by Krista Rose
Emberes – the second month of summer
Davael – the last month of summer
Syrthil – the first month of autumn; harvest season
Vikos – the second month of autumn
Cuna – the last month of autumn
Veyshin – first month of winter; last month of the year
THE GENEALOGY OF THE ROSE FAMILY
As Written by Amandine Rose
Gavor Rose (d.) married Victoire (d.) in the year 352A.F.
They had three sons:
Bardric (d.), Branuell (d.), and Benjemen (d.).
Bardric had three children: Lorian (d.), Hronna (d.), and Eremaude.
Lorian had two sons: Jaryd and Rylen.
Jaryd had three children: Alisanne, Gavriel, and Elias.
Alisanne had two children: Ediline and Henerik.
Gavriel had one daughter: Zelde.
Rylen had four children: Brycen, Aemelia, Caerie, and Sybella.
Brycen had three children: Helmar, Haidee, and Harme.
Aemelia had two children: Vedis and Adette.
Branuell had three sons: Tallus (d.), Timothi, and Titus.
Tallus had two sons: Mychael and Malachi (d.).
Mychael had three sons: Aeonar, Greagor, and Irvin.
Aeonar had one son: Collis.
Greagor had two sons: Elex and Bastien.
Malachi had six children: Kryssa, Brannyn, Lanya, Kylee, Alyxen, and Reyce.
Timothi had four children: Rumer, Tamsen, Maelys, and Farius.
Rumer had one daughter: Sillow.
Tamsen had five children: Valin, Felice, Attin, Blandon, and Ennrit.
Valin had one son: Gavlin.
Maelys had two children: Tannon and Maari (d.).
Titus had two children: Rett and Aelin (d.).
Rett had one son: Breccan.
Benjemen had one daughter: Amandine.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would never have been written without the love and support of my family and friends, and the dozens of people who restrained themselves from putting me on medication before it was finished.
A huge thank you to my beta readers: Robbye, Ralph, Kacie, Krysie, Martin, Paul, Katie P., Sarah A., Abby, Brooke, Darcus, Ski, Micah, Ms. Sandy, Darah and Matthew, Denis G, Wes, Heather aka “Jewella”, Tim Vincent, Jason Hill, Groot, and, of course, all of my Moms.
Special thanks to Brad, who went out of his way to support me even when I’m sure I was driving him crazy. Thanks for sitting through the drafts, the insanity, the depression, and all the work that came after- this book would never have been finished otherwise. Thank you for your time, your patience, and your support.
To Kris and Dustin, for helping me learn how to do this adulting thing the right way, and to Victoria, for being there when everything seemed to fall apart.
To Hal and Jordan, for reminding me of the importance of following my dreams, and to take breaks from it to enjoy reality.
And finally to my readers. Thank you- without you, this would never be possible.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Krista S. Rose has always been fascinated by fantasy, and has been building the world of Ca’erdylla for eighteen years. The stories, which began as a game with her brothers and sisters, have grown to become an obsession, competing with her love of video games, books, and Italian food.
Krista has written two other books, Adaora and Ellspeth, the first and second books in her Daughters of Murthos series, based 1500 years after the events in Whispers of Heaven. Adaora was a finalist in Foreword’s 2013 Book of the Year Awards.
Feel free to contact Krista! She loves to hear from you!
Facebook: www.facebook.com/catnamedsnowball
Email: [email protected]
Keep reading for a
special preview of Book Two
ShatterStar
VITRIC
14 Llares 577A.F.
I waited for Kryssa.
It felt like I had spent most of my life waiting for her, so I didn’t really mind, even though the sky above was threatening the return of the early summer rains. Icy droplets from the previous night’s storm fell from the branches of the giant trees onto the soft earth of the clearing, and a few managed to land on the back of my neck and slide uncomfortably beneath my tunic. The Siriun Forest was profoundly quiet; even the soft breeze was little more than a sigh, barely stirring the leaves and pine needles blanketing the ground.
I tightened my cloak around me against the chill in the air, and distracted myself from the unpleasant weather by thinking of her.
Just when exactly had I started to fall in love with the secretive, contrary girl with the tragic eyes? I had spent months trying to figure it out, but there didn’t seem to be any one moment, just a scattering of memories that had built into an ache.
She had been barely thirteen when my mother had hired her to clean our house every Firesday, and her small size had made her look even younger. She had fascinated me from the start- mostly because it had frustrated my overbearing mother, who wanted her only son to marry a nice village girl of her choosing. Allis Stroud had very definite opinions about who I should and should not be friends with, and she voiced them often, and loudly.
Strangely, Kryssa almost seemed to agree with her, and avoided me like a winter cold. That, of course, only stirred my curiosity, and I had taken to following her, pestering her with questions she rarely answered. I enjoyed the mirror looks of irritation I saw both on her face and my mother’s when I talked to her, and Firesday quickly became the highlight of my week.
Though Kryssa was little more than a child when she first came to work at our home, she never complained about the demands and chores piled on her shoulders by my difficult mother. In fact, she rarely spoke at all. As the middle child of four sisters, I found this intriguing; I knew how much girls like to talk. Her silence became something like a personal challenge.
I filled up that space between us by talking to her. I told her stories, and poured out my inner thoughts and secrets to her, hoping she would finally come to trust me. Instead, she ignored me, or glared at me, clearly finding me to be a nuisance. I had never met someone that disliked me before, but, rather than deterring me, it spurred me on. I was absolutely determined to unravel the mystery of her.
