mean?” Citrine asked miserably, twisting her hands together. “Does that mean you want to destroy the world?”

He blinked and then sneered. A forced laugh came from his lips, and he faced her again. Anger flared red on his arrogant face. “Citrine. You, of all people, how could you think I’d want something as dark and evil as ultimate power and the destruction of the world? Do you know why there is a new breed? It is because those who came before me were not good enough. They let their dark desires overrule them, but I am here because of them, or despite them. You call me Tor Lir, but I know my true name. I am the first of the Order of the Iaen. Once I go to Daygone and take up my birthright, I will have ultimate power, and evil such as it rose in the days of our forefathers will never rise again, because I have the power to sway the balance. But I have seen the effects of ultimate power. Look at what happened here. This never should have happened, but I was too blind to see, too lost in my own musings to stop it. If you want to make a difference, if you want to stop those with ultimate power from ruling over the weak and causing endless chaos, come with me, because I have the power. And you, you are a powerful Enchantress, are you not?”

Citrine nodded miserably, unsure what to say.

“This is the place where power awakes. You feel it, don’t you, the Orenda surging in the core of your being. Your latent powers finally awake for all to see.”

Citrine bit her lip and nodded again, yet doubt filled her. “Tor Lir, what do you want? Surely keeping chaos from the world is not enough for you.”

“It isn’t,” he affirmed, and then he swept closer. “I am still figuring that part out, but for now, I want you.”

Citrine’s nostrils flared, and her lips parted. “Me?” She put a hand to her heart, scarcely believing her ears.

“Aye.” Quick as a flash, Tor Lir moved closer.

Citrine backed away until she pressed against the icy sides of the cave. “Why me?”

His hand came up and threaded fingers through her bright hair, forcing her face up toward him. He licked his lips, and his gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips.

Citrine shuddered with anticipation as his hand rested on her hip.

“Aye, you, Citrine. You are the most similar to me; with no malice in your heart, you take time out from your own desires to help those in need, and you and your beasts hold to a sacred oath. You know what you want and it draws me to you.”

Citrine rested her hands on his arms and held tight. Dark thoughts had vanished, and she saw a way out, a way to get what she wanted and set her mind at ease. “Then you will come with me to set things right and help the Under Water World people.”

It was a demand, not a request.

Tor Lir nodded.

Citrine blinked and dropped her gaze, just for a moment as another thought slipped through her mind. Why should she make Tor Lir pay? After he helped her defeat the monster that hunted the Udi, she’d turn him over to the Disciples of Ithar.

His finger curved under her chin, lifting her lips to his once again. He tasted delectable, and Citrine only hoped she could hold on to her resolve until then.

AFTERWORD

Dear Readers,

Thank you for reading Legend of the Nameless One Books 1-3.

If you loved the book and have a minute to spare, I would truly appreciate a brief review on the site where you bought the book. It can be short, so don’t worry about trying to sound too eloquent.

Leave a Review:

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Tor Lir and Citrine will return in Realm of Rulers.

If you’re curious about the war between the mortals and immortals, read the series that started it all.

The Complete Four Worlds Series (Books 1–4)

ALSO BY ANGELA J. FORD

Join my email list for updates, previews, giveaways, and new release notifications. You’ll also get the free short story, Citrine’s Monsters. Join now: www.angelajford.com/signup

The Four Worlds Series

The Complete Four Worlds Series Boxset (Books 1-4)

The Five Warriors

The Blended Ones

Eliesmore & the Green Stone

Eliesmore & the Jeweled Sword

Tales of the Four Worlds

Prison in the Sky

Myran

Legend of the Nameless One Series

Legend of the Nameless One Boxset - Books 1-3

Citrine’s Monsters (prequel)

Realm of Beasts

Realm of Mortals

Realm of Ice

Realm of Rulers

Night of the Dark Fae Trilogy

Pawn

Fated

Noble

Tales of the Enchanted Wildwood

Queen of the Wildwood

Sacrifice of the Woodcutter (coming soon)

Lord of the Castle (coming soon)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m also truly grateful for the people who never cease to support and encourage my work, including my four sisters, my parents, and the many authors I work with.

