I eye the door next to Jasce’s bedchamber. Surely, it belongs to Lyra. I practically run into the room and slam the door. Nerves drum inside me as I lean against the sturdy wood and reach for my necklace, squeezing my fingers around the hematite stone for solace.
Lyra's necklace is different from the one I usually wear. It’s more elaborate, and the chain is made from gold. Still, it’s hematite—the one thing that should unite us all. Yet it doesn’t.
For as long as I can remember, the chieftain, his four sons, and their armies have hunted and slaughtered people from House of Silver. I have never understood why they want to extinguish our gifts.
Well, not mine. I don’t have any, of course. Mother never gave me my rune, and without it I cannot conjure any magic.
But others can use their hematite stones to conjure fire, and our house benefits from it. The silver flames enable some to heal and allow others to see the future. Once, I heard of a House of Silver warrior who could create a portal by placing smoldering runes. And I read a book a few summers ago that claimed there are silver magic wielders who can even counter crimson magic—though Asha said that is rare.
Crimson magic is almost always stronger, and the chieftain knows it. Instead of allowing us to live in peace, he calls on their flames to burn our villages and destroy our crops.
Now, here I am in one of their palaces.
Yesterday, I was Annora, the granddaughter of the leader of House of Silver.
Today, I am a stranger with a husband I do not want.
ChapterThree
I glacearound Lyra’s bedchamber, taking in the massive bed and the three windows occupying the far wall. It's much larger than my bedchamber in Grandfather's fortress.
My hem trails the marble floor as I walk to the bed and run my hand over the velvet bedcover, marveling at how soft it feels. A small table sits next to the bed, with a decanter of red wine and two goblets. A fireplace dominates one wall, its warmth radiating throughout the room.
I shiver anyway and sit on the edge of the mattress, thinking about my sisters and what they would be doing right now. They would be saying their evening prayers to Olah, the god of every Tarrobane tribe. He doesn’t care if we are Hematite, Bloodstone, Kyanite, Carnelian, Calcite, or Malachite. He hears every single one of our prayers.
Asha’s words whisper in my ears.“Prayers must be said every night.”
Another sigh escapes me as I move to the shelf, grab a bottle of frankincense and place some of the resin into a brazier. As the smoky tendrils fill the air, I lift my eyes to the mosaic ceiling and whisper prayers.
“Olah, hear my humble plea. I beseech you to shower your blessings upon me, your devoted servant. May your light illuminate my path, and may your wisdom guide me. I implore you to extend your watchful gaze over my family. Please safeguard them from harm. Grant them health, happiness, and harmony, and may the bonds that bind us grow stronger with each passing day.”
Pain swells inside me as I continue, my voice cracking. “Shield my sisters, Asha, Emerin, and Tahira. Grant them the strength to withstand the challenges that life may present.”
I sink to my knees and stare up at the ceiling as threads of pain wrap around my chest and squeeze. This shouldn’t have happened to me. I should be with them.
They need me, and I need them.
ChapterFour
There is onlyone thing I can do after waking in this body and finding myself married to my enemy—escape.
After a night with very little sleep, I’m ready to put my plan into action. I dress in a chemises, a long surcoat over pants, and a cloak, then I tentatively step into the corridor. The bright torches guide me through the palace and to the lower levels.
Thankfully, nobody questions my aimless wandering as I take more than one wrong turn before finding the kitchen. As I push open the door, the noise hits me. The hustle and bustle of the staff is in full swing. They chop vegetables, stir pots, and tend to the fires that line the walls. The smell of freshly baked bread fills my nose, and my stomach grumbles in response.
A group of maids rush past me with armfuls of vegetables and fruit. A cook with a bushy beard and sweat stains on his surcoat barks orders at his staff.
I walk to a long, narrow table in the center of the room. A woman with flour in her hair greets me with a smile, then she gestures for me to come closer.
“Welcome back to Darhavva, My Lady. I baked your favorite,” she says as she thrusts a wrapped bundle into my arms. "Take it before Lady Dinah catches you.”
Lady Dinah? One of the chieftain’s wives?
I bring the bundle closer, smelling fresh bread and honey pastries.
Perfect.
“Thank you. Might I have something to drink to take on my walk too?”
