Chapter 1

Chapter

One

MIRELLA

T he bird wasn’t going to live.

At least not on its own. Its wing was broken, the delicate bones shattered from slamming into the castle wall. Feathers drifted to the stones under my feet as I cupped the tiny creature in my hands and carried it from the balcony.

Heat flashed through me, and my heart began to race. Pain seared my shoulder like a hot poker stabbing into the muscle. I clenched my jaw against the discomfort as I settled the bird on the table next to the fire.

Across the room, Aedith eyed me as she finished making my bed. “I don’t know why you bother, my lady. Sparrows are more common than fleas on a knight’s cloak.”

“It’s a starling,” I said. And I probably shouldn’t have bothered. Not with Aedith in the room. Father would be livid if he got wind of me using my gifts in front of the servants—or anyone. He’d also scold me for “wasting” my gift on an animal. But if the past month was any indication, my sire was committed to ignoring my presence at Purecliff, so the chance of discovery was slim.

Even so, I angled my body to obscure Aedith’s view of the starling. Fresh pain bolted through my shoulder, and I dug my teeth into my lip to stifle my groan. The creature’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Its heartbeat trembled in my mind, the rhythm so fast it stretched into a steady hum. Fear joined the pain throbbing in my veins.

I ignored both as I drew a deep breath and placed my hand over the starling’s wing. Letting my eyes drift shut, I imagined the bird whole and healthy, its wings stretched wide as it flew over the mountains that surrounded Purecliff. Heat built low in my stomach and then streaked to my hand. My palm tingled. Energy coursed through me. I needed to move.

No, to fly . In a flash, visions formed in my head—things I shouldn’t have been able to see. The tops of trees spread over a vast forest. The ground rushing up as I swooped toward a beetle lumbering over a dried leaf. Blue sky and rows of crops arranged in neat squares. The sheer side of a cliff passing in a blur beneath me.

Wind beat at me, but it was a friend. An ally. It buoyed me as I wheeled in the sky, a song spilling from my throat.

In another flash, gold burst behind my closed lids. The energy built and built. Then it roared, its heat scorching my palm. A gasp escaped me as I opened my eyes, catching the flash of light under my palm. The starling jerked. My shoulder throbbed as I lifted my hand and stepped back.

The starling hopped to its feet. It cocked its head, one round black eye meeting mine as it spread its wings.

Behind me, Aedith made a startled sound. “Stay back, my lady! It’ll peck your eyes out!”

In a flurry of feathers, the starling launched itself into the air and streaked across the bedchamber. It flew through the balcony’s open doors and into the open sky beyond the castle.

I rushed after it, not stopping until I gripped the balcony’s stone railing. The starling was a speck of black against the morning sky stained with orange and pink. The bird soared over the valley that spread below the cliff, its wings flared wide.

Cloth rustled, and Aedith appeared beside me. She rested a work-roughened hand on the balcony as she observed the bird’s flight. “The gods are good.” She turned to me with a smile in her brown eyes. “It must not have broken its wing, after all.”

For a second, the truth hovered on my tongue. Then I swallowed it, and I let a smile touch my lips. “Yes. The gods are good.”

Her eyes softened. “You’ve always had a way with animals. And people.” Her smile faded, and her gaze grew distant as she tugged at her gown’s high neckline. “The castle folk have missed your gentle touch.”

I stared at her blunt, uneven nails and reddened knuckles. Aedith was just a few years past my own twenty-seven, but gray strands mixed with the brown hair that peeked from under her white cap.

“I’ve missed them, too,” I said. “Two years is a long time to be away.” I drew a deep breath and asked the question that had occupied my mind more than once in the fortnight I’d been home. “I thought you might have married after I left for Nordlinga.” It was the usual way of things in Eftar. When a noblewoman wed, her attendants followed suit, leaving service behind and making good matches with well-to-do merchants in the villages.

Then again, I hadn’t actually married anyone.

