Chapter 1

Fia stared at the pile of bodies, dismayed that it had come to this. She felt something brush against her leg, and glanced over to see a hand, still half-morphed into a paw, feebly attempting to clutch at her boots. She cringed and moved away from her post, stopping to administer one final blow to the owner of the hand, to put him out of his misery. Normally she would only kill defensively, but in this case, it was a mercy. Letting him slowly die while surrounded by the bodies of his friends would have been cruel. They may have served an evil cause, but she was loathe to allow any other being to suffer if they didn’t have to.

“Burn them,” she said reluctantly, gesturing toward the pile.

Bishop sighed. “I hate this part.”

“I know, but it’s necessary. We can’t have anyone finding the bodies, and we certainly don’t have time to bury them.”

“I wish we didn’t have anything to get rid of at all,” he sighed. He closed his eyes as though concentrating, and the bodies began to smoke and smolder. A whoosh filled the room, followed by the crackling of the bright orange flames.

“Really, Bishop?” said Fia, “Couldn’t you have just used your lighter? Why don’t you just text Silas and tell him where we are? Or did you forget that he can read our energy?” She scowled at the thought. The last thing they needed was for the Angelus Lux to come galloping in on their literal high horses, insisting that using magic here, so close to mortals, was an unnecessary risk. They might sanction them, or imprison them. Or worse. She had seen enough of their methods to know what “worse” might entail, and even the thought of it made her shiver.

“It’s fine, Fia,” said Bishop reassuringly. “Silas’ powers only reach so far, and you know he’s in Nethaway. He might be able to sense you across realms, but not me. Besides, even if he showed up right this minute, he’d have no way of knowing what happened before now.”

“No,” she replied, “Darian thinks he’s in Nethaway. The last we heard of him was a month ago. Silas knows everything. He has his ways. You’ve seen what he can do.” She tugged absent-mindedly at her black gloves, as she often did when speaking of the Angelus Lux, and Silas in particular. “If you can’t be subtle, I’ll just have to tell Darian to send you back to the old kingdom.” She was joking about the banishment, but she did wish that Bishop would be a bit more cautious. It wasn’t his fault – he had never been “corrected” by the Angelus Lux personally, so she couldn’t expect him to be as wary as she was.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck with his lips. “But then who would you have to keep you company?”

“Yes,” she answered drily, “I’ll be positively bereft of companionship. Who on earth would ever want to be with an absolutely stunning immortal who has supernatural powers, and will never look a day older than 25?”

“No one with half a brain – or a taste for humility,” he teased, knowing full well that the remark about her looks was in jest. She was stunning – that much was true. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen by far. Even her crooked nose, the evidence of a vicious assault by a crazed satyr, seemed to add to her looks rather than detracting from them. But she was self-conscious of the nose, as well as her scar-riddled body – the product of numerous battles. She preferred to be known for her strength of character anyway. That, she said, could not be as easily lost as good looks.

She slapped his shoulder and kissed him briefly, brown eyes shining in the light of the flames. She laid her head on his chest for a moment, breathing in his aftershave to banish the stench of the burning bodies. She wished she could stay that way. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Darian that they hadn’t accomplished the task they’d come to complete.

“Now come on – we have to get out of here before anyone notices the fire.” As they headed toward the door of the dilapidated farmhouse, she realized she had forgotten something. She ran back to the bodies. Whispering a quick spell, she waved the smoke and flames away from the pyre so that she could see. She should have thought of this earlier – she could barely tell which body was Zamora. She gagged in revulsion at the stench of the burning remains. A flame reflecting off of something gold caught her eye, and she turned to her right.

There lay the coven’s leader. All that remained to identify her was a small patch of bright orange hair that hadn’t yet burned, and a gold amulet around her neck in the shape of the Eye of Evania, the pupil a glinting black stone. Fia pulled the amulet’s chain, taking it from Zamora’s neck, and whispered the flames back to their proper place. She fastened it around her own neck, and tucked the amulet beneath her shirt to keep it safe. She gasped – the amulet was freezing, despite having been in the fire. Enchanted, she thought, with a shock.

