He shook his head and hoped his smile looked reassuring. “Truly, the men and I have slept in far worse places with far less.”
Her brows dipped even further at the admission, and he mentally chided himself for revealing that much. He didn’t want her pity.
“A strange twist of fate,” she said, “for both of us. Not at all what we would have imagined when we were children. I am sorry, Damien.”
He gave her a slight bow, unwilling to burden her with his past, even more unwilling to cross, by reliving childhood memories, a boundary he had no business crossing. He would do well to remember she was his sovereign.
“Rest well, Your Majesty,” he replied instead. “It will be a hard journey tomorrow.”
He turned away, giving her privacy to adjust the bed. The men were already settled in for the night. James blew out the lanterns one by one, sending the cavern into deeper shadows before lying down with a leather bag for a pillow, since his own bedroll was taken. The fire had burned to crackling red embers. Come morning, the entrance would give light enough.
Damien found an empty spot on the ground near Scarborough, who was already asleep with one hand on his dagger. Damien drew a dagger of his own, a fine piece with the Raven crest etched into the metal. His thumb caressed the weapon’s smooth hilt—it had been a gift from King Richard to his father, Sir Henry, and was his only remaining link to a way of life past all hope of recovery.
Unbidden, he found his gaze drawn to Kara Chaloner, who now lay as if sleeping, eyes closed, face drawn as though restless dreams were taking hold. He flushed and looked away.
Chapter Eight
Two Years Ago
The moon hung in the sky like a coin, illuminating the castle’s orchard with touches of silver. Sixteen-year-old Kara crept past gnarled trees, their apples as rotten as if struck with blight. They clung precariously to the branches, and one fell as she passed, hitting the ground with a mushy thud.
Her mother had once loved this orchard and personally tended it along with her servants. Under Ava’s influence, it had become a hideous mockery of its former beauty.
Kara followed a path leading toward a stone wall and a closed gate. She pushed open the gate, surprised to find it unlocked. A sense of foreboding warned her to turn around and head back to the castle and the safety of her room within the solar. Yet she had to see the forbidden grotto for herself. Too many at court whispered about it, and during certain times of the month, during the darkest hour of night, she often heard her stepmother slip down the hallway, a candle in hand—its light seeping through the crack under Kara's bedroom door. She could never sleep on those nights.
What exactly did her stepmother do during the midnight hour? Tonight, she would find out.
The gate creaked, the sound grating on her nerves. Kara gently closed it behind her, hoping Ava did not hear the sound. Heart pounding, she found herself within a square garden—if it could be called that. Everything was unkempt, weeds bursting with seed and smelling sickly sweet. More trees towered over her, swaying in the gusts of wind as if alive. Even the grass was tall, brushing against her gown. A moss-covered stone wall provided a barrier against prying eyes and hemmed her in. She slipped to the nearest tree and hid behind its stout trunk.
In the center of the grotto, a figure knelt beside a stone-rimmed pool lit with a ring of candles. The woman stretched one hand over the water’s still surface, her voice murmuring strange things.
Suddenly the woman sat up straight. “I know you are here. Come forward, child.”
A chill unlike any Kara had ever encountered rose from the ground. Something was in the garden . . . something she could not see. It wrapped itself around her, changing her breath to clouds of white. She felt as if ice had invaded her blood.
She whispered a prayer Father Matthias had taught her: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”
As soon as the words left Kara’s mouth, the regent flung back her hood and stared in her direction, her face twisted into a grimace. “There is no point in hiding. Tell me why you have come.”
Kara leaned against the pine’s rough bark, her limbs weak. Then, steeling herself, she stepped out from behind the tree. “I heard rumors and wanted to see for myself,” she answered. “I know you come here during the full moon. I want to know why.” She nearly accused Ava of being a witch but held back, aware she was treading on dangerous ground.
