Crystal Moon
***
Elysa Hendricks


She was his dead brother’s lover and murderer, so how 
could she affect him like this? 
When he reached down for the woman, Kyne had braced 
himself, but unlike when he touched her before, this time he 
sensed nothing. Her fingers felt cool and fragile in his grip. 
The heat of her at his back distracted him from any other 
thoughts. Through his heavy cape he felt her every movement— 
the shift of her hips as she eased the strain of riding, the turn of 
her head, the press of her soft breasts, the brush of her slippered 
feet against his calves, and the feel of her small hands on his 
waist. Her sweet, feminine scent drifted under his nose. His 
body reacted, tightening in spite of his mind’s objections. Disgust 
that he should desire this woman pooled on his tongue. 
She shivered. 
“Are you cold?” How could she be? Self-loathing made 
him hot despite the crisp mountain air. 
“No. But I am hungry. You did not allow me time for first 
meal. Is starvation to be the punishment for my alleged crimes?” 
As if in emphasis, her stomach rumbled. 
Kyne restrained his smile at her tart words. “Reach into 
my pack, and you’ll find a bag of dried fruit and a skin of watered 
wine. Calm yourself. Until you are judged, you’ll not be 
mistreated.” 
She squirmed behind him as she hunted through his pack. 
Her shoulder bumped his hip and her voice was muffled as she 
answered. “Is that supposed to reassure me? Already I’ve been 
abducted, dragged from the threshold of my bed chamber in 
my nightwear, carted through the rain, terrorized and bruised, 
accused of foul deeds and threatened with horrible retribution. 
But I’m not supposed to worry because I’m safe until you see 
fit to be my judge and pronounce sentence on me?” She 
straightened and spoke her last words directly into his ear. 
“Forgive me if I prefer to remain agitated.” 

To Vern,
Always and forever my hero.
Other Books by Elysa Hendricks
Gemini Moon 

Crystal Moon
***
Elysa Hendricks

CRYSTAL MOON 
 

One
At the edge of her bedroom terrace, Sianna lifted her gaze 
and breathed in the peace and solitude of the night. Above, 
Tareth’s twin moons dominated the night sky. While Kala’s 
light bathed the garden in a white-gold glow, Dema remained a 
translucent shadow—a crystal moon—a wishing moon. 
“I wish my father would love me.” The night swallowed 
her whisper but made no promises. 
From behind, without a sound of warning, a strong arm 
wrapped around her waist. The sharp, cold edge of a crystal 
blade pricked her neck. 
“Scream and I’ll cut your throat,” a woman’s voice rasped. 
Sianna froze. “What do you want? Who are you?” 
“Silence,” the woman hissed. “Don’t fight me, she-hound, 
and you might live to see another sunrise.” 
The woman’s whisper stirred the fine hairs at the nape of 
Sianna’s neck. She shivered at the contempt and hatred in those 
softly spoken words. 
“Do you understand?” The woman’s arm tightened around 
Sianna’s waist. 
The crystal blade moved a hair. A pinprick of pain, then 
warmth trickled down Sianna’s throat. 
She swallowed and gave a brief nod. Through her thin 
nightdress and robe she could feel the heat and strength of her 
captor. Shock held her motionless. 
What choice did she have? Scream, and the guards would 
come in moments. Could they halt the slice of the blade? Sianna 
doubted it. Or would she allow herself to be abducted? A quick 
death or the unknown? 
Closing her eyes, Sianna reached out empathetically toward 

the woman. Like others read words on a page, Sianna read 
people’s emotions. 
The woman’s gut-wrenching ache of loss left Sianna 
breathless. As always, she responded to the anguish with an 
urge to soothe and heal. Her deep sense of empathy and the 
healing skills she learned from the Sisters of Light, enabled her 
to ease not only physical suffering, but emotional torment as 
well. “Do you seek my help with your pain? If so, there is no 
need for force. I’ll give it willingly. I am a trained healer.” 
“Be quiet, or you’ll soon learn what pain is.” Her captor 
shoved a gag into Sianna’s mouth, yanked her hands behind her 
back, and lashed them together. 
The choice was no longer hers to make. The force of the 
woman’s shoulder in her middle knocked the air from her lungs, 
but fear left her stunned. The woman threw Sianna over her 
shoulder and strode off the terrace. Blood rushed to Sianna’s 
head. 
In Kala’s fullness, Sianna had prayed for release from her 
father’s control, to be free of his plans for her. She feared this 
might be her answer. 
She lifted her head, and her view of the garden dissolved 
into the night, replaced by the thick forest of the surrounding 
countryside. Even the faint light spilling from the open door to 
her room disappeared. Branches scraped her arms and legs 
and snatched painfully at her hair as her captor carried Sianna 
through the foliage. 
Her limbs grew numb from the lack of circulation. Dizzy, 
she struggled to remain calm, to think rationally. All she could 
manage was to breathe. 
Sianna realized the hatred radiating off the woman in searing 
waves was directed solely at her. Panic threatened to engulf 
her. 
In a small clearing, the woman stopped and stood Sianna 
on her feet. A saddled quinar waited. The dark, shaggy beast 
stomped his hooves against the ground and shook his massive 
head at their approach. 
Sianna bolted, but took barely three trembling steps before 
the woman snagged her arm and yanked her back. “Try to 

escape again, and I’ll fix it so you’ll never walk again.” Her 
captor flashed a knife in front of Sianna’s eyes. “Do you 
understand?” 
Mesmerized by the glint of moonlight on the blade, Sianna 
nodded. 
The woman mounted the quinar and hoisted Sianna up in 
front of her. 
Responding to an unspoken command, the quinar sprang 
forward. With powerful strides, the animal carried them rapidly 
away from Sianna’s father’s compound and safety. The ground 
became a blur. Trees whipped past. Hands bound at her back, 
she closed her eyes and prayed for deliverance. 
Much later the woman slowed the blowing quinar to a more 
sedate pace. The quinar ’s muscles quivered, its sweat 
dampening Sianna’s bare legs. She read his simple emotions 
easily. If the woman asked, the beast would run until its heart 
burst, such was its love and devotion for this woman. That her 
captor inspired loyalty in the animal gave Sianna hope. 
Above, clouds gathered, obscuring the moons. A cold rain 
began, quickly soaking through her robe and nightdress. Only 
her inner thighs, pressed to the quinar’s coarse fur, and her 
back to the woman’s chest, remained warm. She shivered, her 
teeth biting convulsively at the gag in her mouth. 
Her captor seemed oblivious to the downpour and the cold. 
The intensity of the silence frightened Sianna more than the 
threats or the crystal blade. Pain, fear and exhaustion had her 
sagging against her captor, grateful for the meager warmth the 
woman’s body provided. 
Questions flickered through Sianna’s mind. Why had she 
been abducted? Where did they travel? What would be her 
fate when they arrived? 
Only her captor knew. Even if Sianna could pose the 
questions, she doubted the woman would give her answers. A 
shudder racked Sianna. She pushed uselessly at the gag clogging 
her mouth. Lulled by the sway of the quinar, she thought of the 
changes recently wrought in her life. 
For all her eighteen years, Sianna had lived with the gentle 
Sisters of Light, hidden away by a father who appeared to 

have forgotten her existence. Under their care she grew and 
learned their healing arts. Long ago, she gave up hope her father 
would call her home, that she would have a family beyond the 
sisterhood. She loved the sisters and her work but longed to 
see the outside world. Sometimes the constant peace and 
serenity wore on her. Though necessary for healing, the 
atmosphere often left her restless and unsatisfied. 
Then a tenday before, without warning her half-sister, Laila, 
arrived, saying their father wanted Sianna to return home. Laila 
stormed the peaceful enclave of the sisterhood as if conducting 
a war campaign. Her intrusion changed Sianna’s life. Before 
she could question or object, her meager belongings were packed, 
and she was on the road. 
Filled with hope and apprehension for the future, Sianna 
found comfort in Laila’s kindness. During the trip, she eased 
Sianna’s fears, protected her from the dangers of the trail and 
made her laugh. Hungry for a family of her own, Sianna quickly 
grew to love her brash warrior half-sister. Though Laila’s 
emotions were hidden from Sianna, she felt that Laila returned 
her affection. 
Home proved to be quite different from Sianna’s girlish 
daydreams. No loving arms enfolded her, no laughter, no 
warmth. Her father greeted her coolly, then avoided her 
company. When she tried to reach out to him, he shut himself 
behind mental walls she could not scale. She perceived a misery 
deep in his ka, but he rejected all her overtures. 
Once in their father’s castle, Laila shared her quarters with 
Sianna, but not her thoughts. She became distracted. Shortly 
after their arrival, Laila left, and their father retreated to his 
rooms. No one would say where Laila had gone. 
Sianna’s intuition screamed a warning, but she could find 
no solid cause for her feelings of imminent tragedy. 
Then that morning, her father emerged from seclusion. At 
dinner he announced her coming marriage. Though shocked 
and terrified, Sianna, trained in respect and obedience by the 
good sisters, held back her instinctive denial of her father’s 
edict. Only later did she seek peace on her bedroom terrace. 
She had fled one trap and stepped into another. 

When the quinar came to a halt, the jolt stirred Sianna from 
her dazed state. The rain had stopped and dawn struggled to 
break the night’s hold, casting a gray light over the clearing 
ahead where a campfire gave off an enticing glow. 
Dressed in dark, coarse clothing, their hair long and unkempt, 
six men approached. An air of determination and menace 
surrounded them. Their hard, merciless stares struck terror into 
her heart. Sianna couldn’t stop her shudder of fear. 
An impenetrable wall of hatred blocked her tentative 
probing—hatred directed at her. Bile clogged her throat. She 
choked, her body convulsing. 
The woman ripped away the gag. Dry heaves racked Sianna 
as she gulped air. 
One man stepped forward and grabbed the quinar’s bridle. 
“You are a fool, Katya!” Ire warred with concern in the man’s 
voice. “Were you followed?” He reached up. His large, battle-
scarred hands closed around Katya’s waist and lifted her down 
from the quinar. 
Katya stood toe-to-toe with the man. His massive body 
dwarfed her tall frame. “No, Graham, I was not followed. I 
doubt she has even yet been missed. DiSanti’s compound is in 
disarray, the watch lax, as if no one is in charge. The little fool 
walked in the garden without guards. Did they think we would 
not avenge Aubin?” Her voice broke on the last word. 
Graham’s gaze softened. “You are wet and cold. Come 
warm yourself by the fire. I will see to Deju.” 
To Sianna, the man’s strained, gravelly tones spoke of his 
regard for the woman. 
Katya nodded, either unaware or uncaring of the man’s 
love. She turned and grabbed Sianna, pulling her from the saddle. 
Cold and numb, Sianna’s legs buckled. Unable to catch 
herself with her bound arms, she landed face down. A twig 
tore her cheek. Warm blood oozed from the scratch. Tears 
sprang to her eyes. 
A booted foot prodded her side. She tried to curl into a ball, 
but her limbs no longer obeyed her mind’s command. 
“See to her as well. Kyne will want her alive.” Katya stalked 
toward the fire. 

The other men stood back, watching without sympathy. 
Sianna could feel their eyes on her. 
Inches from her face, the quinar’s large black hooves moved 
restlessly. She cringed as the big animal picked its way over 
her. A pair of boots appeared next to her nose, followed by a 
man’s knees. She turned her head and looked up. The man, 
Graham, leaned close. In his warm brown eyes she could read 
the struggle between loathing and pity. 
Grey liberally streaked the dark hair falling around a face 
weathered and lined with experience. Tall and broad shouldered, 
his musculature obvious despite the thick furs covering his frame, 
by any standard, Graham was a powerful man. His hands rested 
on his knees—hands that could easily break her neck, yet hands 
that she sensed could also be gentle. Compassion tempered 
this man’s great strength. His warmth of spirit called to her. 
Though barely old enough, Graham was the father Sianna 
always dreamed of, a haven of comfort and surety every child 
needs and craves. 
Tears of longing blurred his image. “Please,” she croaked. 
Warmth vanished from his expression. “Don’t think you 
can sway me with soft pleas. Did Aubin plead? I think not. If 
he had, would his cries have touched your heart? Do you even 
have one? No, do not beg for mercy when there is none in 
you.” 
“I don’t beg for mercy, only explanations. This Aubin you 
speak of is unknown to me.” Sianna forced the words past her 
dry throat. 
Graham’s eyes narrowed, turning cold and flat. “Lies will 
gain you nothing.” 
His words shattered Sianna’s hope. Still, his hands were 
gentle as he lifted and carried her to the fire. 
Heat from the crackling blaze stung her icy skin, forcing 
the blood to thaw and flow. The other men glared at her, and 
like a frigid rain their stares doused the warmth. 
She-hound! Whore! Demon spawn! The men’s unspoken 
river of scorn battered her. 
She fought against the current seeking to pull her into a pit 
of darkness. The riptide sucked at her, draining her strength, 

her will, eating away at her very soul. 
She searched deep within for the strength to cope with the 
harshness of the emotions her captors directed at her. Their 
loathing differed greatly from the gratitude and love she sensed 
from those she healed. How could she deal with their revulsion? 
In the beginning, surprise and disbelief that anyone could 
wish her harm paralyzed her. Now that her shock had worn 
off, she knew she must escape. If she didn’t act soon, it would 
be too late. 
*** 
“Kyne would nail my hide to the castle wall if you were 
injured.” Weary acceptance laced Graham’s grumbled 
complaints. “He set me to keep watch over you, and the minute 
I turn my back you run off and do something foolish. What do 
you think your fate would be in DiSanti’s hands?” 
Sianna heard no heat in his tone. She lay still, as yet too 
physically and emotionally drained to challenge her captors. 
Katya merely laughed without mirth. “You worry too much, 
old man.” 
Sianna felt Graham’s pang at the woman’s dismissive words. 
How could Katya not know of the man’s devotion? His love 
for this impetuous young woman rang in his voice and shone in 
his eyes. 
“Despite what Kyne may believe,” Katya continued, “he is 
not my father, only my brother. I have no need of a keeper. I 
can care for my own person.” 
“A keeper is just what you need. Kyne is your brother, but 
never forget he is also your Rul. As such he deserves your 
respect and obedience.” 
Katya’s shoulders dropped slightly at Graham’s chiding, 
then her chin lifted. “While he sits planning his vengeance against 
DiSanti, I have captured the means by which to obtain justice, 
DiSanti’s only daughter, the heir to his misbegotten empire.” 
How little they understood. Did her father truly love 
anyone? 
“What will he sacrifice to have her returned unharmed? 
His fortune? His life? DiSanti is as flawed crystal. We will 
shatter him.” Katya spat the words, her face twisted in anger. 

If they planned to use her as bait to trap her father, they 
had miscalculated. Other than as a pawn to be sacrificed for 
something better, she held little worth in her father’s eyes. Why 
else had he abandoned her with the Sisters so long ago? 
And if these angry men raped her, what little value she had 
would disappear. Without her innocence, she was worthless to 
her father as a political pawn. 
Sianna shivered despite the warmth of the sun now beating 
down. She stirred, then cringed as they turned their hard stares 
on her. 
Katya stood and approached. “So DiSanti’s spawn 
awakens.” She crouched down. “If in your black heart you 
believe in the Eternal One, I suggest you pray.” 
Sianna fought to block the woman’s venomous anger and 
control the shudders of fear shaking her frame. “I don’t 
understand. Why have you taken me?” She forced the words 
past the terror clogging her throat. 
“Do not play the innocent with me. You live only so long as 
you are of use to us. Cause any trouble, and I will take great 
delight in disposing of you. Your father need never know of 
your death until it is much too late for him to escape our trap. 
Once we have him, you will pay for your crimes as well.” 
Sianna pulled herself up and faced the woman with as much 
courage as she could muster. “What crimes?” 
Katya gave a low growl and swung her hand. Sianna 
flinched, but the blow never fell. 
“Enough.” Graham grabbed Katya’s arm and pulled her 
away. “The girl is no good to us if she dies of fright.” He paused, 
his gaze running over Sianna. “Or from exposure.” 
He released his grip on Katya and knelt next to Sianna. 
The first rays of the sun flashed off a knife blade. Sianna shrank 
back. The blade swept passed her face and sliced through the 
rope around her wrists. 
Feeling returned to her arms and hands like a thousand 
insect stings. She gritted her teeth to keep from moaning. A 
heavy fur coat, warm from the fire and the heat of the man’s 
body, dropped over her bent shoulders. Before she could speak 
her thanks, he placed a mug filled with a fragrant, steaming 

liquid in her hands. 
Features twisted into a disapproving scowl, Katya moved 
to snatch away the mug. Graham stopped her. 
“She is our prisoner. Would you abuse her in her 
helplessness, as they abused Aubin?” he questioned softly. 
Katya’s gaze locked with Sianna’s. Heartbreak flashed 
across Katya’s face. Sianna felt it like a blade in her heart. 
“Will you sink into the slime with DiSanti?” Graham 
continued. 
Wave after wave of agony held Sianna rigid. Only when 
Katya whirled and fled the clearing did the anguish in Sianna’s 
heart cease. She knew Katya was not so fortunate. She carried 
the soul-destroying grief within her. 
“For whom does she grieve?” Sianna dared to ask. 
Graham’s grizzled features tightened, erasing all hint of his 
gentle nature. “Cease your questions, woman. Do not try our 
patience with your false show of innocence.” He turned and 
stalked away. 
Just what did they believe her father had done? 
*** 
Sianna sat behind Graham, her arms around his waist as 
his quinar picked its way confidently along the narrow mountain 
path. To one side sheer rock walls rose toward a cerulean sky, 
to the other, the ground fell away sharply. Pebbles dislodged by 
the passing quinar rained down into the distant valley. Upward 
they climbed. Despite the heat of the sun, the air grew thin and 
cold. 
“Will you tell me where are we going?” Despite herself, 
Sianna’s voice quavered. 
“Don’t be so eager. You’ll know soon enough.” 
“But...” 
“Be silent, woman, or I’ll gag you. I’ve no desire to listen 
to more of your lies of ignorance and innocence.” 
Though he spoke gruffly, deep within him Sianna sensed 
the seed of beginning belief. She contented herself with that 
small break in his hatred. 
When the sun stood straight overhead, they paused at a 
wide place in the path and dismounted. Her limbs ached and 

trembled from clinging to Graham and from the jarring gait of 
the quinar. They ate dried meat and fruit, washed down by a 
sharp ale. 
Sianna gulped the cold liquid, grateful for its numbing effect. 
Sitting beside Graham, she dared to ask again, “Where are we 
going?” 
While Graham and Katya ignored her question, the other 
men’s antagonism intensified. Tension made the atmosphere 
thick. “Why do they hate me so?” 
“Murderers are not often loved,” Katya said. 
The thought of what these people might do to her tightened 
her throat so she couldn’t swallow. “You think I murdered 
someone?” 
Hostile silence met her question. Apprehension kept her 
from asking more. 
She was almost grateful when they mounted the beasts 
and moved on. 
The path widened even more, heading downward. Shadows 
lengthened and the air warmed. Where before she welcomed 
the protection, she now longed to shed Graham’s heavy coat. 
Fear of sliding from the quinar’s back kept her from releasing 
her grip on Graham, and the men’s gazes already lingered over 
long on her bare legs. Like a sullen black cloud, their lust joined 
with the lightning of their hate. She was the enemy, the focus 
of their anger. Would their normal moral restraints protect her? 
She feared they would not. 
Dark came early in the shadow of the mountains. They 
made camp in a wooded valley. Quietly the men moved around, 
tethering the tired quinar and building a fire to prepare a hot 
meal. The tinkling sound of water cascading over rock blended 
with the chorus of birds settling for the night and the rustle of 
dry leaves in the evening breeze. 
Once the sun dipped behind the mountain’s bulk, the air 
grew chilled. Sianna wrapped her arms around her waist, again 
grateful for the coat’s warmth. 
Silence pounded against her abraded nerves. She could 
almost hear the thoughts of the men, and her tender heart 
lamented the fury directed at her. She tried not to draw attention 

to herself. 
Graham’s quinar nickered and nuzzled her fingers when 
she fed it a piece of dried fruit she had saved from the midday 
meal. Though she knew the men watched her every movement, 
no one stopped her as she spoke to the quinar and stroked its 
rough coat. The animal responded to her touch with low rumbles 
of pleasure. She easily read the simple creature’s wants—a 
scratch in an unreachable spot, a rub, a handful of sweet grass. 
By giving him what he craved, she gained his trust and 
acceptance. 
Deju, Katya’s beast, laid his massive head on her shoulder. 
She staggered beneath its weight. He sighed in contentment as 
her fingers massaged behind one floppy ear. Moist and heavy 
with the smell of chewed grass, his breath bathed Sianna’s 
neck. 
Could she mount and ride away without being caught? The 
thought of escape tantalized her. Self-preservation urged her to 
flee, while her training prodded her to stay and help these deeply 
troubled people. But would they accept her aid? 
“Move away from the animals,” a man called Je’al ordered. 
Though tall, he appeared no older than Sianna. His gaze swept 
over her, then lingered on the swell of her breasts beneath her 
thin robe and nightdress. She clutched the coat closed. 
“You think you can escape your fate?” 
“I wasn’t trying to escape.” The lie tasted sour on her 
tongue. 
Before she could scurry back to the relative safety of the 
campfire, his fingers closed around her wrist. 
Like a burning brand, his touch revealed the torment 
churning within him. Hate, black and ugly, and a fevered hunger 
mingled until the two emotions demanded an outlet, lest they 
destroy him. 
Hope shrinking, Sianna knew he meant to vent his wrath 
on her. Caught up in his turmoil, it was a moment before she 
realized he pulled her deeper into the growing darkness rather 
than back toward the others. She opened her mouth to cry out. 
He clamped his hand over her face, smothering her scream. 
She fought his hold, her struggles no match for his strength. 