All of the coven leaders in the Firestone Circle wore an Eye of Evania. The Circle had been formed in service of the witch known as Evania the Oathbreaker after she tried to murder the king and secure the kingdom for herself. They believed Evania was the true ruler, and the king corrupt. Evania had been banished to the shadow realms for her crimes, but her supporters still rallied to her cause. With almost religious zeal, they worked tirelessly to bring down the established rule. The Circle drew together shifters, vampires, lycanthropes, and all other manner of shadow creatures. Sadly, some formerly good witches had been brought into the fold as well, misled by Evania’s false claims. She too, after all, had been good at one time, and they trusted her. The sigil of the Oathbreaker was thought to provide protection and increased power to both the warlock who wore it, and to their entire coven. The power of the amulet was supposedly derived from the original, which contained a piece of Evania’s soul.

In Fia’s experience, the whole thing was a fairy tale. The Eye hadn’t protected any of the four covens she and Bishop had already faced. Five, if she included the current debacle. They had all been imprisoned or killed. Then again, until now, the amulets had been incredibly cheap. Common metals and fake stones. The entire collection was hardly worth the effort expended in taking them. If Darian didn’t require the necklaces to be gathered, she wouldn’t have bothered. She hated the sight of them.

But this one was different. Cold, unmelted, and clearly crafted from pure metals and true onyx. She pulled the amulet back out and turned it over in her gloved hand. Was that something engraved on the back? She squinted, not quite able to make out the letters –

“Is everything ok?”

Fia jumped. Bishop had snuck up on her – not an easy feat. She dropped the amulet back in her shirt, doing her best to stifle a shiver as the cold pendant settled onto her skin.

“Fine – let’s just go.” She took a deep breath and forced her racing heart to steady as she walked slowly back toward the car.

As they drove back home, she contemplated her actions. Why was she hiding what she’d felt with the amulet from Bishop? She had known him since they were children. She trusted him with her life. She should tell him. At that thought, an uneasy feeling descended upon her that she couldn’t seem to shake. It made no sense, but she knew she had to keep the amulet’s magic to herself. Just until I know what it is, she assured herself, although she wasn’t entirely certain that was true. And if the thought of telling Bishop made her uneasy, the thought of handing the amulet over to Darian when they returned home filled her with dread.

It’s not your place to question, she told herself. And anyway, if the amulet had any true power, shouldn’t it have protected Zamora and the others? Nevertheless, she would be consulting her books when they got back. Between the amulet’s strange chill and the feeling of foreboding it gave her, she needed to know what she was dealing with, if anything. She laid her head back against the headrest, and settled in for a nap. The ride was a long one, and her distasteful work always left her exhausted.

*                *                *                *                *                *                *

She dreamed of her mother.

“Fia!” her mother cried in her sweet, clear voice, “come out, come out wherever you are!”

This had been their game when Fia was a child. Fia would tell anyone who listened that she was the greatest at hide and seek in the entire kingdom, and she had delighted in snuggling into a tiny space, waiting for her mother to find her. When she did, she would always give Fia a kiss, and say the same thing. “Oh, my little princess, I thought I’d never find you!”

Fia looked around. She was young again – perhaps seven or eight. She was crouched in the hollow oak in their backyard – a hiding place she had outgrown soon after that age. Her sneakers were stained with mud, and her hair was its usual wild tangle that Nessa exasperatedly referred to as a sparrow’s nest.

“Fia!” her mother called again. “My, my – I think I shall never see my poor girl again.”

Fia giggled. Mama always said that when she thought she might be getting close. She moved to jump out of the hollow, to surprise her mother and get her kiss all the sooner. As she did, she glanced at her sneakers again. The substance caking them looked different now – darker. Was that blood? Her stomach clenched, and her instincts screamed at her to stay put. But what was she hiding from? Mama would get her washed up, and tend to her needs. Mama would keep her safe, and bring her to Darian’s study for a cup of hot chocolate and a cookie. Still she hesitated.