The regent rose to her full height, an intimidating figure. It was as if the darkness clung to her, the night woven into every fold of her cape. A smile curved her crimson lips. “Would you like to know more? The women in my family have passed their secrets from generation to generation. I would share, if you are willing to learn. And you, young Kara, have much to learn before you become queen. Let me teach you.”
Her stepmother’s voice was soft and inviting, yet Kara found herself taking a step backward, her foot catching on the hem of her gown. Light had no fellowship with darkness. At least, that was what Father Matthias had taught her from the holy scriptures.
“You have nothing to fear,” the regent said, her eyes narrowing when she saw Kara take another step back. “I offer you a rare gift. The world may not understand it. Men will feel threatened by it, but I promise the spirits will not guide you wrong. They see everything.” She gestured toward Kara. “You feel them now, don’t you?”
The urge to flee was so strong, Kara nearly succumbed. She forced herself to stand still and meet her stepmother’s gaze. “I feel them.” At her admission, a wind blew out most of the candles and roared through the grotto as if to tell her she had no choice but to submit.
Her heart pounded with fear, but she shook her head — a vehement, if silent, rejection of Ava’s invitation. Never. She would never take this path.
The regent’s face hardened, becoming a mask. “A mistake on your part, child. One your father made years ago.”
Kara turned to run then, but her legs seemed made of stone, making each step painfully slow through the long grass and weeds now entangling her ankles. The grotto gate rattled as if something unseen had secured it and would keep her from leaving forever.
A voice whispered in her ear, making her skin crawl: You cannot run. You cannot hide.
Her feet began to sink . . .
She screamed when a hand touched her shoulder. Gentle at first and then urgent the more she fought it.
“Your Majesty, please—” A deep voice pierced through her terror.
The grotto faded, and she struggled to open her eyes. Blinking, Kara sat up, her breath coming fast and hard. A trickle of sweat ran down her back. She reached a trembling hand to the stone floor to convince herself the cave, not the dream, was real.
The faint grey light of dawn revealed the cave’s entrance and the remains of a fire, now no more than powdery ash. Frantic, she glanced around, her gaze colliding with Damien’s. Concern blazed in his eyes. He knelt beside her, but now that she had awakened he shifted away, leaving space between them. Her cheeks heated when she caught sight of the other men regarding her with shocked expressions. They didn’t meet her eyes, and busied themselves with rolling up their beds.
“You were screaming,” Damien said quietly. “You seemed lost in a dream.” He sighed as he swept the hair from his forehead, drawing her attention to a puckered white scar. Dark shadows underlined his eyes. “A nightmare is a terrible thing to be lost in.”
Kara swallowed, her mouth dry. She would rather never sleep again than endure another dream like that. Judging by his tone, Damien wrestled with his own nightmares. A swell of sorrow flooded her. He had paid an awful price for the regent’s treachery.
“When you’re ready, Your Majesty, Lewis will bring you breakfast. We can offer only dried jerky and hardtack for the trail, but it will take the edge off hunger—at least until we can hunt game,” he added, unaware of her racing thoughts.
Kara nodded, grateful for his kindness, so at odds with what the rest of Tiborne belie
ved regarding the Atwood men. Damien stood up, looking as if he wanted to say more, then seemed to change his mind and strode off toward the horses, which were now being saddled.
She turned her attention to the bedroll, rolling it up as tightly as she could. A pair of feet appeared in her peripheral vision. She glanced up. James waited, his blond hair sticking out in tufts after a poor night’s sleep.
“I believe this is yours,” she said, and was about to hand the bedroll to him when he cleared his throat and shook his head vigorously.
“Nay, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t dream of taking it from you. I know it isn’t much, but I wish you to consider it yours for the remainder of the journey. If you like, I’ll carry it for you.”
“Thank you,” she said, touched by his thoughtfulness. It appeared Damien’s example spread to the men around him. “And thank you for the clothes.”
The leather jerkin was too large in the shoulders and arms for her, but it felt soft and warm, with sleeves extending past her knuckles. She shoved them up, but they slid right down again.
