Chapter One

Enora tried to stay focused on her embroidery, like Queen Ysabet insisted all good daughters of the royal house should, but her attention kept being drawn to the narrow windows of the parlor and the apocalyptic sky beyond.

The haze of smoke in the skies was nothing new; Enora and her cousins had grown up with it constantly lurking on the horizon or occasionally drifting overhead in thin wisps as the wind shifted. As children, they had often tried to guess where the most recent battles were based on where the smoke seemed to be emanating from — a game that Enora had been frightfully good at until a nurse scolded them for having fun with others’ misfortune.

Around midsummer something changed, though. The war that had hounded their kingdom for decades crept closer, and suddenly the ever present smoke was no longer a distant threat. The haze began to take on definition, becoming thick billowing plumes of smoke that replaced the winter clouds just before the solstice celebration. Now, as they approached the spring equinox, they had grown darker, almost black instead of grey, hinting at fires burning even closer at hand, and she could smell the hint of ashes on the air whenever she ventured outside. The scent even haunted the halls of the keep despite the massive quantities of incense the maids piled on the fire every day.

Judging from the solemn faces of her cousins, and the nervous glances they exchanged when they thought no one was looking, she wasn’t the only one who had noticed the change.

They said Lucind had the finest army in the known world — or at least what’s what Grandmama claimed. Prior to the war, their army had regularly been engaged as mercenaries, fighting in battles across the continent and bringing glory and gold to their kingdom. Now they were a shadow of forces they had once been. Like a great trebuchet that had been used too often for too long, the ropes were beginning to fray and the beams were starting to break. Fewer and fewer men and boys volunteered, while more and more shops and homes in the city shuttered their windows and doors as people fled elsewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far, far away from here.

Enora’s fingers itched with the need to do something, anything, other than sit here and listen to her cousins prattle on. Day in and day out, they debated which of the guards was the most handsome, while their governess read from the book of scripture on womanly virtues. As they worked, Ysabet circled the room, stroking her gravid belly and criticizing their needlework when it didn’t meet her standards — which, when it came to Enora’s work, was almost never.

"Focus, my dear." Queen Ysabet, her uncle’s latest wife, tutted as she bent over Enora’s section of the tapestry. "If you paid more attention to your work than the windows, your lines would be straight and not wavy like the ocean."

Her cousins — all the product of the King’s previous marriages in his endless pursuit for a son after his only male heir had died — slowed their work to pay better attention to Ysabet’s admonishment. Neveah giggled, which she expected. The younger three gaped before bowing their heads to hurriedly undo their stitches, lest they be next. May, however, gave her a small smile while Hepzibah rolled her eyes.

Enora licked her lips. "It feels a bit foolish to worry about how neat one’s stitches are right now." She knew she was venturing into dangerous territory by speaking up. The Queen had made it very clear from day one that she couldn’t stand her presence, but would tolerate it for the sake of her husband and the memory of his beloved sister. "Perhaps we could cut more bandages? Or make medicinal pastes?"

Neveah laughed at her suggestion. That was hardly surprising though, as, next to the Ysabet, Neveah was Enora’s other tormentor within the castle walls. While everyone else did their best to ignore her, Neveah often went out of her way to antagonize her. As a child she often taunted her whenever she caught her staring at the fires too long, calling her a witch and a dragon lover. Now that they were older, she frequently stole her dresses, or cut her hair while she slept, until Enora had taken to sleeping with it braided around her head like a crown. "Of course you would want to spend your day toiling over a pot."

Enora ignored the jab. "Assisting in even the most menial of tasks would help bolster everyone’s moods — commoner and royal alike."

"Quiet." Ysabet snapped, then, after, schooling her face into a more pleasant expression, she added; "The King has things well in hand. We need to finish this tapestry to honor him and our returning heroes."

Enora highly doubted that as they hadn’t seen her uncle in well over a month. In fact, the last time he had a chance to visit the castle walls, his appearance was even more exhausted and worn than usual — yet another sign that things weren’t going well.

