Published by Linda K. Hopkins
Copyright 2021 by Linda K. Hopkins
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
More Books by Linda K. Hopkins
About the Author
Prologue
The ancient one woke slowly, drifting to consciousness from a sleep so deep she could have been mistaken for dead. Organs that had barely functioned began to labor, her heart beat a little faster, and her lungs expanded. The air around her was warm and stale, with a hint of dry bones crumbling to dust, and she breathed it in, tasting their secrets. She knew without seeing that she was surrounded by walls of stone, deep within a cave, and far from anything that might have disturbed her slumber.
A great length of time had passed since her arrival, and sniffing the air, she searched for clues of the terrain beyond. Bare rocks. Trees. The trace scent of a wolf, long since passed.
Over the course of days, she gathered all the information she could, before cracking open first one eye, then the other. Even in the dark recesses of the cavern the light seemed intense. She stared at the wall of rock rising a few feet from her face; a deep crack trailed across the surface, a black line in a sea of gray.
Cautiously she began to probe her memories, uncertain of what she would find, then stopped as loss flooded through her. She stilled, pushing against the door that she had opened, trying once more to shut away the memories, but they flooded her mind, refusing to be locked away for another moment. Images swamped her thoughts, passing through her mind in a relentless kaleidoscope that would not cease.
War.
Death.
Devastating betrayal.
Immense sorrow.
A flicker of anger.
Ah, there was something on which she could focus her pain – and she grabbed it, pushing aside the loss as she nursed the anger into rage, strong and powerful. Like a river of molten iron, it spread through her veins, thickening, overpowering every other emotion. She smiled grimly. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and she was going to serve it very, very cold.
For the first time in centuries, she lifted her head, growling as a ravenous hunger flooded her. Her body was as weak as a human babe’s, in desperate need of nourishment. She edged herself forward along the floor of rock, blinking as the first rays of sunshine reached her eyes, then sniffed the air for an indication of what lay beyond.
Keeping to the shadows, she waited patiently for some unsuspecting prey, and was rewarded a few hours later when a hare came too close, unaware of the danger lurking nearby. The small meal gave her the strength to search for something larger, and when she returned to the cave at nightfall, her hunger was sated.
She stayed close to the cave as she regained her strength, hunting each day to nourish her body. Her wings grew stronger, carrying her further afield as she sought information about her location.
But full power eluded her; without the ancient relic, she could not enjoy the strength that had once been hers. It had been shattered, destroyed by the matriarch in a desperate attempt to destroy the power it gave their enemy, and the pieces had been flung across the earth.
It would take years to gather them back together, but the Ancient had time on her side.
She would gather each piece and recreate the artifact, then use it to destroy her enemy once and for all. They would suffer as they reaped the rewards of their treachery, and she would enjoy their pain, as they had once enjoyed hers.
Chapter 1
There is nothing that inspires awe and wonder quite like a beautiful city, and Lenora Syrenis was more beautiful than any other city in Valoria. From where Snowlark stood at the window, high above the metropolis, the River Cambria was a ribbon of burnished gold, spanned by elegant bridges that curved gracefully over the rushing water below. Wrought iron lamps, not yet lit, stood sentinel along the streets, guarding the citizens as they hurried along the paved brick roads and went about their business. A canopy of green spread over the city, punctuated by tall spires that proclaimed the places of learning and culture from which they rose. The trees shaded the squares where people stopped to enjoy a refreshment at one of the many cafes, while dancing fountains and carefully manicured gardens provided an air of rest and relaxation. A slight hum rose from the streets, and from time to time a shout, carried by the wind, reached Lark’s ear.
It was a tranquil scene, giving no hint of the unrest and strife that had spread across the country to the north. It had started with a raid, a band of Rhymers breaching the wall of a small town and storming through the streets, plundering and looting. This in itself was not a noteworthy event – the Rhymers were constantly harassing the northern towns, stealing livestock and other goods – and the townspeople had given chase, determined to recover what they could. Instead of fleeing as they usually did, however, the Rhymers had turned and fought, leaving dozens of townspeople dead or injured and half the town in flames before finally heading back to the hills. The Crimson Guard had traveled swiftly to quell the uprising, but the attack had served as a spark to dry tinder, lighting a fire that quickly spread across the whole region.
For Lark, however, the country’s turmoil was little more than a distant shadow – background noise to the tumult which crowded her thoughts and occupied her mind. She leaned against the windowpane, enjoying the coolness against her forehead as she stared down at the peaceful scene. In a few hours she would be Claimed by Prince Valiant, launching a hectic schedule of teas and appointments which would culminate in their Joining two weeks hence. It was an event that had long been coming, but for Lark, it had arrived with far too much speed.
