Vaya's fingers trembled slightly as she tried to adjust her silver and white dress, the fabric twisted tightly around her waist. It was a garment chosen by May Otto, and though she appreciated the gesture, she couldn't help but feel out of place. Illena and Aurela, the sisters who shared the room with her, added to her unease. She sensed their disapproval, and she understood why. In their eyes, she was a nobody—an intruder amidst nobility. According to their standards, she should have been confined to the Crow's Quarters along with the other lowly trespassers. But there was something else fueling her anxiety now.

Lord Warren Maykeep.

Vaya's past was a puzzle, fragments of memories scattered and forgotten. There were secrets she had buried deep, and yet her recent encounters with the aging lord of east Dalrin were etched vividly in her mind. She couldn't shake the feeling that he would recognize her, remember her. It was an unavoidable risk. When she arrived at Crow Castle, she never anticipated being thrust into a betrothal ceremony so quickly. And if by some twist of fate, Rohinar did choose her, what then? A former servant and concubine to Lord Maykeep—a past that would haunt her.

Illena, as if attuned to Vaya's thoughts, pierced her with a knowing gaze. "He won't pick you," she said, her voice laced with disdain. Her eyes ran a judgmental trail from Vaya's head to her toes. "You're a nobody—a mere orphan or lowborn girl. Otherwise, you would have known your own past."

"I never claimed he would choose me," Vaya retorted, her voice tinged with defiance. Her dark brown eyes locked onto Illena's, an unyielding glare. "And as for your assumptions, Illena, perhaps you're right. Maybe I am a nobody. But at least I don't come from a family that would consider an incestuous betrothal."

Vaya's words hung in the air, a daring challenge laced with bitter truth. The tension in the room thickened, crackling with unspoken hostility. Illena's features contorted with anger, her face flushed with indignation, while Aurela remained silent, caught between the clash of their words. The air crackled with anticipation, the storm of their emotions threatening to break free.

In that charged moment, Vaya realized she had nothing to lose. She refused to be defined by her past or succumb to the judgment of others. Standing tall, she embraced the fire within her, ready to face the uncertainties that lay ahead. Whatever the outcome of the betrothal ceremony, she would forge her own path, with or without the approval of those who sought to bring her down.

“That is enough!” shouted May Otto. Kiss jumped up from doing Aurela’s hair to hold Illena back. Illena was screaming, trying to get Kiss arms off her so she could attack Vaya.

“Well, that didn’t take very long,” said Aurela. She knew her sister could be quite moody before big events in the castle. Now that it came to her own brother, even more so. He was to pick his wife as the heir to the throne, a position that Illena envied. That was no secret.

Vaya continued on getting herself ready with the help of another serving lady of May Otto’s. Kiss continued working on Aurela’s braid and Illena and May Otto tried on two different dresses after the first three hadn’t been to Illena’s liking.

The image of Lord Maykeep sitting at the arena and watching the jousting tournament replayed in Vaya’s mind. She could see him sitting there, his four concubines seated comfortably around him with their furry scarves and their scandalous clothing. They were suffering, she knew. She had been one of them before. Rohinar hold promised her that he would not pick one of his concubines. Lord Maykeep had whispered in passing that Rohinar would have the pick of his litter. That had angered Vaya. He had surely brought his least obedient, knowing to rid one of them might ease his own burden. And then he had the audacity to act as though he was doing the crown a favor. The memories of Lord Maykeep’s fortress seared her conscious—took her to a place she refused to go. It was a place that no women ought to be forced to live. No man, either, for that matter. The image of his pale, wrinkly face and dark beady eyes caused Vaya to grit her teeth.

“Are you okay, milady?” asked the servant.

Vaya snapped out of her daze. “Oh, yes, erm…sorry. I was just thinking of someone.”

“Someone dear to you?” she asked.

Vaya chuckled, “No, actually. Quite the opposite.”

The three girls continued their preparations with the help of May Otto and her serving ladies. Vaya dreamed of the betrothal, Rohinar’s eyes on her the entire time. His lips moving to form the name “Vaya.” She imagined herself, in her silver and white dress, rising from her seat. All eyes would be upon her, and a shock would radiate through the room.

“Who is that girl?” people would think to themselves.

The time had finally arrived. The King’s court was organized at a table upon the high dais, just in front of the throne chair. The throne chair itself was raised upon a higher step than everyone so that King Aydar could see all of his subjects below him. His queen sat to his right in a throne seat just as splendid with red rubies and a stone crow carved into the the top of the chair’s back.