Soon she could no longer see the light from the fire or hear the 
murmur of voices. 
His hand lifted from her mouth. She gulped in air and struck 
out. He grunted. 
“Be still, she-hound.” His fingers dug into her shoulder, 
forcing her to the ground. 
“Let me go.” 
Pinned beneath his weight, she tried to retreat from his 
emotions. If she failed to separate from his passions, she feared 
she would experience her rape from his perspective. To do so 
would destroy her as surely as it would him. 
Twisted in disgust, his face hovered inches above hers. 
“The others may be content to let Rul Cathor decide your fate. 
Not I. Aubin....” His voice cracked on the name. “...Aubin 
was...he was....” He searched vainly for words to describe his 
attachment to Aubin. 
From the emotions of her captors since her abduction, 
Sianna had formed a picture of Aubin—a vibrant young man, 
full of laughter, loving and much loved. That these people should 
seek vengeance for his loss did not surprise her, but she could 
glean nothing of the how or why of Aubin’s death, only that 
somehow they held her and her father responsible. 
Sianna felt the battle waging within Je’al. She reached out 
to him, but feared she lacked the skill and strength to shatter 
the rage surrounding him, to reach his true self, the caring young 
man she sensed dwelling beneath his shell of anguish. 
Still, she tried. “I didn’t kill Aubin. I didn’t even know him. 
You don’t want to hurt me, Je’al. Please stop before you do 
something you’ll always regret.” 
“You lie!” He stripped away her coat. 
Her scream echoed loud in the night silence. His hand swung 
down and hit her cheek. A hot, white light burst behind her 
eyes, cutting short her cry. She went limp, unable to fight off 
the lethargy stealing over her. 
Had anyone heard her cry? Would anyone come to her 
aid? Or was this just the first of many such attacks? The 
thoughts floated randomly in her mind. Somehow they no longer 
seemed important. 

“You’ll not escape so easily. Open your eyes.” 
She blinked. A groan slipped through her lips. 
In the past she’d taken on the suffering of others, absorbing 
it as she helped them heal. The experience did not prepare her 
for the agony of her own pain. Dull aches throbbed a 
counterpoint to the sharp pangs shooting through her head. 
The night swam back into focus. Je’al knelt over her. She 
felt the prick of his knife pressed against her belly. The heat 
from his body, so close to hers, did not warm her. 
“I want you to feel as my blade slices into you.” 
She sucked in her breath. For a second the blade no longer 
touched her. She had mistaken his intent. He lusted for her 
blood rather than her person. “I had nothing to do with Aubin’s 
death. You must believe me.” 
Je’al laughed softly. “You can’t escape. Nor will you die 
quickly.” He lowered the knife until it pierced her skin. “Like 
Aubin, you’re young and healthy. With a belly wound, you’ll 
take days to die. At the end,” his voice broke, then firmed in 
anger, “Aubin begged and screamed for us to put him out of 
his misery.” 
Sianna knew Je’al spoke the truth. She’d once cared for a 
man with a punctured abdomen. Brought to her days after the 
injury, her skill proved too little to save him. She could only ease 
his torment until the end. 
“Will you beg then?” Je’al asked. 
Sianna tore her gaze from him. She could no longer endure 
his emotions. Like a hail of sharp stones, they battered her. 
Even the plunge of his knife could not cause her as much pain. 
She looked past him into the moonlit woods. 
And forgot to breathe. 
Silhouetted against the setting moons stood a Dark Angel. 
Legs spread wide, his black cloak billowing in the night breeze, 
he appeared a demon come to claim her ka, her soul. 
Sword in hand, he moved forward. The red blade caught 
and splintered the moonlight. 
With a gasp, she squeezed her eyes shut. 
“What...” Je’al started, his words cut short. Then his weight 
lifted from her. 

There was a muffled grunt and a thud. Je’al’s emotions 
went silent. Was he dead? No. Sianna sensed him, alive but 
unaware. 
Stunned, she lay still. No other presence touched her. Was 
the man truly a Dark Angel? She kept her eyes closed. To lose 
her ka would be a worse fate than any Je’al or the others 
planned for her. 
She strained to hear, to sense. Other than the whisper of 
air through the trees and the rasp of Je’al’s breathing, she heard 
nothing. She gathered her courage and lifted her eyelids. Here 
was her chance to escape. 
A few feet away Je’al lay sprawled on his back. As if 
asleep, his chest rose and fell evenly. He appeared little more 
than a boy, his manly features barely formed. She sensed his 
deep turmoil and suffering, but despite the Sister’s teachings 
she would have to work at forgiving him. 
Rising to her knees, she glanced around for the Dark Angel. 
Had she imagined him? No. Je’al’s limp form proved the Dark 
Angel had come. But where was he now? And what would he 
want in payment for his favor? 
Sianna remembered the Sisters’ tales of the Dark Angels. 
Lost souls, forbidden entry into eternity for their misdeeds in 
life, yet not evil enough to be condemned to oblivion, they 
wandered the land in search of salvation. They offered help to 
those in need, but to call upon them was to court danger. 
Dispensing justice with their red crystal swords, Dark Angels 
often did not distinguish between the guilty and the innocent. 
Perhaps in this instance, the Dark Angel had come and 
gone, without thought of payment. Once safely back with the 
good sisters, she would offer prayers for the Dark Angel’s ka. 
For now she would flee. 
Sianna rose. Though her legs trembled, she knew she could 
not delay. Soon Katya and the others would notice her absence. 
Her only hope was to put as much distance between them and 
herself as possible. She shivered. What chance did she have of 
finding her way back to the sisters? Alone. Lost in the dark. 
She had no choice. To stay meant death. 
Kala and her crystal twin, Dema, no longer lightened the 

night sky. A heavy blanket of darkness surrounded her. She 
grabbed Graham’s coat and wrapped it around her, grateful for 
its warmth. 
She turned and crashed into something solid. Smothering a 
startled scream, she looked up. 
Her eyes locked with those of the Dark Angel. Deep as 
the moonless night, his eyes speared her and held her motionless. 
Black hair fell loose around his face, just touching his shoulders. 
Though not fair skinned, his face appeared light compared to 
the night surrounding him. 
Many things could interfere with her ability to read people’s 
emotions correctly, but always she felt those emotions hiding 
within. Yet she sensed nothing from this man. Was he truly a 
Dark Angel? 
“Why did Je’al wish to kill you?” the Dark Angel asked. 
“He blames me for another’s death.” 
“Who are you, woman?” 
“Sianna Di....” 
“Je’al.” Graham’s booming voice drowned her whispered 
answer. 
With one hand the Dark Angel pushed Sianna behind him, 
the other gripped his sword. He stood waiting as Graham and 
Katya burst through the trees. They first saw Je’al lying on the 
ground, then Katya noticed the Dark Angel. 
“Kyne,” she cried and launched herself at the man. 

Two 
“Could so delicate a flower be capable of such evil?” 
Lying on the ground near the fire, a coarse blanket draped 
over her against the night chill, Sianna listened to the sound of 
Graham’s deep rumble. She made no noise. Perhaps by feigning 
sleep, she could learn what these people intended for her. 
“She’s as beautiful as a nika flower,” the Dark Angel 
answered, his tone low. Not a Dark Angel, she reminded herself, 
but worse, Kyne Cathor, these people’s Rul, and the man who 
would determine her fate. 
She peeked out from under her lashes to watch the two 
men seated near her. Though she easily read Graham’s emotions, 
she still received nothing from Rul Cathor. On the far side of 
the fire, other men curled into their bedrolls, while several guards 
walked along the edge of the camp. Of Je’al or Katya there 
was no sight. 
“And as dangerous, Rul Cathor?” Graham lifted one hairy 
brow. 
“Kyne to you, Graham. How many times must I remind 
you?” He laughed as if this were an old argument between 
them, one he despaired of winning. 
Graham’s answer confirmed her impression. “It is difficult 
to change the habits of a lifetime. You are your father’s son; 
therefore, to me you are Rul Cathor.” 
“My father is long dead, his lands and estates confiscated. 
To be Rul one must have a portion. Now I am simply Kyne 
Cathor.” 
Grief laced his words, but Sianna could not read his 
emotions. This confused her. The only people closed to her 
empathic abilities were those of her own blood. As part of her 

academic studies with the Sisters she’d traced the lineage of 
all the major families of Dramon. The Cathor line and the DiSanti 
line never merged. What connection could she have with this 
enemy of her father? 
“As you wish, Kyne.” 
For the moment. She knew Graham would continue to serve 
his Rul, even though Kyne refused to acknowledge his position. 
“How could you let Katya do such a foolish thing?” Kyne 
asked. “If DiSanti had captured her, her fate would have been 
worse than Aubin’s. In my absence I charged you with keeping 
her safe.” 
Graham’s amusement rolled over Sianna like a warm 
breeze. “If you are foolish enough to leave the woolie in charge 
of the wolve, you must accept the consequences. Like you, 
Katya does not listen to my counsel.” 
“You are no woolie, though I must admit, Katya is a sly and 
cunning wolve.” Humor lightened Kyne’s voice. “Still, I was 
gone for but a tenday. Could you not keep her under control for 
that short a time?” This too sounded like an old argument. 
Sianna doubted Katya listened to many people. She was 
too comfortable in Graham’s affection for her to take him 
seriously. 
“Only by locking her in the tower. Even then I fear she 
would have climbed out the window. She gave no warning of 
what she intended. I thought her resigned to the fact DiSanti 
was beyond our reach, at least for the time. After I found her 
gone, we followed at once. We had stopped to rest the quinar 
when Katya came upon us with the woman. She claimed she 
was not followed, but we left immediately. I have seen no 
evidence of pursuit.” 
“Good. I would not like to lead the enemy to our lair.” He 
paused, his features strained. “And I would not lose another 
that I love to DiSanti.” 
Graham turned to look at Sianna. She closed her eyes. “I 
can see why Aubin was tempted by this woman. She appears 
much younger than I thought, barely more than a girl. To look in 
her eyes, you’d swear her an innocent.” 
A glimmer of emotion reached her from Kyne. Before she 

could identify it, it was gone. 
“Do you think perhaps DiSanti duped her as well?” Graham 
asked. 
“No, by her own hand she condemns herself. I have no 
doubt she plotted Aubin’s death along with her father. When 
the time comes, she’ll be punished as well.” 
No! She bit her lip to keep from crying out in denial. They 
would not believe her. 
For a brief moment, she sensed Kyne’s emotional storm. It 
tore through her, leaving her hopes in shreds. Like a Dark Angel, 
Kyne would destroy her, no matter her guilt or innocence. 
“A shame to waste such beauty,” Graham said. 
“Appearance is a poor way to judge a person’s character. 
Because DiSanti was fair to look upon, he fooled my father 
into believing he was a good man.” 
“DiSanti tricked your father by his deceptions, not by his 
looks.” Anger made Graham’s voice hard. “Many others were 
taken in as well by his smooth words. He holds the old king’s 
favor. Without DiSanti’s approval, no one can gain an audience, 
so the king hears none of what goes on.” 
Sianna sensed a guilt Graham kept buried. 
“Even if the king heard, he would not hear. I’ve learned 
King Dracken eats nika.” 
“For how long?” Graham asked in horror. 
“For many years, maybe since DiSanti became First 
Minister. DiSanti controls nika and in turn controls the king. As 
long as DiSanti lives, our country will continue to sink into 
despair.” 
Sianna gasped softly, then froze. Neither Graham nor Kyne 
seemed to hear. 
Her father dealt in nika, the most dangerous of drugs? He 
made his fortune selling a life of addiction and degradation to 
people? Kyne’s words pierced her heart and shattered her 
childish dreams of home and family. 
She longed to deny their words. She longed to love her 
father. She longed for her father to love her. Because he was a 
close blood relative, Sianna couldn’t read her father’s emotions. 
In addition, he guarded his feelings well. Though he treated her 

coolly, she had never sensed evil inside him. But to deal in nika 
would take a monster. Was her father the monster these people 
claimed? 
On occasion Sianna had been called upon to minister to 
nika addicts. After ingesting a small amount of the drug, people 
became lifelong addicts. Without a daily dose, they suffered 
unspeakable agonies until death set them free. Nothing cured 
them or eased their torment. So powerful was the drug, even 
her skills could not touch the source of their pain. 
In the flickering firelight, Sianna watched Kyne’s face as 
he spoke. Unable to read his emotions, she studied him for 
physical clues, which were often as telling. His brow furrowed 
above dark eyes flashing with anger. High cheekbones, an 
aquiline nose and a square chin created a harsh yet compelling 
visage. No smiles had forged the deep lines bracketing his mouth 
or the fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. 
“What of the young prince? Does DiSanti feed him nika, 
as well?” Graham asked. 
“I pray not.” Kyne’s voice was strained. “If so, Dramon is 
doomed. DiSanti keeps Prince Timon in seclusion, citing his 
poor health. I heard talk of a marriage being arranged for the 
child.” 
“How is that possible? He’s but ten and four annum. Will 
the Council allow it?” 
“If the king wishes it, the Council will not object. And with 
DiSanti doling out the nika, the king will follow his suggestions. 
Perhaps that’s where this woman comes in.” 
Sianna felt Kyne’s gaze on her. She shivered as if touched 
by ice. He had discerned her father’s plans correctly. But what 
did he know of her? 
“If DiSanti were to marry his daughter to the king’s son, he 
would gain even more power in court. And if the king were to 
die...” 
“DiSanti would in effect rule the country by his daughter 
through the prince,” Graham finished Kyne’s thought. 
“It was but a rumor.” 
“Rumors are often rooted in fact, and this one sounds like 
DiSanti.” Graham stirred the dying embers of the fire and added 

another log. Flames shot up. Shadows did an eerie dance across 
the men’s faces. “Did you have any luck in gaining an audience 
with the King of Arete? Will he support us?” 
“No. His attention is focused elsewhere. My trip was 
wasted.” Failure sat like a physical presence on Kyne’s 
shoulders. 
“What now? Our forces gather in the mountains. We must 
move soon, before winter is upon us, or delay until Spring.” 
“Perhaps Katya has given us a way to force DiSanti from 
his stronghold.” Kyne looked over at Sianna. 
She closed her eyes against the loathing in his, relieved 
when he turned back to Graham. “We leave for the fortress at 
first light. I’ll make my decision there.” 
Graham rose from his place by the fire. “Yes, Rul. I’ll see 
to the quinar.” 
“Good eve to you, my friend.” 
Sianna could hear the hint of laughter in Kyne’s voice. 
Graham gave a wry smile and said, “And to you, friend.” 
After Graham left, Kyne sat motionless, his gaze resting 
on the fire’s glow. She searched his face for any trace of 
softness. Other than his obvious affection for Graham and his 
love of Katya, Kyne appeared hard and unyielding. Why could 
she read nothing of his emotions behind the expressionless mask 
of his face? Even with her father and Laila she sensed the 
existence of the emotions hidden from her. Her inability to pierce 
Kyne’s facade disturbed and frightened her. 
“You may cease your pretense of sleep.” 
His quiet accusation made her jump. Holding the blanket 
around her shoulders, she sat up. She could guess Kyne would 
respect courage and disdain begging. Not that she intended to 
beg. 
Lifting her chin, she faced him. “Why have you abducted 
me?” 
A look of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by 
disdain. “I did not abduct you. Katya did. But now that you are 
in our hands, you will serve our purpose well. Through you we 
will reach your father. He will pay for his crimes.” 
“By what right will you be his judge, jury and executioner?” 

“The right of blood—the blood of my parents and brother 
spilt by your father.” 
Sianna forced herself not to cringe in the face of Kyne’s 
fierce scowl. “Perhaps you overestimate my value to him.” 
His hard stare unnerved her. “I think not. What man 
wouldn’t value a daughter such as you—young, lovely, intelligent 
and marriageable.” The words rolled off his tongue like vile 
insults. “Are you your father’s key to the throne? By himself 
he can never truly rule Dramon. Does he think through your 
marriage to the young prince can he gain the power he craves?” 
Sianna couldn’t argue or refute Kyne’s logic, but neither 
would she confirm it. Her father had told her much the same 
when he informed her of her betrothal to Prince Timon. 
Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Who was Aubin?” 
She gasped as Kyne reached out and encircled her throat 
with his hand. His fingers felt hot against her chilled flesh. 
Emotions—Kyne’s emotions—flooded over her, a torrent of 
impressions she could make little sense of, so fast did they hit 
her. 
“Do not speak his name. I should kill you now and be done 
with it. DiSanti need never know we fish with dead bait.” 
Fear coiled in Sianna’s belly as his fingers tightened. Wave 
after wave of jumbled thoughts and feelings swamped her. Still 
she met his gaze steadily. “Kill me if you must, but before you 
do answer my question.” 
His grip eased. “How innocent you sound. If I didn’t have 
proof of your guilt, I might believe you knew nothing of your 
father’s plan.” He pulled his hand away and rubbed it absently. 
She placed her hand where his had been. As if tossed and 
tumbled in a pounding surf, she felt disorientated. Her pulse 
beat wildly. “What proof?” When he didn’t answer, she 
continued. “Believe what you will. I am innocent. I don’t know 
of any plans my father might have, beyond his desire to see me 
married to the prince.” 
“You lie convincingly, Laila...” 
Laila. The rest of Kyne’s words were lost to Sianna. They 
believed she was Laila. In shock, she remembered her sister’s 
strange distraction on the journey home, and her sudden 

disappearance. 
“But I’m not...” she started, then stopped as what Kyne 
was saying registered. 
“...even now you may carry Aubin’s child.” 
Understanding dawned. Laila and Aubin had been lovers. 
These people believed her sister had somehow conspired with 
their father to kill Aubin. Sianna’s heart rejected the possibility 
of her father being so wicked, and she knew Laila incapable of 
such an act. Sianna thought back to Laila’s impatience to return 
home. It hadn’t been the attitude of one contemplating murder, 
but that of a person eager to rejoin a loved one. 
She started to protest her innocence once again, to reveal 
her identity, to speak for her father. 
“Pray you hold Aubin’s seed within you. Only the possibility 
of his child growing in your belly keeps you alive—at least until 
its birth.” 
The venom in Katya’s voice from behind her made Sianna 
cringe. If she told them of their mistake, would they kill her 
merely for being her father’s daughter? Most likely. And what 
of Laila? Where was she? Did she indeed carry a child? In an 
instant, Sianna decided to continue the charade and hope for a 
chance to escape. 
She drew herself up and stared at Katya. “Then until you 
are certain of my pregnancy, perhaps you should take better 
care of me. Being wet, cold and jostled about can’t be good for 
the child I might carry.” 
At Sianna’s boldness, surprise registered on Katya’s face. 
A smile softened the stern set of Kyne’s lips. The skin 
around his eyes crinkled and transformed his harsh features. 
“She’s correct. We must have a care for her well being. Provide 
her with warm clothing, a dry place to sleep and feed her well.” 
Color stained Katya’s fair skin. “See to it yourself.” With 
an angry snort, she spun around and stalked away. 
Kyne gave a bark of laughter and turned back to Sianna. 
“So the lambie has teeth.” 
“And claws as well.” Sianna chose her next words carefully. 
“I’ll no longer sit quietly while you accuse my father and me of 
crimes and manhandle me. I’ve done nothing to deserve such 

treatment. My only sin is being my father’s daughter. I bear no 
guilt for Aubin’s death.” Nor, I pray, does my father. 
At the mention of Aubin’s name, amusement faded from 
Kyne’s face. Sianna paused, regretting the disappearance of 
the briefly viewed gentler Kyne. Humor no longer lit his dark 
eyes, but neither did anger tighten his lips. Weariness lay on 
him like a heavy yoke, bowing his broad shoulders. 
He rose and looked down at her. “Spare me your protests 
of innocence. You bear the taint of DiSanti’s blood. Even 
without guilt of your own, that is enough to condemn you in my 
people’s eyes. Soon enough your fate will be decided.” 
She took faint hope in that he refrained from speaking his 
own condemnation of her, but discerned nothing from his distant 
expression. 
“Sleep now. We leave at first light.” For a moment their 
eyes met, then he strode away into the darkness, leaving her 
alone with her thoughts and fears. 
All that remained of her brief contact with him was a 
kaleidoscope of emotions chasing through her mind. Other 
people’s emotions flowed into her as easily as air into her lungs. 
Why was it different with Kyne? Without her inner sight, she 
felt blind. To understand Kyne, she must touch him. The thought 
made her tremble, whether in dread or anticipation, she couldn’t 
tell. 
*** 
At the edge of the clearing, a sentry greeted him, but Kyne 
didn’t linger. Though he no longer claimed the title, he knew the 
people still considered him their Rul and, as such, he held the 
woman’s fate in his hands. He found the weight a difficult one. 
His thoughts centered on the slim young woman now curled 
by the fire. In exile for the past eight annum, Kyne remembered 
little of DiSanti’s only daughter. As a young man at court Kyne 
had paid scant attention to the child. But he had thought her 
older than Aubin’s eight and ten annum. This woman was barely 
more than a girl. Could he sentence a mere child to death? 
He remembered the soft curves of her young body. No, 
she was not quite a child. 
And if she carried Aubin’s babe? What then? 