Suddenly, she was roughly snatched from her hiding place. She came face to face with her mother, but something was wrong. The face in front of her was twisted and cruel, not kind as it should be. The wind lifted the hair from her mother’s forehead, and Fia gasped – the Eye of Evania was carved into the skin.

Her mother smiled, a hard grin. “Oh my little princess,” she said, snarling the last word, “I thought I’d never find you.” She produced a jeweled dagger from the fold of her robes, and brought the point to Fia’s cheek. “Let me give you a kiss.”

*                *                *                *                *                *                *

Fia started awake and saw that they were pulling into the garage. She sat up, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands and trying to re-gain her bearings to banish the dream. She had dreamed of her mother often in the first years after she had lost her, but this was the first in quite some time. She tried to ignore the cold amulet against her skin. It almost seemed to be pulsing.

“You drove the whole way home?” she questioned as she stretched. The drive back to Ariesburg was six hours, and she knew that Bishop had to be as exhausted as she had been. Normally he would wake her halfway through to switch.

“Well, I was going to wake you, but your snoring was actually enough to keep me awake for the entire rest of the ride – no sleep required.”

“I don’t snore,” she insisted.

“Well if that wasn’t snoring, I ought to have you in for maintenance – something is clearly broken to be rattling around like that.” He leaned in to kiss her, and she pulled back, practically leaping toward the window.

“What are you doing – are you insane?”

“I can’t kiss the love of my immortal life?”

“Not when Darian might see you! You know what he would do if he knew about us. He only trusts you as his captain because he doesn’t know about our relationship. There is no way he would approve of our being together. And you know that. How many times do we have to have this conversation?” She sat back, frustrated. Why couldn’t he just follow the rules?

Bishop scowled angrily.

“You know what? I’m done. So I guess that’s your answer – we never have to have it again.” He got out of the car, slamming the door roughly behind him, and started toward the small house at the back of the property that he shared with one of the other guards.

“Bishop, wait!” Fia called, but he didn’t stop. She sighed and leaned back into her seat. She couldn’t even venture to guess how many times she and Bishop had had this conversation. When they were away from the others, everything was fine. But as soon as they got home and had to guard their interactions, he suddenly seemed to forget the rules. It wasn’t her fault – she shouldn’t have to remind him how to behave after all of this time. And anyway, she was only protecting him. Darian would likely have his powers, or even send him back to the old kingdom if he knew. He would never approve. She supposed she should be flattered – Bishop wouldn’t be so upset about keeping their relationship a secret if he didn’t love her so much and want to show the world. And she loved him, too. But still – his insistence on pretending that things were different from the very clear reality was beginning to wear on her. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was easier if they weren’t together. She was too exhausted to be upset, or try to figure it out. Her sleep hadn’t been restful, and she was eager to be in her own bed.

She sighed and opened the car door, reluctant to go in and give her report. She walked up to the door that connected the garage to the main house of the compound and pressed her hand to the pad near the door. The entire compound was cloaked from mortals, but the main house was still secured from the other witches who resided there. Only its residents had access. The pad flashed in recognition, and the door pushed open with a quiet creak. Fia stepped inside, pulled off her combat boots, and plopped down onto the plush cream-colored couch that sat on the far side of the room. She had just begun to doze off despite her long nap in the car, when the door creaked open again.

“If you wanted to hurt me, you might have just summoned a demon, child – you didn’t have to sit your filthiness down on my nice couch,” came a stern voice from the doorway.

“Abigail!” Fia exclaimed in surprise. “When did you get back?”

“Just in time to see you ruining my parlor. Up with you, and come give your aunt a hug before I decide I’m more upset about the couch than I am happy to see you – after you clean up, of course. Honestly, child, you’d think you had been raised with the pigs.”

Fia quickly stood up, wincing guiltily as she glanced at the soiled couch over her shoulder. She whispered a few words, and watched as the dirt disappeared. Another incantation left her without so much as a speck or a smudge on her clothing, and she embraced Abigail dutifully.

It had been weeks since she had seen her aunt, and she had missed her, after a fashion.