There was a crash as the door to her chamber was suddenly flung open, and she spun around in fright.
“Iron! You’re back! When did you arrive?”
Her brother, Made-of-Iron, strode across the room, taking in her appearance. “A few hours ago. Did you think I would miss my sister’s claiming? Whatever have they done to you?”
Lark groaned as she sank to the couch and selected a chocolate from a tray. “Neta and her army of servants have spent the whole day preparing me, like a swan being trussed for the table!” Her skin, from top to toe, had been covered in silver dust before she was dressed in a sleeveless gown of cerulean blue silk, which hugged her plump curves and fell to the floor in gentle folds. From her shoulders hung a gauzy cloak of the same color, held in place by a sparkling pin at her neck. Dark kohl lined her eyes and her lips had been pai
nted a dark shade of blue, while a large celeste nestled between her ample breasts, the clear blue gem hanging from a finely wrought chain of silver. A chain of tiny celestes ran along the ridge of her ear, ending with a large tear-shaped gem that hung from her lobe.
“I look like a porcelain doll, don’t I?” she said.
“Do I dare ask what they will dress you in for the joining?” He gave a theatrical shudder. “But I’m sure Val will approve.”
“Mother was quite insistent that I wear garments that she selected, saying that nothing else would befit my status as future queen,” she replied. “I confess that Val did not even cross my mind. Besides, he’ll be so concerned about his own appearance, he’ll barely notice mine.”
“Not true! Val has a certain standard to maintain, which extends to everyone around him.” Iron glanced around the room, where lavishly designed dresses for the coming fortnight were hanging from every available space. “He does care for you, in his way.”
“Indeed? And here I thought the only person he cared for was himself.”
“Well, you know Val – he does what he pleases and to hell with the consequences.”
“A fine quality in a king!” Lark said wryly.
“That’s why you’ll make the perfect wife. You’ll hold him steady without making big scenes about his more, er, wayward tendencies.”
Lark gave a very unladylike snort. “I’m not sure anything can hold Val steady, but I will ensure that he keeps the throne.”
“Exactly! The perfect wife!”
Lark helped herself to another chocolate. As the ceremony drew closer, she had found comfort in the sweet treats. “Are you staying long in Lenora?”
“I return to my unit tonight, once the ceremony is done.”
“So soon?”
“I must. We head up north to Eldora Province at dawn.”
“Eldora? Why?”
“The unrest continues to grow. But that is not something with which you need concern yourself.”
“I should probably know what’s happening around the country. I will, after all, be queen one day.”
“But you won’t be ruling the country, Little Lark. That’ll be Val’s job, while your job will be to manage Val.”
She suppressed a sigh. Managing Val would certainly be a full-time job. “Have you news of Crag?”
Towering Crag was the oldest of the siblings, followed by Iron, with Lark close on his heels. Pipit, the youngest of the family, trailed Lark by six years. “His unit is stationed up north near the mountains,” Iron replied.
The door opened and Lark’s handmaid walked into the room, bearing a small silver tray. “Neta,” Iron exclaimed, “my favorite Rhymer! Is that for me?” He swiped the glass goblet from the tray and downed the contents in one swallow as Neta frowned at him frostily.
“I am not Rhymer, my lord, as well you know, and that wine was for Lady Lark.”
“I’m sure you can find some more,” he said, grinning at her scowl. He turned to Lark. “I must go – the commander wants a report, and I should probably greet Mother, whom I’m guessing will be resting in her chambers. I’ll see you at your claiming.” He gave her a wink as he left the room, and Neta followed him angrily, taking away the empty tray as Lark leaned back in her seat.
Only a few minutes had passed when Neta returned with another full goblet of wine. “Your brother may be a lord, but he acts no better than the soldiers he associates with,” she said darkly. “How often must I tell him that I am a pure-bred Cambrian?”
“Well, you must have some Rhymer blood,” Lark said, taking the wine from the tray. “Look at your hair.”
“It’s only a little darker than yours,” Neta protested, scraping the offending locks from her face. In fact, her hair was a light shade of brown, so unusual amongst the fair features of the Cambrians, with their delicate skin tone, flaxen hair, and blue eyes. Lark was fairer than most; her porcelain pale cheeks and icy blue eyes gave her a ghost-like appearance, while her hair, as fine as silk, was drained entirely of color. It required a skilled hand to give the long locks some semblance of beauty – a skill which Neta thankfully had in abundance, and which she was anxious to exercise. She nodded at the chair before the mirror. “Come sit and let’s get your hair sorted out.” She picked up the brush and yanked it through Lark’s locks. “You know, if I was Rhymer, I wouldn’t care what your hair looked like,” she said, as Lark bit her lip against the sharp tug. “I would tell you to leave it hanging loose like a peasant.”