Aedith shook her head, a shadow flitting through her eyes. “I might have, my lady, but…” She met my gaze briefly before looking over the valley.

Wariness prickled through me. I touched her arm, ignoring the burst of pain in my shoulder. “What is it?”

Aedith looked at me, and now her brown eyes were sheened with tears. “My brother Edrin looked after my sister Ingaret and me after our parents died.”

“I remember him,” I said, images of a tall, smiling man with Aedith’s eyes forming in my mind. “He was a hunter.”

Aedith nodded. “A good one. He sold pelts in the village for a handsome price. Then we had a bad winter, and animals were scarce.”

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach. “What happened?”

Aedith glanced over the valley, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “He strayed too close to the shadows.”

Don’t look , a little voice whispered in my mind. For a moment, I managed to heed it. But when Aedith slid another glance over the valley, I followed the direction of her gaze. In the distance, beyond the dip of the valley, the forest spread like a thick, green carpet. And beyond that, at the very edge of the trees, a band of blue light shimmered along the horizon.

The Covenant. A barrier and a promise, it stretched the length of Andulum, dividing the human kingdoms from the elven lands. In Eftar, it separated the human realm from the elvish Autumn Court.

But it didn’t always keep Autumn’s shadows at bay. According to the stories parents in Eftar whispered to their children, the Autumn Court hadn’t always been a place of darkness. In the past, its forests were dappled with sunlight, and the trees groaned with fruit that could heal injuries and bestow good fortune. But those days were gone—if they ever existed at all.

Now, the Autumn Court was shrouded in perpetual twilight. Thick shadows swirled among the elven trees, which soared higher than any on the human side of the Covenant. Strange sounds drifted across the boundary, and many villagers reported seeing glowing eyes through the Covenant’s blue haze. Others swore they glimpsed beasts among the shadows.

And sometimes, people claimed, the shadows slipped the Covenant’s bonds and encroached on human land.

Most Eftari knew to stay well away from the boundary. But fertile soil was scarce in Purecliff, where the mountains made it difficult to grow crops. The only flat land available was near the Covenant, where villagers tried to coax an existence from the ground with spades and sickles.

Aedith swiped a thumb under her eye. “No one has seen Edrin since that night. It’s like he vanished.”

“Oh, Aedith,” I murmured. “Did you tell my father about this? Maybe he could send knights to search.”

She lowered her gaze. “You know how Lord Walto feels about the Autumn Court. He’s forbidden anyone to go near it. And, anyway, I’m sure his lordship already knows about Edrin. I beg your pardon, my lady, but nothing escapes your father’s notice.”

Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t deny Aedith’s statement. My father knew everything that happened at Purecliff. Aedith probably thought he came by his knowledge by having a knight or advisor in every corner of the village. She could never, under any circumstances, learn the truth.

She sighed, her shoulders lifting. “Edrin was the head of our small household. After he went missing, Ingaret and I had to make our way without him. Ingaret wished to marry, but we had no money for a dowry. So I took a job in the castle laundry to raise the funds.”

Guilt gripped me. The laundry was a terrible place to work with its vats of boiling water and lye-soaked air. If I’d stayed in Eftar, Aedith would have kept her position.

She must have seen something in my face, because she patted my hand. “It’s all right, my lady. It was my choice to work.” Aedith smiled. “Ingaret wed the blacksmith’s son almost two years ago. She has one child and another coming any day now.”

Before I could offer congratulations, pounding on the door drew my gaze to the bedchamber.

“Lady Mirella?” a male voice rang out. “Your father requests your presence in his study.”

My chest tightened. Request was misleading. My father never requested anything from me. He commanded. Demanded. Coerced and decreed.

“Should I go with you?” Aedith asked in a low voice.

I forced a smile. “No, but thank you. I’m sure he just wants to catch up now that I’m home.”