Abigail was the matron of the house, and everything seemed a bit less organized in her absence. Darian may actually be in charge, but it was easy to forget, given that Abigail had chosen to age in appearance, while her older brother had not. She had a commanding presence, and looked exactly as no-nonsense as she truly was, her hair in a tidy grey bun, and her lips pinched and thin.

“Much better,” said her aunt, “but you still need to change, Seraphina. You know I can’t stand seeing you in those modern rags. You look like a mortal vagabond. All you need is some form of cheap coffee cup to hold out for money. Or perhaps I could interest you in a tiny monkey and an accordion.”

“They’re not rags, Abigail – they’re comfortable,” Fia said, inwardly cringing at her given name. “And they’re what everyone wears. I can’t very well fight a pack of shifters in a ball gown and heels.”

“That may be true, and you may need these ridiculous things out there. But you, my dear, are not ‘everyone’. Not by any stretch of the imagination. And you are not out there any longer.” With a wave of her long, graceful fingers, she transformed Fia’s dark jeans, faded flannel shirt, and black denim jacket into a dress of blue silk with puffed sleeves, a high collar, and a laced bodice. Her black leather gloves had become white lace with ribbon at the wrists.

“Oh, Abigail, not the corset,” Fia gasped, struggling to suck in a lungful of air as she pulled at the steel boning beneath the dress. After nearly a hundred years of Abigail forcibly dressing her in styles that ranged from medieval to Victorian, she ought to have been used to this by now, but she was strangely attached to the ability to take a full breath without fainting dead away.

“Fine, have it your way.” Abigail waved again, and produced a sleeveless linen dress with simple lines and a fringed hem. “You know, you’re never going to attract a man if you insist on dressing like one,” she said, frowning at the plain dress with its undefined waist. ”A lady should be beautiful at all times. Comfort is secondary. Hmm. Still not quite right. It needs something else.” Pausing to think for a moment, she pointed toward the dress, and a belt of linked silver set with fire opals appeared at its waist, along with a pair of matching studs in her ears. A feathered headband and a pair of dainty heels were the finishing touches. It was nice to see that her aunt had finally worked her way into the 1920s – a century too late.

Fia bit her tongue at Abigail’s remark about finding a man. It wouldn’t do to have her aunt know about her relationship with Bishop, no matter how fun it would be to watch the reaction on her prim and proper face when she found out that Fia had in fact already found a man – and he wasn’t a noble. Abigail was even less likely than Darian to see any merit in the match. She might actually die from such an overwhelming shock, immortality notwithstanding. Although, Fia supposed with a pang of sadness, if Bishop had truly meant what he said in the car, it didn’t much matter anyway. There was no relationship to tell her about.

“Of course, Abigail. I will take that under consideration. Should I ever decide I am crazy enough to marry.”

“You would be crazy not to,” said Abigail sternly. “With your brothers gone, you are the only child remaining – the Brightwell line cannot end with you, no matter what you think you want. You know this, Seraphina. You will marry, and you will marry well. No one worthy of sharing this family’s power is going to look twice at you in your usual garb.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to start attracting a man right now. Luxas willing, I won’t be taking over the family duties for quite some time. Besides, they aren’t looking at me anyway – they’re looking at the family name.”

“You must find someone while you are still young – we need a crop of good, strong heirs to continue the line. You may be a good fighter, but there is only one of you. Children are of the utmost importance. With all of the missions you go on, the sooner you have a child the better. What do you think would happen if you were killed with no heir?”

Here it comes, Fia thought. As though I haven’t heard it a million times before. She could recite her aunt’s lecture from memory, but she knew it would be pointless to interrupt. Abigail would have her say. She should have known better than to offer any protests.