To all fans of the Four Worlds: if you have a story suggestion or characters and creatures you’d like to read about in future books, email me: angela@angelajford.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Angela J. Ford is a bestselling epic fantasy author who has sold over 30,000 copies and has had over 10 million page reads in Kindle Unlimited. Her books have been ranked bestsellers in multiple categories.

She enjoys traveling, hiking, and playing World of Warcraft with her husband. First and foremost, Angela is a reader and can often be found with her nose in a book.

Aside from writing she enjoys the challenge of working with marketing technology and builds websites for authors.

Angela is passionate about helping indie authors succeed and runs a community and podcast called Indie Author Lifestyle.

If you happen to be in Nashville, you’ll most likely find her at a local coffee shop, enjoying a white chocolate mocha and furiously working on her next book.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Also by Angela J. Ford

Dedication

Contents

Realm of Beasts

1. Realm of Mortals

2. A Stir of Drama

3. Sunshine at Last

4. Mortal Fears

5. The Storyteller

6. Kai’s Secret

7. Dark and Cold

8. Home

9. Realm of Night

10. Bone-White

11. Buried Skull

12. Wind Lady

13. Lavender and Lemon

14. Kai’s Folly

15. Capture the Fool

16. Trapped

17. Air of Clarity

18. Nameless One

19. Lights of the Village

20. Mysterious Future

21. Bright and Snappy

22. Laws of Balance

23. What Citrine Knew

24. Hall of Wonder

25. Silver-White Heart

26. Strawberry Dawn

27. Into the Forest

28. Origins

29. Monsters and Mayhem

30. Mission of Mercy

31. New Enemies

32. Mythical Beings

33. Milky White

34. Flashes of White

35. Realm of Beasts

36. The Bone Tree

37. Agrim’s Army

38. Control

39. Lair of the Master

40. Winner Takes All

41. Green Grass Dying

42. Fade from View

43. A New Quest

Realm of Mortals

1. Imbalance

2. Market Day

3. Follower

4. Without Consequence

5. Burn It Down

6. Warrior and Hunter

7. Terror Unleashed

8. Bloody Fingerprints

9. Mad Mind

10. A Shock

11. Manipulation

12. Night Visit

13. Disturbance

14. Illiterate

15. Seeking Wisdom

16. Hide and Seek

17. Questions and Demands

18. Spilling Secrets

19. Indecent Acts

20. Don't Worry

21. Reckless Behavior

22. Bloom of Light

23. Blood and Pain

24. The Udi

25. Awakening Knowledge

26. Hook Line Sinker

27. Dungeons and Danger

28. Bane of the Water World

29. Unfriendly Suggestions

30. On Shore

31. Dire Choices

32. A Worthy Cause

33. Attack of Shadows

34. Shadow Beasts

35. Death at the Tower

36. Forced Control

37. Citrine's Failure

38. Duplicity

39. Fooled Again

40. Danger to All

41. To Kill a Beast

42. Harvest Festival

43. Distance Yourself

Realm of Ice

1. Orenda

2. Memory

3. Beings

4. Trick

5. Truth

6. Snowflakes

7. Arrows

8. Defiance

9. Resilient

10. Chaos

11. Revulsion

12. Dead

13. Anger

14. Responsibility

15. Sore

16. Therian

17. Balance

18. Wait

19. Terms

20. Deal

21. Revelation

22. Ice

23. Birthright

24. Numb

25. Hollow

26. Traitor

27. Truth

28. Vibration

29. Volcano

30. Run

31. Pressure

32. Wild

33. Storm

34. Power

35. Alone

36. Buried

37. Emerald

38. Stone

39. Pieces

40. Beast

41. Devastation

42. Rubble

Afterword

Also by Angela J. Ford

Acknowledgments

About the Author