Aedith nodded, relief flitting through her eyes. Neither of us mentioned that I’d been home for two weeks. Plenty of time for my father to have summoned me—or spent any time at all with me.

“I’m sure I won’t be gone long,” I told Aedith. “When I return, we’ll talk about putting some funds aside for a dowry for you.”

Her face lit up. “Oh, my lady, I don’t know what to say.” Her expression wavered. “I could never repay you?—”

“You won’t have to.” I pulled her into a quick hug, then went to the door. The knight waiting on the other side gave me a curt nod before turning on his heel and striding down the hall.

Hiking my skirts, I followed.

Ten minutes later, my legs burned, and sweat beaded my upper lip.

Purecliff was enormous, and my father’s quarters were located on the other side of the fortress. Normally, I was grateful for the distance. But I wasn’t fully recovered from Nordlinga.

Ahead of me, the knight walked at a brisk clip, his boots striking against the floorboards in a steady rhythm. His sword clanked against his thigh, the sound echoing off the stone around us. Torches sputtered in regular intervals along the walls. A knot formed in my throat as the scent of pitch and oil seared my lungs. The memory of blazing, inescapable light threatened to descend.

Not now. Tightening my grip on my skirts, I kept my gaze off the torches as I trailed the knight through the corridors. Shadows huddled in the corners and along the floor where the walls met the flagstones. Longing filled me. With every step, tendrils of darkness brushed my ankles, beckoning me to slip into the slivers of gray and black. To let the shadows slide over my skin like silk, the pockets of darkness transporting me from one side of the fortress to another.

But just as Aedith could never know how my father managed to have eyes and ears everywhere, my knight escort could never see me move that quickly. So I kept pace behind him, and I ignored my aching shoulder and trembling legs. Long moments later, the knight rapped on my father’s door.

“Enter,” came the command from the other side. The knight pushed the door open, then stepped back and drew himself to his full height. “Lady Mirella Lornlark to see Lord Walto Lornlark.”

If my situation hadn’t been so precarious, I might have laughed. Purecliff was the most isolated estate in Eftar. The fortress was only accessible by way of a twisting staircase carved from rock and barely wide enough to accommodate a single person. We never received visitors. Our household staff was minuscule, with just a handful of trusted servants keeping the castle running. And yet my father insisted on meaningless ceremony.

Gritting my teeth, I moved into the study. It was unchanged, its walls lined with precious books. A chandelier hung from the center of the wood-beamed ceiling. Colorful tapestries depicting knights charging into battle occupied the spaces between the bookshelves.

And my father sat behind his desk, which was as large and intimidating as I remembered. My father was large and intimidating, too. His dark hair swept back from an unlined forehead. His velvet jacket stretched across his broad shoulders. A thick golden chain studded with precious gems rested on his chest. More gems decorated the rings on his left hand. His right, which he’d lost in battle, was made of solid gold and cast in the shape of a clenched fist. Worth a king’s ransom, he’d commissioned it from a craftsman in Saldu Kuum. The villagers of Purecliff had a saying: “Woe betide the man who earns the wrath of Lord Walto’s fist.” Plenty of men would have been stymied by the loss of a hand. My father had turned it into an advantage.

Sunlight streamed through the large windows behind him, the buttery rays gilding his golden hand and the firm planes of his face. He looked great for his age, and he might have been handsome if not for the glower he wore like armor.

“Come,” he ordered, using his flesh-and-blood hand to point at one of the two chairs positioned in front of his desk.

Irritation spiked, but I obeyed, perching on the edge of a chair. I bent and arranged my skirts, using the gesture to catch my breath after the long walk. When I looked up, my father watched me with piercing blue eyes. A map spread over his desk, the parchment brown with age. The Covenant was a thin, uneven dotted line separating Ishulum from Andulum. Purecliff nestled among the mountains, its battlements decorated with tiny flags. For a second, a wild impulse urged me to lean forward to see if the map showed a miniature version of me facing off with my father.