Illena, Aurela, Pret, and Lun all sat beside one another as the children of the King and Queen. Beside them was the king’s cup bearer, Alon, with his long white beard and glum eyes. Next was Waryon, the king’s royal intendent, and the squire boy, Jal. In front of them stood Prince Rohinar in a finely woven ornate robe, made of the finest silk and cloth in the land. It was a fine array of royal red, bright blues, and silver swirls. A price’s crown rest gently upon his head, keeping his long thin hair pushed back.

Prince Rohinar smiled, glancing at Ser Sledda who stood beside him with his arms crossed and his sword at his hip. A few paces beside them stood The Oracle on his own—he would expect to read from his prophet’s scroll and utter a few words from the Silver Tree before it was all to begin.

Rohinar held a knowing grin on his face. His day had come. He would pick his betrothed and prepare for a wedding with her. His father would give him lands to rule until his kingship came to be. Sixteen years old and now a man, at least in his father’s eyes. Before him stood the highest of the nobles and the visiting Houses of Dalrin and of the realm. Notable names were missing, of course, but that was to be expected in a place like Dalrin. No enemy was welcome here within these gates. Only the Venistar’s owned that privilege, and only in light of the recent pact they had made together in recent years. It was a pact which promised to mend relations and work to build a future together.

“All rise in honor of the lord ruler of Dalrin, King Aydar, and his lawful son and heir to the throne, Prince Rohinar.” It was the squire, Jal, who made the announcement. Three short musicians stringed their instruments softly from the corner of the throne room.

Rohinar’s clasped his hands together in front of him. His eyes scanning the room. The Swordrin’s were at the closest trestle to the front. Rohinar saw Lyah Swordrin, the offered princess, with her eyes locked squarely on his own. Her hair was short and to her neck. Rohinar cringed at her posture—straighter than the edge of his sword. She is proper and she is spry, but not the lady I would choose to spend my life with. Lord Mared Swordrin stood beside his daughter with his square jaw and buzzed head. He was ever-stoic, never a smile or a grimace from him. Only that dead-set look that filled his face with a look of indifference.

The King cleared his throat. “Welcome to all of you. I appreciate all of you making the journey from far and wide to come and be a part of this ceremony. As you know, my son is of age now and I have named as heir to the throne.” Illena dropped her eyes to the floor, sulking. The king continued, “I do ask that we remember to maintain civility after the prince has chosen his betrothed. There are many fine suitors, but only one lady to fill that role. He will use his best judgment and I trust that he knows his options well. He must make this decision on his own, as is dictated by the Dalrinian tradition.” The king’s voice was oily and weathered. Queen Lenora had a charismatic look painted upon her face.

That is fake, thought Vaya. That will be the death of me—to have that heathen as my mother once Rohinar chooses me…or if he chooses me!

The Oracle stepped forward. Ser Sledda heaved a deep breath, anger rising inside his chest. His hand went to his neck. It was covered by his long collar, but the purple and violet bruising had gotten worse from the snake bite the day prior. Traitor thought Ser Sledda. He would tell Aydar, but not yet. Let the festivities roll on and continue until its finish. The King would have enough to worry about as it were.

The Oracle withdrew a piece of parchment from his ornate red robes. “Without further ado, it is my duty, honor, and privilege to announce the suitors for the betrothal to our new prince, Rohinar Aetos. Our prince, sixteen in years and brown of hair, does step forward today to pick his suitor as his princess of the throne of Dalrin. They shall rule the lands of the King’s choice, which will be the city capital of Baronview.

Murmurs, whispers, and sporadic clapping filled the room. A look of surprise crept onto Rohinar’s face, followed by a suppressed disappointment. Baronview seemed prestigious on the outset, but the capital was a busy city with crime enough to fill three dungeons in a day, if managed the way it ought to be. The city guard was corrupt, and the streets were full of thievery, disease, and beggars—as any city in Dalrin would be. It was a far cry from the lush fields of green and rolling hills that Rohinar had with his father about.

Vaya looked to the high dais. She saw an expression of contentment upon Illena’s face. This brought on an angry feeling within Vaya. Illena was only out for herself, the selfish brat. Vaya would see to it that she was watched closely once she was picked by Prince Rohinar. Her eyes shifted to the prince himself, whom she caught staring at her. She locked her brown eyes on his, keeping him in a trance. Ser Sledda had hit him in the arm to snap him out of it. Queen Lenora glared at Vaya through clenched teeth. Illena soon followed suit. All of the nobles were now staring at Vaya, no doubt wondering who she was and why Rohinar had been so fixated on her. Vaya could feel a set of eyes on her. She turned, slowly. It was Lord Maykeep. His dull black eyes grew wider than a piece of copper. Vaya felt her stomach churn. He’s seen me. He knows I’m here.