“You’re right, of course,” Lark agreed.
“And I would have stolen half your jewels by now.”
“True. You’re nothing like a Rhymer.”
“Perhaps I’ll shave off my hair so that I don’t have to deal with so many ignorant comments!”
Lark stifled a shocked laugh. “No, you won’t,” she finally said, “because I won’t allow it.” She met Neta’s dark look in the mirror. “There’s no handmaid as talented as you in all of Valoria, even if you do have a drop of Rhymer blood.”
Neta narrowed her eyes, but she gentled her brushing. Even so, Lark’s scalp ached by the time Neta placed a glittering tiara of celestes onto her head and handed her a small hand mirror so she could properly view the handiwork from behind. Pale locks had been curled and twisted into multiple strands and clipped at the back of her head with pins of shimmering skystones.
“Whatever would I do without you, Neta?” Lark said.
“I daresay you’d manage, my lady. Now stand up and let me have a good look at you.”
Lark rose meekly and slowly turned in a circle as Neta tugged down the folds of her gown and adjusted a loose strand of hair.
“Good,” she said. “You look like a princess.”
Lark turned to examine herself in the mirror, wondering what a princess was supposed to look like. Were princesses usually as pale as she was, or were they more vibrant, with rosy cheeks and golden hair? With her joining, she would be given the title of princess; it would not elevate her in rank, however. King Bastion and Lark’s father, Commander Stormchaser, were first cousins, and while Lark had not been born with a royal title, she was fifth in line to the throne.
She cocked her head as she examined herself, thinking of the event that lay ahead. She and Val had practically grown up together, and as a child she had worshipped the prince, with his easy laugh and charming smile. Three years older than herself, he had been far more attentive than her own brothers, always willing to chase her around the palace grounds or play a game of cards. When she learned, at the age of eight, that she was to marry him one day, she had been delighted. Her delight did not last, however. As Val grew older, his patience for the younger girl had lessened, eventually turning to annoyance. Along with her brothers, he would tease her relentlessly over her pale features and soft, plump body, and when she tried to join in their games, they would run away and hide from her, sometimes abandoning her in the city, leaving her to find her own way back to the palace.
Val might have outgrown the callousness of youth had he been allowed to follow his dream of joining the Crimson Guard, but his path led to the throne, not to soldier’s tents. He had watched enviously as Crag and Iron joined the elite ranks of Guardsmen, their time taken up with training from morning to night, while Val spent the daytime hours closeted with various statesmen and councilors, learning the history of Valoria, along with its laws and customs. As soon as he could escape his watchers’ beady eyes, however, he would seek his own pleasure in the taverns and whorehouses of Lenora. The fact that Val was exceptionally handsome opened many doors for the reprobate prince. Unlike Lark’s pale features, Val glowed golden, with hair the color of ripe corn and skin that was a healthy tan. His expressive blue eyes and charming smile commanded a room’s attention from the moment he stepped across the threshold, drawing the gaze of men and women alike.
With each passing year, he had become more self-indulgent, pursuing every passing whim, while ignori
ng the growing demands of his princely station. Even so, Lark might have forgiven him if he had shown signs of turning his life around – had it not been for his callous response when a Cambrian town was attacked by Rhymer raiders, leaving three women dead.
“Let’s hope they weren’t virgins,” Lark had overheard him saying to a friend with a laugh. “Such a waste to take the life of a woman when she hasn’t yet had a chance to serve a useful purpose!”
“I cannot marry Val,” she had declared to her mother a few days later. “He’s an awful person.”
“He’s selfish and arrogant, I will agree, but if you don’t marry Val, then who will you marry?”
“Perhaps I won’t marry at all!”
Lady Finch had sighed. “Lark, you’re a member of the royal house of Valoria. Your wishes have no bearing on who you will marry, or whether you will marry at all. Val is your only equal in rank. While he may choose to raise someone up to his level, for you to do so could put the throne at risk.”
“How so, Mother?”
“Do you really believe that a man brought up to your level would not then try to reach for a throne? No, it is your duty to marry Val. You are Valoria’s best hope of returning him to a steadier course and making him understand that his duty lies with his people. While you might not wish for this union, you will be serving your people as their future queen.”
If there had been someone else – someone who stirred her with passionate kisses and promised to always be faithful – then perhaps she would have dug in her heels and refused the joining. But there was no-one else, and so she had agreed that serving the people and carrying out her duty was the right thing to do, even if it was not the life she desired.
“My lady?” Neta’s hand on her elbow shook Lark from her musings with a start. “Are you alright? You haven’t heard a word of what I was saying.”
“I’m sorry, Neta, my mind was far away. What did you say?”
“I was just asking if the prince has given any indication of the claiming token he intends to give you this evening?”
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