"Tapestry?" Grandmama huffed from where she sat close to the fire. "More like a burial shroud."

"What did you say?" Ysabet asked, one perfectly plucked eyebrow arched high.

"You heard me."

Enora paused, her needle pulled halfway through the fabric in front of her, and watched as the Queen turned towards their grandmother. Her cousins also gave up all pretense of sewing; instead their attention darted from one woman to the other, waiting to see what would happen next.

Ysabet opened her mouth and closed it several times before finally sputtering, "Are you saying that the King will die?"

"Do you think I take any joy in that, young woman? Hmm? I’ve seen my husband, my brothers, my sons, and grandson lost to this endless war." Several of Enora’s cousins touched their foreheads at the mention of their long lost brother. Grandma rolled her eyes at the superstitious gesture. "It’s only inevitable that it will swallow him up as well. That babe in your belly will be lost to it too before the end."

"Grandmama!" Hepzibah hissed, but their grandmother ignored her.

"It’s treason to predict your ruler’s death." Ysabet hissed. "The king will have your head for this."

"Good. Then I’ll finally be free from this misery."

Enora pretended to cough in an attempt to cover the shocked laugh that threatened to spill from her throat. As if her uncle, the King, would put his own mother’s head on a chopping block!

While the Queen didn’t notice, Hepzibah definitely did. She glared at Enora and kicked her under the table. Her little guffaw hadn’t escaped Grandmama’s attention, either. The ancient woman winked in her direction and grinned, the wrinkles on her face etching even deeper chasms and folds into her skin.

Ysabet raised her voice, her imperious tone echoing through the room. "Guards!"

No one came. Nor did anyone respond to her second shout, or her third, even though her voice became ever louder and sharper until it was a shriek. Enora wasn’t surprised, even though Ysabet was practically shaking with anger. Why would the guards get involved in a petty little argument between two women when there were more important things for them to be concerned with?

Her eyes drifted to the window once more. The smoke was red underneath, lit by fires or the sun, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t bode well either way.

"Roses and thorns!" the Queen cursed, stomping her feet. She stormed from the room — no doubt to hunt for a guard who would be willing to listen to her demands.

Neveah and another cousin hurried after her. For being as far along as she was, Ysabet was surprisingly fast on her feet, especially when she was furious. They hitched their skirts up, practically running, to catch up with her. Meanwhile the others returned to their work, their shoulders a little less hunched now that their most recent stepmother wasn’t present to pick apart their every stitch.

May leaned forward over the tapestry. "Do you think they’ll actually do it?"

"I doubt it." Hepzibah snorted. "Grandmama is far more beloved than the Queen."

"She did predict our father’s death."

"As she has, hundreds of times before. Remember the time she said he’d meet his end at the hands of a dragon? He’s still breathing yet, isn’t he?" But despite her blithe tone, there was worry in her eyes. She glanced out the window, a frown pulling at her lips, before turning back to the section she had been ordered to embroider.

"What’s a dragon?" one of the youngest girls asked.

"A great big beast that breathe fire." May held up her arms on either side of her body like wings and lunged toward her, snapping her teeth. The girl shrieked, diving under the tapestry while her sisters laughed at her reaction. "Supposedly the Dracians use them to spread their flames."

"It’s just a fairy tale." Enora peeked under the fabric, and gave her a reassuring smile. The girl smiled back before crawling out to rejoin them. "Something the commoners use to scare their children into behaving."

She wasn’t entirely sure she believed her claim though. As a child she had often dreamed of a dark shadows soaring overhead and something scaly scooping her up in its claws. The nightmares would send her climbing into either Hepzibah or May’s bed, or, when she was really little, one of the former Queens — who had all been much more carrying than the current one.

"Shush now." Hepzibah cast worried eye at the door.

"What if she’s not wrong?" the timid girl asked.

"About the dragons?"

"That this war will claim Father eventually in some shape or form. Just like it did to Grandfather, our uncles, and Andreas."