“As I said,” began The Oracle, “the prince shall inherit the capital city of Baronview, until his time has arrived to begin his kingship here at Crow Castle. Might I introduce the Swordrin’s, who have come here to present their fair daughter of fifteen years, Lyah Swordrin.”

Lyah stood from her seat at the trestle, adjusting her tight dress as she did so. She approached the prince, kneeling before him and kissing his hand. Her next move startled the whole court. She stood up and whispered something in Rohinar’s ear. Rohinar’s reaction gave nothing away. He stood as if nothing had happened. Vaya furrowed her brow. Illena and Queen Lenora seemed nonplussed. What happened there?

“And now we have the Malarin family, here on account of Lord Kyn Malarin and House of the Silver Stags.” The ten escorts who came alongside Lord Malarin stood with their empty quivers upon their backs, forming a safe walkway for their chosen lady as she walked slowly up to the prince. “I present the lady of House Malarin, daughter of Kyn Malarin, Marita Malarin.” Marita was taller than Ser Sledda and slenderer than a plank of wood, Vaya noted. She despised her walk—it was one that signified she knew all eyes were on her. And when she turned to pose for the noblefolk and royal houses, all Vaya saw were her lips. They were a bright pink and she saw it come off on the prince when she kissed his cheek. Vaya had to cover mouth when the lady was seated. Marita Malarin was nearly a foot taller than her father. I’d love to see her mother, thought Vaya.

Next up was the lady Grehte Tchoreg, was as tough as any man Vaya had ever. Her arms were thicker than Rohinar’s legs and her torso was stronger than a bull. She wore a permanent scowl upon her face, and dark markings all over her face. She was escorted by Lord Torkild Tchoreg’s two female guards, who were equally imposing. The Torkild’s were known to be a group of warriors, savages even. Although they had long had strife with the Dalrin people, they had recently come a strong alliance. The Tchoreg’s guarded Dalrin’s border, and the Dalrinians brought them valuable wool and fur from their livestock every month. The room was silent until the lady Grehte was seated. Vaya could see that even Ser Sledda was uncomfortable. He was holding his neck, which she found odd. Vaya could not see what he was covering beneath his hand.

Lord Maykeep’s concubines were presented which proved to be quite a spectacle. The talking and speculation could not be avoided. The four of them walked to the front to stand before Prince Rohinar. Each had their own unique beauty, but they were skinny as could be. Vaya felt her head go down, she could not watch. That had been her not more than two years ago. She did not recognize any of the concubines standing before the court room, but she knew the look that she saw in their eyes.

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“Any of them!” shouted Warren Maykeep’s voice. “Surely, you cannot help yourself with this kind of selection. Any of ‘em will keep you warm at night and loved in the day. I promise you none of ‘em have been flowered yet.”

Vaya knew he was lying. She felt her chest rise and fall rapidly. Soon, tears were falling from her big brown eyes. Rohinar did not notice. He was too busy receiving a kiss on his cheek from the four concubines.

“And if that’s not enough,” said Lord Maykeep in his raspy voice, “Take the one-hundred men too, that you made me leave at the township nearby. My gift to you.”

“That is very kind of you,” said the prince.

“At this time, there will be no bargaining or persuading, Lord Maykeep. The prince must see his final offer before he makes his choice. Thank you, ladies, you may find your seat.” The four concubines, dressed in fines dresses with long slits along their thighs, gracefully moved toward their trestle with Lord Maykeep and his other hundred men.

“And finally,” began The Oracle. He had to shout and lift his hands to be heard over all the noise, “we have the furthest travelers to have made the great journey here. It is House Valnarak of Venistar, represented by the legendary lord, knight, and champion—Lord Cythos.” The Oracle was forced to pause his reading from his parchment while boos echoed through the court room. Insults and angry gestures were issued toward Lord Cythos for his killing stroke on Ser Ganator at the jousting tournament.

“Murderer!” shouted one.

“Put his head on a pike and make his suitor watch!” shouted another.