James tried and failed to hide a grin when he noticed her attempts with the sleeves. He nodded toward where the men were gathered. “The horses are packed, and we can eat as we ride. Damien is preparing one of the packhorses for you right now. Not to worry, she’s a gentle creature and won’t easily spook.”
Kara peered over James’s shoulder to see Damien distributing the packs among the men, lightening the load of a sturdy-looking horse. When finished, he and the other men led the horses one by one out of the cave. James waited for her with the lantern.
She hurriedly gathered her old clothes into a bundle and followed the men outside. The sun had risen, but the sky remained the color of steel, promising more rain. Damien straightened when he saw her, an odd expression crossing his face. His gaze took in the messy braid trailing over her shoulder.
“’Tis a fine disguise,” he said hesitantly, “but not quite enough, not with that braid. Would you consider putting it up, Your Majesty? In case we run into Raven soldiers or strangers in the mountains. A woman traveling with seven men is bound to attract attention, and word might reach the regent.”
She fingered the braid with one hand, the black hair once tightly woven, now sliding free. That nightmare returned to her with startling clarity. She was now responsible for the safety of the men with her, men who had offered her courtesy at every opportunity. She would not endanger them.
“I will cut off the braid. It will be easier,” she answered. “But it may not be enough. I may never be able to hide from my stepmother.”
The hair on the back of Damien’s neck rose as he considered the queen’s words. A horrible sense crept over him that perhaps he was foolish to oppose an evil as terrible as that which Ava Chaloner served, a fear which had grown greater in recent days, a fear the monks had warned him to fight against.
“What do you mean you cannot hide?” he asked.
She frowned. “The marshal, Dupuis, can track anyone or anything, and it won’t be long before he discovers our tracks. But worse still, Ava uses her magic pool to see things. She finds her enemies with it and executes them quickly.”
His mind immediately conjured the image of his father dragged away between a pair of Raven soldiers while other men-at-arms stormed the Atwood holdings. He quickly repressed the memory and focused on the task at hand: escape. “I am well acquainted with the regent’s brand of justice,” he said evenly.
“Damien, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Kara’s voice faltered. “Forgive me for bringing back a painful memory. I—”
“There is nothing to forgive,” he answered. “Everyone in Tiborne has suffered one way or another at the regent’s hand.”
The queen pressed her lips together as if uncertain what to say next. He strove to put her at ease. “My men are adept at hiding tracks . . . though if the ground is soft from rain, Dupuis will find our trail. If you are willing, I propose riding along the mountain ridge. It will be treacherous, but we will avoid the river and the better-known paths of the valley.”
“I trust you to lead the way,” she replied as she laid her bundle of clothes on the ground. Such simple words, yet they struck a chord within him. He hoped to prove worthy of her trust.
To his surprise, she removed a dagger from her belt and held it out to him. “Would you?” she asked. “If I am to blend in with all of you, it would be best to cut my hair as short as you can.”
Damien loathed the idea of cutting her hair but found himself unable to refuse her. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied and took the knife. She turned around and flipped the braid out to hang the length of her back.
He did not like this. Not one bit. But as she requested, he grasped the silken braid—carefully to avoid touching her more than necessary—and with a few swipes of the blade, a length of glossy black hair dangled from his hand.
Kara lifted her hands to her bare neck. “It feels light, free, even,” she said. When she turned to face him, dark wisps of hair trailed at the level of her chin. Many of his men wore theirs at a similar length. He handed the knife back to her, hilt first, and she tucked it away in a makeshift leather sheath.
“After you.” He nodded toward their waiting companions and horses.
The journey loomed ahead, fraught with danger.
Chapter Nine
A select group of five men-at-arms and five knights rode through the castle gates behind the marshal and Ava Chaloner, queen regent. After seeing that vision in the pool, Ava had insisted on joining the search party. She would never believe Kara was dead unless she saw the body with her own eyes. Dupuis had agreed to bring her along only after a verbal battle.