“The Brightwells are the oldest family of witches still in existence. Our lineage dates back to the first king, and we have always ruled. King Marik Brightwell united the covens under one banner in the fight to banish his brother Malphors and his Blackiron warlocks. Marik’s grandsons Toogoode and Templeton established the shrines of Luxas and brought order and structure to the families. Cassaro Brightwell formed the Angelus Lux, to ensure that order was kept in place. And Faulkin Brightwell began the tradition of marrying the Brightwell heir to one of the sons or daughters of the other families, beginning with his daughter, Rosemond, in order to secure and maintain the tenuous peace. Millennia of tradition will not be defied because you refuse to act like a proper lady. Our family stands between the shadow creatures and the world of mortals that we are tasked with protecting. If the line does not continue, the light will be lost.”

“I know the history, Aunt Abigail,” she said. “But proper ladies are boring – I’m certain that not one of them has ever battled a shifter, or taken out a nest of vampires. For that matter, neither have the proper gentlemen. I am quite sure that my proficiency in battle and quick wit will make up at least in part for my utter sacrilege in wearing pants. If a man doesn’t want me in them, I don’t want him anyway.”

Abigail’s lips flattened into a grim line. “You are impossible, child. I wish your future husband infinite patience when you finally settle down. He is going to need it. Now, off to the study with you – your father requires an audience, and the king must not be kept waiting.”

Fia’s hand went to the cold amulet resting on her chest. She had wanted to study it more before she reported back. And it was possible that her father would feel the presence of its powers, whatever those may be. Abigail wasn’t terribly attuned to anything that didn’t involve propriety and manners, but her brother was observant beyond measure. He might know it was there. She wondered again, briefly, why she felt the need to hide this. With the notable exception of her relationship with Bishop, she couldn’t recall hiding anything from her father.

She rose from the couch and started toward the study. Glancing back, she saw Abigail pick up her needlepoint and begin to stab at the cloth with great ferocity. She shook her head. All manner of books, electronics, and magical diversions were available in the main house, but her aunt had never found a more modern hobby that she could stomach. Some people never change. Certain that Abigail was distracted, Fia changed course and ran to her room. She took an ornately carved box, covered in runes, from the top of her closet. Inside were a few personal possessions that were dear to her, including a photo of her brothers and a letter from Bishop. She unclasped her latest acquisition from around her neck and placed it in the box. A red light seemed to flash briefly within the onyx. Only a trick of the shadows, she told herself, her earlier uneasiness revived. She closed the lid over it, and replaced the box.

The amulet hidden, she moved down the hall toward her father’s study. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand to knock. Before she could, the door was roughly yanked open, and a very pompous looking man she had never seen before walked past her into the hall, nose firmly in the air. He disappeared around the corner, and she heard the door slam shut a moment later. She barely had a second to wonder what the fuss was all about when her father noticed her hovering in the doorway.

“Fia,” said her father, “come in, please. You just missed Lord Hedstrom’s page. Charming fellow, isn’t he?”

“Hello, Darian.” She entered the room and carefully seated herself in one of the plush, upholstered chairs in front of the mahogany desk, crossing her ankles daintily as the short dress required. While the rest of the family was more formal, she had referred to her father by his first name for as long as she could remember, and he always used her preferred nickname. She had no idea when she had started calling him Darian, or why, but neither of them could imagine it any other way.

“I see my sister has gotten ahold of you,” he said, grinning at the look of discomfort on his daughter’s face that accompanied the dress. “I haven’t seen you in a skirt since she left for Belfast last month.” He got up and closed the door. “You can change, if you like, so long as you put it back before you see her again. I would hear no end of it if she knew how I indulge you, and even I am not immune from her lectures. That woman could take Luxas himself to task if she wanted to.”

Fia closed her eyes and whispered a chant. When she opened them, she was in a pair of yoga pants and a worn t-shirt, her thick black hair tied back in a ponytail. It’s a wonder we didn’t come up with yoga pants before the humans, she thought. You’d think anything this delightful would have to be magic.

“And how did it go?” Darian asked, bringing over a tray with a pot of tea and two cups. He knew that she found her missions draining and distasteful, so he always had chamomile tea on hand for when she returned. It was a ritual that had begun when she had first started leading missions, and one that they faithfully observed every time she returned. She poured tea into one of the ornate china cups – a relic from their days in the castle – and prepared herself to give the news. She took a sip of tea, and a deep breath, and began.