Years had passed, and she grew from girl to woman before my eyes. My attraction deepened toward something more personal than just aggravating my mother, and my fingers began to itch every time she entered the room. I wanted to stroke her vibrant hair, or touch the softness of her skin. Even more confusing was that I found myself wanting her to like me, to see me as more than the son of Allis Stroud, the woman who paid her pennies to clean every Firesday.
Kryssa, however, wanted nothing at all to do with me.
I was patient, and persistent- and, when neither worked, I tried bribery. She continued to eye me as if I were something unpleasant she had scraped off the bottom of her shoe. I would have given up, had it not been for the hint of fear I thought I saw underneath her irritation. That fear gave me hope. If she felt nothing, then she had no reason to be afraid, right?
Still, it was disheartening to watch her ignore my clumsy attempts at romance. I spent months desperately trying to get her to notice me, but it seemed I was doomed to be nothing more than an inconvenience to her. She didn’t even seem interested in being friends.
And then, finally, it had happened: last summer, a miracle. Frustrated and filled with doubts, I had followed her into the woods, and I had kissed her. I half-expected her to push me away; if she had, I would have at last given up.
Instead, she had wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me back. All my years of hard work had been rewarded for that one moment with her in my arms.
Since then, we had rarely stopped kissing, though I found myself longing for more. A lot more. But she wasn’t ready. When I tried to talk to her of marriage, of a future, she didn’t listen. It wasn’t that she didn’t hear me; it was that she simp
ly wasn’t ready to face the idea of it. Something frightened her when she thought of leaving her home. Though we had spoken all spring of our ideas of escaping the village, the familiar haunted look returned to her eyes when I pushed her for promises.
There were still too many secrets she wouldn’t tell me, trapped behind those emerald eyes that filled my dreams. It was more than a little maddening. She’ll tell me eventually, I reminded myself with a grim smile. I’m just as stubborn as she is, and twice as sneaky.
The sky rumbled in warning, and I glanced up, grimacing at the threads of lightning that trailed the underside of the clouds. I had been waiting for at least two hours. It never took her this long to clean Ellisa’s house. Worry wormed into my thoughts.
What if something’s happened? What if that father of hers-
No. I took a deep breath, forcing my mind away from that line of thinking, and the black rage that accompanied it. She had probably just gotten caught up. She often spent extra time helping the elderly widow tend her garden, since it was too difficult for Ellisa to do many things herself.
I’ll just stop by and offer to help. I grinned at the thought. The widow was very generous with her baked goods, which were some of the best in the village. I would most likely leave with a full stomach- a bonus for waiting so long in the cold woods.
I strode from the clearing, my long legs eating up the ground. My height still surprised me sometimes; I towered over most of the villagers, and was a full head-and-a-half taller than Kryssa.
It did not take me long to reach the huddle of houses that made up our small, unnamed village. Kryssa called it Desperation, and I had always found the name rather fitting. I headed straight for the widow’s plain home near the outskirts. Several hands rose as I passed, and I waved back, though I didn’t slow.
Ellisa was sitting on her porch when I arrived, a long pipe in her hands as she rocked in a worn chair. Her bright blue eyes were curious in her leathery face as she watched me approach. Thick smoke poured from the sides of her mouth and nostrils; she looked, I thought, like a very friendly dragon.
“Haven’t seen her,” she announced before I could open my mouth to ask. “Not been here since last week. Thinking maybe she didn’t come because of the weather.”
I bit back the words I wanted to say. Neither of us believed the weather would keep Kryssa from the village; her family depended too much on the money she made. Panic twined with my worry, forming a sick knot of dread in the pit of my stomach.
I said a hasty goodbye to Ellisa, and hurried away, heading for the worn, rutted road that would lead me to the farm where she lived. Logic waged war with my panic, reminding me that I had seen her just the day before. She had been cheerful, giddy even, clutching a box containing a small pink cake for her youngest brother’s birthday. Surely nothing could have happened to her in a day.
But I couldn’t forget the bruises that covered her arms, or the way she flinched whenever I raised a hand to touch her face. I could not forget that she lived with a monster.
Logic rapidly lost.
My hurried stride lengthened to a flat run. The Forest was unnaturally silent, save for the labor of my breathing. My legs ate up the mile to the farm, the soft mud squelching beneath my boots with every step. The trees grew closer together, forming a gloomy hallway, broken only by the huge, rough stones that sprouted from the ground so close to the northern coast.
I smelled the smoke before I saw it, mixing with the heavy scent of rain. My footsteps slowed of their own accord, and the knot of dread rose into my throat to choke me. I swallowed, forcing myself to breathe, my mind blank as I neared the farm. The trees suddenly ended, cleared away from the small ten acres of land by generations of farmers. My eyes watered in the sudden light after so long spent in the shadows, and I squinted, forcing my gaze across the familiar ground.
I had climbed one of the giant trees of the Forest once when I was little, and then fallen out of it when a rotten branch had snapped beneath my weight. I felt the same sensation now, of dropping endlessly as the ground fell away beneath me, as I stared at what was left of Kryssa’s home.
Thick, blackened support beams thrust upward out of the rubble, accusatory fingers pointing to the cloudy skies. Burnt stones lay in careless heaps where they had tumbled from the walls. As I approached on wobbling legs, I could see embers glowing in what would have once been the great room, a malevolent heart in the midst of so much destruction. Nothing could have survived it. The house had become a grave.
I sank to my knees in the garden beside the house, my numbed mind barely registering that the fragile roses had been untouched by the flames. Smoke filled the air, burning my eyes, but I couldn’t weep. The pain was simply too deep for that.
She’s dead.
“Kryssa,” I whispered, and my voice was immediately whipped away by the rising wind. Thunder rumbled, and the rain at last began to fall.
I bowed my head, and grieved.
