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Authors: Rebecca Neason
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household was asleep, he would have Thomas help him with the books he would take with him. He could trust Thomas to
see them safely, and secretly, stored, and just as safely unpacked in Ballinrigh.
His own life was embarking on a journey far more important—and more dangerous—than this trip to Aghamore’s capital. What he
was doing was a gamble. But if he played it right, he could win everything. If he played it wrong… he could lose far more
than his office.
Elon smiled again.
That is what makes it worth doing
,he thought. A life safe and secure, going through the same motions throughout endless days of boredom, was only death while
still breathing. Elon knew what he wanted. He wanted it all—to
have
it all,
feel
it all,
be
it all… and
risk
it all. Win or lose, only by this would he be satisfied.
Aurya slept nearly twelve hours. When she awoke, she was both ravenous and clearheaded. Her certainty had not left her after
all. She and Giraldus would succeed; he would be King, and she would be at his side—directing, advising,
ruling
the man who ruled the kingdom. Elon’s words about the need for marriage ran briefly through her mind, causing her to frown.
But she dismissed them just as quickly. Time enough to think on them later, once they had taken care of the child—and only
if she was certain there was no other way to succeed.
Ah, yes
, she thought as she stretched beneath the covers, her smile returning,
success is the best revenge
.
It was all her revenge on all those who had made her childhood years a time of sorrow and loneliness… or had until she discovered
her gift. It was magic that became her true and faithful companion—and she needed none other.
She stretched again, knowing she should rise, bathe, and dress, so that she and Giraldus could begin their final preparation
to depart. But the cradling comfort of her warm bed held her. Surely, after all her hard work of the last few days she could
allow herself a few extra moments of luxury. Once they rode away from this fortress, who knew how long it would be before
she again had such an opportunity. She snuggled farther down into the bed and engaged in her favorite—and very private—pastimeof picturing what her life would be like when she and Giraldus had gained the crown.
It was daydreams that had gotten Aurya through her childhood. They were her companions when the cruelty of other children
became too much to bear; they were her comfort when her mother, consumed by the guilt of conceiving a child outside of holy
wedlock, turned away from Aurya as the proof of her sin.
It was her dreams that led Aurya to wander the hills outside the town—and in those hills she had met Kizzie. Some called Kizzie
wild, others said she was mad, but she was the first one to recognize Aurya’s potential.
Kizzie
. Once more Aurya smiled as she pictured the old woman’s coarse gray hair, forever coming free from Kizzie’s attempts to bind
it, giving her a wild, unkempt look that fed the rumors about her madness.
Aurya had heard the tales of Kizzie long before they met, but it was from Kizzie that she learned the truth. The old woman
was not mad at all. She had once been one of the goodwives of the village. She had once renounced her powers in order to marry—but
when he had died young in a hunting accident, Kizzie had been left penniless. Her only choices then were to live as a poor
widow begging alms from the Church, to take the veil as many widows did to ensure a future of food and housing—or to return
to the Earth-magic of her youth and live in the ways of her ancestors.
Kizzie chose the latter almost fifty years before Aurya was born. By the time twelve-year-old Aurya stumbled upon Kizzie’s
little hut in the hills, Kizzie was old and grizzled, bent with age, but content with the life she lived.
Even in that first meeting, Kizzie acted as if she had been expecting Aurya. And it was under Kizzie’s tutelage that
see them safely, and secretly, stored, and just as safely unpacked in Ballinrigh.
His own life was embarking on a journey far more important—and more dangerous—than this trip to Aghamore’s capital. What he
was doing was a gamble. But if he played it right, he could win everything. If he played it wrong… he could lose far more
than his office.
Elon smiled again.
That is what makes it worth doing
,he thought. A life safe and secure, going through the same motions throughout endless days of boredom, was only death while
still breathing. Elon knew what he wanted. He wanted it all—to
have
it all,
feel
it all,
be
it all… and
risk
it all. Win or lose, only by this would he be satisfied.
Aurya slept nearly twelve hours. When she awoke, she was both ravenous and clearheaded. Her certainty had not left her after
all. She and Giraldus would succeed; he would be King, and she would be at his side—directing, advising,
ruling
the man who ruled the kingdom. Elon’s words about the need for marriage ran briefly through her mind, causing her to frown.
But she dismissed them just as quickly. Time enough to think on them later, once they had taken care of the child—and only
if she was certain there was no other way to succeed.
Ah, yes
, she thought as she stretched beneath the covers, her smile returning,
success is the best revenge
.
It was all her revenge on all those who had made her childhood years a time of sorrow and loneliness… or had until she discovered
her gift. It was magic that became her true and faithful companion—and she needed none other.
She stretched again, knowing she should rise, bathe, and dress, so that she and Giraldus could begin their final preparation
to depart. But the cradling comfort of her warm bed held her. Surely, after all her hard work of the last few days she could
allow herself a few extra moments of luxury. Once they rode away from this fortress, who knew how long it would be before
she again had such an opportunity. She snuggled farther down into the bed and engaged in her favorite—and very private—pastimeof picturing what her life would be like when she and Giraldus had gained the crown.
It was daydreams that had gotten Aurya through her childhood. They were her companions when the cruelty of other children
became too much to bear; they were her comfort when her mother, consumed by the guilt of conceiving a child outside of holy
wedlock, turned away from Aurya as the proof of her sin.
It was her dreams that led Aurya to wander the hills outside the town—and in those hills she had met Kizzie. Some called Kizzie
wild, others said she was mad, but she was the first one to recognize Aurya’s potential.
Kizzie
. Once more Aurya smiled as she pictured the old woman’s coarse gray hair, forever coming free from Kizzie’s attempts to bind
it, giving her a wild, unkempt look that fed the rumors about her madness.
Aurya had heard the tales of Kizzie long before they met, but it was from Kizzie that she learned the truth. The old woman
was not mad at all. She had once been one of the goodwives of the village. She had once renounced her powers in order to marry—but
when he had died young in a hunting accident, Kizzie had been left penniless. Her only choices then were to live as a poor
widow begging alms from the Church, to take the veil as many widows did to ensure a future of food and housing—or to return
to the Earth-magic of her youth and live in the ways of her ancestors.
Kizzie chose the latter almost fifty years before Aurya was born. By the time twelve-year-old Aurya stumbled upon Kizzie’s
little hut in the hills, Kizzie was old and grizzled, bent with age, but content with the life she lived.
Even in that first meeting, Kizzie acted as if she had been expecting Aurya. And it was under Kizzie’s tutelage that
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