Prologue

The enraged shriek echoed throughout the massive cavern long after the druid had departed in a flash of green light. A derisive chuckle replied. “Well, at least she’s pretty. She has that going for her.” Resa hoisted the bloodied great axe onto her shoulder and grinned wolfishly. “I didn’t expect her to be such a sore loser.”

Max nodded, though his eyes crinkled at the edges in amusement. He put the second fist-sized glowing orb, its radiant golden light casting shadows on the cavern wall, gingerly into his pack. “But we got what we came for, and not without a small amount of trouble for it. At least they’ll now be in safe hands.”

Resa lifted her head as their priest, a heavily-bearded man wearing dusty robes, called out his report. “All are alive and accounted for, sir.”

“Thank you, Rhogar.” Max stretched his white wings as he stood, a few feathers ruffled from the brutal fight. “Alive. That’s all we could hope for.”

Resa sighed. “Wistran better keep their promise, Max. That greedy fey king agreed a little too quickly to house one of the orbs for my liking.” She scowled. “You don’t think he’ll sell it, do you?”

Max huffed a laugh. “No, love. He won’t sell it. He’ll hoard it like a dragon with a mountain of precious gems. He’ll keep it close, if for no other reason than to be known as the one who has it. Besides, Camlynn will have the other. I just hope that’ll be enough distance between the two halves of the relic.” The protector kissed her on the cheek as he walked past, giving an absent rub to her still-flat belly.

Resa smiled at the gesture. “Good. Much as I like a decent fight, I don’t want to have to face her again. We have more important things to do now.”

Max stopped and turned to speak over his shoulder. Exhaustion dulled his golden eyes. “She was cowed. We’ll never see her again.”

Resa ambled up to him and slid her hand into his. “You don’t really believe that, do you?” she said quietly.

Max gazed down at her and paused before replying. “No.”

***

A flash of green light preceded the druid’s arrival into her small cottage. She stood frozen, shaking from battle fatigue and worse. Even the familiar scent of chamomile, hanging in small bunches from her rafters, failed to calm her.

Her fine robes were dirty and bloodied, her green hair tangled and wild. She ached from bruises and barely healed wounds, but none of them compared to the burning emptiness in her chest. None of them compared to the rage hanging in her throat like a heavy lump, nearly choking her.

The cheerful chirping of birds outside was the only sound until she hurled her broken staff across the open room into the cold hearth with another harsh, frustrated scream. The staff hit with an unsatisfying clank against the stone of the fireplace and fell to the floor, as dead and useless as her plans now were.

The Twin Spheres were gone. And in the hands of meddling bastards who had no real idea what they held.

She closed her eyes and sucked in a calming breath. Letting it out slowly, she opened her eyes to a new world.

A new plan.

She just had to be patient and wait for her opportunity.

And, in the meantime, find out where the Twin Spheres were being taken next.

Chapter One

Stories Best Forgotten

“Moral o’ the story, fellas, don’t run into a brothel with yer ass on fire. Uhm, beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady.” The guard across the fire from me held out a hand in my direction.

An almost-smile twitched my lips. There was no point in chiding their rough speech. It wouldn’t work, anyway. I slid my longsword the rest of the way into its scabbard, having sharpened it to my satisfaction, and I looked up.

My amusement dwindled when the other guards around the campfire turned my way. Wondering why they were all staring at me, and feeling more than a little self-conscious, I frowned at each of their expectant faces.

In the silence, the soft braying of mules and oxen, the conversations and laughter of other nearby guards, and the crackle of logs splitting in the fire seemed to emphasize the quiet of our huddled group. The wind blew the smoke from the fire into my face, causing me to jerk my head with a grimace. Why does it always seem to follow me?

“Your turn, celestial. You’ve never told one,” prompted Rorm, the guard standing off to my left side. “A real one, anyway.”

Oh.

My preference would’ve been for him to use my name instead of my heritage, but I wasn’t going to make a fuss. Some called me celestial. Few called me Nathalia. Others, m’lady. Hearing them all in one form or another became second nature.

A puff of breath lifted a lock of my hair as I considered what story to tell.

It had become a tradition for guards in our caravan to tell at least one story from their past after we’d cared for the draft animals and eaten our supper. An anecdote. A joke, even. I wasn’t much for telling jokes. I didn’t remember them well enough to do them justice, and embellishment wasn’t possible. Tales I’d written long ago, barely remembered fables penned by a child’s hand, were never received well. “Dull with no flavor,” one painfully honest guard had said.

Everyone’s a critic.

My stories were dull and lifeless for a reason I didn’t like to think about. Nevertheless, it was the only story that came to mind.

