Prologue
Though here at journey’s end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.
~ J.R.R. Tolkien,The Lord of the Rings
The Past
1286
Fifeshire, Scotland
The king is dead. It was nae an accident. Yet, they want people to believe it was.
The three thoughts pounded through Shona’s head faster than the pouring rain that was drenching her. Her footfalls thudded against the hard ground, frozen by the unforgiving wintery storm, and her feet slipped on the slick fallen leaves as she ran in a blind terror toward Kinghorn Castle.
She had to reach her sister. Grace would know what to do.
If she could just get to her elder sister before—
“I see ye now, Shona MacKinnish! I’m gaining on ye!”
Shona’s heart tried to break free of her ribs and beat right out of her chest. Without slowing her pace, she glanced over her shoulder and sucked in a sharp breath. Yearger Irvine had indeed obtained much ground on her. Even clutching the cumbersome sword he intended to kill her with, the heavily muscled traitor was still faster than she was.
She turned back toward Kinghorn Castle, which she could not yet see through the rain and fog. One step. Two. Andthwack! A branch struck her hard across her forehead. The pain clanked her teeth together and made sparks dance before her eyes. They descended to the ground like falling stars. And with a violent crash, so did she. Her knees struck the cold dirt, and excruciating pain burst under the caps. She cried out, pushing the pain away and scrambling hand over foot in a struggle to stand, but her blasted sodden cloak made her clumsy. She stumbled once, cutting her lip on a rock, and then slipped again, hitting her forehead once more. Finally, she secured steady footing, but she could feel Yearger behind her, almost close enough to reach her. And if he did…
“Halt in the name of the king!” the treacherous liar ordered.
The dim glow of the castle suddenly appeared in the distance. “Ye killed the king!” she shouted, the light giving her hope. She pushed herself a little harder, but a hand grabbed her cloak and yanked her backward.
Nae today, ye devil.
She tugged her cloak open at the neck and slipped out of it just as fingers tangled in her hair. She surged forward, wincing as the strands were ripped from her scalp. Tears welled in her eyes, but she would not let them fall.
Better pain than death.
Wrapping herself in that reminder, she ran for her life, and for Scotland, for she had no doubt something was amiss.
Behind her, Yearger screamed her name, but she did not pause. She raced through the darkness, her breath puffing in white rings, her side pinching, and her thighs and calves burning. She stumbled down the path and over gnarled roots, jumping fallen logs and splashing through water and muck to reach the castle grounds. Kinghorn was close now. The torches at the twin guard towers shone brightly, inviting her to lower her defenses, but that would be a mistake. She didn’t know who to trust except her sister.
The guards stepped out, swords raised, and Shona tensed, then nearly cried out with relief when she saw David was on duty. He liked her and would let her pass without question. “The king has been killed,” she said, waving a hand behind her, holding her breath in fear and hope.
Looking shocked, David motioned to the other guard, and they ran into the darkness, toward Yearger, who was surely not far behind. She didn’t waste a breath. She hurtled through the gates, moving purposely into the shadows of the inner courtyard to avoid anyone seeing her. Grace would be in the healing room. She was almost always there, fixing poultices, mixing tonics, and tending the sick and injured. Shona took the steep, narrow stone steps down to the healing room, and when she saw the big wooden door at the end of the small tunnel, she nearly burst into tears.
She raced to the door and slung it open, then more or less fell through the entrance. The pungent smell of mugwort hit her instantly. Across the candlelit room, her sister and a stranger straightened from their positions hunched over a table littered with herbs, ointment, and pots, and she met her sister’s blue eyes. In front of Grace, something swirled above a red pot like a rising mist, drawing Shona’s attention, and for a moment, she stared, transfixed. Some people said Grace wasban-druidh, but Shona knew her sister was no witch. But she also knew Grace often visited the fae in the Dark Forest to get potions from the fairies that supposedly helped people heal.