Though he stared into the darkness, he could still see her 
dirt-smudged face, a blood-crusted scrape on one cheek marring 
her smooth, porcelain complexion. Delicate brows arched over 
eyes as blue as the towering peaks of Dramon’s Azul Mountains, 
while blue-black hair fell in a tangled mass to her waist. 
He scrubbed his palm against his thigh as if by doing so he 
could erase the feeling of her cool, silken skin from his memory. 
What had happened when he touched her? When his fingers 
closed around her throat, he had sensed her hidden fear and 
felt the pain of her scrapes and bruises as if they were his own. 
The sensation left him shaken. Though he was always conscious 
of the feelings of others, this went beyond anything he’d ever 
experienced. 
Despite his hatred of her and her father, the woman’s show 
of courage struck a chord within Kyne. She faced him without 
cowering, demanding answers, refusing to acknowledge her 
guilt. Her claims of innocence sounded sincere, and her eyes 
meet his in censure. Was she perhaps the unknowing dupe of 
her evil father? 
Kyne shook his head. Aubin, with his dying words, 
condemned DiSanti’s daughter. The parchment she wrote was 
solid evidence of her responsibility. In it she asked Aubin to 
meet her at the pub where he had been attacked and killed by 
DiSanti’s men. This proof of her treachery hardened Kyne to 
her pleas of innocence. He would do what he must to avenge 
his brother and bring about DiSanti’s fall. 
*** 
The next morning, Sianna stretched beneath the heavy fur 
rug. Despite Katya’s harsh words the night before, she had 
provided Sianna with warm, dry clothing and bedding, as well 
as a hearty meal. Though Kyne’s sister served all with a sullen 
attitude, Sianna didn’t argue. She needed her strength. Self-
preservation decreed she should run. She looked around the 
mountain camp. But where to? 
Above, the sky lightened, while a mist hung over the ground. 
She threw back the covering and shivered in the moist morning 
air. Around her the sounds of camp breaking filled nature’s 
silence. The murmur of sleep husky voices, the creak of saddle 

leather, the rumbling calls of the quinar being readied for the 
trip. 
Katya’s strident voice shattered the peace. “I’ll not take 
her with me. Deju is worn from hard riding these last few days.” 
“You can ride with one of the men and mount the woman 
alone on Deju,” came Kyne’s calm reply. 
“Are you mad? What if she tries to run? Deju is the fastest 
of quinar. How will we catch her? Besides who knows if she 
can ride. Mount her with Graham.” 
“Graham’s quinar carries more weight with Graham alone 
and can no longer bear the extra. The other men’s hatred of 
DiSanti makes them unreliable. Je’al’s actions prove that.” 
“Then let her walk. Or take her with you.” 
“Katya’s right,” Graham said. “Unless you wish to trade 
quinar with me, the woman must ride with you.” 
Sianna watched Kyne run his hand around the back of his 
neck as if attempting to ease the tension there. His gaze met 
Sianna’s, and his lips curled into a humorless smile. “Very well, 
she goes with me. Get ready. We leave within the half hour.” 
Graham walked away. 
“And Katya,” Kyne stopped his sister as she made to follow. 
“Hakan can take Deju any day.” 
“Only in your dreams, big brother, only in your dreams.” 
Katya’s laughter caused more than one head to turn in her 
direction. 
Sianna smiled in response to the lighthearted, carefree sound, 
the sound a young woman should make. 
“In your nightmares, little sister.” Kyne turned toward 
Sianna, and the humor died out of his eyes. “Come.” 
For a moment she hesitated, then followed. What choice 
did she have? 
After saddling his quinar, Kyne mounted and reached down. 
Grabbing her hand, he pulled Sianna up behind him. 
Thankful for the trousers Katya had provided, she sat stiffly 
atop the massive beast. Hakan’s broad back was not suited for 
the silken nightwear she’d been wearing. Too much of her legs 
were revealed. She shuddered, remembering the heated looks 
of lust and hate the other men had cast her. 

“Hold tight to me. I have no desire to pick you up off the 
ground,” Kyne said. 
Fearing a sudden onslaught of emotions, she cautiously 
wrapped her arms around his lean waist and sucked in her 
breath. She waited for a flood of emotion at the contact, but 
sensed nothing more than Kyne’s tension. What blocked her 
empathic talent with this man? Relieved, she settled against 
him, taking an odd sort of comfort from the feel of his solid 
strength against her chest. 
This man held her life in his hands, but she didn’t fear him. 
Instinct told her justice was strongly ingrained in him. Once he 
realized her innocence, he wouldn’t harm her or see her hurt. 
But what of Laila? Where had she disappeared to? Could 
Kyne and the others be made to see that she too was innocent 
of any crime? Until Sianna could guarantee her sister’s safety, 
she couldn’t reveal herself. 
They travelled through the morning, deep into the craggy 
mountain range. Even if the opportunity presented itself, she no 
longer knew which way to flee. She couldn’t prevent a small 
shudder at the thought of being lost and alone in this wilderness 
of rocks and trees. 
*** 
When he reached down for the woman, Kyne had braced 
himself, but unlike when he touched her before, this time he 
sensed nothing. Her fingers felt cool and fragile in his grip. 
The heat of her at his back distracted him from any other 
thoughts. Through his heavy cape he felt her every movement— 
the shift of her hips as she eased the strain of riding, the turn of 
her head, the press of her soft breasts, the brush of her slippered 
feet against his calves and the feel of her small hands on his 
waist. Her sweet, feminine scent drifted under his nose. His 
body reacted, tightening in spite of his mind’s objections. Disgust 
that he should desire this woman pooled on his tongue. 
She shivered. 
“Are you cold?” How could she be? Self-loathing made 
him hot despite the crisp mountain air. 
“No. But I am hungry. You did not allow me time for first 
meal. Is starvation to be the punishment for my alleged crimes?” 

As if in emphasis, her stomach rumbled. 
Kyne restrained his smile at her tart words. “Reach into 
my pack, and you’ll find a bag of dried fruit and a skin of watered 
wine. Calm yourself. Until you are judged, you’ll not be 
mistreated.” 
She squirmed behind him as she hunted through his pack. 
Her shoulder bumped his hip and her voice was muffled as she 
answered. “Is that supposed to reassure me? Already I’ve been 
abducted, dragged from the threshold of my bed chamber in 
my nightwear, carted through the rain, terrorized and bruised, 
accused of foul deeds and threatened with horrible retribution. 
But I’m not supposed to worry because I’m safe until you see 
fit to be my judge and pronounce sentence on me?” She 
straightened and spoke her last words directly into his ear. 
“Forgive me if I prefer to remain agitated.” 
The rush of warm air across his chilled skin felt like the 
slide of hot oil over ice. Now Kyne shivered. “You are rash to 
chide me so when I hold your life in my hands. Do you not fear 
angering me?” 
He felt her shrug. “Fear pales after a time. If you will kill 
me, do so. But please do not talk me to death.” 
Though she spoke boldly, Kyne felt the tremor of her fingers 
against his waist. He squashed the smile teasing his lips. 
“Perhaps you would do well to consider taking a softer tone. 
My judgement might not be so harsh if I found you 
more...biddable.” Kyne wondered from what part of him these 
words sprang. Why did he taunt her with the possibility of 
salvation? Hold out the hope that if she played the helpless 
female, he might temper his wrath? Whatever way this woman 
acted or did not act could not influence his decision. He opened 
his mouth to take back his dishonorable bargain. 
“Biddable?” She seemed to test the word, then laughed 
softly, her warm breath teasing the hair at his temple. “I usually 
am. But I often speak my mind. Though your warrior sister 
might have terrorized me to silence for a short while, I’m afraid 
your reprieve is at an end.” 
Didn’t she understand just what he demanded in return 
for his favor? This aspect of her personality puzzled him. How 

could a skilled wanton, a woman well-versed in the ways of 
luring young men to their doom, miss his obvious offer? 
Did she play the innocent to disarm him as she must have 
disarmed Aubin? If so, she’d met her match. Years ago, when 
he was just eight and ten, before DiSanti’s betrayal and his 
parents’ deaths, he had spent time at court. There he learned 
well not to believe the honeyed lies of beautiful women. 
“Don’t feign innocence with me. I’m not so easily led as 
Aubin.” 
“Is that so?” She sighed and he felt her body sag. “Tell me 
of Aubin.” 
“You still claim you didn’t know him? You lie too easily.” 
“I’ll not waste my breath, but humor me and tell me of your 
brother.” 
Perhaps by speaking of Aubin he could shake her claim of 
innocence. Or maybe he just needed to remember him out loud. 
Images of his younger brother floated before Kyne. “Aubin 
and Katya were twins. Though alike in appearance, their 
temperaments were as different as the moons. Katya is bold 
and reckless, doing before thinking. Aubin was always the 
cautious, thoughtful one, a dreamer, a poet, a gentle soul who 
saw the best in everyone. They were inseparable...until you.” 
His words died away. 
“What happened?” she prompted. 
“Like bees to a honey pot, women fluttered around Aubin. 
He loved them all, yet loved none of them. Men respected him. 
When I learned he saw you, DiSanti’s daughter, we argued and 
parted in anger. Next I saw him, Aubin lay dying.” Grief and 
guilt closed Kyne’s throat. 
Too well he remembered the harsh words he had thrown 
at his younger brother. Words like sharp stones, meant to wound, 
they’d found their mark—in Kyne’s own heart. If he had spoken 
with more restraint would Aubin have listened? Would he yet 
be alive? While DiSanti may have wielded the weapon, Kyne 
knew he himself had put Aubin in harm’s way. 
She laid her hand on his arm. “You blame yourself? Do 
not. You sought only to protect one you loved.” 
He jerked away, suspicious of and unwilling to accept the 

solace she offered. Why had he bared his soul to this woman? 
“Enough. The blame lies with you and your father. Speak no 
more.”” 
“As you wish. I grow weary of protesting my innocence.” 
Her small sigh made him regret his sharp reaction to her 
words. He would do well to be wary. Though small and delicate 
in appearance, she had a deceitful and dangerous nature. Almost 
without effort, she discerned his feelings of guilt. Still, he found 
himself wanting to lose himself in the sound of her voice and 
revel in the touch of her hand. 

Three
Since Kyne’s decree, Sianna remained quiet, but she knew 
her silence didn’t please him. Even without a direct sense of 
his emotions, his physical reactions as she shifted position behind 
him told her much. Though unaware of what fate she faced 
once they reached their destination, his solid strength comforted 
her. 
The rolling gait of the quinar combined with the physical 
and emotional stress of the last few days lulled Sianna to a 
drowsy state. Leaning into Kyne, she let her eyes drift shut, 
and her arms loosened around his waist. 
“Do not sleep. If you slip from Hakan’s back, you might 
just tumble off the mountain as well.” Kyne’s harsh tone 
shattered her lethargy. 
She blinked. The quinar picked his way along a narrow 
path, his right side nearly scraping the rock wall rising upward. 
To the left the path fell away into a deep, dark gorge. To fall 
here meant to die. Even if the fall didn’t end her life, she would 
lie broken and bleeding until death found her, for no one could 
be rescued from the gorge’s steep, jagged depths. She shuddered 
and tightened her grip. Kyne’s silent chuckle vibrated through 
her body. 
“See how she clings to life,” Katya’s voice mocked from 
behind. “Despite the wounds your father inflicted on him, Aubin 
clung to life as well. Throw her away, Kyne.” 
Sianna felt Kyne stiffen at the venom in Katya’s words. 
“Why did you not kill her yourself when you had the 
opportunity?” Kyne questioned softly. “Why did you bring her 
to me?” 
Ahead the path widened. Without answering, Katya spurred 

her quinar forward, pushing past Kyne and Sianna. Deju’s 
hooves churned the ground, throwing dirt and rock into the 
beckoning void. Quinar and rider raced away, but Katya’s 
tumultuous emotions lingered. 
“Who,” Sianna asked, “does Katya hate more, herself or 
me?” 
“You need not fear Katya. It is not her place to carry out 
judgement against you.” 
Sianna lifted her head. “I don’t fear Katya. Though she 
may hate me, she’ll not harm me. It is not in her to strike down 
any creature weaker than herself. Nor do I fear judgement, for 
I’ve done nothing to be judged guilty of, other than being born 
my father’s daughter.” 
“In my people’s eyes, that alone may be guilt enough.” 
“Is it enough in your eyes?” she countered. 
In answer, Kyne pulled Hakan to a halt and called out, 
“We’ll rest here.” 
Stopping at the edge of a mountain plateau, the group 
dismounted to stretch their legs and give their beasts a moment’s 
rest from the steep climb. The animals lowered their heads to 
the dry grass covering the flat piece of land nestled in the midst 
of towering peaks and deep crevices. Katya and Deju were 
nowhere to be seen. 
Sianna slid from Hakan’s back. Her legs wobbled a bit, but 
she quickly got them under control and stepped away. Behind 
her Kyne dismounted. He murmured to Hakan, who snuffled 
in reply. She walked around, easing the stiffness from her limbs, 
enjoying the weak warmth of the sun shining down on her head. 
When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Kyne in deep 
conversation with Graham. Both men appeared disturbed, and 
she could sense Graham’s determination. Easing closer, she 
peeked around Hakan’s bulk to listen. 
“You must keep her identity a secret from those in the 
stronghold. If anyone discovers she’s Laila DiSanti, she won’t 
live out the day,” Graham said. 
“And how do you propose I do that? Even if we can convince 
Katya to remain silent, what of Je’al and the others? A secret 
shared is no secret,” Kyne said. 

“Leave Katya to me.” 
Kyne merely lifted his eyebrows at Graham’s statement, 
but said nothing. 
“The others can be sent out on sentry patrol,” Graham 
continued. “By the time they return, the problem will be resolved.” 
Kyne raked a hand through his dark hair. “As usual, you 
are right, my friend, but how do we explain the woman’s 
presence?” 
The argument so obviously won, Graham smiled. “Already 
the castle walls bulge with those who seek your protection and 
those who wish to fight at your side against the tyrant. What’s 
one more refugee from DiSanti’s reign?” 
“True, but how will we keep her under guard if none know 
her identity? Unguarded, she could simply slip away.” 
“No one will question your right to have her in your quarters. 
In fact, there are plenty who will cheer your return to the land 
of the living from your self-imposed monkhood. And,” Graham 
grinned, “those who will curse the woman because they desire 
to be where she is.” 
Kyne’s expression changed from puzzlement to indignation. 
“I’ll not...” He whirled away from Graham’s mocking smile 
and met her gaze. Color stained his cheeks. Did he care what 
she might think of the arrangement? Apparently, yes. What did 
she think? Goose bumps blossomed over her body. 
“I’ll see to giving the men their instructions.” Graham turned 
and walked away, leaving her alone with Kyne. 
She stared at him, but kept her expression neutral. 
“I suggest you refrain from comment or protest. My temper 
is none too even at the moment. You have no choice in 
accommodation. If the castle boasted a dungeon, I’d as soon 
house you there, but my father’s ancestors didn’t believe in 
imprisoning their enemies beneath their feet. As Graham said, 
the castle is fair to bursting, and I’m not so foolish as to leave 
you unguarded.” 
“I never supposed you were. However, I had no intention 
of protesting.” At his side she would be safe and could learn 
more about him, but.... “Your plan is sound, though it does have 
its flaws. You will protect me from your people by posing as 

my...lover.” She hesitated on the word. He thought her 
dangerous. Let him wonder how much. Standing in front of 
him, she met his glare. “But who will protect me from you? 
And...” she cocked her head to one side and gave him a small 
smile, “who will protect you from me?” 
She knew it foolish to deliberately taunt him, but his shocked 
look made it worth the risk. 
*** 
Kyne kept remembering the provocative sway of the 
woman’s hips and her saucy words. Did she deliberately taunt 
him? Had she discerned his desire for her and now attempted 
to set spark to kindling? Which was she, innocent or wanton? 
Kyne had bitten his lip to keep from calling her back and 
demanding an answer. 
As they approached, the blue stone of Castle Vareck 
shimmered in the late afternoon sun, appearing whole and 
formidable in the distance. Closer in, the broken ramparts and 
crumbling walls became apparent. Though Kyne had repaired 
and rebuilt what he could of the ancient structure, he knew 
only the castle’s isolated and unknown location prevented 
DiSanti from attempting to capture it. 
Generations past, his ancestors had built the castle to block 
the one accessible pass through the mountain from a neighboring 
enemy. Then over a hundred years before a tremor shook the 
mountain and blocked that pass, rendering the fortress 
unnecessary as well as nearly unreachable. 
Now this crumbling edifice served as the last stronghold of 
a desperate people, a people pushed to the edge by an unyielding 
despot determined to squeeze the very life from them. More 
and more came, forced from their lands by unrelenting taxes. 
Faced with being coerced into service in DiSanti’s army, their 
families held hostage, many stole away in the night with nothing 
but the clothes on their backs. 
How many more could he feed and house? Graham was 
right, they must make their move before winter set in or face 
starvation when snow blocked the trails. 
Kyne felt the woman straighten behind him and catch her 
breath. 

“Beautiful,” she whispered in awe. “It glows like it’s made 
of blue crystal.” 
Built of the same blue stone as Vareck Castle, Kyne’s family 
home in the Shula Valley had been modeled after the stronghold. 
A place of peace, love and laughter for generations, now only 
rubble remained, along with broken dreams and ghosts who 
cried out for vengeance. 
Justice, my son. Not vengeance, his father’s voice echoed 
in his mind. Justice or vengeance, it mattered not. Kyne vowed 
to make DiSanti pay for his treachery. 
In the castle courtyard people crowded around them as 
Kyne dismounted. Old men, women and children, this ragtag 
army looked to him to topple the current regime and set them 
free. Would he lead them to freedom or to death? Despair 
threatened to overwhelm him. 
Graham pushed his way to Kyne’s side. “Rul Cathor has 
come a long way. Let him refresh himself and have last meal 
before you descend like locusts upon him. He’ll see to your 
needs later. Be gone.” 
“Father! Father!” A child’s high, piping voice broke through 
the babble as the crowd dispersed. 
Kyne turned, and a small body catapulted into his arms. 
The little girl showered his face and neck with moist, sticky 
kisses. Gloom faded. 
“I missed you so.” On the last word a series of hoarse 
coughs racked the child’s thin body. When they eased, she 
squeezed him tight and began to squirm in his embrace. 
Reluctantly, Kyne released her. Like a whirlwind, the five 
annum old Zoa rarely stayed in one place for more than a few 
moments. It was as if she knew her life would be short, and 
she wanted to experience everything before it ended. 
She wrapped her arms around Hakan’s leg. “I missed you 
too.” 
The big beast stood rock still as she pulled his head down 
and planted a kiss on his nose. She looked up and spotted the 
woman. “Who is she?” A hint of hostility crept into her voice. 
Kyne reached up and lifted the woman off Hakan. She 
stood silently at his side, her gaze on Zoa. “A friend.” The 

words stuck in his throat. 
Zoa put her fisted hands against her hips and glared at 
Kyne. “You don’t have lady friends. Etam said you’re a monk, 
and monks don’t have lady friends.” She stuck out her lower 
lip in an “I-told-you-so” way. 
Kyne smiled at the girl’s vehemence. Lately the ten annum 
old boy, Etam, had become Zoa’s hero. She followed the brash 
boy around, imitating his walk, his talk and spouting his words 
as gospel, much to Etam’s chagrin and often to Kyne’s 
embarrassment when she repeated something inappropriate. 
Her belligerent stance dissolved as another coughing spell 
took her. When it ended she turned her frown on the woman. 
“What’s your name?” 
The woman knelt in front of Zoa. “Sianna.” 
“Sianna?” Kyne asked. “Daughter of Light? Hardly an 
appropriate name for...” He caught himself. Laila. Sianna. 
Whatever her name, she was DiSanti’s daughter. “It matters 
not what you call yourself. It doesn’t change who you are.” 
Sianna refused to raise her gaze to him. “It’s what my 
friends call me. What do your friends call you?” she asked the 
little girl. 
Confusion replaced Zoa’s glare. Her eyes searched Sianna’s 
face for what seemed a long time, then she smiled. “Zoa.” 
“That’s a lovely name.” Sianna held out her hand. “May I 
call you Zoa?” 
Shyly Zoa put her small, grubby fingers inside Sianna’s 
slender ones. “I s’pose.” Her voice was a low wheeze. 
Kyne heard the congestion in Zoa’s small lungs, her difficulty 
in breathing, her constant struggle to pull in enough air. 
“Thank you, Zoa.” 
“Do you want to see my kitties?” Zoa asked. 
Amazement washed over Kyne. Only a select few were 
allowed to see Zoa’s menagerie. She never warmed to 
strangers. Too much pain and deceit in her young life had killed 
in her the easy trust most children had. 
Before Sianna could answer, Kyne said, “Not now, poppet. 
Where’s Grenna?” He searched the thinning crowd for sight 
of Zoa’s plump nanny. Not seeing the motherly Grenna 

anywhere, he swept Zoa into his arms and handed her to 
Graham. “Return this little minx to her jailer to be fed, bathed 
and put to bed.” 
“My pleasure, Rul Cathor,” Graham said. “Being a lady’s 
maid has always been my greatest ambition.” 
Zoa giggled and clung to Graham’s broad chest. She 
appeared heartbreakingly tiny and fragile in the man’s grip. 
Swinging the girl onto his shoulders, Graham strode away. His 
low, teasing tones and Zoa’s laughter left Kyne with a strange 
ache of jealousy. With him, Zoa seldom laughed. 
“She loves you with every fiber of her small being.” 
Startled, Kyne looked down at the woman still kneeling at 
his feet. “I know.” 
With an unconscious grace, she rose and stood before him, 
her head barely reaching his shoulder. “Where is Zoa’s mother, 
your wife? Why doesn’t she greet you?” 
Kyne’s step faltered, then he moved on. “I have no life-
mate. Zoa’s mother is dead. As is her father and her family.” 
Sianna hurried after him. “But she called you father?” 
“Many children here call me father.” But only Zoa claimed 
a large piece of his heart. 
“I see.” 
“Do you? I think not.” Though he tried to deny the title, 
as Rul Cathor he was father to all his people. They looked to 
him for strength. 
“The child is sick?” Sianna asked. 
“The child is dying. When her father was conscripted into 
DiSanti’s army, Zoa and her mother were forced to work the 
nika fields to survive. Her mother died last planting season, and 
her father was killed trying to desert.” 
“No.” 
Kyne heard the shock and sorrow in Sianna’s words. 
“Has she been to a healer?” 
“Yes. There is nothing to be done. Zoa’s lungs are damaged 
beyond repair. The thin mountain air is destroying her ability to 
breathe. Our healer tells me Zoa will not live through the winter.” 
The words came out of him cold and stiff, like Zoa’s small body 
would soon be. 

