ChapterOne
ANNORA
The ballroom glittersunder the glow of a thousand candles. The warm light reflects off the polished marble floors and gilded columns that line the perimeter. I pause in the arched doorway, taking in the sight. It has been so long since I attended a ball. Not since before...
A lump forms in my throat as I force the memories down. Tonight isn’t for dwelling on the past. No, tonight is about celebrating another year. Another birthday.
I take a deep breath to steady myself. The ballroom is filled with light and laughter, but all I can think about is how different this birthday will be from the one I spent with Jasce.
Stop.
Don’t think about him.
I force myself to focus on the ballroom, to take in the ladies in their finest cotehardies and the lords in embroidered surcoats.
Grandfather would never approve of such lavishness, but Asha does. I glance to my left, spotting my older sister as she talks to Commander Titanus.
The candlelight dances across his chiseled features, accentuating the strong lines of his jaw and the scar that slashes his left cheek. His blond hair is pulled back, revealing the sharp planes of his face.
Despite the finery of the ball, Commander Titanus wears his uniform, the dark fabric stretched tight across his broad shoulders. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, ever ready to protect my sister.
Everyone says Asha and I look alike, and it’s true, to an extent. We’re both short and petite, with the same reddish-brown hair, and our eyes are the same deep shade of blue, like the ocean under a stormy sky. But there’s a fierceness in Asha’s gaze that I’ve never seen in my own reflection. Her eyes hold a determined glint, a spark of rebellion that seems to reflect everything she has ever done.
She has picked up where Grandfather left off, commanding his army and our people with an authoritative power that none dare to question. Though, she is a woman, the soldiers respect and obey her orders without hesitation. They even call her the Iron Lady.
Even though I don’t always agree with her ruthless tactics and her thirst to become chieftain, just like our grandfather, I love what she has done for our house. How she has cared for the weak and vulnerable among us.
I look over at her, taking in the same colored cotehardie she always wears. Black for mourning. Black for the son she buried four months ago. My young nephew died from the sweating sickness, and Asha hasn’t been the same since.
I move closer to the edges of the ballroom, where the torchlight catches off the deep cobalt fabric draped across my body. The gown is beautiful enough to make others overlook the veil covering my face, hiding scars that tell tales I’d rather forget.
Emerin, who is only two summers younger than me, stands next to me, her cotehardie a cascade of copper that complements her hair. Unlike most of the people attending the ball, who wear gold masks, she chose silver.
Candlelight shimmers in Emerin’s silver and blue eyes as she leans closer to me and speaks in a low voice. “Rora, when will you dance? You can’t celebrate your twentieth birthday on the sidelines.”
“I’m content here with you. Besides…” I glance down at my feet hidden beneath layers of fabric, “…I fear I might trample someone’s toes.”
“You’re too graceful for that.” She nudges me with her elbow. “What about that gentleman over there?” A playful smile twitches at her mouth as she tilts her head toward a man in a dark green surcoat, his mask a mixture of silver and black.
I follow her gaze as he laughs loudly at something his companion says.
“He seems a bit boisterous,” I say as I picture myself tripping over my feet as I try to match his energetic movements.
Emerin shrugs. “You never know unless you try.”
“Perhaps later,” I say, even though I have no real intention of dancing.
I lapse into silence as I focus on the lute player who plucks out a haunting melody. The mournful notes wrap around me and draw me into bittersweet memories of the man I cannot forget. I picture Jasce’s face. The fire in his eyes, the curve of his smile.
Emerin’s voice tugs me back to the present. “Annora.”
I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m all right,” I say and mean it.
She knows all too well how easily my thoughts drift toward shadowed waters. It’s hard to not let them wander to Jasce. It’s been nearly twelve months since I last saw him, yet his brown eyes, black hair, and bronzed skin are locked into my memory.
Asha said it was all a dream, and she didn’t believe me when I told her about being soul linked with Lyra, and how I have crimson magic now. It simmers under my skin like molten metal, ready to scald anyone who dares to touch me. Sometimes the magic surges when my emotions run high, and I must slip away to calm the storm inside me.
At night, when I’m alone in my bedchamber, I sometimes undress and stare at my birthmarks. The one on my shoulder belongs to Lyra, but the mark on my hip is solely mine. It rests there, dormant and lifeless, unable to grant me even a flicker of silver magic.