He sat back in his chair and rested his velvet-clad forearms on the cushioned armrests. The rings on his left hand flashed in the sunlight. “I didn’t give you permission to return to Eftar.”

I folded my hands in my lap. “No. You didn’t.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “And yet here you sit.”

“My apologies.”

Silence stretched, animosity filling the space between us. After a moment, he curled the fingers of his left hand around the arm of his chair.

“I heard you encountered some difficulty with the new Lord of Coldvalley.”

Memories of heat and light flooded my mind. No escape. No darkness. I’d been careless in Nordlinga, stepping through shadows in an effort to gather information for my friends. When the enemy caught me, they’d known exactly how to ensure I couldn’t leave their dungeon.

“The former Lord of Coldvalley,” I said, pleased when my tone was as cool as my father’s. “Lorsten Hallerson is dead.” And he’ll never use light against me again.

The animosity in the air thickened. My father gripped his chair. “You acted foolishly, putting yourself in harm’s way.”

Anger rose swiftly, its heat obliterating my reserve. “You mean you put me in harm’s way. I begged you not to send me to Nordlinga. But you didn’t listen. For two years , I lived in the bitter cold. You sent me North to nurse Prince Sigurn’s father?—”

“I sent you North to wed Prince Sigurn!” my father growled, smashing his golden fist on the arm of his chair. He leaned forward, his eyes glittering. “I gave you clear instructions, Mirella. You were to wed Sigurn and join our house with Nordlinga. But as always, you decided to disobey me and do exactly as you please.”

I couldn’t recall when I first realized my father hated me. Like breathing, it had always been a constant in my life. When I was young, the servants had whispered that I killed my mother. She was a big child, they murmured when they thought I couldn’t hear . Too large for the poor, sweet Lady Ondine to deliver.

A physician had traveled all the way from Rogue’s Run to cut me from my mother’s stomach. According to the servants, I was the image of my mother. I had no way of knowing if their assertions were true. My father had taken down her portraits, and he forbade the household to speak of her.

His lordship grieves , Aedith had once told me as she brushed my hair. She’d lifted a handful of the bright red waves, her eyes soft and sad. It’s such a pretty color. Just like your lady mother’s .

I understood my father’s pain. But I’d never understood why he punished me for something beyond my control.

I held his gaze now, anger threatening to choke me. “I didn’t disobey you, my lord. As I’m sure you’re aware, Sigurn crossed the Covenant to wed Queen Liria of the Winter Court and her consort, King Ronan.”

That particular turn of events still made an odd sensation prickle over my skin. Try as I might, I couldn’t picture the large, battle-hardened Sigurn bedding the Winter Queen and Ronan Morendiel…together. But Sigurn had been frost-touched, his life secretly entwined with Lord Ronan’s for years. The scandal had been the talk of Purecliff when I returned, and the servants had peppered me with questions about Sigurn abandoning the throne of Nordlinga to live in Ishulum with his new wife—and new husband. But I had little information to offer. Sigurn had always treated me kindly, but he’d never taken me into his confidence.

I also knew better than to speak of the elves around my father.

Anger glinted in his eyes. “That travesty of a marriage would have never happened if you did as I ordered and convinced Sigurn to take you to wife.”

Bitterness settled around me like a heavy cloak. My father had never said it explicitly, but his instructions prior to sending me North had been clear: I was to wed Sigurn Brighthelm by any means possible, including sharing his bed until he decided to make an honest woman of me.

Unfortunately for my father, I drew the line at prostituting myself for the family name.

“You’re right,” I said. “I couldn’t charm Sigurn to the altar. Maybe I should have rolled myself into a carpet and had his knights deposit me at his feet.”

Something dangerous flashed across my father’s features. “You make light of a serious situation, girl. The stakes are higher than you could possibly know.”

“I understand the stakes. But I stand by my words. Sigurn didn’t love me.”

