by Tina Daniell
“Stay,” pleaded Caramon.
“That’s all right,” said Raistlin. “Go.”
In their own way both of them understood.
Even as Rosamun’s body was being cleansed and wrapped in linen, Kitiara was beneath the cottage walkway, seeing to her horse. She came up to say goodbye and to give each of her brothers a small leather pouch of carefully selected gemstones worth enough money to see to their worries for more than a year.
“Thanks,” stammered Caramon.
Raistlin’s eyes showed his gratitude.
“Use them well. They were hard-earned,” Kit said, with a wink.
Then, at the last moment, she remembered something and ran back inside and up the short ladder to the space in the back of the cottage where she had lived her girlhood, such as it was.
Things had been moved around, and she had to explore a little before finding the loose board in the wall she was looking for. She reached in and took out a child’s wooden sword, smaller than she remembered it and covered with grime. Carrying it, she went out, never sparing a glance into the room where Quivera toiled over the body of her dead sister.
Kit stuck the wooden sword among her possessions before riding off. What use she had for it would be hard to say. But a wooden sword was the only thing of Solace Kitiara cared to take with her, a memento of Gregor Uth Matar. Not that she ever thought about her father any more. Nor about Patric or Beck Gwathmey or Ursa II Kinth. All that was behind her.
About The Author
A veteran newspaper reporter, Tina Daniell resides in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where she is rearing two sons. Dark Heart is her first novel.
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