Now that their brother’s name had actually been spoken, Enora paused her stitching to touch her forehead like the others.

"I can hear you, you know. Mocking me," Grandmama interrupted from where she continued to sit next to the fire. "I may be old, but I’ve not lost my hearing yet."

Hepzibah rolled her eyes. "I know, you old bat. I know." She turned to face the old woman. "You’ve really worked her up this time."

"If she’s worked up over a small thing like that, then she needs to grow thicker skin. You’d think she’d be happy to be reminded that she might outlive him. His other wives weren’t as lucky."

They all grimaced at that. They had lost too many Queens to childbirth over the years as midwifery was often neglected in favor of treating battle wounds. One of her cousins, whose mother had died in their father’s endless pursuit for more sons sniffled, and Enora noted two others who blinked back tears.

May murmured softly, "Watch your tongue — she’s not out of the woods yet, Grandmama."

The old woman hurrumphed at that. "She’s young. She grew up far from the war, from strife and suffering, in a gilded little cage with plenty to eat. I’m sure she’ll be just fine."

Hepzibah kicked Enora’s leg under the tapestry once again, though this time it was not to chastise but a silent request for her to remove Grandmama before Ysabet returned.

Enora wove her needle through the fibers at the edge of the fabric so she would be able to find it later and stood. "Come, Grandmama, let’s get you to your room."

"Why should I leave? I’m comfy here next to the fire!"

"I’m sure you’re tired after all that excitement."

"I’m perfectly fine," Grandmama snapped before relenting. "But it would be nice to get away from that brat before she returns." She let Enora pull her to her feet; then, with one hand on her cane, and the other tucked tightly into the crook of Enora’s arm, she allowed herself to be escorted from the room.

"You shouldn’t say that about your Queen," Enora scolded her as they strolled down the corridor.

"Oh posh. I know you’re thinking it too. She’s only six years older than you."

"Her dowry was enough to replenish our stores."

"Only for a few months."

"Her father continues to send supplies."

"Supplies? What we need is more soldiers."

Enora couldn’t argue with that. "Soldiers need food, and weapons."

Grandmama peered up at her from underneath her thin brow. "Why do you defend her? You can’t stand her any more than I can."

"Because, unlike you, who loves to remind us how you have one foot out the door, I will be stuck here long after you’re gone."

That statement resulted in another snort. "I don’t think it’ll be much longer before you fly free of this hell." Then she abruptly changed topics, as she was prone to do. "Come, dearie, I wish to visit the solarium."

"I don’t think it’s wise." Not only was it located on the opposite side of the keep, it was made of glass — not exactly a safe place to be with the war drawing closer and closer every day. And it was hardly the serene refuge it had been during her childhood; the windows were boarded over, the plants within had withered, and the fountains no longer ran.

Enora had tried, back when they had first been forced to seek refuge behind the walls of the keep, to revitalize at least some of the flowers under her Grandmama’s tutelage. The old woman claimed it would bring some cheer to the gray fortress, but their attempts had failed miserably; Enora had not inherited her mother’s affinity for plants… much to her grandmother’s consternation.

"Better there than the chapel where her Highness’s spies lurk about."

"The Silent Sisters aren’t her spies."

"Well, they certainly aren’t mine."

Enora sighed. "Only for a few moments. Then you must go to your room. And you should probably stay there for a day or two until this all blows over."

"That’s no fun."

"I’ll come read to you."

"That’s a little bit better. But no gospels, or virtues or prayers."

"Done."

Grandmama patted her arm. "You always were my favorite."

The view from the solarium did nothing to lighten Enora’s mood. From between the planks on the glass windows, it was easier to see that the horizon was on fire. For a split second, she imagined she could see one or two of the great beasts their enemy supposedly had at their beck and call swooping through the air. As soon as the thought occurred, she realized it was foolish. If the rumors about the great beasts were true, she doubted they would be large enough to be spotted from such a distance.