Sianna’s fingers dug into his arm. “Surely you’ve sought 
another healer? Let me care for her. I studied the healing arts.” 
“I wouldn’t trust you to care for my quinar.” Wielding his 
words like a sword, he cut off her offer of assistance, but her 
stricken look turned the blade back on himself. 
She persisted. “What of the valetudinarian of the Sisters of 
Light?” 
He shook off her hand and turned to face her. “What of 
them? The hospital is in an area controlled by your father’s 
forces.” 
“The Sisters care for all regardless of religion, politics or 
wealth.” 
“Perhaps, but to get to the Sisters, one must travel through 
Dramon, and to do that, permits are needed. Permits only your 
father and his minions can grant. I find it unlikely he would give 
me or one of mine free passage.” 
“My father wouldn’t stop you from seeking help for a sick 
child.” The quaver in her voice turned the statement to a 
question. 
Her expressive blue eyes begged him to deny her father’s 
evil, and for a brief second Kyne found himself wanting to do 
so. She played the part of the innocent too well. She almost 
shook his belief in her guilt—almost. 
“We’re both aware of exactly who your father is and what 
he’s capable of.” He pushed her through the castle door into 
the great hall. 
*** 
Overwhelmed by the din, Sianna cringed into Kyne. People 
crowded the great hall, each hurrying about his own task. Voices 
echoed off the rough stone walls and swirled upward. Unlike 
the calm order of the valetudinarian or even the strict protocol 
of her father’s castle, here chaos ruled. Taking a deep breath, 
she struggled to block the emotions slamming into her from all 
sides. 
A myriad of odors assaulted her—smoke, unwashed bodies, 
hound, rancid food, and charred meat. Her nose wrinkled in 
disgust. How could people live like this? Kyne’s hand at her 
back urged her forward. 

Many in the hall had some manner of injury or illness. 
Others, though appearing healthy, carried grievous wounds on 
their spirits. Kyne’s arrival stirred a flicker of hope in the grief 
and despair hanging in the air. The people watched as he made 
his way past them with her in tow. 
By the Light, these people needed her as much as they did 
Kyne. 
Slowly the scene came into focus, details shifting into view. 
To the left, a fire blazed in a hearth high enough for a man 
to stand upright within and large enough for two men, arms 
outstretched to stand side by side. Ages worth of smoke and 
grease blackened the walls around the hearthstone. Above the 
fire, the carcass of an animal turned on a spit. A young boy 
guarded the meat from a hungry-eyed group of gaunt, shaggy-
haired wolve hounds. When one hound, bolder than the others, 
lunged for the meat, the boy whacked the animal on the snout. 
The hound bared its teeth, then slunk away. 
Another hound scrounged through the musty rushes covering 
the floor. A sharp squeak rewarded his effort. Gripping his furry 
prize, the hound growled at the others when they tried to share 
in his meager meal. 
“Each day there are more of them,” Kyne said. “I’m gone 
but a tenday and their numbers double.” 
Though he spoke aloud, Sianna knew he didn’t speak to 
her. The weariness in his voice tugged at her heart, making her 
long to give him ease. Why, when she could not sense his 
emotions, did she feel such a connection with this man? 
They made their way across the hall, up the stairs and 
down a shadowy hallway. Only one crystal lamp lit the dim 
corridor. Kyne stopped in front of a closed door. Pushing it 
open he stepped inside and pulled her along. 
Large, yet sparsely appointed, the room reflected his 
personality—deceptively simple in appearance. Comfort came 
in the form of a double box bed with its well-stuffed mattress 
and clean linens. A suspicious, child-sized lump in the bedding 
caught her eye. Smiling, she moved away. 
A table surrounded by six straight-backed chairs indicated 
Kyne used this room for more than sleeping. Neat stacks of 

papers and an open map lay on the table. On either side of the 
room’s fireplace, bookshelves covered the stone walls. 
She stepped closer and let her fingers trail over the leather-
bound books that filled the shelves. Had he read all these 
volumes? Would he allow her to read them? 
“You will not leave this room without my permission. Do 
not speak to anyone, nor attempt to escape. As you’ve already 
seen, the terrain around the castle is rugged, and the sentries 
will not hesitate to kill any who doesn’t belong. Meals will be 
brought to you.” He crossed the room to the window and threw 
back the heavy drapes. 
Outside, the mountains rose behind the castle, the blue-
grey rocks changing the setting sun’s golden hues to cool blue. 
“I have no intention of leaving. There is much need for me 
here. But I’ll not remain in this room.” 
“What?” 
She ignored his shocked question and wandered around 
the bed chamber, using the time to gather her strength. 
Challenging this man would not be easy, but she could not 
disregard the need she sensed in these people. 
Taking a deep breath to calm the quiver in her stomach, 
she turned to face him. “I am a trained healer. You have many 
sick and injured. I will assist your healer.” 
Kyne gave a humorless laugh. “Even if I believed you are 
a healer, I would not trust my people to the mercy of DiSanti’s 
daughter. They’ve suffered enough at his hands. Do not forget 
you are my prisoner. This room shall be your cell.” 
“How will you keep me in it? Will you watch me every 
moment? Then what of your many duties? Perhaps you will 
take me along?” 
His scowl deepened, and he stepped toward her. 
Standing her ground and keeping her tone light and cool in 
the face of his growing irritation took all of her strength. “No, I 
suppose you would not think it wise for me to hear your plans. 
Then what will you do? Lock me in? I think not. Your people 
would soon become suspicious and realize I was not what you 
claim.” 
“You flirt with danger, woman. If the people below discover 

your identity, they will tear you limb from limb. I doubt even I 
could keep you safe from their wrath.” 
Fists clenched at his side, he towered above her. Though 
she could not read his emotions, his body told the tale clearly. If 
he touched her now, his feelings of fury and frustration would 
swamp her. 
He stalked her across the small space and stopped when 
they were a breath apart. “You will do as I say.” 
She backed away until the bed blocked her retreat. “No.” 
Ducking past him, she scurried around the table and faced him. 
“But I will give you my word of honor I will not try to escape. 
Nor will I cause harm to any here.” 
“Honor?” He snorted. “What would DiSanti’s daughter 
know of honor? Like the nika plant, the flower is just as deadly 
as the root.” 
“Perhaps, but the nika root is a powerful anesthetic as well 
as a deadly poison. Roasted and blended with other herbs, the 
flower makes a drawing poultice. Only when eaten raw does 
the flower enslave its victims. Do not be quick to condemn 
something because of its misuse by another. In the right hands, 
the nika plant can do good rather than evil. I am not my father. 
Trust your instincts.” 
She held her breath while he deliberated. 
After a moment, his body lost its rigid stance as he admitted 
defeat on this point. “You are right. I cannot keep you under 
lock and key without raising suspicions, nor can I keep you 
always at my side. But...” 
His sudden smile made Sianna nervous. 
“...perhaps I have the next best thing. A guard.” 
“Guard?” 
Kyne gave a soft whistle. From a dark corner next to the 
chamber’s fireplace a shape rose and lumbered forward into 
the light. A sense of approaching menace slid over Sianna as 
the beast came into view, its claws clicking against the stone 
floor. 
Though no taller than the wolve hounds below, this creature 
possessed twice their bulk and muscle. Yawning, it revealed a 
muzzle filled with long, yellowed teeth. Its mouth shut with a 

snap. Deep-set, intelligent eyes watched her with interest. 
“Warda, guard her,” Kyne told the beast. “From now on 
Warda will be your constant companion. Attempt to leave the 
castle grounds, and he will restrain you. And beware. Unlike 
me, his bite is much worse than his bark.” 
After Kyne left the chamber, Warda stared longingly at the 
door, then turned his attention to Sianna. She felt his curiosity 
and caution. 
Kyne had chosen his guard well. Warda would not question 
Kyne’s order, nor speak of it to others. 
Still, exhilaration rushed through her. She’d won the freedom 
to move around the castle and grounds. 
Triumph was short lived. A tired sigh slipped through her 
lips as she sat down at the table. The task ahead loomed large 
and daunting. Healing took an immense toll on a healer, both 
mental and physical. Did she have the strength and courage to 
help these people? 
Warda’s head in her lap shook Sianna from doubt and 
inadequacy. His dark, liquid eyes seemed to say, “You will do 
what you must, no matter the cost.” 

FOUR
Cool, damp air swirled around Kyne as the door to his 
chamber clicked shut behind him. One lamp cast deep shadows 
in the empty hall. Below he could hear the muffled sounds of 
people settling for the night and smell the lingering aroma of 
last meal. Weariness dragged at him, but he needed to see to 
the welfare of his people. During his and Graham’s absence, 
confusion had fallen over the castle. Security and order had to 
be restored before he could seek his bed. Once there, he 
expected to find little rest. The image of DiSanti’s daughter in 
his room banished all hope of sleep. 
Someone lurked in the shadows. How he knew, Kyne 
couldn’t say, but many times he’d sensed the presence of another 
without physical evidence. More than once in battle his ability 
had saved his life. Though he gave no outward sign, Kyne tensed, 
waiting for the person to identify himself and offer a reason for 
his presence. No one stepped forward into the light. Who hid in 
the shadows outside his chamber? His fingers closed around 
the handle of his knife, and he slipped silently out from under 
the lamp’s glow. 
He paused. Guided by instinct, he whirled around and 
pounced on the intruder, pinning him against the wall, a knife at 
his throat. The person grunted at the impact of Kyne’s body, 
but offered no resistance. 
“Je’al?” Kyne loosened his grip, but kept his knife poised 
at the younger man’s throat. “What are you doing here? Did 
you plan to finish what you started?” Stepping back, Kyne pulled 
Je’al into the light. “The woman is a valuable pawn. I 
overlooked your first attempt on her life, but I cannot allow you 
to succeed, nor can I allow you to disregard direct orders. Speak 

up, man, what are you about?” 
“You’re right, Rul. I foolishly let my emotions guide my 
actions with the woman. As much as I wish her dead, I realize 
now she is more valuable to us alive.” 
“Then why are you skulking outside my chamber?” 
“I want to volunteer.” 
“Volunteer for what?” 
“Someone will have to deliver your message about his 
daughter to DiSanti. I want to be that someone.” 
Kyne sheathed his knife and studied the young man. At ten 
and seven annum, Je’al had a man’s build, but despite the trauma 
of his young life, he was yet a boy. “It is too dangerous. DiSanti 
is apt to kill any messenger I send.” 
“Let me do this. Aubin was my friend. He saved me from 
death at the hands of DiSanti’s men and from despair when my 
family fell. I could not protect Aubin, but I can do my part to 
see justice done. Who else would you send? Graham or one of 
the older men? They are needed to train the others. Which of 
your men is expendable?” 
Je’al was right. Someone needed to convey the message 
to DiSanti, and whoever did so faced the possibility of death. 
“Very well. Tomorrow I will draft my letter to DiSanti, and you 
will carry it. In the meantime have last meal, a bath and rest. 
Speak to no one of the woman. If any were to learn of her 
identity, your trip will be for naught. A sardak is not lured from 
his lair by dead bait.” 
“Thank you, Rul. You’ll not regret your decision.” Je’al 
hurried away as if afraid, should he linger, Kyne might change 
his mind. 
Kyne watched the young man leave. The fact that he found 
himself more concerned with the woman’s safety than he did 
with Je’al’s bothered him. Other than a means to destroy 
DiSanti, she meant nothing to him. He would do well to 
remember that her fragile appearance and gentle ways hid a 
soul as black as her father’s. Her denial of guilt, her claim of 
being a healer and wishing to help his people, were nothing but 
clever lies designed to deceive him. He couldn’t let his unwanted 
lust for the woman sway his decisions. 

“Why do you haunt the hall?” Graham’s voice came out of 
the darkness. 
Lost in his thoughts of the woman, Kyne had let Graham 
approach without detection. She was dangerous in more ways 
than the obvious. “Je’al was here.” 
“Where is he now? Is she unharmed?” 
Even Graham thought first of their captive’s safety. 
“He volunteered to carry my message to DiSanti.” 
“But that will be suicide.” 
“Perhaps not if we word the message correctly. Come, 
we’ll use your chamber to draft my letter. Je’al leaves at first 
light.” 
“Have you decided how best to use the woman against her 
father?” 
“I believe I have.” 
*** 
Sianna stroked Warda’s shaggy head and looked over at 
the bed. “You can come out now, Zoa.” Warda padded back to 
his spot near the hearth and settled down. How much of what 
she’d heard would the child understand? Sianna probed, but 
sensed no hostility. 
The bed covers rustled, and Zoa’s tousled head popped up. 
She yawned as if just awakening. “How did you know I was 
here?” 
“It’s a little trick I have. I can always tell when someone is 
near.” 
“How?” The little girl scrambled off the bed and trotted 
over to Sianna’s side. She panted at the effort. 
“Well, you know how you can smell if a person has bathed 
or not, or if they’re wearing scent?” 
Edging nearer, Zoa nodded, her gaze rapt with interest. 
“People also give off emotions, and I have a nose for it,” 
Sianna continued. 
Zoa leaned close and put her hand out to Sianna. “What do 
I smell like?” 
“Let’s see.” Sianna took Zoa’s hand and sniffed it. “Hmmm. 
I can’t quite tell.” 
“Maybe I need to be closer.” With that the girl climbed into 

Sianna’s lap. “Can you tell now?” 
The feel of the little girl’s warm, slight weight filled Sianna 
with a strange longing as well as a feeling of contentment. 
Enfolding Zoa in her embrace, Sianna nestled her nose into 
Zoa’s silky hair and breathed deeply. “You smell of sunshine 
and laughter. Good smells for the nose and the heart.” 
Zoa wrinkled her nose and giggled. “You smell like quinar. 
Can I learn to smell people’s emotions, too?” 
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried to teach anyone to do it.” 
“Father says I learn quick. I can do sums better than Etam, 
but,” she added with a flash of honesty, “he reads better than 
me. I’ll work real hard.” 
Sianna wasn’t sure if her talent could be taught, but time 
spent with the little girl wouldn’t be wasted. Like a fetid mist, 
the scent of illness hung over Zoa. If allowed, Sianna knew she 
could help Zoa’s lungs become whole again. 
Zoa snuggled close. “I’m glad you’re here. Etam says 
Father gets lonely because he sleeps alone. I get scared when 
I sleep alone. Father is so brave, I don’t think he gets scared.” 
“Everyone is afraid at times.” 
“Do you get scared?” 
“Often.” 
Soft fingers patted Sianna’s arm. “You’re safe now. Father 
will protect you.” Zoa spoke with the confidence of childhood. 
“He’s going to save everyone from the evil monster man and 
his ugly daughter.” 
Zoa’s words flayed Sianna’s heart. If the child understood 
the truth, she would hate Sianna. As would the other people 
below. The thought of that much hatred aimed at her made 
Sianna shudder. Their thoughts alone would destroy her. The 
enormity of the task she set herself loomed before her. 
A coughing spell ended Zoa’s declarations. Breath wheezed 
through the girl’s blue lips as she struggled for air. Instinctively, 
Sianna reached for her. 
To attempt a healing now was beyond foolish. Fatigue and 
hunger already sapped Sianna’s strength. A healing would leave 
her weaker still, but she didn’t fight her urge to assist. Splaying 
her fingers across Zoa’s back, Sianna shut her eyes. Warmth 

radiated from her hand as she concentrated on seeing Zoa’s 
illness. Colors swirled behind her eyelids, then a thick grey sludge 
crept across her vision, obscuring the pleasant kaleidoscope. 
A prickly sensation shot up Sianna’s arm and lanced through 
her chest. She gasped. Time ceased to have meaning as she 
absorbed into herself the disease destroying Zoa’s tiny lungs. 
Finally, Zoa’s spasms passed, and she leaned limply against 
Sianna’s chest. Though not yet completely healed, already Zoa 
breathed easier. A flush of healthy pink replaced the blue tinge 
around her eyes and mouth. 
The little girl stirred and blinked in confusion. “I have to go 
now. Grenna gets mad if I’m late for bed.” Zoa slipped off 
Sianna’s lap and made her way to the door. “Can I visit you 
again?” she asked shyly. 
Too breathless to speak, Sianna smiled and nodded. Seconds 
later the girl was gone, leaving Sianna alone again with Warda. 
As if he understood, Warda moved back to her side, his yellow 
eyes watching her with concern. 
Never before had a healing taken so much of her, left her 
so drained. Then never had she attempted to heal with so little 
in reserve. These last few days of fear and hardship had taken 
their toll, leaving her unfit to use her skills. The Sisters had 
often cautioned her to practice restraint in the use of her talent, 
to give a little at a time rather than all at once, to build her 
strength before attempting to heal, but when she touched Zoa, 
prudence had fled in front of need. 
Bit by bit, the tight band around her chest loosened, her 
breathing eased as she struggled to regain equilibrium. She had 
given too much, too fast to recover quickly, but she couldn’t 
regret the healing she gave the child. Zoa would live, and given 
time, Sianna would regain her strength. 
How much time did she have? 
Heavy with fatigue, Sianna’s eyelids drooped and her head 
nodded forward. 
Warda whined and nudged her hand. The feel of his cold, 
wet nose roused her to stagger the few steps along with him to 
his place by the hearth and curl up on his rug. When he curved 
his shaggy body behind her, she sighed softly, but sleep evaded 

her long into the night as she coped with the aches and pains of 
an ill-planned healing and worry for her future. 
*** 
Last meal was long over before Kyne left Graham and 
made his way toward his room. Even the crowded main hall 
was quiet. Only the occasional murmur of a mother to a restless 
child broke the silence. The fire burnt low, casting flickering 
shadows over the people sleeping nearby, while the rest of the 
hall lay in darkness. 
The greasy, undercooked meat and soggy, overcooked 
vegetables arranged on the tray he carried looked less than 
appetizing and tasted worse. But it was all he could find in the 
chaos that reigned in the castle’s kitchen. Waste ran rampant. 
Something needed to be done, or they would deplete what stores 
they had long before winter set in. 
Tomorrow he would consider this problem along with the 
others facing him. For now, he wanted to return to the meager 
comfort of his chamber and find what rest he could. At the 
door he paused. Rest? As long as she remained, he would find 
little rest within. Did she even now sleep in his bed? The thought 
of her slim body lying where he had lain made him shift in 
sudden discomfort. 
Anger surged through him. He refused to allow her presence 
to disturb him—in any way. Uncaring of the lateness of the 
hour, he shoved open the door and stomped into the room. His 
gaze flew toward the bed. The empty bed. The empty room. 
She was gone. 
He slammed the tray on the table and started to turn back 
toward the door. The little fool! Alone on the mountain she 
didn’t stand a chance of survival. If the elements didn’t claim 
her, a wild animal or some renegade would. Despite the risk, 
when he found her he’d put her under lock and key, if only for 
her own safety. 
Warda’s low whine made him pause, and he saw her nestled 
against the beast. 
Relief replaced rage. Kyne refused to examine the fear he 
had felt when he thought her in danger. 
“Stay, Warda.” He knelt next to the hound and looked at 

the sleeping woman. Still wearing Graham’s coat, knees to her 
chest, she huddled there. How innocent she appeared. 
Over the odor of quinar and wood smoke coming from her 
clothing, Kyne caught a lighter scent, reminiscent of a field of 
wild flowers after a summer shower. Fresh and clean, the smell 
tugged at him, luring him closer. 
Moonlight streamed into the chamber, bathing her pale flesh 
in a blue-white glow. Dark shadows circled her closed eyes. 
Like a veil of tangled black silk, her hair lay around her shoulders 
and down her back. 
The heavy mass tempted him. Would it feel as soft as it 
looked? 
“Moon’s mercy,” he cursed and jerked backward at the 
thought. 
She moaned softly in her sleep, her body twitching. Of 
what did she dream? Of power and riches like her father? Or 
of fear and pain? Which did he wish for her? 
“Cold,” she murmured, burrowing deeper into Graham’s 
coat. 
No fire burned in the chamber’s hearth. Since his departure, 
a tenday and four ago, management of the castle had fallen 
into further disorder. Exhaustion and frustration dragged at 
Kyne. Another problem he must address on the morrow. 
Through an open window, damp, chilled air swirled across 
his skin. He rose and closed the window. A few minutes after 
he started a fire, warmth began to fill the room. 
Warda stretched and rose, driven from his spot near the 
hearth by the heat. His thick, heavy coat was made to withstand 
the harsh mountain elements not the comfort of fireside. When 
he padded away, the woman curled even tighter in on herself. 
The blaze didn’t seem to warm her. 
Kyne hesitated. Should he leave her? Even near the fire, 
the stone floor was cold and hard. Could he sleep knowing she 
lay shivering? As little as he wanted her in his bed, he couldn’t 
allow her to take sick. The decision made, he bent and picked 
her up. Surprise and guilty pleasure speared him when she 
nestled close and gave a sigh, her breath feathering against his 
throat like a warm summer breeze. 