It was an uneasy truce, but they made good time on the road. Within a few hours Marius led them into the woods where Kara had escaped. There the marshal dismounted and used precious time to study the ground for tracks. A crushed blade of grass. A faint imprint on the soft soil. A rock overturned.
Ava saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“The storm has made it difficult to find prints, but we will head to the river ford by Mount Avastaire. Chances are they crossed there,” Dupuis said. His eyes held a sinister glitter, as if he were eager to hunt.
Ava tipped her head back to take in Mount Avastaire. Beyond it stretched a mountain range hemming in a valley and the river. There must be many places to hide amid the mountains. Although she trusted her marshal’s skills—being a former huntsman, he was well equipped to survive in the woods—she was more certain of the spirits’ direction. However, she needed water to summon them.
“Then don’t keep us waiting,” she snapped, irritated about the useless delay. “Every moment we waste is a moment of gain for Kara. If you cannot succeed at this task, I’ll find a better marshal.”
Marius bowed slightly, but his face turned sullen at the threat so casually uttered in front of the other men.
When her marshal rode ahead to the river, Ava followed close behind, her frustration mounting at the idea of Kara slipping away. The men-at-arms rode near her in protective formation while the knights lolled along on their mighty destriers, talking among themselves. They were loyal enough to their regent—she had knighted all five and granted their titles and lands—but thus far their conversation focused on their own tournament wins, poetry competitions, and romantic conquests.
As soon as the river came in sight, Marius swore bitterly. They all rode closer before he returned to report, but she had already guessed his verdict. “Your Majesty, we can’t cross here.”
“Obviously. What alternative do you suggest?”
“We’ll have to ride to another ford about eight miles downstream. We should be able to cross there, then double back and check the far bank for some sign.”
The Tiborne River was a swollen, rushing force that tore at the red banks, churning white foam and snatching debris along the way. A rotten log coursed through the water, dipping and spinning like a child’s toy.
For a moment Ava
wondered if she could conjure the spirits and see something within the muddied Tiborne River, but the water was too wild to see anything clearly. She would have to rely on Marius a little longer.
Backtracking along the far bank of the river proved an exercise in futility. They had crossed at the second ford, a place where the river widened and slowed considerably. For one hair-raising moment during that passage, Ava was certain her leather satchel would be destroyed along with its contents. But her horse regained its footing, and her bag, and the poisoned daggers and vials inside it, remained safe.
Marius and two of the men-at-arms searched along the now-muddied banks, but the earth refused to give up secrets at this late hour as the sun slid behind the mountains. Ava decided it was time she took over this expedition. Water pooled here along the bank. In places it was still enough to reveal a vision.
“There is no trail,” she heard Marius seethe. “We must split up in groups of two or three and search in the morning.”
Ava guided her horse to Marius’s side and dismounted, determined to intervene before he erupted further. Smirking, she removed her glove, revealing a jeweled hand. “Your tracking skills can do only so much after nightfall. There are far better ways to see where Kara has fled. Watch and learn.”
Marius narrowed his eyes at the insult, but he stepped back. The other men followed, their grumbling instantly muted. Ava could almost taste their fear as they watched her, taking in the rings stacked on each of her fingers. Each band sported a ruby as red as a drop of blood.
Kneeling at the bank, Ava studied the water, nearly smooth on the surface, roiling below, and spread her jeweled hands above it.
“Come,” she whispered to the water. It moved defiantly, as if refusing to show her what she wanted. “Come,” she cried in a louder voice, and echoes answered from the far shore and surrounding mountainside.
Nothing happened. Ava ignored the whispers of the men behind her and Marius’s impatient huffs. A chill spread through her body, sending frost and fire through her bones, seeping into every finger until they glistened with something akin to ice. “Where is Raven’s Heir?” She shut her eyes tightly, willing the water to release any secrets. Voices murmured like the rushing water, all mingled and indistinguishable in her ears and in her head. She focused on one voice and listened, pulling it outward in her mind as though tugging on an errant thread escaping a tapestry.
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