Lord Cythos’ guards were held back by the collar by Cythos himself. They had no weapons, but they were desperate to hit back at the threats. Cytho’s second-in-command, Aryzant, snorted in laughter. His face was a mess of burned skin and he was missing a nose. Vaya nearly gagged when she saw him. The noise finally died and Ser Sledda’s men had to form a protective tunnel for the suitor, Lady Elswitta, to make her way down the aisle.”

“It is the daughter of the King Tuuka, lady Elswitta,” announced The Oracle. All but one man had their eyes on Elswitta. Ser Sledda, who had seen the encounter between Zdeno and The Oracle, had his eyes firmly on Zdeno, who was seated at his trestle beside Aryzant and Lord Cythos.

What happened next cost the lives of two Venisi guards and one of Ser Sledda’s guards. Lady Elswitta kissed Rohinar’s hand, lifting her gaze up to his. Much to Vaya and Illena’s dismay, they could not deny her intense beauty. She seemed to glow like an angel. She lifted herself from her knee and brought Rohinar’s face into her hands, planting a gentle kiss on his lips. Rohinar appeared mesmerized, as If kissed by an angel. Elswitta hardly made it back to her trestle beside Lord Cythos. It was Cythos’ eight-foot personal guard, Kyn the Giant, who ripped three or four nobles away from her in order to grant her passage to the back of the court room beside her people.

Elswitta’s beauty had quickly vanished into a cloud of vicious batting and swatting. Her angelic glow soon faded, and her face had broken into a panicked mix of screaming, crying, and exhorting threats. Rohinar’s appeared unphased, as if the kiss had sent him into a permanent trance. Ser Sledda jabbed his elbow into Rohinar’s side, causing him to snap out of his distracted stare.

His eyes found Vaya’s once again. She had his eyes now. Her brown, undeniable eyes—full of lust and passion. But Rohinar’s glance quickly flickered away from her. Vaya gasped. No man had ever drawn their gaze from hers that easily. It was the silver blood inside of her, she knew. The magic of the silver blood had that effect. But the Venisi girl had drawn more interest this time.

Will he think out of lust or out of love? Or perhaps what we had wasn’t love at all. She compiled all of the moments she had share with the prince in her head. To be fair, she began to realize there weren’t as many as she had thought. The Venisi girl, Elswitta, had the prestige, the beauty, and the powerful House and lands to back up her claim. He would pick her, if he was smart. But he’s a fool.

The Oracle raised his voice, trying to calm the crowd. Nobles and political figures of the realm were raising their fists and shouting their protests at the kiss by Elswitta. Lord Cythos sat in the back of the court room with his arms crossed, his blank bald face sitting smugly. Kyn the Giant was standing beside him with a pike in hand. He was the only one of Cythos’ men who was permitted a weapon—no one dared deny him at eight feet tall. Aryzant, Cythos’ second-in-command gave Zdeno a tap on the shoulder and a whisper. Zdeno nodded his head, slipping out from his seat. He went unnoticed, slipping through the crowd and towards Vaya.

The squire and the musicians blasted their horns and the king rose from his throne, slamming the butt of his royal scepter into the ground.

“Quiet in my court!” shouted the king. That was enough to quiet the angry nobles. Lord Cythos’ grinned lightly. Lord Maykeep whispered into his daughter Lyah’s ear. Vaya wsa biting her lip, trying to get Rohinar’s attention but she was drowned out by the tall men standing in front of her. It was no use.

“The prince will choose his betrothed. Let him now speak,” said The Oracle.

Prince Rohinar cleared his throat, taking a firm stood forward off of the small step before the high dais.

“I do announce this day who my betrothed shall be—the lovely lady that I will soon call my wife in one months’ time. I choose…” The court grew eerily silent. Zdeno slithered his way through the crowd, chiseled knife in his hand from dinner. His steel mask covered his nose and mouth, but a devilish grin spread across his face.

“I choose…the lady Elswitta of Venistar!”

Lord Maykeep’s one hundred men threw food. The Malarin’s concubines squealed. Ser Sledda ran from his post, deflecting angry nobles. It was the blood-ties of two ancient enemies. Some knew it to be inevitable. Others denied it on basis of their bad-blooded past.

Vaya covered her mouth, shuddering with tears. She felt a tear in her lower leg. Looking down, she saw a deep cut and blood running down her calf. The blood was silver and runny. She yanked a cloth from the table, covering it. She looked around. No one had seen. It was mayhem. Chaos all around. She may have cut it on the trestle bench, or someone’s knife…but how?