I picked up a heavy stick and poked the logs in the fire, unsure what else to do with my hands. The soot from it stained my palm, making me regret picking it up at all. “I was nine and heading to my studies. A carnival had been set up just outside Rowin’s walls in Camlynn, and I could see the tent tops from our villa’s tallest window. I asked my father if we could go, but he forbade it.”

A few of the newer guards rolled their eyes, perhaps taking me for some sort of spoiled princess. Maybe they figured this would be a story of the time I broke a nail. Or even dirtied my shoes. I wished it were that kind of story.

The older guards, however, leaned forward to listen.

“My curiosity won out over my obedience. I convinced my sister Raewyn to go to the traveling faire, without our mother and father. We snuck out of our villa, managing to avoid our governess’s watchful eye. I paid our entrance fee from my allowance, and we ran in, intent on feasting on fried sweet breads, flossed candy, and whatever else we could get our hands on. We never won any games, but that didn’t stop us from trying. I spent every coin I had in an attempt to win a stuffed animal for Raewyn.”

Deep breath.

“When all our money was gone, our bellies full to the brim with food we weren’t normally allowed to eat, we decided to go into the Hall of Mirrors. It was the last thing open that was free. We ran around, laughing, watching ourselves get skinnier, older, fatter, taller in the mirrors. But we soon got confused and lost our way. That’s when we heard the cackling. It seemed to echo from all sides. Around us, behind us.”

I stared into the fire, hoping the heat would dry my eyes and prevent the tears that were threatening to well in them.

“We tried to find the entrance but couldn’t. And then we saw her. Her unnaturally green eyes radiated malevolence. The mirrors in the area seemed to multiply her, reflecting the mischief hag in their surfaces. I couldn’t tell which reflection was attacking us until it was too late. I hugged my sister to protect her, calm her cries, but it didn’t matter. We were cornered.”

All of the guards were now listening. Attentive. Some part of me appreciated that.

“If you don’t know about mischief hags, they take things. Not just prized possessions, but capability. Prowess. Any ability or innate gift, they can steal. Like your sword skill, Rorm. Or your whittling, Maya.” My eyes flicked to the guard sitting off to the side, who abruptly stopped carving her block of wood with a frown.

“Created by spiteful druids, they spread misery wherever they go. This particular mischief hag cursed us to ruin. I used to write songs, poetry, everything I could think of. She took it. Never again would I write stories or ballads, she said. Never again would I possess creativity. The stories I’ve told to you up to now, the dull ones, I wrote those when I was nine years of age. They were some of the last things I wrote.” I shook my head. “And my poor sister. She was so lovely. She was cursed with horrible facial scars, which she had to hide behind a half-mask. When we managed to get home, my father was…displeased.”

Volcanic, really. Normally a calm man, he roared the night my sister was harmed as my mother tried to comfort her. I’ll never forget the look of utter disappointment in his eyes, the gold in them mirroring my own.

I poked the fire again and cleared my burning throat. “It nearly broke me. The one true gift I claimed as my own was gone, and no amount of pleading or wishing would bring it back.”

My pause made those around me lean in.

“So what happened next?” Maya asked, her block of wood forgotten.

My reply was barely louder than a mumble, “I’ll not continue. That’s the end.”

There was no proper way to tell the guards around me the next part, about how I wanted to master something else: my future. It was far too personal. Far too intimate. How, if I could not be happy myself, then I would make another happy. A big part of growing up in the service of Horyn, the God of Protection, was knowing the time would come for me to take up my father’s mantle.

Only I didn’t want to. Not exactly. My wishes were for what my parents had: a clean, quiet, comfortable existence.

My parents were always affectionate with each other. Always beaming when one looked at the other. They loved deeply and showed it often. A nagging part of me knew that was how I could be happy. So that became my end goal: to marry someone of my station, have children, and live a nice life.

There was just one problem. A suitable husband was required, and, bless them all, no young man in Camlynn fit the bill. Most were enamored with my unusual coloring, my last name, or my heritage, and not necessarily in that order. None cared to know me. Looking to my parents again for inspiration, realization struck. They met while traveling together. Perhaps I, too, needed to set out to find my future.

The only trouble was that traveling is a dirty, nasty business. Putting aside my disgust, and packing not a small amount of soap, I set out with my parents’ blessings.

“You’ll find him,” said my mother. She unhooked a plain necklace with a smoky gem off her own neck and placed it around mine. “So you’ll have the luck I did.”

My father was more pragmatic. “Defend those who cannot defend themselves, and safeguard your virtue, for it is a precious thing.”

