The staff responded to nothing.
It had Called to her, first soaked in moonlight and then again in sunshine. It had seen plenty of both over the past few days. It made no sense.
Rea stood to stretch her legs and cast the staff onto the sand, frustrated. The sun was already overhead, marking midday. If the wretched thing was not singing by this time tomorrow, she wondered if Kron would leave her behind.
What good was she if she had no proof of who she was? How would she convince any of the realms that she meant to unite them to save LouMorah? She hadn’t even known about most of the realms until today. Did she care if they were saved?
The sisters of the temple did not. Yet the Moon Called Rea to this task. She was sure of it. Magora had seemed certain, too.
So why was she doubting that Call now, suspecting that it had only been a fleeting wish, a longing to be more than a Sister of the Hearth?
Rea’s thoughts went to Magora again, and she touched the crystal necklace at her throat. She wondered if the staff had sung to the old sister when she found it in the temple. Did it stop singing if its Call went unanswered? Did it stop singing if it was answered?
Rea knelt on the sand and began digging a long hole with her cupped hands. It was an easy task in the desert and only took her a few moments. Once the hole was knee-deep, she dropped the staff in and filled the hole with sand again, smoothing the surface until it was flat and undistinguishable from the area around it.
She stood and paced the desert, turning in circles to disorient herself. If the thing wanted to be heard, she’d give it the chance to Call her again. If it didn’t... well then, what good would it do her anyway?
“What are you doing?” Kron shouted from the entrance of Hosh’s house. “Where is the staff?”
“I don’t know,” she yelled back at him. “Be quiet. I’m listening for it.”
“You’re as mad as Hosh,” he grumbled as he stepped out onto the sand. The sage crept out of the house behind him, watching curiously as she paused at the well for a drink and tried to wash the memory of the staff’s resting place from her mind.
“What have you done?” Hosh asked. His concerned eyes fell on her hands and then scanned the desert.
“I gave it a reason to sing.” Rea squeezed the crystal at her neck, praying her plan would work. If it didn’t, she was out of ideas and out of luck. She would have to travel to the realms emptyhanded and hope everyone recognized the Moon and Solanya in her the way Kron and Hosh seemed to.
The two men stood watching her, squinting and sweating under the harsh sun. They remained silent for a long while as Rea listened for the staff, but the only sound that came was the gentle hiss of sand whenever the odd breeze passed through.
Kron finally shook his head and turned back for the house. “The only thing you gave that staff was a shallow grave.”
Rea’s heart sank as the same thought occurred to her, too. She wondered if it was too late to ride back to the mountains. Had the other sisters even realized she was gone? Would the break in the ridge open for her without the staff?
“Come, have some fruit,” Hosh said, motioning for her to follow him inside. “I’ll help you find it after.”
A lump formed in Rea’s throat. She hung her head, wondering if maybe she should have buried herself alongside the worthless staff. But then the wind kicked up the hem of her robe, and a noise both soft and sharp cut through the shifting sand.
“Reee-aaa. Daughter of Lyra and Solurn. Come take what is yours.”
Rea’s laughter drowned out the song, but she quickly slapped her hands over her mouth, spinning around to search the dessert.
A short way beyond the well, the wind had pushed more fiercely at a spot in the sand, whipping it into a small dune. At its base, the twisted whorls of the staff’s end broke the surface.
Rea grinned at Hosh and blushed when the sage gave her a proud nod.
“Clever girl,” he said, clapping his hands softly.
Kron appeared behind him, a chunk of fruit in one hand and his cheek full of more. He leaned against the doorway of the house and crossed his ankles.
“Not much of a song,” he said, chewing loudly. “But I doubt I’d have much to sing about either if I’d been stuck in an uptight convent for years and years.”
Hosh’s smile tightened as Rea stormed off to fetch the staff. She really hoped the rest of the Mandoratti were not as arrogant and insulting as the sage’s nephew.
“He really does mean well,” Hosh called after her.