However, there was no denying the red and orange glow lurking behind the trees and hills. It was mesmerizing. It shimmered on the horizon, easing one second before flaring even brighter the next, fueled by the forests beyond the city and whatever magic the Dracians possessed. What would it be like to possess such power? Her palms itched at the thought of it, and she rubbed them over the fabric of her skirts in an attempt to stop the sensation.

Grandmama wasn’t spellbound by the flames like she was. She glowered at them, grumbling, "I expected to go in my sleep, not be roasted alive."

"The river will stop it from reaching us." Enora forced herself to turn around and face the barren planters and empty fountain.

"And if it jumps the river?"

She flushed. The old woman was right; fires had jumped plenty of rivers before. Even if this particular fire didn’t, their foes still had the power of flame on their side. She was sure it wouldn’t be long before they turned those abilities on the city and the castle. "There’s the moat and the swamp."

"My dear, you are smarter than that."

Enora gave up on trying to redirect the conversation. She eyed the thick stone walls of the keep. Would they protect them from the heat? Or would the smoke smother them long before the flames even reached them?

"You should take the vows, and join those idiots in the chapel." Her grandmother’s words interrupted her contemplation.

"Why? So you can finally have your spy?" She would’t deny that she had considered it, once upon a time. Had even brought it up to the King during one of his brief visits home. After all, what other use was there for the natural born daughter of his sister? If her cousin’s marriage prospects were slim due to the war, then hers were practically nothing.

"They’ll send you someplace safer."

"The King won’t allow it." He had refused, quite adamantly, before she could even finish speaking the only time she had brought it up.

"The Queen might."

"She wouldn’t dare to go against my uncle. Besides, she’s not that foolish."

"Tell her the Good Shepherd came to you in your sleep and made you his wife, and you wish to live a life in service to him."

Enora snorted. "Everyone would see through that before I even finished speaking." She had never been one for reading scripture, like May. "Have you ever seen me open a book of prayers outside of chapel?"

Grandmama shrugged. "It was a thought."

"Even if they deigned to accept me, there’s no guarantee that I would be sent away." Yes, the sisters often sent pledges far from their homes to serve their great empire, but with a war at the gates? She turned around to eye the glow on the horizon again. "I think it’s far too late for that."

"Then you should run."

"And go where? I’ve no coin of my own." Besides, the Dracian forces were so close. Those of their people who hadn’t managed to escape by now would be gathering what supplies they could and hunkering down in preparation for a siege.

"Poppycock."

"The King might not harm you for the outrageous things you say and do, but he wouldn’t be so merciful towards me. If I were caught I’d be beaten and thrown in the dungeon." Being a reminder of the sister he had lost so long ago only granted her so much grace.

"I’d like to see at least one of my get make it out of this alive."

"Uncle may still triumph."

"The man is five and six."

"That’s hardly ancient." Their last commander had been pushing seventy before he passed.

"Even if it all ends tomorrow and Lucind wins, the war has taken such a great toll on his body… it’s a miracle he’s lasted this long." The older woman clutched her hand. "And when he falls, what will happen to all of you?"

"The Queen may yet carry a son."

"What good will that do? What if my son dies before that child is born? Or while it is still too young to defend itself? The lords will tear it apart in their desperation to claim Lucind. And if it’s another girl?" She scoffed. "While Andreas was alive there was still hope, but now?"

Enora flinched at the mention of her long lost cousin. "So running is our only option?"

"Your only option." Grandmama slid her hand into the folds of her dress and produced a small pouch made out of rough fabric, the sort of thing a commoner would carry. "I’ve coin set away, and some jewels. Not much mind you, but enough to get you someplace safe. "

Enora opened the pouch and peered inside. Just as Grandmama said, it was filled with coin, a few jewels, and resting on top were two black rings. She pulled them out. "What are these?"

"Your parents’ wedding rings."

Enora felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room. "My… They… She was married?!?" All her life she had believed she was a bastard. To learn now that was a lie? How different would things have been if others knew? Perhaps her cousins and Ysabet wouldn’t treat her with such contempt. Perhaps… "But— Who? How?"