Meeting all sorts of people from around Laeth, perhaps even some from the Feylands if they had the ability to travel here, would be productive and efficient. I’d find my intended within a few weeks, perhaps a month at the latest. Whoever it was. Because that’s what the stories said. You always find who you’re meant to. It’s an inevitability.

Instead, all I found is that if you’re tired enough, a rock will serve as a pillow. Hunger is the best seasoning. There is no pleasure greater than the sudden absence of pain. And traveling is a very lonely business, even when surrounded by people.

Laughter jolted me out of my memories. My thumb brushed the gray stone dangling from my throat before I tucked it back underneath my armor.

“Well! I guess it’s my turn again! So, no shit, there I was. Camped out at the entrance of a sapper’s tunnel trying to get into the city…” The guard, Elijah, turned to me with a sorrowful face. “Sorry, m’lady. T’was the Siege of Rowin I be talkin’ about here. Decades ago, aye, but I remember it like it was yesterday.” Elijah stroked his gray beard.

Though Rowin had been rebuilt, buildings in the capital city of Camlynn still bore the scars of that war. Still, there was little point in holding on to a grudge. “I hold no ill will, Master Elijah. It was long ago, as you said.”

“Ah, right. Well, all were just beddin’ down, like. It got quiet, so quiet. I was on my watch shift, and up comes this broodling, walkin’ into camp like it was his home. He smiled at me. I could see his long canines and curled horns. Unnerved me, it did! But when he spoke, it was so calming. I listened, despite myself. Told me his name was Ramiren. He snapped his fingers, and whoosh! I was elsewhere, in a room with a table, chairs, and wine. Oh, the wine was good. Better than this shite.” He took a drink from his wineskin to the sound of an amused audience.

“Anyway, we played cards and talked. He wasn’t very good, mind. I beat him almost every hand. But you don’t go braggin’ to a fellow like that. Elijah Callan ain’t no fool. I simply chuckled and asked him to pour more wine in recompense. He laughed and did so. The evening went on. I knew I shoulda been watchin’ the camp, but this fellow was such fine company that I didn’t want to leave.”

Elijah took another hefty swig and wiped his mouth.

“I told him I just wanted to make it out alive, ya know? Make it back home to my missus. He got a serious look on his face and asked what I would give for that. Thinkin’ he was joshin’ me, I said, ‘All the money I had.’ He replied, ‘The pact is sealed.’ I looked at him all dumbfounded, and he asked me to repeat the words. I blubbered ’em, but I said ’em. Then his eyes just lit up like a lantern. He extended his hand and, bless me, I gave him my gold. I don’t know what got into me, but it seemed as natural as breathin’. He told me to stay at the back of the line the next day. He snapped his fingers again, and there I was again. Back in camp. It was still dark out. Everyone still asleep. I even checked the time candle. Not a single nail had dropped since I went into that room, fellas. I swear to ya. When my watch ended, I didn’t get a wink o’ sleep.”

A haunted look passed over Elijah’s face. “The next day, the sapper tunnel caved in. Only I made it out.” The old guard brought the wineskin back to his mouth but didn’t drink.

Someone asked if it was fate, or if this Ramiren had caused it.

Elijah shook his head and replied in a mutter, as though he no longer wanted to tell the story. “He dealt fairly with me, that broodling. I went home to my missus.”

He downed what was left of his wine.

***

Three years after that fireside conversation, I was once again guarding a wagon train traveling along the outskirts of the Irenian Swamp. Having long gone numb to the routine, my life at least had the predictability I craved. Arrive at a city, find a caravan charter, sign up, travel. Rinse and repeat.

My caravan master called a stop to trade with another caravan headed in the opposite direction, though for what I couldn’t tell, and it wasn’t my business to ask. Their load appeared lighter, with a few passengers taking advantage of the warm weather and dry roads.

Staying alert for trouble or an ambush, I knew this road was a popular one for highway bandits looking for a quick bit of coin. My eyes fell on a woman with long auburn hair, wearing the red robes of a Minuen priestess, ambling along beside the carts. Her back was turned to me as she peeked inside the overloaded wagons. Curiosity mixed with a strange sense of familiarity made me step closer. She straightened and half turned in my direction, showing a familiar half-mask adorning her face. In shock, I blurted out, “Raewyn?”

The masked woman spun around, and her eyes went wide. “Nat?”

My slack-jawed gaze rested on my sister for the first time in years, since her temple training began. The rare communication I could send often didn’t come with a reply, but I chalked that up to my moving around so often. She was here now, though, and that was all that mattered. Raewyn had grown into a full-fledged priestess of Minue, and the Goddess of Love and Beauty had been kind to her. Her porcelain mask still covered her scars, making her look regal. Always lovely.