THE NEXT MORNING, REA saddled Pooka while Kron and Hosh said goodbye. He’d let her keep the cooler robe, but she’d packed away her own from the temple, knowing it would come in handy during the cold nights in the desert.
As Hosh approached to tell her goodbye, Kron rode ahead on his yak, turning the beast in tight circles as if to test its agility. Rea frowned, still not certain she was ready for the trip, though she could not decide if she were more concerned about her companion or their destination.
“Do not fret,” Hosh said and patted her knee. “You are in good hands, Rea, last royal heir of Solanya, first of the Moon’s Chosen born to a priestess.”
She smiled nervously. “And to think, I had only wanted to be a Sister of the Moon.”
“Your birth to a tribe of LouMorah makes you a sister of every realm,” Hosh said. “They will hear you, and you will unite them once again.”
Rea prayed he was right, and she prayed that Aberon and the Harom would not find him if they tried to cross the desert.
As Pooka carried her off to catch up with Kron and Grunt, she looked over her shoulder, but the house was gone, and Hosh with it. The horizon was empty in every direction.
“Are you ready?” Kron asked as Pooka stopped beside Grunt.
Before Rea could answer, the sand began to swirl around their mounts’ ankles. Panic stabbed at her heart. She gasped and looked up at Kron, but he only picked at a bit of jerky caught in his teeth as the sand swallowed his dangling boots.
This was Hosh’s magic, Rea suddenly realized. She tried to still her squirming as the sand reached her waist, but her pulse leapt in her throat like a trapped dove.
Kron gave her a sharp grin, and his pale eyes sparkled. “Take a deep breath, li’rashka. We have a long way to go.”
Rea’s journey continues in...
SISTER OF THE REALM
SACRED REALMS BOOK TWO
Coming 2019
REA AND KRON HAVE DEPARTED from Hosh’s dwelling in the desert and now head for Mandoratt Forest. The elves of Belquar have foreseen the rise of Aberon, long thought dead after the War of Two Princes. Rea must convince the rulers of each realm of that she is the heir of Solurn, come to unite the tribes of LouMorah against what is left of her father’s kingdom. She must also decide if she will turn her back on the ways of the Moon’s Chosen and embrace her Solanyan heritage before Aberon marches his army on the sacred realms once again.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AS ALWAYS, I MUST ACKNOWLEDGE the awesome people who keep me going, who inspire and cheer me on, who serve as sounding boards and proofreaders, and who let me ask them super weird, seemingly random questions that later, while reading my books, makes them say, “Ah ha! So that’s why you needed to know about the breeding habits of pigeons.”
These books don’t happen without you guys, so thank you from the bottom of my heart: Chelle Olson, my amazing editor to whom this book is also dedicated; Savana Ellison of Blue Sky Design for the lovely cover; my husband for all his tireless proofreading and for taking all the false starts and detours of Rea’s journey with me; my kiddo for the much-needed snuggle breaks; my critique group, the Four Horsemen of the Bookocalypse; THE Professor George Shelley; Roquet’s Grim Readers book gang; and, of course, my friends and family who offer their continual support and encouragement. I love you guys.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author Angela Roquet is a great big weirdo. She collects Danger Girl comic
books, owls, skulls, random craft supplies, and all things Joss Whedon. She's a fan of renewable energy, marriage equality, and religious tolerance. As long as whatever you're doing isn't hurting anyone, she's a fan of you, too.
Angela lives in Missouri with her husband and son. She's a member of SFWA and HWA, as well as the Four Horsemen of the Bookocalypse, her epic book critique group, where she's known as Death. When she's not swearing at the keyboard, she enjoys boating with her family at Lake of the Ozarks and reading books that raise eyebrows. You can find Angela online at www.angelaroquet.com
If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review. Your support and feedback are greatly appreciated! Be sure to sign up for Angela’s newsletter, The Reaper Report, for updates on new releases, book sales, freebies, and more!
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