Laying her on the far side of the bed, he took off Graham’s 
coat and her slippers, then he readied himself for sleep, removing 
his outer clothing and boots. When he turned to climb into the 
bed, he found her curled in the middle. He pushed her over and 
settled himself as far from her as the bed allowed. She wiggled 
next to him. Weary of the battle to keep his distance, he let her 
be. 
Sleep evaded him. Unquenched desire for this woman 
would be his penance for failing to protect Aubin. 
*** 
A cacophony of sound woke Sianna. The ring of swords. 
Voices raised in argument. A clatter of feet and hooves on 
stone. She blinked the sleep from her eyes. Sunshine poured in 
through the window, filling the chamber with a cheerful glow. 
An omen of things to come? 
She sat up. Her limbs protested the sudden movement, and 
she groaned. Sleep restored only a bit of her strength. Last 
eve’s exertion combined with long days of unaccustomed activity 
left her bruised and sore. The soft mattress beneath her cradled 
her aching limbs. She smiled in contentment. While she slept, 
Kyne had moved her from the cold hard floor. 
The urge to curl back under the covers fought with her 
wish to start the day and make a place for herself here among 
Kyne’s people. Judging by what she had seen on her arrival, 
there was much for her to do. She could not lie abed waiting 
for her body to catch up with her mind. 
Later she’d hunt up a bath and clean clothing. For now, she 
settled for a quick wash from the basin of water she found 
near the hearth. The cool water felt good against her grimy 
skin. With Kyne’s comb she smoothed most of the tangles and 
dust from her hair, then straightened her borrowed attire as 
best she could. Her stomach rumbled. Putting on her slippers 
she left the chamber in search of first meal. Warda followed 
quietly. 
Outside the chamber door, the noise level increased, and 
the stench of charred meat, singed fur and other less pleasant 
odors hung thick in the air. Even if she would eat meat, the 
smell did little to tempt her appetite. Resting her hand on Warda’s 

head, she moved down the hall. 
At the top of the stairs she paused. Worse than she 
remembered, chaos reigned in the great hall. A hundred or more 
people milled about. Off to the left, people too weak to move 
lay on pallets. Her need to help these people drew Sianna 
forward. She stopped. First she must eat and gain strength. If 
she collapsed, she would be of no aid. 
In the center of the hall two men, actually lanky boys no 
older than ten and four annum, fought with swords. Around 
them others scrambled to avoid being trampled or skewered by 
the flashing weapons. No one seemed concerned, so Sianna 
assumed the boys merely practiced rather than fought in earnest. 
To the right, women tended to a group of children. As Sianna 
reached the bottom of the stairs, one child, a boy of about six 
annum, stepped away from the rest, right between the two 
combatants. 
A woman screamed. The boy froze, eyes wide in terror as 
a crystal sword swept toward his head. Momentum prevented 
the sword wielder from checking his swing. 
Just before the sword made its pass through the boy’s neck, 
Sianna lunged forward and knocked him to the floor. Heart 
racing, she lay atop the now crying child. Hands reached for 
her, pulling her up. Voices babbled, but she couldn’t hear over 
the thundering of her heart and the whistling sound of the sword 
rushing over her head. She stood shaking in the center of a 
group of people. 
“Silence!” Kyne’s roar echoed off the stone walls until 
only the child’s whimpers remained. 
Like a crystal flower seeks the sun, Sianna turned toward 
Kyne, her body swaying in reaction and relief. 
“What goes on here?” 
Another swell of sound started. “Quiet! You.” He pointed 
at the woman cradling the crying child. His voice dropped to a 
gentler note. “Tell me what happened.” 
The woman stuttered her reply, clutching her uninjured child 
to her ample bosom. With every word, Kyne’s gaze grew harder. 
When she finished, he turned toward the two boys, playing as 
men, who stood awkwardly holding their swords. 

“The rest of you go about your business. You two, stay.” 
Without protest, the crowd dispersed. They talked in hushed 
tones, the bustle of the hall muted by the near tragedy. 
On quivering legs Sianna started to back away as well, but 
Kyne reached out and pulled her to his side, an arm wrapped 
around her waist. Shaken, she accepted his body’s warmth and 
support. A split second later and the boy’s head would have 
been severed from his body. She shuddered, and Kyne’s arm 
tightened. With a sigh she leaned into him. 
“Come,” he commanded the boys and led them out of the 
hall. He pulled Sianna along. In the castle courtyard he stepped 
away from her and turned on the boys. “Fighting in the hall. 
You are beyond foolish.” 
“We only want to learn, Rul,” one boy spoke defiantly. “We 
meant no harm.” 
“Is that what you would tell the lad’s mother when her 
child lay dead, his severed head at her feet?” 
The boy blanched. The other boy, the one who had swung 
the sword, turned and vomited onto the cobblestones. Sianna’s 
empty stomach churned at the image Kyne’s words invoked. 
Thank the moons she’d been quick enough to avert the tragedy. 
“You wish to learn to fight. Very well. Graham,” he called. 
Graham stepped forward out of the crowd and looked at 
the two white-faced, trembling boys. “Yes, Rul?” Sianna could 
feel his repressed humor. 
“I have two new recruits for you. See that they begin 
training immediately. In the yards, not the hall. Pay special 
attention to this one’s aim.” He pointed at the sword wielder, 
then turned back to Sianna. “You have my thanks for your 
timely intervention.” 
His stiff, reluctant words left a sour taste in her mouth. He 
didn’t want to thank her, but he felt he must. “To have worth, 
gratitude must be freely given.” 
Anger swiftly followed surprise in Kyne’s eyes. “You dare 
much.” 
Though her body still quaked, she met him stare for stare. 
“The condemned have little to lose.” 
“Father! Father!” Zoa cried. “I saw it. Sianna saved Titus. 

She’s a hero, isn’t she Father? Just like Cimene, the goddess 
who rescued the moons from being devoured by the darkness. 
Now you have to give Sianna a reward, like Sol rewarded 
Cimene.” 
Like a fresh breeze, Zoa’s excitement dispelled the tension. 
Sianna smiled. 
Zoa stopped for a moment to cough, but Sianna was pleased 
to note it sounded much better. A few more healing sessions, 
and Zoa’s health would be fully restored. 
“A reward, Father. Give Sianna a reward.” Zoa turned her 
gaze on Sianna. “You are brave. Just like Father.” 
“I’m not all that brave. Anyone would have done as I did, if 
they had been close enough.” 
“If I were brave and deserved a reward, I would choose a 
quinar of my very own. Would you like a quinar? Beba just had 
two foals.” 
Kyne frowned. “A quinar is not possible.” 
Because of Zoa, Sianna didn’t voice her hurt at his attitude. 
Other than being born her father’s daughter, she’d given Kyne 
no reason to distrust her. Remembering her charade of being 
Laila, and all he thought her sister had done, her resentment 
faded. 
“Zoa is right.” Kyne’s softer tone drew her gaze. “You 
deserve not only sincere gratitude, but a reward for saving the 
lad’s life at the risk of your own.” 
“There was no risk,” she objected. 
Kyne shook his head. “The blade missed your head by a 
mere hair. In fact.” He reached out and pulled her tangled hair 
forward. 
Sianna swayed as she saw where a clump of hair had been 
neatly sliced away. His hand on her arm steadied her. Death 
had come so close. Would he care? Her gaze clashed with 
Kyne’s, but she saw no answers in his dark eyes. 
“What reward do you claim for your deed? Demand 
anything but your freedom, and I will see you receive it.” 
“I require nothing for doing what is right.” 
“Choose. A Cathor always pays his debts.” 
Sianna shivered at Kyne’s harsh tone, knowing he referred 

to more than this small obligation. What should she request? 
Whatever she asked, he would grant, no matter what it might 
cost him. Her life? Laila’s? Her father’s? 
“I wish to be allowed to work with your healer.” 
A flicker of disbelief crossed Kyne’s face, then he smoothed 
his features into an expressionless mask. Why couldn’t she 
read this man’s emotions? Since their brief connection, she had 
felt nothing of his inner thoughts. Judging him based on his 
words and actions alone left her floundering in the dark as if 
she were suddenly blind. 
“That’s all you want?” Zoa sounded disgusted and 
disappointed. 
“And a baby quinar.” 
Before Kyne could deny her request, Sianna hurried on. 
“Of course, I’d need someone to help me care for it, because I 
don’t know anything about quinar. If Rul Cathor gives his 
permission, would you be willing, Zoa?” 
“Oh, yes! Yes. Please say yes, Father. I’ll take ever such 
good care of Adda for you.” 
Kyne’s lips twitched as though he saw through Sianna’s 
ploy, but he managed to keep a straight face. “Very well, Sianna 
may have the quinar foal, if you agree to care for it for her.” 
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Zoa threw her arms 
around Kyne, then Sianna. Before either could respond she 
whirled and raced away, her dark hair bouncing as she ran. “I 
told Etam I’d get a quinar before him.” Her words flew back at 
them. 
“Adda indeed. The little minx played us both for fools, and 
you went right along with her.” 
Even though the look of affection in Kyne’s eyes was for 
Zoa, Sianna found it ample payment for her small trick. “Does 
it matter? You intended to give the foal to her anyway.” 
“Yes, but how...never mind.” He stared at her, his features 
once again stern. “Why do you wish to work with the healer? 
Why not request a pardon for your crimes?” 
“Since I’ve committed no crimes, I hardly feel the need for 
a pardon.” She ignored the growing twitch at the corner of his 
mouth and continued, “I requested what I truly desire. I am a 

trained healer. I would put my skills to use where they are 
sorely needed. And I would not have you make a promise you 
might not be able to keep.” 
“What I promise, I deliver.” 
“I know.” He would deliver or die in the trying. After all 
the things her father had cost this man, she would not ask him 
to forfeit his honor. 
Without a word, he turned and led the way back into the 
great hall. Sianna scurried to keep up with his long strides. 
Somehow her failure to request a tangible reward irritated him. 
Could she never please this man? 
He halted amid the scattered pallets filled with the sick and 
injured. For a moment, compassion replaced his hard look, then 
he turned toward her and his annoyance resurfaced. “Althea, I 
have brought you an assistant. This is Sianna. Make use of 
her.” With that he turned and walked away. 
Bent with age, her hair the color of a stormy sky, the healer 
didn’t rise from the chair where she dozed. She looked up and 
nodded her acceptance of Sianna’s help. Weary resignation 
resided in the old woman’s eyes and soul. 
“Will you let me help you, Healer?” 
Althea stood slowly, her gaze probing Sianna. She touched 
her gnarled fingers to Sianna’s cheek. “Many have died because 
I am too old and my skills are too meager to save them. You are 
young to be a healer. Are you trained?” 
“I studied at the valetudinarian of the Sisters of Light.” 
A spark of hope flared in the old woman’s eyes. “Yes, I 
can feel your fire to heal. Once I had such.” She shook her 
head. “But too many years and too many failures can smother 
a person’s flame.” 
Hunger gnawed at Sianna, but the pain and feelings of 
desperation coming from the ill and injured would not let her 
walk away. What to do first? 
She clasped Althea’s hands between her own. “Perhaps 
together we can fan the embers to life.” 
“Perhaps,” Althea agreed with a grin. 
*** 
Two hours later, Sianna straightened from cleaning and 

organizing the castle infirmary. Fortunately, there was no critical 
need for her special skill. For now, Althea’s herbal remedies 
would suffice. 
The growing ache in her belly forced Sianna in search of 
food. Grease and bits of rotting food covered the kitchen work 
tables and cooking surfaces. Hounds slunk between the table 
legs looking for scraps, while unknown brown shapes scurried 
in the shadows. She gagged on the smell of rancid food, burnt 
meat and general decay, her appetite fading. 
A plump woman rushed up to Sianna and grabbed her hand. 
“My Lady. How can I ever thank you for saving my boy, Titus? 
Since DiSanti conscripted my man and two older sons, he’s all 
I have left. Our lives are yours.” The woman knelt at Sianna’s 
feet and pressed her forehead to Sianna’s hands. 
Gently, Sianna pulled the woman up. “Raising your boy to 
be a fine man is thanks enough.” 
“Do you wish mid-meal? Rul Cathor said not to disturb you 
for first meal. Surely you are hungry now. I’m called Betha. I 
can prepare something for you, if you like.” 
“Do you work in the kitchen?” 
“No, my lady.” 
“Who is in charge?” 
“I don’t believe anyone is. Each of us prepares our own 
meals. Come. I have cleared an area where you can sit and 
eat.” 
Betha led Sianna through the cluttered maze of a kitchen 
toward a quiet corner. At a small, clean table sat Titus. He 
smiled shyly and ducked his head to his meal. The spicy aroma 
of stew reached Sianna’s nose, making her stomach growl and 
mouth water. 
“Please sit, my lady. Would you like some bread? I made 
fresh this morning. Some stew? It’s meatless, but quite tasty 
anyway.” 
“Thank you, Betha. Both would be lovely.” 
Like crystallized honey, the food melted in Sianna’s mouth. 
For a moment she forgot the squalor of the kitchen and savored 
her meal. As she ate, people approached Betha for directions: 
how to cook a rack of meat, mix a loaf of bread, where to find 

the flour, sugar, salt. Replete, Sianna leaned back and looked 
around. Betha’s small area sat like an island of calm in a raging 
storm. 
Sianna considered the situation for a minute, then said, 
“Betha, I think you should take charge of the kitchen.” 
Surprise flickered across the woman’s face. “I don’t know. 
I’ve only been here a short time. Would people listen to me?” 
“They already come to you. You’re a marvelous cook. 
Someone needs to take control. Look at the waste and filth. 
It’s no wonder people are ill with stomach complaints. With 
your skills, you can easily prevent the problem.” 
A thoughtful expression on her face, Betha looked around. 
“Perhaps you’re right. But will Rul Cathor allow it?” 
“Don’t worry about the Rul, just make this kitchen yours. 
When he eats your cooking rather than burnt offerings, he’ll 
not complain.” At least Sianna hoped he wouldn’t. Where Kyne 
was concerned she wasn’t sure of anything. 

FIVE
That afternoon Sianna pushed aside her growing fatigue to 
work with Betha and several other women clearing and cleaning 
the kitchen. Warda followed, at her side yet never underfoot— 
a silent shadow, guard, companion. After watching her for a 
short time, people started to gather around her to seek instruction 
and guidance. Soon their efforts spilled out into the great hall. 
Bit by bit, order banished chaos. Laughter and good spirits 
infected everyone as they worked. 
From a quiet corner of the hall Kyne conducted a meeting, 
but she felt his gaze following her as she moved around offering 
advice and a helping hand where needed. He said nothing when 
she gave orders to the men and boys to sweep the stone floors 
and had them lay sweet-smelling, fresh grasses. Nor did he 
object as she directed the scrubbing of the hall’s massive hearth 
or when she exiled the hounds to the courtyard. 
What did he think of her efforts? Though in truth she was 
his prisoner, he granted her more liberty than she’d ever known. 
After the strict regime of the valetudinarian and her father’s 
even harsher rule, this taste of freedom, though false, was heady 
indeed. 
Why did he let her mingle with his people? Let them come 
to know her? Allow her to guide and direct them? His steady 
gaze made her anxious and filled her with a longing for something 
she couldn’t name. 
Graham’s hand on her shoulder startled her, and she dropped 
the rag she was using to scrub the last long trestle table. 
“Stop now,” he said. “Sit and eat last meal with the others.” 
“There is still much to do. I’ll eat later.” Sianna snatched 
up the rag and took another swipe at a stubborn stain. Only 

hard work took her mind from thoughts of her father’s crimes 
and questions about her fate at the hands of his enemies. The 
mouthwatering smell of Betha’s cooking filled the great hall, 
replacing the previous rank odors. The loud gurgle from Sianna’s 
stomach made her blush and remember her lessons from the 
Sisters. A lady should never reveal bodily functions. 
Graham chuckled, took the rag from her fingers, and pushed 
her down onto the bench. “You’ve done enough for one day.” 
“But I....” Sianna protested. 
“Dravid,” he called to a passing lad. “Fetch the Lady Sianna 
a plate and bring me one as well.” 
“You are a kind man.” His gruff consideration for one he 
thought of as an enemy touched her. Though he didn’t yet trust 
her, his doubts about her guilt eased some of her pain. 
A hint of color stained his cheeks. “Not kind, merely hungry. 
And I dislike eating alone.” 
She refrained from pointing out the many others he could 
choose to dine with. From across the room she could feel 
Katya’s hostile glare. “I wish Kyne could look beyond my birth 
as well, and see me for who I am.” The wistful words slipped 
out before she could prevent them. 
“And just who are you?” 
Without betraying Laila, she couldn’t answer Graham’s 
pointed question. She ducked her head. 
“May I join you for last meal?” 
Her gaze flew up to meet Kyne’s. Hard and cold like a 
winter wind, his gaze pierced her. His stare drove the warmth 
of accomplishment from her. Could she do nothing to please 
him? His unjustified anger stirred her own, and her tongue acted 
without her permission. “Why would you wish to eat with me? 
How can you bear to be near me? I am my father’s daughter.” 
Immediately, she regretted her outburst and vowed not to let 
him bait her again. 
Kyne’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened, but Sianna 
couldn’t tell if her outburst had angered or hurt him. Nor, she 
decided, did she care. His feelings were not her concern, and 
she’d already survived his anger. 
Graham grabbed Kyne’s arm and pulled him down onto 

the bench. “Quit squabbling like discontented children. You spoil 
my appetite.” 
In the sudden silence, Dravid arrived with a tray carrying 
two plates heaped high with food, a pitcher of ale and two 
glasses. With a shy smile for Sianna he served them. 
“Thank you. Would you bring a plate for Rul Cathor as 
well?” she asked. 
The boy nodded and hurried off. 
“Dravid is besotted with you. They all jump to do your 
bidding.” Kyne sneered and waved his arm toward the others 
busy eating their meal. “Have you put a spell on them?” 
“No.” Spurred by his uncalled-for sarcasm, her tongue again 
slipped its leash. “I just treat them as I would like to be treated. 
It’s a lesson you might do well to learn.” 
Kyne’s sneer turned to snarl. “I need no lessons from the 
spawn of DiSan....” 
“Kyne,” Graham warned quietly, his gaze shooting to the 
people only a table away. “Sianna, if you and Kyne cannot 
control your tongues, I will be forced to abandon my food. Call 
a truce, at least through last meal.” His tone lightened. “I am 
hungry.” 
“It’s well known in the castle, you are always hungry,” 
Sianna teased, taking his lead to ease the rising tension. A big 
man, Graham had a hearty, non-discriminating appetite. Little 
prompted him to forego eating. 
At Graham’s heartfelt plea, a grin softened the stiff line of 
Kyne’s mouth. He looked at Sianna, then stretched out his left 
hand palm up, fingers slightly spread, the traditional male to 
female gesture of acceptance. “Truce?” 
With what lay between them was a truce possible? How 
long could it last? 
“Truce,” she repeated and placed her hand over his. Lying 
in his strong, calloused palm, her fingers looked pale and fragile, 
like her life. Briefly, his fingers closed over hers, sending a 
shaft of warmth through her, then opened again. She snatched 
her hand away and buried it in her lap. By giving her right hand 
into his left, she accepted his dominance, and he offered her his 
protection. The irony was not lost on either of them. Only 

Graham seemed oblivious to the farce as he dug into his meal. 
With Kyne’s gaze resting on her, at first the food tasted like 
ashes in Sianna’s mouth, but to rebuild her strength she forced 
herself to eat. As her taste buds woke up, his hostility was 
forgotten and her anger and confusion evaporated under the 
spicy aroma of Betha’s stew and the fragrant smell of fresh 
baked bread. She barely restrained herself from gulping the 
delicious food. While plentiful, food at the valetudinarian was 
plain and bland to accommodate the sensitive palates of the 
elderly sisters and their patients. Those with a taste for more 
variety usually did without. 
“Would you have some more, milady?” 
She looked up to find Betha standing at her elbow with a 
serving bowl in her hands. 
“Yes, please.” Sianna held up her empty plate. The good 
Sisters had often teased her about her overly healthy appetite. 
They would exclaim and wonder where such a small person 
put such large helpings of food. 
Betha gave her a smug smile, and three pairs of eyes 
focused on Sianna’s flat belly. At this reminder of her situation, 
her stomach heaved and appetite fled. 
They believed she ate for two. What would happen when 
time revealed her lie? 
“Sianna! Father!” Zoa’s excited squeal drew Kyne’s 
attention from Sianna’s suddenly pale face. He turned to see 
the child race across the hall and skid to a stop next to Sianna. 
“See my new dress?” She twirled around, sending the her full 
skirt flying. “Grenna made it for me. Isn’t it pretty?” 
Without taking a breath, Zoa launched, into a long detailed 
description of the dressmaking process. While Sianna listened 
attentively to the child’s chatter, Kyne frowned. A moment 
passed before he realized what puzzled him about Zoa. 
Small and thin for her age, Zoa rarely finished a sentence 
without coughing, yet throughout her recitation she hadn’t 
missed a breath. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her once too-
pale, taut skin glowed with a soft, rosy color. She looked, if not 
healthy, at least not ill. Kyne hesitated to hope Althea’s diagnosis 
was wrong. 