My amazement hushed my words. “What are you doing here, Raewyn?” Taking her soft hands in mine, I spread her arms wide to get a good look at her. What a beautiful woman she’d grown into. Far more than me, though I admitted my bias. Her hair, so much like our mother’s, was artfully curled about her shoulders. Warm brown eyes that could be mistaken for gold in the right light met mine with a hint of impish mischief in them.

She chuckled. “Oh, just traveling from Evraka for the church. I trained some noble girls there. What are you doing here, Nat?” Her lips pursed as she looked over my armor, reaching out with one hand to touch my shield and weapon. She grimaced, rubbing her fingers together when the oil I used to keep my equipment rust-free dirtied them. She wiped her hand on my sleeve, trying to make it seem like an affectionate gesture. “Isn’t this beneath you? Guarding caravans?” She removed her other hand from mine and looked behind me at the wagon train.

My tongue clicked in disapproval. I followed her line of sight and turned back to her. “All deserve protection, Raewyn. Remember Father’s teachings.”

She shrugged, adjusting the red shawl around her shoulders. “If you say so. Me, I remember Mom’s teachings. All are deserving of love.”

All are deserving of either a kiss to the forehead or an axe to the face. My mother had been half joking when she said that, as she kissed my forehead.

My eyebrow rose in challenge while my arms crossed. “Mother never said love.”

“Well, maybe not to you.” She grinned teasingly. She patted my hand like an affectionate grandmother. “You deserve it, Nat. You just need to learn how to give and receive it.”

“Love?”

“No. Oral pleasure.” Her grin widened, biting her lip at my no-doubt exasperated expression. “Yes. Love. But the aforementioned oral pleasure might do you some good too.”

Though protection was intrinsically an act of self-sacrifice, a kind of love where you put another’s worth above your own, what Raewyn meant was different.

But what did I know? Aside from my family, love had only been something I’d read about, never experienced. Putting my shield in a weapon’s path for another’s benefit, I would argue, was a form of love. And I’d certainly never been in love. Infatuations, sure, but never that.

Inspiration couldn’t prompted me to give it.

***

Raewyn departed her caravan to join ours. Her former escort faded into the distance, and we continued toward our ultimate destination of Evraka. After stowing her small pack into a wagon, Raewyn and I caught up. She spoke of Camlynn, of our parents and how they were doing. My four other siblings had reportedly sprouted like weeds in the year I’d last seen them.

I told her of my travels and the difficulties I had faced. She seemed to be only half listening to my accounts of other guards, bandits, and the occasional battle, but in her defense, my tellings sounded more like a registrar report than a story. Soon after, we found ourselves, our caravan, alone on the wide road. It was silent aside from the lull of animals and wagon wheels. It felt like the calm before a storm. I didn’t like it.

Something’s wrong.

Sidling up to the head wagon, I murmured to Simar, the caravan master, who sat perched up on the wagon’s riser, “Look sharp, sir. Something’s amiss.”

Simar looked over his shoulder and called out, “All hands, look alive!” I took my shield off my back as my sister stood, watching warily.

She shrugged, shaking her head in confusion. “Nat, what’s—”

“Best get in a wagon, Raewyn,” I whispered while strapping the shield to my left arm. She frowned but did as I told her. After ensuring the tarp hiding Raewyn was secured, my hand gripped the longsword at my side, and I waited.

And waited.

My confidence in my instincts had begun to waver when a cry off to my left broke the quiet.

“Now!”

Lifting my shield up under my eyes, my gaze focused on a group of men in crude armor carrying handaxes, rust-pocked swords, and clubs, rising from the prairie brush lining the road. They charged the caravan through knee-high brown grass with guttural yells no doubt designed to intimidate their targets.

Finally.

The fastest bandit rushed me, yelling, and I raised my shield to block his first blow. It clanked off the metal; the attack countered without effort. Punching forward with my shield, bashing him in the face to stun him, I pulled my longsword from its sheath in a quick backhanded draw, using the momentum to slice across his middle. He screamed in pain and surprise, dropping his club to cover the deep wound with his hands.

Another ran at me as I twirled my sword in my hand to right it. My shield popped up to catch his downward slash. His sword bounced hard as he gave a two-handed swing. My arm felt the bruising impact, going numb for a second. I parried his second attack with my sword, tapping the tip to unbalance him, and stepped in, keen on shortening the distance between us. He stumbled, swinging wildly to stop my advance. Parrying again, this time closer to his hilt, my blade swept his far to the side. He was thrown off balance again, leaving his back unguarded, and it was my time. I sliced across his spine, leaving a deep cut through his thin leather armor. He screeched, arching back violently, and fell to the ground.