“Love matches are for peasants,” my father said, and I bit my tongue against the impulse to argue. By all accounts, he’d loved my mother deeply.

He glanced at the door behind me, then lowered his voice. “People in our position are bound by duty and allegiance to our house. Sigurn Brighthelm was our best chance to ensure the power in our blood passes to the next generation. Your selfishness could further dilute the gifts we’ve preserved for a thousand years.”

The accusation stung, but it didn’t surprise me. My father had never hidden his reason for sending me North. Not from me, anyway. The power of Ishulum—and the elves—ran through our veins.

It ran through Sigurn Brighthelm’s, too. But none of us could claim it. Even speaking it aloud was dangerous.

As if he’d read my mind, my father stood and rounded the desk. Panic bolted through me as he grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet.

“What are you—?” My question ended in a strangled gasp as he pulled me to the corner of the room and stepped into the shadows.

Darkness spun around me, a magical wind ruffling my skirts and tugging at my hair. I was everywhere and nowhere, my only point of reference my father’s tight grip on my arm. Rooms flashed across my vision as he moved us through the fortress, carrying us from shadow to shadow toward a destination I couldn’t predict.

Finally, my slippers scraped stone, and icy wind blasted my face. Blue sky and rugged mountain peaks replaced the darkness. Around me, pennants with the Purecliff coat of arms snapped atop wooden poles thrust from holes drilled into the battlements. My father and I stood alone on the fortress’s tallest, oldest tower. The valley and the forest sprawled in the distance. At this height, the Covenant was a thick, bright line on the horizon. Beyond it, the Autumn Court was a dark void.

Wind screamed around my head. The pennants crackled as they lashed the air. On a wooden platform in the corner, a massive siege horn rose in the air, the bell large enough to carry the warning blast to the village should an enemy attack. When the knights tested it the first day of every month, the mournful boom shook the whole castle.

My father turned to me. Wind tossed his hair, and sunlight haloed his head as he thrust his golden fist toward the barrier. “Tell me why that boundary exists.”

I clenched my jaw. This was one of his favorite games—forcing me to recite a story he knew all too well.

“Tell me!” he thundered, making me jump.

“I…” I pushed tangled hair from my face, only for the wind to send it slapping against my mouth. I spit the strands from my lips and held them back with one hand. “The elves created it.”

“Be more specific. Start from the beginning.” My father folded his arms. “We can stand here all day.”

It wasn’t an idle threat. When Walto Lornlark said something, he always followed through. I’d gone to bed with an empty belly often enough as a child to know that.

Dragging in a breath, I recited the story my governess had told me from the time I was old enough to understand speech. “The Covenant hasn’t always been there. A thousand years ago, the Realm was whole. Andulum and Ishulum didn’t exist. The elves controlled everything, including humans.”

“How?” my father demanded.

“The bond. The strongest elven lords rewarded their favorite humans by bonding with them.”

“And?”

“The bond slowed the aging process and extended the human lifespan. But it robbed the humans of their will. They became slaves, compelled by magic to obey their masters’ orders. Eventually, the humans turned on the elves. The slaves rose up and started a war.”

“A rebellion,” my father corrected. “Keep going. Tell me why the humans won.”

Gods, why was he doing this? Squinting against the sunlight, I plodded on. “The elves struggle to have children. Humans reproduce far more easily. At the time of the rebellion, the humans outnumbered the elves three to one.” My teeth threatened to chatter as the wind swirled up my skirts, its icy fingers penetrating my chemise and stockings. “Facing extinction, the elves created Andulum for men and withdrew their magic from the land.”

“Not all of it,” my father said. “What remained?”

“ Who remained,” I said, and perverse satisfaction twisted through me at the flash of anger in my father’s eyes. “When the elves bonded with humans, they often took them into their beds. These pairings produced mortal offspring with magical gifts.” The tower was deserted, but I glanced around anyway. “Elfkin,” I added softly.