“Zamora knew we were coming. Apparently, Borys still cares for her enough to at least warn her when her life is in danger, so he sent the spiders.” Borys’ spiders were one of his most formidable weapons. They were everywhere, and he saw with their eyes once they were dispatched.

“So you walked into an ambush.”

“We would have. But Bishop spotted their trap. Their caster had laid out a warding web, so Bishop created a glamour of the two of us to walk through it. We hit while they were distracted. They weren’t fooled long, though. We were forced to put down all six of her circle in the battle.” She paused, bracing herself to give the next piece of news.

“When they were gone, I tried to reason with Zamora, as you requested. I told her that we would spare her if she spoke the words and returned to us. I begged her to do as we asked, and come back. Reminded her of her obligation. She shifted and slashed for my throat. I struck back to defend myself, to knock her out, to take her and bring her back as you asked. But the blow was too powerful. She – she was killed. I am sorry I failed you.” Tears glinted in her eyes as she lowered her teacup back to the tray, too upset to continue to drink it.

Darian sighed heavily. “I knew this would likely be the outcome. I had such high hopes that your cousin would see reason. Damn Borys! We had nearly had her persuaded to our cause when he began to woo her. I had thought that with the two of them no longer together, she might come back to us. I should have known that a shifter, even one of my own blood, could not be expected to cast off the shadows.”

Fia shifted in her chair guiltily. She knew that Darian and Zamora had not been close, but she was still family. She was the bastard child of his brother, Henry – the result of a forbidden tryst with a shifter of the Gira clan. When her mother died, Henry raised her as part of their family, but she had never quite adopted their mission. And then, there had been Borys.

A fearsome shifter himself, Borys was one of the most powerful of his kind. Charming, dashing, and rotten to the core, “The Bloody Boar,” as he was called for the form that he took, had attempted to ingratiate himself with the royals. Sadly, while the rest of her family was not fooled, Zamora had not seen past his charm. They had run off together, eloping as though they were teenagers. Darian was furious. In his anger, he had told Henry that if Zamora left, she had better stay gone.

Zamora took the warning to heart, and she and Borys amassed a coven of shifters under the protection of the Firestone. When their intense relationship ended in the explosion that everyone had expected (quite literally, in fact – the home they had shared had been burned completely to the ground), they had divided their flock and headed to separate coasts. When Darian heard, he had hoped that Zamora might finally be brought back. As it was their mission to bring down the Firestone anyway, it seemed the perfect opportunity to accomplish both goals. But Borys had gotten ahead of them. And now Zamora was gone.

Darian must have read her thoughts. He looked her in the eyes and said, “None of this is your fault, Fia.”

“It truly is, Darian. I’ve faced Borys before, and I know him better than this. If I had just taken more time for recon, or if we had discovered the spiders before they got to her, or –”

“No,” he said gently, holding up a hand to stop the deluge of words. “There was nothing more you could have done. You know that the darkness cannot be brought into the light so easily. And I would not have wanted Zamora to return at the cost of your life. You are dearer to me than anything – or anyone – I send you after.” He placed his hand on hers and patted it comfortingly. “Now then, did you get the Eye?” Normally she brought each to him when she gave her report, so it wasn’t unusual of him to ask. Still, she felt uneasy.

“Yes, Darian. It’s safe.” Her conscience practically screamed at her to tell him about it – the chill, the engraving, the strange flash of light she had seen as she put it away. And the dream she had had of her mother. She hadn’t dreamt of the queen in so very long. But still, that sense of dread made her keep her secret about the amulet, and she wouldn’t want to pain him by telling him about the dream. She knew that he had suffered the nightmares as well in days past.

“May I…” he trailed off, forming his words carefully. “May I have it? I know that it’s probably foolish, but she was family, and I would like to have something of hers. If you’d prefer to keep it with the others, I understand.”