A third came for me, and I smiled.

They’re attacking me one at a time. Idiots.

This one, too, was quickly felled.

Other bandits engaged the guards around me. Some guards were having trouble keeping their opponent at bay, and I rushed to assist. I stabbed my sword through the back of one as I passed, his club raised high over a tripped guard, and the cutthroat gurgled and stumbled away into the grass. I ran to another, blocking a death blow with my shield while the guard next to me took the opportunity and finished the bandit off.

A quick scan of the area showed a few guards unconscious and lying in the dirt, blood seeping out from under them. But the situation appeared to be under control.

A few bandits ran back into the grass, with guards following them in their rout.

I called out, “Raewyn!”

My sister peeked out from under the canvas, coughing from the tarp’s dust. She waved her hand in front of her face. “Yeah?”

“Can you heal them? Some might still be alive.” I passed my sword to my left hand and walked over to help her out of the wagon.

She nodded and planted her feet on the ground, glancing about. “I can, yes.” She headed to the nearest fallen man and began to kneel next to him.

“That’s an enemy, Raewyn.”

She wobbled, standing back up. “Oh. Well, how can I tell them apart?” She crossed her arms, looking around again.

“Our guards have red bands on their arms.” I said, tapping the wide red cloth tied around my right bicep.

“Oh. Clever.” She moved to a downed guard and put a hand on his back. Prayers fell from her lips immediately. A moment later, the man opened his eyes and groaned. He rolled over and raised his head, making me sigh in relief.

Tomik’s wife won’t be made a widow today.

Cleaning my sword on the shirt of a dead bandit, I placed it back in my scabbard.

***

Raewyn, sitting in a cart as I walked beside her, talked most of the way to Evraka, telling me of her tutoring, the girls she trained, and the mischief she got into while exploring the largest city in Laeth and the center of all trade on the continent. There was a pause after another entirely inappropriate story when Raewyn muttered under her breath like it was a secret, “The traveling Fey Carnival was just opening when I left Evraka. We could go tomorrow night.”

My feet stopped cold. Trepidation, and something akin to fear, rippled through me, as did the sudden chill rolling down my spine.

She hopped down from the cart and took my left hand in her two smaller ones. “Oh, come on! It’ll be fun, if you remember what that is, and we haven’t gone since we were kids, remember?”

“Yes, Raewyn. I remember well. I remember we were caught by that hag, cursed even. Sound familiar? Mischief hag? Ringing any bells?” I stood, rod straight and flabbergasted that she would suggest such a thing could ever be fun.

Raewyn exclaimed, never to be denied, “Exactly! And maybe we’ll find out how to get rid of said curse. Hm? Oh, you know you want to, Nat.”

My arguments died as I considered my sister’s idea. Yes, perhaps we could find out how to rid ourselves of the curses. Going to the crime’s location might actually be beneficial. If nothing else, perhaps going into the Hall again, seeing it as just a building and nothing more…

Still, the trepidation remained, as long-forgotten memories crept into my mind. The hag’s green eyes. My sister’s screams, and my bruised fists as I attempted to defend her.

She’ll go, with or without me. I would rather she have my protection.

“Very well. I’ll go with you.” I huffed a sigh, resigned as logic overtook reluctance.

Raewyn grinned and twirled as she spoke in a singsong voice, “And maybe we’ll finally get you bedded.”

A growling groan left me as my eyes closed, my patience already wearing thin. Not this again. It’s as though I never left. “Thank you, but I’d rather not.”

Her head snapped to me, as though a thought had just come to mind. “You still haven’t bedded anyone, right? I can tell. Your spine is still all…upright and stiff.” She waved her hand in the air toward me. “And you still don’t smile. Definitely a virgin.”

Feeling more irritated at her insinuation than her actual words, my face heated. “My spine is not stiff. I just have excellent posture, which has absolutely nothing to do with my lack of…” A quick look around ensured no one could overhear us. I went on, whispering harshly, “Sexual partners. And why exactly does it matter if I’m a virgin? I want to be married. I want my husband to be my only lover. Why is that so bad, Raewyn?”

“Because you’re missing out on all the fun! Caravans and protect the innocent are all well and good, Nat, but you could be having a full life.” She smirked at me, putting her hands on her hips. “You know there are more uses for a sword than just in battle.”

“Raewyn! I intend to have a full life. When I get married.”

She blew a raspberry and waved her hand at me again. “As serious as ever, I see.”

“And thank the gods for it too, Raewyn. I take my future seriously. Now get your behind back in the cart. You’ll get dirty.”