My father nodded, then matched the volume of his voice to mine. “Few of our kind remain in Andulum. We’ve been hunted and persecuted. Tortured and killed.” He took my shoulder and turned me toward the Covenant.

Pain spiked under his fingers, and I cried out.

He released me. “What’s wrong with you?”

For a heartbeat, I considered lying. But it was useless. He’d asked a question. He would dig until I answered. “I healed a bird,” I muttered.

Displeasure flashed in his eyes. “You waste energy on useless things.” Taking my shoulder again, he forced me around so I faced the Covenant. Then he stepped behind me and continued, bitterness in his voice. “We straddle two worlds. The Autumn Court is our birthright, but we can never venture there. The elves abandoned us.”

Pain radiated down my arm, fatigue close on its heels. How many times had I heard him tell this story? He spoke of our heritage as if it were something new instead of a tired tale watered down by ten centuries and countless human ancestors. Was our magic really that special?

But I knew the answer. My forefathers had fought on the side of the elves during the Rebellion. And when the tide turned and the elves withdrew across the Covenant, the Lords of Purecliff hid their elven blood to hold onto their power.

The deception worked, but my ancestors never forgot their gifts. Over the centuries, the Lornlarks had married elfkin to elfkin, preserving our ability to move through shadow like our elven forebears.

My father turned me back to him, forcing a fresh bolt of pain down my arm. “The elves are jealous of their power, and none more so than those of the Autumn Court. They’ve veiled their lands in shadow to conceal their gifts.”

Nausea burned my gut as he maintained his grip on my shoulder. But the pain curbed my tongue—and hopefully concealed my exasperation. No one knew why the Autumn Court was shrouded in darkness. That didn’t stop my father from pretending he understood the elves’ reasons for hiding their lands.

“We are among the handful of elfkin left in Andulum,” he continued. “It’s our burden and privilege to ensure our blood flows into future generations.” Determination glinted in his eyes. “And that starts with you.”

I stared, my heart pounding. “What do you mean? What are you planning?”

“The Lord of Midpeak’s mother was an elfkin woman. He inherited some of her magic.”

A surge of panic lent me the strength to tear from my father’s grip. I stumbled backward, my heart threatening to burst from my ribs. “I’ve never heard this.” And I’d heard plenty about Midpeak. Situated on the other side of Eftar, its lands bordered the Eastern Ocean. But rumors of its lord’s brutality rippled all the way to Purecliff.

My father gave me an impatient look. “That’s hardly a surprise. We keep our secrets to ourselves.”

“Lord Vilgot of Midpeak is fifty years old and on his fourth wife.”

“You’re mistaken. Lord Vilgot is recently widowed.”

My throat went dry. The pennants snapped, the cloth licking at the sky like tongues as the wind swept around the tower.

“Father,” I said carefully, “I won’t marry Lord Vilgot.” And wait to become his next victim. None of Vilgot’s wives had given him a child. Each time he buried a former Lady of Midpeak, his mourning period grew shorter.

“Yes, you will,” my father said, his mouth a grim slash. “I’ve already signed the betrothal contract. Lord Vilgot and his party are en route to Purecliff as we speak. You’ll wed him the moment he arrives.”

My mind raced as the bars of my father’s prison closed around me. Instinctively, I looked for a shadow to slip into.

“No,” my father snarled, grasping my shoulder again. He hauled me onto my toes and thrust his golden fist under my jaw, forcing my chin up. “Your willfulness is at an end, Mirella. If you even think about running, I’ll find you. There is nowhere in Andulum you can hide. And when I find you, I’ll bring you back to Purecliff and fill your room with so much light, the time you spent in Nordlinga’s dungeon will seem like a birthday banquet.”

My gasp caught in my throat. He knows. My father knew exactly what I’d endured at Lorsten Hallerson’s hands. The lamps. The heat from a hundred burning wicks. The prison of light that burned my eyes until tears streamed down my face. The gnawing hunger. The stench of my own sweat.