“It’s a lovely dress,” Sianna said. “Grenna is a talented 
seamstress, and you’re a fortunate young lady.” 
The fatigue in Sianna’s voice bothered Kyne. Why? He 
should be pleased to see her brought low. To see the defiance 
drained from her, as the life had drained from Aubin. 
All day he had watched as she, without being asked or 
commanded, went about the castle and brought order from 
chaos. In a few hours she had not only cleared away the dirt 
and grime of years of neglect, but the whole atmosphere had 
changed. People moved about with firmer steps. They hummed 
under their breath, and smiles hovered around their lips. 
“It’s as if she’s bewitched them.” 
Though Graham teased, Kyne could hear a note of awe in 
Graham’s whisper. “Other than a good example, I doubt she 
casts any spells.” Kyne glared at his friend. Though many of 
the common folk still believed in the old tales of witches and 
magic, Kyne gave little credence to superstitious nonsense. 
Whatever chore Sianna deemed necessary, she pitched in and 
did along with the others. 
Wheezing, the grandmotherly Grenna caught up with her 
charge. “Have a care, Zoa. You’ll lose your breath again, as 
I’ve lost mine trying to keep up with the likes of you.” She 
rested one palm over her ample bosom and fanned herself with 
her other hand. “Quit pestering the Rul. It’s time for little girls 
to be abed.” 
“But I’m not tired,” Zoa protested. She climbed into 
Sianna’s lap, wrapped her arms around her waist, and pouted. 
A ragged cough shook her body. At that small sound, Kyne’s 
hopes faded. 
Sianna’s arm curled protectively around the little girl. Her 
hand spread out over Zoa’s back, and she whispered something 
into the child’s ear. Around Sianna’s splayed fingers a warm, 
pinkish glow enveloped Zoa’s back. Kyne blinked, and the glow 
vanished. A mere trick of light? 
Zoa nodded and gave Sianna a tight hug. 
Grenna turned to Sianna. “Pardon, milady. A bath has been 
readied for you in Rul Cathor’s chamber, and I’ve found you 
some fresh clothing.” 

From the worn, grimy shirt and trousers Sianna wore, 
Grenna’s glare shifted to Kyne. Like a chastened child, his 
feeling of guilt over Sianna’s treatment increased. 
“A bath?” 
At her thankful disbelief, his guilt doubled. 
“Yes, milady. Later you can visit the bathing chambers, but 
after your long trip and tiring day, we, that is Betha and I, thought 
you might like the comfort and privacy of your chamber. Don’t 
dally now, or the water will grow cold.” Grenna held out her 
hand to Zoa. “Come now, poppet. To bed with you.” 
After giving Sianna another hug, Zoa bounced from her lap 
and skipped away alongside her nanny. Again, Zoa’s easy 
breathing and energy amazed Kyne. 
“Have you finished your meal?” Graham asked Sianna. 
“What?” Her blue eyes wide and wistful, she looked up, 
then back down at her empty plate. A blush spread over her 
cheeks. “Oh...yes....If you’ll excuse me.” She rose and hurried 
after Grenna and Zoa. 
Graham’s thick eyebrows lifted. Humor twinkled in his eyes 
as he asked, “Where do you think she puts it all?” 
Kyne barely heard Graham’s teasing question as he 
watched Sianna rush away. In minutes she would strip off the 
simple cotton shirt and wool trousers she wore and slide naked 
into steaming water. At the imagined image his mouth went 
dry. He jumped to his feet. The bench tipped over and clattered 
to the floor. Graham’s laughter followed him out of the hall into 
the night. 
Cool, moist air swirled around him, but didn’t douse the fire 
within. 
*** 
Kyne knew he should retire to his chamber, but the thought 
of Sianna in his bed, warm and damp from her bath, kept him 
standing in the chilly hall. Long after last meal, he stood at the 
top of the stairs and gazed down into the now quiet great hall. 
He shivered at the memory of the boy’s blade slicing above 
Sianna’s head. How close she’d come to death. Why didn’t the 
thought of her head separated from her body fill him with 
satisfaction, as it should? Even now, her foolish bravery made 

him go cold with dread. 
Though the big man made no sound, as usual, Kyne sensed 
Graham’s approach behind him. 
“Is it my imagination, or does the hall seem less chaotic 
since Sianna arrived?” Graham asked, his gaze directed at the 
makeshift infirmary. “It appears DiSanti’s daughter is truly a 
healer.” 
“Don’t speak of her identity, even when you think us alone. 
Do you wish her dead?” 
“Do you?” 
Did he? Unwilling or unable to answer, Kyne wasn’t sure 
which, he ignored Graham’s question and offered an explanation 
for order in the hall. “Perhaps the people are just subdued after 
this morning’s episode?” 
“Perhaps.” Graham merely restated the obvious. He, along 
with Kyne, had watched as she turned the castle upside down 
and set it to rights. Kyne’s gaze followed Graham’s to the left. 
Already the small infirmary area was organized, the patients 
resting comfortably on fresh bedding, pallets lined up, the floors 
cleared of bloody rags and mopped clean. Even Althea moved 
with more spring than Kyne had ever before seen, and he’d 
known the old healer all of his eight and twenty annum. 
“The people respond to her gentle touch and soft voice. Is 
she truly evil? Can anyone fool so many?” 
Graham’s questions struck too close to Kyne’s growing 
doubts. “Do you think she carries Aubin’s child?” 
Did she indeed carry his brother’s child? The idea left him 
angry and confused. Should he rejoice that a part of Aubin 
lived on, or rage that Cathor blood mingled with DiSanti venom? 
“Perhaps we get ahead of ourselves,” Kyne cautioned. “A 
good appetite and fatigue are not proof the woman is breeding. 
And if she is, what guarantee do we have the child is indeed 
Aubin’s? 
“If she is in league with her father in Aubin’s murder, if she 
wants the power marriage to Prince Timon will give her, why 
did she dally with Aubin? Allow herself to be caught? An 
experienced woman would know enough to prevent an 
unplanned pregnancy. The methods are simple enough. Does 

she fake these simple signs to delay her judgement?” 
“Do you seek to convince yourself of her innocence or of 
her guilt?” Graham asked. 
“Could I be wrong about her?” Kyne kept the more 
burdensome questions to himself. Could he spare her? Send 
her into exile rather than see her killed? The more time he 
spent in her company, the less he wanted to see her dead. 
Executing a woman, even one guilty of terrible crimes, was not 
something he felt easy with. “Zoa is thoroughly taken with her. 
Even Warda is now her devoted slave. I set him as her jailer, 
yet he acts more her guardian.” 
Kyne felt Graham’s unspoken compassion for his difficult 
decision. The burden of being a Rul, though a disposed one, lay 
heavy on Kyne’s shoulders. Would that he could pass this choice 
to another. No. The woman’s fate belonged to no other. 
He shook his head. “How can I waver in this? When she 
put pen to paper asking Aubin to meet her, then betrayed him to 
her father, she signed her own death warrant. Nothing she does 
now can change what went before. I will use her to lure her 
father from the safety of his fortress. They will stand trial for 
their crimes and die together.” The words tasted bitter. How 
much more so would be the act? 
The weight of Graham’s hand on his shoulder gave Kyne 
little comfort. “I don’t envy you your duty, my friend. But 
don’t be too quick to jump to judgement. Things are often not 
as they might first seem. If evil can disguise itself as innocence, 
perhaps innocence can be hidden by evil. 
“Je’al left after sunrise. It will be at least five days before 
we can expect DiSanti’s response. What will you do with her if 
he refuses the bait and abandons her?” 
What would he do? Nothing was clear anymore. 
“I wish I knew.” 

SIX
Familiar, pungent scents surrounded Sianna as she carefully 
inventoried Althea’s dwindling store of herbs and medicines. 
Warda, his sensitive nose repelled by the strong odors, lay just 
outside the door to the castle’s herb room. Supplies ran 
desperately low. 
Alt root, used to relieve pain and swelling, was nearly gone, 
and only a handful of dried maca leaves for poultices remained. 
Other less critical herbs and medicines were depleted. Too old 
and kept too busy, Althea no longer scoured the mountainside 
and valley for her medicines, but instead made do with what 
was at hand. Sianna needed to restock or risk their patients’ 
lives. 
This morning was perfect. The remaining sick and injured 
didn’t require her attention, and the weather was clear. Her 
decision to gather herbs made, she wasted no time. As she had 
no intention of fleeing, her promise not to leave the castle seemed 
irrelevant. Taking only a large cloth bag, a small knife and a 
digging tool, she headed out of the castle. 
Little note was made of her passing. People came and 
went throughout the day, going into the valley below to harvest 
what few crops they had managed to plant or to the woods to 
hunt. The gatekeeper waved her through with a smile. 
Despite the cool mountain air, the sun beat warm on her 
head and shoulders. Redolent of moist earth and pine, the crisp 
air cleared the odor of illness from her lungs. Like a minstrel’s 
multi-hued cloak, red, gold and brown foliage covered the 
mountainside, warning of the coming winter, but this day summer 
still held sway. 
Eyes alert, nose twitching, Warda ranged ahead, then 

behind, but ever vigilant, he never strayed far from her side. 
“We won’t find what we need following this well-worn 
trail. Come along,” she told the hound and cut across the open 
meadow surrounding the castle toward the steeper slopes. “Alt 
root prefers the higher reaches, just above the tree line, while 
maca trees favor the damp soil along streams. Perhaps we’ll 
find a patch of nika. If I’m careful, I might be able to dig some 
roots.” 
As if in response to her words, Warda lowered his head 
and growled. 
“Yes, I know how your master feels about nika, but don’t 
let his prejudices blind you to the plant’s benefits. Nika root is 
so much better for pain reduction than alt. Still, I doubt I’ll find 
a patch at this elevation, so don’t worry.” 
Though she knew the hound didn’t understand her words, 
she felt better for speaking them. 
Throughout the day she searched and gathered, her bag 
growing heavier. With only bird song and the breeze rustling 
through the trees to disturb the quiet, peace settled over Sianna. 
Engrossed in this well known and restful task, she moved up 
and over the next ridge, out of sight of the castle. In the shade 
of a towering maca tree, Warda kept watch while she worked. 
His presence reminded her of his enigmatic master—Rul Cathor. 
Pulling the last stubborn alt root from the ground, she leaned 
back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her face, leaving 
a moist brown streak. 
“Why can’t I read your master’s emotions?” she asked 
the hound. “Being near him makes me feel safe and warm, yet 
I know he despises me for being my father’s daughter. If he 
knew I’m not Laila, would he still hate me? Can what he believes 
of my father be true? I came home with so many hopes. If I 
thought Father sought to marry me to Prince Timon for my best 
interest, I would do so despite my doubts. But I fear Kyne may 
be right. My father thinks only of his needs. To my father I’m 
nothing more than a tool to further his own ends. Now I’ve 
become Kyne’s tool to use against him.” 
The Sisters of Light had loved and valued her for her 
contribution to their valetudinarian. Her father valued her for 

the power he could gain through her marriage. Kyne valued 
her as a way to exact vengeance. Would anyone ever value 
her as the person she was? 
Pain lanced across her shoulders as she stretched to remove 
the kinks from her back. 
Warda whined and nudged her. Only then did she notice 
the lengthening shadows. Her stomach reminded her she hadn’t 
stopped for mid-meal before leaving the castle, and the time 
for last meal approached rapidly. 
“I believe we should head home,” she told Warda. “Home. 
I like the sound of the word. Already the castle feels like home. 
The people, Zoa—Betha, and the others—welcome me as 
though I belong. Even Althea, quiet as she is, makes me feel 
wanted and needed. Would that my father had received me so. 
Laila welcomed me, but we had so little time to know each 
other.” 
Only Katya’s hostile attitude and Graham’s wary looks 
disturbed Sianna’s contentment, reminding her of her precarious 
situation. Her silent deception. She refused to consider what 
Kyne made her feel. What she wanted from him. Though selfish, 
she wished things could go on as they were forever. 
She looked around in confusion. Concentrating on locating 
the roots and herbs, she had paid little attention to where she 
wandered. The land around her looked unfamiliar. “I think we’re 
lost.” A shiver of apprehension coursed through her. 
Warda jumped to his feet and started away. With a relieved 
laugh, Sianna rose and followed. Of course, the hound would 
know the way. 
Pleased with her haul, she followed Warda, eager for 
Betha’s cooking and a soft bed. Bed. Her steps faltered. Last 
night after her bath, despite her exhaustion, she lay awake for 
hours waiting for Kyne to return to his chamber, but he never 
came. When she woke, only the rumpled covers gave any 
indication he’d lain beside her. Would he join her this night? 
What would he expect of her? 
Though innocent, Sianna’s work in the valetudinarian gave 
her knowledge of what went on between men and women. 
The thought of sharing her body with Kyne did not make her 

tremble in fear. 
Foolishness, she chided herself. Kyne hated who he thought 
she was. Why would he want to join his flesh with hers? 
At first the low rumble she heard sounded like distant 
thunder, but the sky with its streaks of pink and purple held no 
storm clouds. She stopped and listened. The ground vibrated 
beneath her feet. 
Warda gave a booming bark. 
“What’s wrong?” 
Ahead, the trail curved through the trees. Sianna stood 
frozen as three quinar rounded the bend and barreled toward 
her. At the last moment, the animals slid to a stop in front of her, 
throwing up dust and bits of earth. She clutched her bag and 
cringed. 
“There she is!” 
Though she could see little through her watering eyes, 
Sianna recognized Katya’s caustic voice and the jumbled, hostile 
emotions emanating from the young woman. 
“I told you she’d try to escape, Kyne,” Katya continued. 
“Escape?” Sianna held up her bag. “I wasn’t trying to 
escape. I was collecting herbs.” 
Katya snorted her disbelief, her glare promising retribution. 
Infected by her mood, her quinar pranced restlessly beneath 
her. 
Kyne moved his quinar between Sianna and Katya in an 
unconsciously protective gesture. “You and Graham head back, 
I’ll bring the woman. She’ll not escape me.” 
His exasperated tone cut at Sianna’s pride. “I’m not so 
witless as to attempt to flee through unfamiliar mountains.” 
The three ignored her protest. 
Graham laughed. “Think you can handle the fugitive?” 
A balm to her spirit, Graham’s humor eased the bite of 
Katya’s accusation and Kyne’s annoyance. 
“Be gone, old man, before I handle you.” At Graham’s 
gentle teasing, some of the heat left Kyne’s voice. 
“As if you could, pup. We’ll see you back at the castle. 
Mind you don’t lose your way.” 
Graham and Katya turned their mounts and rode away, 

leaving Sianna to face Kyne. He dismounted and strode 
forward. She reached out to him empathetically, but beyond 
the temper building in his eyes, she sensed nothing. In the 
shadow of the trees she shivered, but not from the cooling air. 
Like a physical presence, fear and anger preceded him. 
He lifted his arm. Refusing to cower or plead, she straightened 
her shoulders and faced him. “Will you kill me now?” 
Surprise flickered across Kyne’s face. 
With a menacing growl, Warda moved in front of her and 
lowered his head. Hackles raised, he crouched, ready to spring. 
“Warda. No.” She gripped the hound’s ruff. No matter 
Kyne’s intent, she couldn’t let the hound harm him. 
Kyne stopped, stared at the hound, then threw back his 
head and laughed, the tension draining from his body. “Even 
you befriend her, Warda.” His laughter faded and he looked at 
her. “Are you a witch, little Daughter of Light, that all succumb 
to your appeal? Zoa and Etam speak of nothing but what Sianna 
says. Betha sings your praises. In only a day, order has come 
to Castle Vareck, and even I must admit it is by your doing. 
What spell have you cast over us?” 
Head high, shoulders back, she faced him. “I am no witch. 
Merely a woman. And I wasn’t trying to escape.” 
“I know. Why are you wandering about? Sardak and big 
cats call this forest home. You would make them a tasty snack. 
Even Warda is no match for a hungry sardak.” 
Sianna shuddered at the thought. 
Kyne’s gaze searched her face, and he trailed his fingertips 
across her cheek. “You have mud on you.” 
A shiver coursed through her body at his tantalizing touch. 
“I didn’t think. The medicinal herbs were running low. I 
only wanted to restock supplies.” 
“You didn’t lie when you claimed to be a healer, did you?” 
He gave her a look of troubled acceptance, as if he could not 
reconcile his beliefs about her with what his eyes told him. 
“I never lie...or I try never to lie,” she amended with a 
flash of guilt. 
His dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Then you’re a better 
person than most. Lies come easier than truth to most people.” 

Bitterness laced his voice. 
His words told her someone had hurt him with their lies. 
Her skin still tingling from his touch, she prayed her lie would 
not. 
“Come. It grows dark. We must return to the castle. Next 
time you wish to hunt for herbs, tell me and I’ll arrange for an 
escort.” His voice low and gruff with some emotion she could 
not determine, he held out his hand. 
She hesitated. Unable to sense his emotions, she both feared 
and craved physical contact with this man—her captor, her 
protector. Only through touch would she see into his heart, but 
did she really want to know what lay there? Could she bear the 
pain if she discovered he hated her? Why did she care? 
She paused too long. A spasm of irritation crossed his face. 
He dropped his hand to his side and whirled about. With long, 
angry strides he moved to Hakan’s side and threw himself into 
the saddle. “Don’t dally. Sardak prefer to hunt at night.” 
In stunned disbelief, she watched him ride away. He’d left 
her. Where once she thought the forest a peaceful refuge, now 
the dusky shadows seemed to harbor unseen dangers. Warda 
whined anxiously and trotted forward a few steps before turning 
back to her. 
She stiffened, refusing to falter and allow him to cow her 
with unfounded fear. The forest held no more menace now 
than before. Only his dire warnings darkened the atmosphere 
around her. If his counsel had merit or if he mistrusted her 
intent to return, he would not leave her to find her way back 
alone. Would he? What lay in his heart that she could not see? 
Gripping the hound’s ruff for confidence, she said, “Let’s 
go home, Warda.” 
*** 
Just around the bend, Kyne pulled Hakan to a halt in a 
small clearing and waited. As much as he wished to avoid her 
company, he couldn’t leave the little witch to find her way home 
alone. Worse perils than big cats and sardak faced a lone 
woman. Though his people patrolled the area around the castle 
and guarded the passes, other less honorable men skulked in 
the rough terrain. They wouldn’t hesitate to take what they 

wanted from a woman and leave the rest for the four-legged 
scavengers. 
The thought of Sianna’s slim body used and broken sent a 
surge of fury through him. As Rul he alone must decide her 
fate, not leave it to chance. Until the time came to pass 
judgement, he would keep her safe. 
He leaned forward in eager anticipation and looked out 
over the valley, waiting for what would soon come. The setting 
sun cast a warm glow over the clearing and the valley below. 
Like a molten ball of gold crystal, the sun dipped lower. Birds, 
busy settling for the coming night, chirped and sang, a chorus 
of noise. Then it happened. The birds fell silent. A hush 
descended over the mountain. Nature seemed to hold its breath 
as the rays struck the blue crystal cliffs rising behind him. 
“Oh, my,” Sianna gasped in awe. 
Relieved at her presence, he looked down at her. 
Never taking her gaze from the scene spread out in front 
of them, she stepped to his side. 
A soft, blue glow enveloped the mountainside and valley, 
draining the brilliant hues of harvest color, leaving behind a world 
of shimmering azure. In the strange flash of light, trees, plants 
and even rocks became fragile crystal sculptures. 
“I didn’t know anything could be so beautiful.” Eyes 
sparkling with delight, lips parted in a gasp of pleasure, she 
gazed at the scene. 
Her awe loosened the tight knot within him. “Legend has it 
that if you’re pure of heart and follow the last of the blue rays 
of light, you’ll find the mythical land of Andacor hidden deep 
within the mountains.” 
“Andacor?” She turned her gaze to him. 
“When I was a lad, my mother would tell me tales of 
Andacor to lull me to sleep. A land of peace and love, where 
knowledge is sought for its own sake rather than to use against 
others for gain. She even claimed a blood kinship with the 
Andacorians through her mother.” Kyne laughed harshly. “My 
sweet, gentle mother was a fool. There is no such place.” 
“Is it foolish to wish for peace? To desire love? If I were 
pure of heart I would follow the light and count myself fortunate 

