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front of him and propped an elbow on
his thigh, leaning his chin onto his fist. His body rocked back and
forth to the rhythm of the wagon as it made its way through the
bumps and ruts of the road.
    As they lumbered along, Dayn watched the
house grow distant. Dwindling tendrils of smoke rose from the
chimney. Porch rockers swayed to the rhythm of the chimes in the
morning breeze. A strange feeling washed over him. He could not
seem to take his eyes off the place. It was as if he would never
see it again.
     
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Chapter 4: Dark Talk
     
    T he much anticipated
wedding of the young prince and his bride was but three days away,
and the great city-state of Tearia was in a festive mood. For
months the possibility of the union had been in doubt; the royal
household had been in turmoil ever since the fire the year before.
But now, after much speculation, the couple was to marry, and the
continuation of the royal line was all but assured. There was great
joy for it in Tearia, but there was also dark talk. Some felt the
wedding would not, or should not, take place; surely the gods would
intervene and put a stop to it. Others cheered the event, believing
the gods had already intervened on the prince’s behalf. But one
thing they all agreed on was that a royal union needed to take
place soon. The King had not been well these past months, his body
grown weaker and his mind more confused by the day.
    The illness had come upon Sedric quickly. Too
quickly some said. There were whispers that something, or someone,
sinister was behind it. The healers held little hope for him, and
everyone knew it was just a matter of time. There was nothing now,
short of an act of the gods, to stop his son’s ascension to the
throne. The entire week had been proclaimed a holiday, and whether
one agreed with the union or not, it had not kept anyone from
taking advantage of the celebration.
    The royal family had feasted and toasted
around their own great table for days now. They were eager for the
marriage that would bring some happiness to an otherwise dismal
year. But just as not everyone in the streets believed the union
was a good one, not everyone at the royal table did either.
    Brina had sat through it all, day after day,
night after night, but was weary of the soreness of her tongue
where she had bitten it in silence. Tonight, surrounded once again
by the royal revelers, she found she could bear it no more.
    “This is a travesty,” she said, pushing up
from the table. She glared at the pasty-faced guests across from
her, their mouths agape at her unexpected words.
    “Sit down this instant,” her husband ordered.
“This is neither the time nor the place for you to air your
opinions.” Mahon grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her back down
to her seat.
    Brina wrested her arm from his grasp. “Get
your hands off of me, Mahon. I told you never to touch me again, or
have you forgotten?”
    Mahon’s face paled, then deepened to shades
of red. He pulled her toward him. “You will cease this now, Brina.
Do you understand? This is a day of celebration.”
    “I have sat by for days now and endured this
so-called celebration,” she said. “But what, dear husband, are we
supposed to be celebrating?”
    “The wedding of our prince of course,” he
replied. “It is a joyous occasion for everyone in Tearia.” He eyed
the squirming guests across from him, and raised his goblet in an
awkward solute.
    “Everyone? No, I think not,” Brina said.
“Reiv, for one—” But before she could say another word, Mahon
squeezed her arm, digging his nails into her flesh.
    “You will not mention that name at this
table,” he hissed.
    Brina scoffed, then scanned the faces around
her. Those seated at the table were family and friends she knew
well. Once she could have said anything to them without fear of
repercussion. But things had changed this past year, and the
subject of Reiv was one carefully avoided. Brina felt the grip on
her arm