Zdeno slipped out of the room. Amidst the scenes that had erupted he went unnoticed. The sentry by the court room’s back door was left unguarded once Ser Sledda’s men were needed to protect the prince and his new princess. The assassin slid down the hall and eased his way down the dungeon stairs. The Crow’s Quarters were dark and quiet—quieter than usual.

Lord Varisy and Ser Jaqon awaited him.

“You’ve got the sample?” asked Lord Varisy. Zdeno smiled, holding out a tube. “You’re sure this is hers? How did you get it?” asked Lord Varisy. His hair was slicked back in a gray widow’s peak.

“I cut the girl. Nobody notices,” replied Zdeno, tearing the steel mask from his face. He smiled with his yellow, sharp teeth. “Today, my I find out if girl is from the prophecy.”

“Which prophecy?” asked Ser Jaqon.

“The Oracle,” said Lord Varisy. “He found Zdeno by the Silver Tree yesterday and told him of a new prophecy that was revealed to him. A girl of silver blood who would arrive upon mysterious cause. The prince would take a liking to her, but he would not be able to explain why.”

“And how did you know it was that girl, Vaya?” asked Ser Jaqon. His mind wandered back to the day he had seen her in the Crag, hiding amidst the boulders and ravines.

“The hair. The eyes. It is obvious,” said Zdeno behind grit teeth.

Ser Jaqon furrowed his brow. “So, you mean to tell me that this girl whom we captured is the promised heir to the Silver Tree? The immortal Queen of Dalrin?” Jaqon was almost laughing as he said it, struggling to catch his breath at the thought.

Lord Varisy returned an indifferent look. “It came from The Oracle. And he is never wrong, despite the little respect that he gets from Dalrin’s throne room.”

“I get sample and I leave. My king waits,” said Zdeno.

Varisy and Jaqon turned to him. “And what is your plan with the sap again?” asked Varisy.

“I drink sap already. I give other sap to the king mixed with the sample you give to me.” Zdeno held out the mixture that Varisy had experimented with. “King Tuuka die from this. Attack on Dalrin…inevitable.”

“But what’s in it for you?” asked Ser Jaqon.

“Red Crow ask questions,” laughed Zdeno. “I worry about that. My blood silver soon. The Oracle forgot to prophecy about me.”

“Or perhaps…you won’t last very long once they learn you poisoned your king,” said Ser Jaqon.

Zdeno only chuckled. “We shall see. I am immortal man soon. They cannot kill this man,” Zdeno gestured to his own body, as if it were some other entity beside his own self.

Vaya had ran from the room. She wasn’t the only one. Most of the women had escaped while they could, although things were settled down sooner than had been expected. The angry nobles whose political agendas had been ruined were dragged from the room by Ser Sledda’s men.

Lord Malarin had grabbed his daughter, Marita, and stormed out without a fuss. One of his ten guards was caught in the crossfire of Maykeep’s one-hundred rowdy men and trampled to death. That was Lord Malarin’s only casualty, and he was not heard of again.

Lord Mared, to his credit, worked to help subdue Lord Maykeep’s men. Prince Rohinar gave his thanks and earned the blessing of Lord Mared Swordrin in doing so. Lord Mared and Lyah Swordrin left their gifts by the high dais; a crystal-hilted dagger and a splendid prince’s gown.

The Tchoreg’s left a gift of their finest horse hairs and buffalo furs, enough for the entire Aetos family to have at least three winter skins. It was a fine tribute, but Lord Torkild Tchoreg had not planned to wait around and see the praise he would receive for such a fine gift. Rohinar was glad to avoid that farewell, seeing as though Torkild’s offered lady was twice his size and strength.

In the back of the room, Lord Warren Maykeep had ensured that the plan behind his men’s chaos went to fruition. Speaking in hushed tones with Lord Cythos, the scheming was beginning.

“Do you wish to make a deal?” asked Lord Maykeep.

“It depends what kind of deal you wish to make,” replied Lord Cythos under a daunting stare. Lord Maykeep did not seem bothered by the look. Even Lord Cythos’ guard, Kyn the Giant, had appeared uneasy.

“You see that girl up there? The one with hair finer than silk? She has the eyes of a goddess queen, I assure you.”

“I’ve seen her,” said Cythos, unenthused.

“She was mine…before all this. She escaped my care, you see.” Lord Maykeep had begun twisting his long, stringy hair as he talked. He bit his tongue between words, smiling a troubled grin.

“I see.”