to be allowed to search. Whether or not Andacor is a place of 
substance or merely a dream, men should strive to find it.” 
In the blue dusk Sianna appeared ethereal, a delicate figure 
of spun crystal. Hardly a cold, hardhearted woman who calmly 
plotted with her father to murder her lover. Just who was she? 
Sianna, daughter of light, healer? Or Laila, born of the night, 
murderer? 
Desire blossomed in him. He wanted this woman with a 
longing that overcame his self disgust. 
Her hand settled on his calf, and a jolt went through him. In 
that instant he felt her reverence, her yearning, her satisfied 
lassitude. And something more. Her honesty. 
Before his conviction of her guilt crumbled, he jerked away. 
Unwilling to accept what he sensed, he broke the spell she cast 
over him with her touch. He refused to fall victim to her witchery 
as the others had. Hakan pranced, protesting Kyne’s rough 
handling. 
She stepped back from the restless quinar and looked up at 
Kyne. “What’s wrong? Did you feel it, too? The connection?” 
The question struck at him. What did she sense from him? 
Used to hiding his emotions behind a mask of calm command, 
the thought this small woman could penetrate that facade made 
him wary. 
“I felt nothing. We must head back to the castle before 
dark.” 
As the sun continued to sink, the glow faded and the world 
returned to normal. 
“Come.” Unnaturally gruff, his voice echoed in the growing 
twilight. He urged Hakan forward, leaving her to walk behind. 
But he couldn’t leave behind his growing doubts so easily. 
When she touched his leg, Sianna felt connected to Kyne. 
She read his turmoil, sensed his doubts and confusion about her 
and something more—desire. The heat of his emotion excited 
and frightened her, as had his talk of Andacor, a place she’d 
never heard of, yet somehow knew. 
*** 
The next day, shouts and the clatter of hooves in the courtyard 
broke the early morning silence and drew Sianna’s attention 

from her patient. She welcomed the distraction from her 
thoughts. Though she’d again lain awake for hours, she’d fallen 
asleep before Kyne returned to his chamber. And when she 
awoke this morning he had already left. She should be relieved 
he seemed to require nothing from her. Instead she felt a vague 
sense of disappointment. 
“Do you have a healer? We have injured,” a voice called. 
Sianna hurried from the great hall out into the yard, Warda 
trotting just behind. Dozens of people milled about, voices raised 
in confusion. 
“I am a healer.” She moved toward the tall man who 
appeared to be the group’s leader. “Bring your injured within.” 
The man turned. Sianna stopped mid-step. She felt the blood 
drain from her face. 
“Laila.” The word came out a mere breath of sound. Even 
though Laila, dressed in men’s clothing, had chopped her hair 
short about her head, and blood and grime smeared her cheeks, 
Sianna knew her sister. 
For a moment Laila stared at Sianna, then recognition 
dawned, and her features grew stiff. To another man she said, 
“Carry the injured inside and see them settled. I will speak to 
the healer and the castle’s Rul.” She gripped Sianna’s arm and 
pulled her away from the crowd toward a deserted corner of 
the courtyard. 
Warda gave a low growl, his eyes never leaving Laila. She 
paid him no mind. 
“Laila...” 
“My name is Lisha. The other you speak of is dead. I lead 
these people and bear a message for Rul Cathor.” 
“But La..Lisha. It’s not safe for you here. You must leave 
immediately.” Terror made Sianna’s voice shake. “If anyone 
discovers your identity, they’ll rip you apart.” 
“And what of you? Do they know who you are?” 
“No. A few believe I am you, but they have a use for me— 
you. So for the time I am safe enough.” In the last few days 
Sianna had learned more of her father’s sins than her gentle 
heart could bear. “The people here hate our father. Since coming 
here I’ve learned why, but I’ll not stand by and see you suffer 

for his crimes. Though they believe differently, I know you’ve 
no part in his evil.” 
Laila laughed without humor, the sound harsh and pained. 
“You have the look of your mother and see the world as she 
did, a place where the good outweighs the bad.” 
“You knew her?” All her life Sianna had wondered and 
dreamed about the woman who had given her life and died 
doing so. If she had lived would all have been different? 
Laila nodded, her gaze growing softer. “DiSanti brought 
her home from the mountains when I was six annum. Though 
he kept her against her will, she was ever kind to me.” 
“I don’t understand. Our father stole my mother?” 
“Now is not the time for this discussion. I must see to my 
people and speak to Rul Cathor. I have news he will want to 
hear.” 
“But I....” 
“We will talk later, when there are not so many ears about. 
I would know how you come to be here, but my injured need to 
be cared for first.” 
“Yes, of course.” Sianna pushed her curiosity aside. “You 
are right. How many injured do you have?” 
“Three seriously and a half a dozen minor.” 
Reluctantly, Sianna turned to leave. There was so much 
she wanted to know, to ask, but now was not the time. Would 
there be time? 
Laila’s soft voice stopped her. “Go carefully, little sister. 
We tread a narrow ledge along a steep drop. One misstep, and 
we plunge to our doom.” 
The ominous words sent a chill down Sianna’s spine. Why 
did Laila come here, to the stronghold of their father’s greatest 
enemy? What did she seek from the brother of her lover? Did 
Laila know of Aubin’s death at their father’s hands? Sianna 
thought it likely. Though she couldn’t read Laila’s emotions, an 
aura of desolation surrounded her sister that even someone 
without empathic skills could sense. 
Lost in thought, Sianna walked toward the castle. To her 
left, a flash of color caught her eye. She turned and met Zoa’s 
puzzled gaze. Before Sianna could call out, Zoa darted away 

into the crowd still filling the courtyard. How much had the 
child heard? What did she understand? And whom would she 
tell? 
*** 
Kyne allowed the warrior woman to enter his chamber in 
front of him. Something about this woman tugged at his memory. 
He felt he should know her, but her name and appearance were 
unfamiliar to him. He would listen before he determined a course 
of action. 
Having refused his offer to refresh herself first, she strode 
into the room still wearing bloodstained clothing. Her face and 
hands bore evidence of a battle recently fought. As if 
convenience meant more to her than vanity, she’d hacked off 
her dark hair close to her head. Stiff with sweat and grime, the 
color was impossible to determine. Only the proud tilt of her 
head, her rigid spine, and the fire burning in her eyes kept her 
from looking like a refugee of war. No common rebel, 
aristocratic blood flowed through this woman’s veins. The feeling 
he should know her intensified. 
Halfway into the room she whirled to face him. “There is 
little time. A caravan left from the Southern Province for the 
capital less than a tenday ago. It contains enough supplies and 
arms to provision an army. If it reaches DiSanti, our cause is 
lost. But if we move quickly, we can take it ourselves.” 
“Our cause?” Kyne settled his hip against the table, crossed 
his arms over his chest and studied the woman. Suspicion made 
him cautious, but hope flickered to life. “What is your name? 
Where do you come by this information? And why should you 
care?” 
“Why should I care,” she sputtered. “Because...” 
A knock at the door stopped her. Body going taut, she 
reached for the sword at her waist. 
“Be easy, woman,” Kyne cautioned. “An enemy intent on 
harm would not be likely to knock.” 
Some of the tension eased from her, but she kept her fingers 
on the hilt of her sword. 
“Enter.” Kyne turned toward the door as Graham and Katya 
came in. 

At the sight of Katya, the woman gasped an unintelligible 
word, and the color drained from her already pale face. 
Before she collected herself and schooled her features to 
mask the pain he sensed inside her, Kyne heard a wealth of 
misery in her ragged whisper. Only her eyes reflected her inner 
torment. What about Katya had triggered this warrior woman’s 
odd reaction? 
“Graham Denby and Katya Cathor this is...” Kyne looked 
to the woman to supply her name. 
“Lisha,” she said. 
“Lisha?” 
“Just Lisha. I claim no other name.” 
Curious. What did she run from or wish to hide by claiming 
no family affiliation? “Tell them what you’ve told me.” 
In brief, staccato sentences Lisha told Graham and Katya 
of the heavily laden caravan and how it could be taken. She 
moved to the table and grabbed a map. “If we strike here two 
days from now, we can take the caravan.” She jabbed her 
finger at the map. “There is no time to waste. If we leave 
immediately we’ll just make it. Once the caravan goes through 
the pass, it will be met by DiSanti’s guard, and we lose our 
chance. He has too many men to risk a confrontation with him 
in the open.” 
“Why should we trust you?” Suspicion laced Katya’s voice. 
“How do you know all this? Perhaps you’re sent here to lead 
us into a trap. Why didn’t you go after this caravan on your 
own? Why come to us?” 
Lisha threw up her hands. “I lead a band of fewer than 
fifteen men, not nearly enough to take on a well-guarded 
caravan. Three were badly injured when DiSanti’s men 
discovered our base. We barely escaped with our lives. The 
rest are old men, women and children. To succeed this attack 
needs at least fifty men.” She turned toward Kyne and Graham. 
“Do you have that many?” 
Neither man answered. 
“Tell me.” She pulled out her sword and tossed it on the 
table. “Either trust me or kill me. You must decide.” 
Strong, reckless emotions drove this woman—rage, pain, 

vengeance. Kyne could feel her passion shimmering in the air. 
Still her information was sound. With caution they could take 
the caravan. He looked over at Graham and gave a nod. 
“Come, Katya.” Graham took her arm. “We have 
preparations to make if we are to leave within the hour.” 
“But...” Katya protested as Graham led her out. 
After the door closed behind them, Kyne locked eyes with 
Lisha. “Do not play us false, or I will kill you.” 
Lisha laughed harshly. “I am already dead. My body merely 
functions to see DiSanti in his grave.” 
“Are you hurt?” Kyne hesitated to send Sianna to this angry 
woman. If she learned Sianna’s identity....With one hand Lisha 
could break Sianna’s delicate neck. The thought of Sianna dead 
shook him to his core. 
“Minor injuries only, but I would see the young healer. I 
wish her to treat my wounds, so I can ride with your men.” 
“Take clean clothing from my chest. Rest a bit. I’ll send up 
food and...the healer. Have a care you don’t frighten her. She’s 
a gentle soul.” Even as he spoke the warning, Kyne wondered 
from where his urge to protect his enemy’s daughter sprang. 
*** 
Sianna watched from the shadows outside Kyne’s chamber 
as Graham and Katya emerged. Laila and Kyne remained within. 
Fear rooted Sianna’s feet to the stone floor. What did Laila 
want with Kyne? Would Kyne discern Laila’s identity? 
“I don’t trust her.” Katya pulled against Graham’s hold on 
her arm. “And stop dragging me about like a delinquent child.” 
“Then cease acting like one. Your brother knows what he’s 
doing. For once in your life, instead of fighting him every step 
of the way, trust him. He needs your support, not your 
antagonism.” 
The sound of their argument faded as they moved away. 
Sianna stepped out of the shadows and started to leave as well. 
The door opened again, and Kyne saw her. 
“Sianna.” 
Her name on his lips sounded sweet. She stopped with her 
back to him. “Yes.” 
“The woman’s wounds need tending.” 

Laila is hurt! Again, Sianna cursed the fact she could sense 
little from those who shared her blood. She started toward the 
chamber. “How badly is she injured?” 
“She says her wounds are minor, but I think even if the 
woman was close to death she would insist on riding out with 
my men and me.” 
“You’re leaving?” A flutter of panic blossomed inside her. 
Though Kyne posed the biggest threat to her well being, his 
presence represented security. “Why? Where?” 
“Lisha has information of a supply caravan. We go to 
intercept it.” 
Laila, Kyne, Graham, and others she had come to care for 
in the past few days went to challenge her father. Would they 
return unharmed? 
“From what she says, the caravan will supply our needs 
through the winter and beyond—if it’s not a trap.” 
“La...Lisha would not betray you.” 
Kyne shot her a sharp look. “You know this woman?” 
“No. No, of course not.” With a lie on her lips, Sianna 
could not meet Kyne’s gaze. “I just sense her devotion to your 
cause. And it’s obvious she has no love for my father.” 
“I believe you are right. Her hatred for DiSanti runs deep. 
I wonder just what she’s lost to him.” Kyne lifted Sianna’s chin 
with his knuckle. “If you value your neck, have a care you do 
not mention your true identity to her. I doubt even I could save 
you from this woman’s wrath.” 
His mouth softened into a rueful smile. Like the stroke of a 
feather he trailed his fingertip down her throat. Sianna’s breath 
caught on a shiver of longing. Then he turned and walked away. 
As he left, she watched, wondering just what she wanted 
from Kyne. Acceptance? Forgiveness? 
A tidal wave of thoughts slammed into her. 
Trust. 
Passion. 
Love. 
Things she would never have. 

Seven
Sianna entered Kyne’s chamber cautiously. Her sister—a 
stranger—stood at the window, head bowed, back to Sianna. 
What would she learn from this woman? Of herself? Her past? 
Her future? 
“Laila.” 
Laila’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t turn. “Do not call 
me by that name. Laila is dead. Killed along with Aubin by our 
father.” 
“Are you certain?” Despite the evidence, Sianna still wanted 
to deny her father’s guilt. She wanted, needed to love him. 
Besides this intense young woman before her, he was her only 
family. 
Eyes blazing with a fierce light, Laila spun around. “Don’t 
waste your hopes on our father. Edric DiSanti loves no one. 
We are nothing but pawns in his game of power. I learned this 
lesson too late. By blinding myself to his evil, I lost the man I 
loved, and my ka.” The light faded from her eyes, and her body 
sagged. 
Sianna reached out to touch Laila’s arm, but as if repulsed, 
her sister jerked away. Hurt by Laila’s obvious rejection of 
comfort, Sianna waited. 
A mask of composure settled over Laila as she sat at the 
table. “Sit. There is much to speak of.” Her clipped tones hid 
from Sianna any hint of emotion. “Why are you here? Do these 
people know you are DiSanti’s daughter?” 
“Only a few. Rul Cathor keeps my identity a secret.” 
“Why? Do you share his bed?” 
At the thought, heat rushed to Sianna’s cheeks. 
“No...yes...but not in that way.” She had been asleep when 

Kyne returned to his chamber the night before, but tonight.... 
A knowing grin transformed Laila’s stern features from 
merely striking to beautiful. “In time, little sister, in time. The 
man wants you. It is evident when he looks at you. He warned 
me not to frighten or harm you. The question is do you want 
him?” 
Sianna tried but failed to look horrified. “I don’t want....” 
She couldn’t force the lie past her lips. She wanted Kyne in 
every way a woman could want a man. “You must be mistaken. 
He despises me and all our family. He seeks only to keep me 
safe as a means to trap our father.” What did Laila see that 
she, even with her gift, could not? 
“Time will tell.” Laila smiled and let the subject drop. “How 
did you end up here?” 
“Aubin’s sister, Katya, abducted me from our father’s home. 
But they believe I am you. Because they don’t know you, they 
think you helped father plan Aubin’s murder.” 
Shock and pain wiped away Laila’s smile. She quickly 
masked all physical evidence of her emotions. “You don’t know 
me, either. How can you be sure I didn’t?” she asked in a 
harsh whisper. 
“I’m sure. You loved Aubin.” 
“You’re a naive fool, and you’re in danger here. We will 
tell them the truth.” Laila started to stand. 
“No!” Sianna grabbed her arm. “If you do, we will both 
become prisoners. Then who will find proof of your innocence? 
I’m unsure, but I believe Rul Cathor plans to use me—I mean 
you—as a hostage against our father. Until Father replies to 
Rul Cathor’s demands I should be safe enough. Besides, they 
believe I...you...might be pregnant with Aubin’s child.” Heat 
flooded Sianna’s face. “They’ll not hurt me until they’re sure.” 
For a moment surprise registered in Laila’s eyes, then they 
went blank. “So like your mother,” she murmured. “You protect 
others even at your own peril.” 
“Am I really like her?” This connection with her unknown 
mother warmed Sianna. “I never knew her. Please tell me what 
you know of my mother.” Though other issues were more 
pressing, she asked for the information she truly wanted. 

“Are you sure you wish to know? You will not like what 
you hear,” Laila warned. 
“I must know the truth.” 
“Very well.” Laila nodded, her focus turned inward. “I was 
but six annum when DiSanti brought your mother from the 
mountains. Though he kept her against her will, for the short 
time she was there, she turned that dour, loveless stone fortress 
into a home.” Laila’s features softened. A faraway look settled 
in her dark eyes. “She took me under her wing, became my 
companion, my champion, the mother I never had, turning me 
from a dirty, wild child into a loved and loving little girl. 
“But at night I heard her cries of fear and pain as DiSanti 
took her to bed and used her. Once I tried to stop him. When he 
raised his hand to me, she put herself between us and took the 
blow.” 
With each word, Sianna’s hopes of a loving home faded. 
Her father was the monster Kyne’s people called him. 
“Then she became pregnant with you, and DiSanti left her 
alone, but by then her health was broken. You were born early, 
and she died.” 
Sianna cringed at Laila’s glare. 
“I hated you then. Blamed you for your mother’s death.” 
The anger faded from Laila’s eyes, replaced by sorrow and 
regret. “I was a fool. DiSanti killed your mother as he killed 
Aubin.” Her voice grew cold and hard. “He will pay for his 
sins. I will have vengeance.” 
“Don’t let your quest for revenge eat away your heart and 
destroy your mind.” 
“I buried my heart with Aubin, and I will destroy DiSanti.” 
Laila turned her stony gaze on Sianna. “After you leave 
this chamber, you must cease to think of me as sister. For his 
own reasons DiSanti kept us apart, and now for our own we 
will remain apart.” 
“But....” Had she found her sister only to lose her again? 
“Guard against the evil that flows in your veins.” 
“You’re wrong, sister. Evil is not born in a person’s blood, 
but rather in their heart and mind.” 
Before Laila could respond, the chamber door opened. 

Framed in the opening stood Kyne. “We are prepared to leave. 
Are you ready?” He directed his question to Laila, but his gaze 
held Sianna’s. She warmed at the concern she saw in his eyes. 
“I am.” Laila stood. 
“But,” Sianna protested, “I haven’t checked your injuries.” 
“They’re of no consequence.” She turned toward Sianna 
and lowered her voice. “Be cautious, little sister.” 
Kyne started forward, then stopped as Laila straightened 
and strode toward the door. 
“Go with the Eternal One....” the door closed behind them, 
“sister,” Sianna whispered. 
*** 
From his seat on the dais, Timon watched High Minister 
DiSanti warily. 
“Honored Prince.” DiSanti clasped his right fist to his chest 
and bowed. 
Wise beyond his ten and four annum, Timon let none of his 
hatred and disgust for the man show. He could do nothing— 
yet. The Eternal One willing, his time for justice against DiSanti 
would come, but not this day. This day he must continue to play 
his role. 
“You may approach, High Minister.” The words stuck in 
Timon’s throat. DiSanti’s show of obeisance, staged for the 
other ministers’ benefit, sickened Timon. They both knew who 
truly ruled here. “Rise and speak.” 
“I bear distressing news, Your Highness. Five days ago, 
your betrothed was snatched from her bed chamber. I have 
just received a message from her abductors.” 
Timon barely restrained his shout of delight. Instead he 
maintained a bland expression. Royalty must never react, my 
son. They must act. The father he remembered was long buried 
beneath a steady diet of nika, but Timon hadn’t forgotten his 
early training. Still, he allowed himself an inner smile. He didn’t 
know DiSanti’s daughter and had no desire to. 
“What do these people demand?” he asked. 
“I would speak to you alone.” 
Timon read the subtle threat beneath DiSanti’s quiet request. 
“Leave us,” he commanded the gathered ministers and guards. 