Grandmama shook her head. "I do not know, but I have my suspicions."

Enora stood, analyzing the rings under the dim light that managed to eke through the swirl of smoke and clouds overhead. What at first she thought were simple bands appeared to be made out of black glass, and were carved with rough jagged symbols. "Dracian?" She turned to her grandmother. "How is this insurance? If I’m caught with Dracian rings they’ll think I’m…"

"Dracian. Yes. Exactly."

"Any good Lucindian soldier will kill me." She sat down as abruptly as she had stood as the meaning of the rings dawned on her. This was why Grandmama had never shared the truth of her daughter’s marriage with anyone before. As awful as being considered illegitimate was, she could only imagine how much worse it would have been if the others knew that she shared blood with their enemy. "This is if the Dracians capture me. Not our men."

"Exactly."

She opened her mouth and then closed it. She had so many questions and no idea where to start. All she could do was repeat the same ones again. "How? Who?"

"Your mother was far more concerned with making sure I promised to keep you secret, keep you safe, rather than tell me. I’ve no idea if she was willing or not. If he was kind or not. If he was a lord or a prince or a pauper soldier." The old woman sighed again, and Enora couldn’t help but feel her sorrow. How painful it must have been to be told that her only daughter was alive, only to lose her in childbirth. "However it started, I do not think it ended well. She told me quite clearly to keep you away from him. She made me vow on the Shepherd, Enora. And I intend to keep that vow."

"By sending me out there on my own, I run the risk of encountering him."

"Yes, but if you stay here, you are doomed to meet him." She took her hands in her own, clutching them tightly. "You need to run. You need to run far far away from here where they can’t get you. But if they do manage to snatch you up, those rings should hopefully buy you some safety. Just keep your head down, and your mouth shut about your heritage unless you absolutely need to for your safety."

"Yes, yes of course." Enora slipped the rings back into the pouch and tucked it into her own pocket. "So I have coin, but what about clothing? I can’t waltz out of here in one of my gowns." They weren’t as fancy as her cousins’, but they were not exactly things the average peasant would wear either. They’d give her away before she even stepped foot past the gates.

"I’ve taken care of that as well. There’s a passageway hidden behind the tapestry in the room you share with your cousins. Wait till they are asleep and then take it. At the bottom of the stairs, there’s an alcove with some servants robes. Wear them and keep your head down and you should be able to slip through the gate with the guards none the wiser. I’d find a great big bucket of slop to carry with you, so they’re less inclined to question you if one of them gets smart."

Enora blinked. "You’ve been planning this for awhile."

"As soon as the tide started to turn I began putting things in motion."

"And what of my cousins?" As much as the majority of them annoyed her to no end, she couldn’t just abandon them during their candlemark of need.

Grandmama studied the bedraggled plants around them. "I do not worry for them like I worry for you. After all their gifts are not nearly as great as yours."

Enora grimaced. How many candlemarks had they spent in the fields and gardens as a child trying to tap into her so-called abilities? And yet the old woman still clung onto the hope that they would manifest someday? "I thought we had established that I am nothing."

That ancient brow rose once more. "Mmhmm."

"What about you?" She opted to change the subject rather than go through the same argument again. While she knew the elder woman’s time on this plane was numbered, she hated to think about what might happen to her if Lucind did fall. Her cousins would be married off to whatever stood for royalty in Dracian, but what use did their foes have for an old woman.

Grandmama had apparently planned for that eventuality as well. "Don’t worry about me. I have something tucked away if I need to use it."

Enora gaped at her. "You can’t!"

"I can barely walk without any assistance, and while you’re a strong girl, you can’t carry me."

"Surely the guards would help!"

"If they breach the walls, the guards will likely scatter. Your father doesn’t pay them that much. If he’s paid them at all recently." She patted Enora’s hand. "I’ve lived a good long life. It’s fine."

"But…"

"Enough now. Go. Live a long life of your own, far far away from here."