Rosemarked

by Livia Blackburne

  We ride more slowly after that, hour after hour. When we pass by a lone cottage, Dineas sneaks off alone and returns with half a loaf of bread, though we don’t stop to eat. We keep going until my entire being becomes numb with exhaustion. When the sky finally starts to turn gray, Dineas speaks again.

  “The crows haven’t called out pursuit for several hours now.” I can hear his fatigue in his voice. Our horse’s head hangs low, and his steps begin to lag. I know we can’t go much farther.

  We stop near a small spring. Dineas untacks and waters the horse, then spreads an oilcloth near some boulders to sit on. He hands me a piece of bread. It’s dry and hard to get down, but I gnaw on it nonetheless. Now that we’re no longer moving, the cold night air seeps into my bones and I shiver.

  Dineas looks at me. “We’ll have to sit closer without a fire. It was often the only way to stay warm in the mountains.”

  I’m too exhausted to be self-conscious, and I scoot next to him so our shoulders touch. He takes his cloak and covers both of us, and slowly his warmth starts to creep over. Still, there’s a wall between us. We’ve been through so much in the past months, but I don’t know this Dineas—the real Dineas—much better than I did when we came. I only know the illusion.

  “Will you miss him?” he asks, almost as if he’d read my mind.

  I hesitate, unsure if he’s mocking me. But there’s genuine curiosity in his voice, and I find I don’t want to lie to him. Whatever our differences, we share things now that no one else will ever truly understand.

  “I will,” I say.

  The wind whistles over our heads. It’s a lonely sound.

  “I can’t believe he’s really gone,” Dineas says.

  “Everything he’s gone through is still with you,” I say. “You’ve lost nothing of his.”

  “Nothing except peace.”

  And I know that I’m not the only one who’s lost. I adjust my arm so I can hold his hand, and this time it doesn’t feel so awkward.

  “Do you think we can make it back in time to help them?” I ask. “Have we done any good at all?”

  Dineas’s eyes go flinty with determination. “We’ll go back. We’ll prepare our people for battle. We won’t let Ampara take us without a fight.”

  His words sadden me, though I accept their grim inevitability. The winds have shown their direction, and though I may not like it, it’s time to prepare for war.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” I say.

  “You can. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

  I look up at his words and scan his face, half expecting to see a hint of the Dineas we left in Sehmar City. But the eyes of the man next to me are old beyond his years. Dineas catches my reaction, and the corner of his mouth quirks just slightly. And he gives my hand a squeeze that says more than words ever could.

  The wind blows, and the crows chatter to one another. Dineas pulls his cloak closer around us. I lean my head on his shoulder, and together we wait for dawn.

  Once again, my editor, Rotem Moscovich, shepherded every aspect of this story: from idea, to draft, through revisions, to publication. Heather Crowley provided valuable assistance and a great tagline, and ninja publicist Cassie McGinty guided the book’s big debut. My gratitude as well to the rest of the Hyperion team.

  My agent, Jim McCarthy, offered key advice on an early version of the manuscript, and support throughout the publishing process.

  My critique partners Amitha Knight, Jennifer Barnes, Rachal Aronson, and Emily Terry once again read over those messy first draft chapters.

  Beta readers offered their take on later drafts: Lauren James, Andrea Lim, Jenna DeTrapani, Emily Lo, Rebekah Greenway, Lianne Crawford, Lisa Choi MD, Faye Matuguinas, Nicole Harlan, Summer McDaniel, Bridget Howard, Kelsey Olesen, Rachel Andrews, and Anya Johnson.

  Several readers also provided their expertise on specific topics. My former grad school classmate Retsina Meyer discussed with me the latest neuroscience on erasing and restoring memories. (The novel is firmly based in fantasy, but I couldn’t resist working in what brain science I could.) Chris Lenyk gave me many tips on military strategy and psychology. And finally, Al ­Rosenberg gave crucial insight into the experience of people with terminal illnesses. A shout-out as well to the Writing in the ­Margins Database for connecting me with Al.

  My husband, as always, was a supportive presence throughout the ups and downs of the novel-writing process, as were my parents and extended family.

  And a thank-you, finally, to my daughter, who grew her major organ systems as I wrote the first draft, kicked her way through revisions, and kindly waited until copy edits were finished before making her grand entrance into the world. I wouldn’t say you made any part of this process easier, but all the same, I couldn’t ask for a better writing partner.

  Also by Livia Blackburne

  Midnight Thief

  Daughter of Dusk

  LIVIA BLACKBURNE, a New York Times best-selling author, wrote her first novel while researching the neural correlates of reading at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Since then, she’s switched to full-time writing, which also involves getting into people’s heads but without the help of a three-tesla MRI scanner. Livia is also the author of Midnight Thief, an Indies Introduce New Voices selection, and its sequel, Daughter of Dusk. She lives in Los Angeles with her family.