My father nodded, my pale face reflected in his icy eyes. “I saw.”

“And you didn’t help me,” I said through numb lips. His gift was stronger than mine. He could run the shadows from one side of Eftar to the other in minutes. He could pull shadows around him like a cloak and stay hidden whenever he wished.

And he’d stood just out of sight in Nordlinga and watched as Lorsten Hallerson kept me bound in light like an animal.

My father released me. He stepped back, lowering his golden fist to his side. With his left hand, he straightened his embroidered jacket and the costly chain around his neck. “You needed to learn,” he said, his tone almost polite. “You’ve been protected at Purecliff. Insulated from the hatred the humans have for us. There’s a difference between reading about something and experiencing it for yourself.”

“We’re human, too,” I said, my voice hoarse in my ears.

He shook his head. “We will always be more. We have power other men don’t possess. And when men encounter power they can’t control, they grow to despise it.”

The shock of his betrayal faded, replaced with something hard and far colder than the air in Nordlinga. “Like you despise me?” I challenged.

A slow, indulgent smile curved my father’s lips. “Oh, Mirella. We both know I’m more than capable of controlling you.”

The wind howled around the tower. More numbness crept through me, rooting me to the stones under my feet. It was futile to argue. My father’s magic was stronger than mine. If I ran, he would hunt me down and deliver on his threats.

Obviously interpreting my silence for defeat, he strode to the shadows cast by the battlements. “Return to your room, Daughter. When Lord Vilgot arrives, you will greet him as an honored guest. In the meantime, I suggest you prepare for your marriage.”

He disappeared, leaving me alone with the wind and his ultimatum. My jaw ached from the unforgiving pressure of his fist. Sunlight spread over the tower. In the distance, the Covenant glowed a deeper blue against the sky. A bird swept across the valley, its wings wide. It wasn’t the starling I’d healed, but it was just as free. Somewhere at the bottom of the valley, a river flowed. The tower was too high for me to see the water, but I knew it was there.

My heart pumped faster, and a strange buzzing sound filled my head. Without being wholly conscious of what I was doing, I lurched toward the battlements.

Wind gusted, sending hair across my face. The odd buzzing stopped, and I pressed a palm to my chest as I drew deep, ragged breaths. The solution to my problem didn’t lie at the bottom of the valley.

With fresh resolve, I crossed to the shadows and stepped into them. Darkness enveloped me, long ribbons of shadow sliding over my skin like silk. Power pulsed in my veins, guiding me to the next puddle of darkness. Step by step, I made my way through the fortress, moving in and out of corners and alcoves. Hidden nooks. Tight, dusty closets and twists in staircases no one ever noticed.

I moved slowly, caution dogging my steps as I kept my senses tuned for the sight or sound of servants. But the journey was uneventful, and moments later, I breathed a sigh of relief as I pushed into my bedchamber.

Aedith rushed at me, her eyes red and swollen. “Oh, my lady, I’ve had terrible news from the village.”

“What is it?” I asked, taking her hands. “What happened?”

“My sister, Ingaret,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “Her babe is coming early, but something is wrong. The midwife is attending another birth hours away. No one knows when she’ll return.” Aedith’s brown eyes turned pleading. “Can you come?”

My father wouldn’t like it. But he didn’t need to know. He probably assumed I’d spend the day weeping on my bed. Even so, I had to be careful. I couldn’t be seen leaving Purecliff.

“I’ll come,” I told Aedith. “But I have to gather my supplies. You go now and take the stairs down the cliff. I’ll meet you in the village.”

Aedith squeezed my hands. “Thank you, my lady. I’ll do exactly as you say.” She hurried from the chamber.

I waited a beat, then went to the door and bolted it. Minutes later, I slung my satchel across my shoulders and stepped into the shadows around the hearth.