Fia was shocked. Her father was not a terribly sentimental man. She had not seen him show any need for remembrance since they had lost her mother. Countless of their number had fallen over the years, and while Darian was always somber and respectful toward their memory, he did not dwell on what was lost and could not be returned. She hesitated. Did he suspect?

“Of course,” she said. “I understand. I will get it for you right away.”

He caught her hand as she turned to go. “It can wait a while, my dear – I am far too busy preparing for tomorrow night. You know how thorny an issue it can be to get the lords all together at once. The seating arrangements alone may cause me to flee in terror.” He gave a wan smile, but she knew he was only half joking. Arranging a dinner for the five great houses was enough to make even the most stalwart of men throw up their hands in defeat. With everything else he had to worry about, she wished he would delegate the task to Freidrick, his steward. But Darian insisted that he was the only one who could work this particular puzzle.

Fia had her own reasons for being apprehensive about the gathering. She knew that she had been lucky thus far in dodging the issue of her betrothal. Letters could be “lost”, gifts accepted while pretending they were merely tokens of friendship; but with the sons of the lords in actual attendance, her chances of avoiding their advances would be quite slim. She had hardly seen them since they were children, having been in the field for the last few summits, yet she knew they would be bound and determined to woo her. Her lieutenant and closest friend, Anya, thought she was crazy for not wanting to marry them. She seemed to fall in love with a different lord in waiting every time they visited, and she couldn’t understand why Fia wouldn’t love to wed one of them. It was difficult to explain to someone who had grown up a farmer’s daughter how false a man’s words and gifts could seem when he was in love with your kingdom, not with you. Besides – marrying only between the nobles was archaic. She would gladly turn her suitors over to Anya and follow her heart rather than her duty.

Her father seemed to read her thoughts. “Stop worrying, Fia. No one’s making you get married tomorrow. Well, I can’t promise Abigail won’t try, but there is no wedding planned. Now go and have Aesus tend to those wounds.”

She glanced down at her arms, where Bishop had tied strips from his shirt around her in two places to staunch the flow of blood from the deepest cuts she had suffered in the battle with Zamora’s circle. They weren’t the first tiger bites she had sustained, but she certainly hoped they would be her last. She was tired of shifters. Spell-inflicted wounds could be magically healed, but damage caused by physical violence like bites, arrows, and swords resisted any attempt to repair them by anything but actual medical means. A myriad of bruises and minor lacerations surrounded the cuts, and she supposed she should at least ice them. She wished her father luck and left him to his planning, knowing that he would be awake past dawn.

“Fia!” he called after her when she was halfway down the hall. He gestured toward her sweats. “Your outfit.” She reluctantly changed back to the dress, and passed by her aunt without a confrontation.

After stopping to see Aesus for proper stitches and bandages and assuring him that she would apply the awful-smelling tincture he gave her as often as she remembered, Fia returned to her room and changed into her pajamas. Once she was comfortable, she opened the engraved box. Zamora’s amulet still sat on top, and she carefully lifted it out. Driven by a strange compulsion, she placed it back around her neck, shivering once again at the chill as it touched her skin. Remembering the engraving, she turned it over and scrutinized the back. She lifted the amulet to the light, trying to make out the faint letters. She tried to make it out through her magnifying glass, but the letters were still too faint. She was giving herself a headache from the squinting, so she took a break to think.

She was going to need more than her own eyes. She whispered an incantation over the amulet to sharpen the words, but the writing didn’t clarify. It must be guarded, she thought, reinforcing her feeling that the amulet may be dangerous. She tried a different method, performing a spell that sharpened her eyes rather than the amulet’s inscription. She lifted it to the light again. She had to know what it said. Gradually, the words appeared. Latin. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be Latin? Just once, she’d love to meet a creature of the shadows with a little bit of originality. She had been forced to learn five languages in the course of her schooling, and she hardly got to use any of them. She leaned in closely, and read the words aloud.

“Vivat Reginae.” As she uttered the phrase, the stone in the amulet flashed with red light once more. The room began to spin, and she felt light headed. She had just enough time to translate the phrase to herself before her legs gave out and darkness surrounded her. Long live the queen.