“She is the finest lady in all the land. I mean, bedding her was not even a question, Lord Cythos. She makes up for one hundred concubines. And let me tell you, she has a way with those eyes. She can—”

“—speed this up, lord. Or I may finish this talk for you whether you’re ready or not.” Aryzant had a concealed dagger hidden beneath his furs that was touching to Lord Maykeep’s soft belly. “I’ll cut you like jelly,” said Arzyant.

Lord Maykeep laughed nervously. “Very well then. Anyways, it is no secret that Venistar and Dalrin have strained relations. I was thinking that, perhaps, I might let you in on a little secret, so long as you’re willing to give me the girl.”

“Why is it up to me to give you the girl? She is not in my care,” said Lord Cythos.

“You are a brute man. You have brute ways about you. I’m sure you could find a way to get her to me without causing too big of a scene. Would I be correct in assuming that lord?”

“What is the secret,” stated Cythos, disinterested.

“One of my slippery men has been sneaking around, listening to things with his big ears. The word that got back to me,” Maykeep paused here, staring up at Lord Cythos to make sure he was listening, “is that she’s got silver blood.” Lord Maykeep’s face quicky turned white realizing his mistake. He had given up his secret.

“Thank you for the intel,” said Lord Cythos.

“So…are you…going to…” Lord Maykeep trailed off. The tip of Aryzant’s knife poked his belly, drawing a small trickle of blood. “Anyways, I hope you’ll consider my offer.” Lord Maykeep pushed himself away from the trestle bench and sauntered back toward his men who had finished their bout of chaos.

Lord Cythos looked to his man, Aryzant, with a satisified look upon his face.

“Zdeno?” asked Cythos. Aryzant nodded his head.

“Already being done, m’lord.”

“He shall be killed after he serves his purpose,” said Cythos. “He will stink up the King’s nose once we return to Venistar. Best he gets us the sample and end up dead by an chance accident on the return home.”

Aryzant nodded his agreement. “I’ll go ready the horses and the men for the return ride home tonight.”

And the rest of the night went unceremoniously quiet. There was no drinking, no feasting, and no gatherings of any sort after the betrothal ceremony. It was a dark night in the land of Dalrin.

Word spread fast to every city, town, tavern, inn, and farmland of new marriage. The alliance between Elswitta Valnarak and Rohinar Aetos, the new prince and princess of Dalrin. The two were wed in a month’s time, with a large host of Dalrin’s finest nobles, lords and ladies, and friends of the crown. The other news that rippled through the land was The Oracle’s desolation of his post. He abandoned House Aetos and Crow Castle, being spotted travelling with Lord Cythos’ band under the guise of brown tunic.

The Silver Tree wept its leaves, being without its prophet and its voice. It had been severed and its sacred sap taken—and yet, it was without oracle to inform the people. Even the Silver Tree had not seen the assassin’s move coming, and its already-fading glory was soon diminished from royal court.

With the fading of the Silver Tree’s influence and due reverence came the loss of Dalrin’s its protective guards. The hunters of the Crow’s Quarters were reallocated to be in the city with Prince Rohinar and Princess Elswitta. Ser Jaqon was separated from his secret lover and friend, Aurela. And Lord Varisy was forced to go into hiding, after details of his dark dealings were mysteriously leaked to the public. His body was found a week before the wedding by the Sea of Glass, along the bank. No visible cuts or wounds were found, just a pale face and a cold body.

Meanwhile, Zdeno wriggled free of the Crow’s Quarters with Vaya’s blood and the false tree sap in his purse. Every night that passed was one night closer to his demise. But in his mind, that could not be farther from his plans. As with any assassin, Zdeno was far stealthier than he let on.

The wedding had come and gone, and soon the new prince and princess had arrived in the capital of Baronview. Inside Crow Castle the influence of Illena grew stronger. She was given new responsibilities by her mother. The lady Aurela was left in tears, mourning alone in her room for hours on end, dreaming and praying of her lost love, Ser Jaqon. Vaya returned to her room in the high tower, with thoughts of the woman she had seen before her. Her only company was the door guard—Darvos. At least he had taken a liking to her. She was the only face she saw for the next six months inside that tower cell.

Nearly nine months had passed and all had changed within the land of the crow. The northern reach was a new land, but the Crags still rose as high as they did the day Vaya had arrived, and the sky was still a dull gray and full of winter’s bleak cold. The winters in the northern reach would not lift its grip for another two years, since it was the year of the Bolg Moon.

It was a new era in the land of Dalrin, and yet another era was just on the horizon. Only this time, no one saw it coming. Besides, perhaps, the Valnaraks of Venistar.