In moments the crowded council hall had emptied. 
“How wise you are, my prince.” Gone was DiSanti’s 
reverent, humble tone. With a snarl, he turned on Timon. “Do 
you think by kidnapping my daughter you’ll circumvent my plans? 
Your father hangs on by a thread. A day or two without his 
nika, and he’ll die in agony.” 
Timon remained impassive to DiSanti’s threats. He’d heard 
them before. Only a few select ministers, DiSanti’s men, knew 
of King Dracken’s addiction. Others thought he suffered from 
milag, a debilitating illness. Those who questioned DiSanti’s 
place as High Minister and advisor to Prince Timon disappeared. 
But they both knew the king must live, for once Timon ascended 
to the throne, the battle between them would begin in earnest. 
As if he heard Timon’s thoughts, DiSanti’s voice grew soft 
and oily. “What of your ailing mother, the lovely Queen Theone? 
Each day she grows weaker. And Thomasa asks of you often.” 
Timon’s fingers dug into the hard wooden arms of his chair. 
DiSanti struck at his weakness. His mother. And Thomasa. 
His sister. His twin. 
“You are not irreplaceable. Your sister is a delightful little 
girl. She’s grown quite fond of me these last few years. It 
would be no hardship to take her as wife.” 
“You’ll not touch her!” Fists clenched, Timon sprang from 
his chair. If he knew where DiSanti had his mother and sister 
hidden, Timon would take great pleasure in putting his sword 
through the man’s evil heart. 
“So you do have blood flowing in your royal veins.” DiSanti 
chuckled but didn’t flinch. “Easy, my hot-tempered prince, if 
anything befalls me, your sister’s guards have orders to kill 
her—slowly and as painfully as possible. But I prefer to rule 
through you.” 
“Of course you do,” Timon said. “If I die, marriage to the 
princess will not guarantee your control. Too many other petty 
dictators will arise to challenge you.” Only King Dracken’s 
and Timon’s own popularity with the people, along with the 
ambitions of the other ministers, kept DiSanti from killing the 
entire royal family and claiming the throne for himself. “Civil 
war will do little to line your pockets.” Or satisfy your lust for 

power. 
“You’re correct, my prince, but do not over estimate your 
value to me.” 
The unspoken threat made Timon shudder. He sank back 
into his throne and waited to hear DiSanti’s current demands. 
Each time they grew more onerous. How much more could the 
people of Dramon survive? Try as he did, there was little he 
could do to soften DiSanti’s harsh grip. Like the mythical hero, 
Conlin, who to protect his people, forever rode the tail of the 
giant Tigra, Timon was trapped. 
“What do you want? Soon enough your daughter will be 
my wife. What need do I have to abduct her?” 
“Then why does the messenger refuse to speak his demands 
to anyone but you?” 
“I don’t know. Bring him to me, and we’ll find out.” 
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. His interrogators were a bit 
too zealous.” Anger threaded DiSanti’s calm words. 
“Is the man dead?” 
“No, but he’ll not survive the journey here. You will come 
with me.” 
Timon hesitated. To leave what protection the castle offered 
was foolish, but what choice did he have? As DiSanti’s puppet, 
he had to dance to the man’s tune, or his family would suffer 
the consequences. Still, this messenger had resisted DiSanti’s 
methods of persuasion. Perhaps these abductors would prove 
to be valuable allies. The moons knew he needed help. What 
hope did he, a mere boy, have alone? He nodded his 
acquiescence and cringed inwardly at the sound of DiSanti’s 
satisfied laughter. 
*** 
Worry churned Sianna’s stomach as she paced the 
courtyard wall. In the five days since Kyne, Lisha, and the 
others had ridden out, there had been no word. Though she 
kept busy every waking moment, and precognition was not one 
of her gifts, she couldn’t banish her sense of dread. 
A familiar wave of hostility broke over her. She turned and 
came face-to-face with Katya. When Warda growled and 
pressed close to Sianna’s side, she rested her hand on the 

hound’s head, silently calming him. 
Since Kyne departed leaving Katya in charge of the castle, 
Sianna had done her best to stay out of the angry young woman’s 
way. With little success. At every opportunity, Katya forced a 
confrontation. The constant conflict wore on Sianna’s dwindling 
reserves. 
“For whom do you wait? Kyne? Graham? Rescue?” 
Katya’s lovely features twisted into an ugly sneer. “Like a 
spinner in her web, you seduce men to their destruction with 
your innocent air. Be warned, Kyne and Graham are not so 
easily deceived.” 
Though Katya’s animosity drained Sianna, she laughed. 
“You mix your similes badly. How does my innocent air seduce 
men?” 
Fury sparked in Katya’s eyes. “Don’t bandy words with 
me, woman. You fool the others here because they’re ignorant 
of your true identity. It sickens me to see them looking to you 
for counsel and help, as if you were the lady of the castle rather 
than the spawn of the unredeemed. One word from me, and 
they’ll turn on you.” 
A spurt of anger made Sianna bold. “Nothing I’ve done 
has harmed you or these people. I grow weary of your threats. 
Say what you will. Do what you must. Only cease annoying 
me.” Frustration made her turn her back on Katya. The woman 
refused to see the truth. She fed her grief with anger and hate. 
Warda’s low rumble warned Sianna just before Katya 
grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. At her touch, a 
bitter stew of rage, pain and guilt swirled inside Katya and 
flowed into Sianna. She staggered under the assault. 
“Why didn’t I cut your throat that first night?” Anguish 
laced Katya’s bitter question. 
Sympathy for the woman’s pain made Sianna reach out. 
“Because it’s not in you to commit murder.” 
More difficult to heal than a physical injury or illness, a 
spiritual wound would drain her dwindling reserves. Could she 
cope? Maybe not, but could she ignore Katya’s desperate need? 
She covered Katya’s hand with her own. “Let go of your pain 
and hatred. Permit yourself to heal.” 

Eyes wide, her golden skin gone white, Katya gasped and 
jerked free. “Don’t touch me, witch. What moon-born magic 
do you wield?” She backed away. 
“No magic. Just simple compassion.” The Sisters had 
warned Sianna against revealing the unusual nature of her gifts 
to the suspicious and superstitious. More than one healer, even 
without empathic skill, had been branded a witch and died a 
fiery death at the hands of an angry mob. 
“Keep your compassion.” Katya spat the words at Sianna. 
“Nothing you give can replace what you’ve stolen. If spilling 
your blood would give me one more moment with Aubin, I would 
gut you like a shoat.” She whirled and hastened away. 
Sorrow descended over Sianna. Deep inside, her soul wept. 
How useless her skill seemed in the face of such agony. Unless 
Katya rid herself of her quest for vengeance, she would never 
again be whole. 
A sentry called out. “Riders approach!” 
From her vantage point on the wall, Sianna looked over the 
treetops. In the distance, she could see wagon after loaded 
wagon, interspersed with riders, navigating the treacherous 
mountain path. Already the commotion in the yard heralded the 
group’s success. 
Though unable to discern his features, Sianna found Kyne 
as he rode alongside an apparently empty wagon. 
She reached out, but only a subtle hint of his presence 
touched her. 
Her stomach lurched as fierce, unrelenting pain sliced into 
her legs. With a gasp her knees buckled. 
Whose suffering did she feel? Relegating the pain to a 
corner of her mind, she searched out the one in need. 
Graham. 
In her mind she saw and felt the world through his senses— 
the blue sky above, the scratch of the blanket-covered straw 
beneath him, the smell and taste of blood as he bit his tongue to 
stifle his moans...and the white hot jolts of pain with each lurch 
of the wagon. 
How bad? With her mind she probed his body. So much 
damage. Broken bones. Torn muscles. Mangled flesh. 

Through the pain his emotions touched her. Without the 
use of his legs he felt himself less than a man, less than human. 
He wanted to die. No! 
In less than a tenday she had come to love this large, quiet 
man, as she had hoped to love her father. She could not let him 
die. But could she keep him alive if he wished to die? 
Could she heal him? Did she have the strength and skill? 
Whatever it took she would give this man. 
“Sianna. Sianna. Father is coming.” 
Zoa’s excited cries and Warda’s anxious whine severed 
Sianna’s connection to Graham. His pain faded to memory. On 
shaky legs she rose and headed down the ladder to the courtyard. 
“Hurry, Sianna! There are so many wagons. Do you think 
there will be sugar to make candy sweets? I hope so. It’s been 
ever so long.” 
At the bottom of the ladder, Zoa danced in excitement, her 
small face alight with anticipation. Warda sprang down after 
Sianna, easily making the twenty-foot leap. 
“You go on ahead. I have to talk to Althea.” 
For a moment Zoa wavered, then temptation won out over 
attachment, and the child darted off. 
Sianna hastened toward the makeshift hospital. Graham 
would need a separate room. She knew his pride would suffer 
if he were forced to endure the pity in everyone’s eyes. On her 
way she grabbed the two young boys from the great hall incident. 
They protested, wanting to meet the caravan, but at her stern 
look, capitulated. 
“Althea.” 
The old woman blinked, roused from her sitting doze in a 
chair outside the herb room. She looked up at Sianna. 
“Graham has been badly injured.” 
The two boys beside Sianna gasped. 
“We’ll need to use your chamber to care for him.” Althea’s 
room, a small chamber with only a bed, a table and a chair, lay 
next to the herb room. It would serve. Althea nodded, rose, and 
went into her chamber. 
Sianna turned toward the boys. “Go to Graham’s chamber 
and bring down his bed, Althea’s is too small for his large frame. 

Hurry. He’ll be here soon.” 
While she headed into the herb room, the two boys ran off 
to do her bidding. Her hands trembled as she collected the 
medicines and instruments she would need to treat Graham. 
She quickly directed the two boys in removing Althea’s 
narrow cot and setting up the larger bed, then she laid out her 
supplies on the room’s small table. Ground alt root would lessen 
the swelling, but would do little to ease his pain. If only she had 
some nika root. 
She hadn’t lied when she told Kyne of the nika plant’s 
medicinal benefits. Only the strong narcotic would keep Graham 
unconscious while she manipulated his bones into proper 
alignment. Could she convince Kyne to procure some nika root? 
If not, a double dose of alt was her only alternative, but would 
it do? 
Neither herb nor narcotic could knit Graham’s shattered 
bones into usable limbs. She must join her ka with his, absorb 
his injuries into herself, and use her innate skill to mend bone 
and muscle. While she didn’t fear the physical pain of joining 
with him, the thought of the mental anguish daunted her. Because 
he already called himself dead and because he mistrusted her, 
his ka would fight her healing. The risk was great—to both of 
them. 
A commotion in the courtyard told her the caravan had 
arrived. She stepped out of Althea’s chamber, and her gaze 
clashed with Kyne’s. No softness lurked in his dark stare. 
“Bring him in here.” She had no time for Kyne’s 
recriminations. Graham’s life took precedence. 
Like a big cat intent on destroying his prey, Kyne stalked 
toward her. Standing her ground, she forced herself not to recoil 
from her sudden awareness of his turbulent emotions. 
He leaned close, and the heat of his body—potent with the 
smell of sweat, blood and death—washed over her. “I’ll not let 
you finish what your father started.” His whisper reached only 
her ears. “Where’s Althea?” 
Sianna grabbed his arm. Emotions lashed her—guilt, grief 
and fury swirled like a whirlwind within Kyne. Unwilling to risk 
draining her energy in a fruitless attempt to ease his turmoil, 

she jerked away. “Althea is an old woman. She hasn’t the vigor 
to treat Graham’s injuries. Let me help him. I’ll not hurt him.” 
His hand gripped her shoulder, and his thumb pressed into 
the hollow of her throat, a reminder that he held her life in his 
hands. For the first time she actually feared Kyne would do her 
physical harm. Pushing aside her apprehension, she projected 
an aura of peace, serenity and a confidence she didn’t truly 
feel. 
“Trust me, Kyne.” 
“I’d as soon trust a hungry water worm in my bath.” He 
spoke of the large parasitic worms that lived and bred in stagnant 
water and fed by burrowing into living flesh. His fingers dug 
painfully into her neck. “But I have no choice. If Graham dies, 
you die.” 
She nodded. In the healing Graham’s ka and her own would 
merge. If one perished, so would the other. Her affection for 
the man decreed she help him. “I accept your terms. Now 
bring him to me.” 
Kyne’s gaze searched her face, then he directed three men 
to carefully lift Graham’s blanket-draped body. Graham 
stiffened and screamed, then went limp. The men carried him 
into the small chamber, placed him on the bed, and departed. 
Kyne stepped into the room and stood behind Sianna as she 
pulled away the blanket. She couldn’t contain her gasp of horror. 
Feeling Graham’s pain had not prepared her for the sight of his 
injuries. 
One leg was broken in three places, the thigh and twice 
below the knee, the limb twisted and bulging. The other leg 
was broken above his knee, ragged bone protruding through 
skin and cloth. Blood still seeped from the torn flesh and soaked 
his trousers. 
“The price for the captured caravan was too steep.” Kyne’s 
hoarse whisper made Sianna turn to him. He rubbed the ache 
at his neck, but she knew nothing could ease the pain in his 
heart. “You’ll need at least four men to hold him while you 
amputate.” 
“No!” Graham surged up on his elbows. “You’ll not take 
my legs!” Sweat beaded on his chalky, pain-racked face. 

Sianna circled his tense shoulders with her arms and tried 
to ease him back. “No one will do anything you don’t want us 
to. I promise.” 
Kyne’s fingers dug painfully into her arm. “Don’t promise 
him what you can’t deliver, woman!” 
She tried to shake him off. “Please leave. You’re upsetting 
him needlessly. I’ll decide the course of his treatment.” Beneath 
her hands, Graham’s muscles started to relax. 
“If you don’t amputate quickly, infection will set in, and 
he’ll die. There’s no choice to be made. It’s your legs or your 
life,” Kyne told Graham. 
Graham glared at Kyne and struggled against Sianna’s hold. 
“Then let me die. I’ll not go through life half a man.” 
Patience gone, Sianna shouted, “Enough! Would you two 
fight all the way to the gates of eternity?” 
Eyes closed, Graham collapsed onto the bed, his strength 
spent. “Oblivion’s gates more likely,” he murmured in a feeble 
flash of his normal humor. 
Kyne snapped his mouth into a tight line which promised 
retribution. 
“How does he fare?” Laila stood in the doorway. 
“Not well,” Kyne answered. “The fool has decided to die.” 
“Are his injuries so severe?” 
“Not fatal, but crippling. His legs were crushed when his 
quinar rolled over him during the battle. He refuses to consider 
amputation.” Kyne spoke to Laila but looked at Sianna. 
She avoided his gaze and worked at cutting away Graham’s 
dirty, blood-soaked trousers. Though his eyes were closed, she 
knew Graham was aware of what went on. Pain sapped his 
strength, but not his will. 
“Perhaps it’s better he die.” 
Laila’s seemingly callous disregard for Graham’s life spurred 
Kyne’s vehemence. “He’ll not die. I’ll not permit him to. Graham 
is strong enough to survive. He must. Our people need him.” 
I need him. 
As clearly as if he had spoken, Sianna heard his thought. 
Startled by the unexpected connection between them, she 
glanced up. But already he masked his emotions. 

“Give him a reason to live, or he will die. Help him find 
something to replace the use of his legs—if you can.” Laila’s 
strained whisper hinted at things lost and motives found for 
living. Still dressed in the same stained clothing, fresh blood and 
dirt layered over old, she had a fevered, haunted look in her 
red-rimmed eyes. Her loss allowed her no respite. 
“Graham!” Katya’s yell pierced the unnatural silence of 
the great hall. “Let me through. Where is he?” 
Sianna turned aside the jumble of conflicting emotions 
preceding Katya as she pushed past Laila and stumbled into 
the chamber. Kyne caught her by the shoulders before she 
barreled into Sianna who leaned protectively over Graham. 
“Let me go! I must see him!” 
Kyne held tight, blocking her view of Graham. “No, Katya. 
He doesn’t want you to see him like this. Allow him that dignity.” 
“Let me go to him. Please, Kyne. We parted with angry 
words. I have to tell him...I’m sorry...I didn’t mean what I 
said...please, I love him...I didn’t know... didn’t realize...” Her 
voice trailed off into broken sobs, and her body sagged into his. 
“Let her in.” Sianna covered Graham’s lower body with 
the blanket. Other than his drawn and too pale face, Graham 
looked unchanged. Katya needed to see him, and soon he would 
need her strength. Would her love be enough to instill him with 
the will to live? Sianna prayed it would. Her skill alone would 
not suffice. 
Kyne’s gaze met Sianna’s. At her silent nod, he loosened 
his hold on Katya. Cheeks wet with tears, she stumbled forward 
and sank to her knees beside the bed. Tenderly she clasped 
Graham’s limp fingers. 
“Graham,” she whispered. “I’m here. Don’t leave me.” 
Kyne tensed as Sianna stepped away from the bed. In the 
chamber’s small confines, her side pressed into his back. Her 
heat and the subtle scent of herbs and wild flowers that clung 
to her hair and skin distracted him from Graham and Katya. 
Try as he did, even in the midst of crisis, Kyne couldn’t banish 
his desire for this woman. Her tremor told him she was not 
unaffected by the contact. 
Since the death of his parents at DiSanti’s hand six annum 

before, Kyne had fought to contain his clawing need for 
vengeance. Aubin’s foul murder had released the beast lurking 
in Kyne’s heart. Was he so blinded he’d condemn the innocent 
along with the guilty? Was she innocent? His heart said yes. 
“Katya?” Graham’s eyes flickered open. Eyes glazed and 
unfocused, he stared up at Katya. “Don’t cry for me, Little 
Kat. This is the end all warriors pray for. Death in battle.” 
“You’re not going to die, you old fool! You can’t. Dramon 
needs you. Kyne needs you. I need you.” Her voice broke on a 
sob. 
“Like this...I’m of no use to my country, my Rul or...to a 
woman. Leave me.” With a sudden surge of strength, Graham 
pulled his hand from Katya’s grasp, closed his eyes and turned 
his head to the wall. 
She started to grab his arm, but Sianna gripped her shoulders 
and pulled her gently away. “Let him be for now.” 
Like a lost child, Katya turned into Sianna’s embrace. 
“He can’t die,” she wailed. “I love him! Don’t let him 
die.” 
“Shhh, save your strength, Katya. Graham is going to need 
it. Rest now. I’ll call you when he wakes. Betha,” Sianna called. 
The small, plump woman hurried forward, squeezing her 
way into the already crowded chamber. Warmth flooded Kyne 
as Sianna’s backside pressed more firmly against his. 
“Would you take Katya to her chamber and settle her in 
bed with a hot drink?” Sianna asked. 
“Of course. Come along now.” Betha deftly took charge 
of the subdued Katya and led her away. 
Kyne felt a pang of regret as Sianna stepped away from 
him. 
She faced him and Lisha, who still hovered in the doorway, 
and dismissed them. “Hold your meetings elsewhere and leave 
me to my work.” Her tone of command brooked no argument. 
Lisha stepped back. Hesitating, Kyne searched Sianna’s 
face for any sign of treachery. Trust no longer came easy to 
him. DiSanti’s betrayal of his family and his country had seen 
to Kyne’s education. She met his gaze without flinching, her 
eyes wide and innocent, her soft lips slightly parted. What choice 

did he have? He wanted to trust her. He had to. For the moment. 
Kyne turned and left the chamber. The door closed with a 
firm thud behind him. 
A small smile touched Lisha’s lips. “If love alone is enough, 
perhaps your Graham will live. I came to tell you farewell. 
Your healer has worked miracles with my injured men. They 
are ready to leave. Allot us our share of the goods captured, 
and we will be on our way.” She turned to leave. 
“Where will you go? Your band is too small to challenge 
DiSanti’s troops. With what we captured there is more than 
enough to feed you and your men through the winter. Stay. Our 
cause is better served if we join forces.” 
A small tremor shook Lisha’s shoulders, but he couldn’t 
see her face or eyes. 
“My men may make their own choice. But there is much 
you don’t know of me. I....” 
“Your past is of no concern. You fight DiSanti. That is 
enough. Join me. I have need of leaders and warriors. Lend 
your arm to freeing our country from an oppressive tyrant.” 
She faced him, her lips curled in a pensive smile. “Your 
plea is eloquent. I will stay. For now. I only pray you never 
regret your offer,” she added softly. 
Kyne stretched out his sword arm. After a moment’s 
hesitation, Lisha stepped forward and clasped his arm below 
the elbow, as he grasped hers. 
“Live hard. Die well, Warrior.” 
“Live well. Die hard,” she spoke the response which bonded 
them as comrades in arms. 
The touch of her strong fingers sent a jolt through Kyne. 
For a brief instant he felt her soul-deep torment as if it were his 
own. 
Or perhaps it was. 

EIGHT
Her back to the door, Sianna took a deep breath to slow 
her racing heart. She must be calm. Graham needed her 
strength. With another breath, she pushed away from the door. 
Three steps brought her to his side. 
Blood now saturated the blanket covering him. Thick and 
salty, the smell permeated the air of the small room. He groaned 
as she lifted the blanket and began cutting away his trousers. 
“Are you awake?” 
Graham’s eyes opened and met hers. “Do not trouble 
yourself with me. I am beyond hope. Let me die with my dignity 
intact.” 
“Katya is right. You are an old fool.” She let disdain creep 
into her voice. “And a coward as well.” 
Surprise warred with anger in his eyes. He stirred against 
the bed, his fists clenching. “I am not afraid to die.” 
“Dying is easy. It takes courage to live. Instead you roll 
over and surrender at the first sign of trouble.” In a quick move 
she stripped the bloody tatters of material off his legs. A small 
cloth preserved his modesty as she cleaned the area around 
the gaping wound. Blood seeped through the ragged opening, 
the bone white against crimson. Though the amount of blood 
looked prodigious, no major vessels were cut. He would not 
bleed to death. 
A grimace crossed his features, but he made no move. “I 
will not be a burden. A legless man is half a man.” 
“You deceive only yourself. Kyne and Katya have need of 
more than your body. They need your heart and mind. Don’t 
abandon them. If you won’t fight for yourself, will you fight for 
them?” 

Eyes closed, he did not answer. 
She leaned close and placed her palm against his rough 
cheek. Heat scorched her hand. “Don’t shut out those who 
love you. If you allow me I can help you, but you must want to 
live. You must be strong and brave enough to face the pain. If 
you surrender to despair, you are defeated before you begin, 
and all my skill will be for naught.” 
He opened his eyes and grabbed her wrist. Pain from his 
strong grip shot up her arm. “Can you save my legs? Can you 
promise I’ll walk again? Will I be as I was?” 
Sianna opened herself to Graham’s heart and knew without 
her promise he would die in spite of her efforts. In time she 
could convince him he was a man with or without the use of his 
legs, but he didn’t have time. Every minute he fought her 
treatment lessened his chances of survival. She could save his 
life, but she couldn’t guarantee what he asked. 
She steeled herself to his desperate glare. Graham wanted 
to live, but would rather die than live as a cripple. 
“Yes, I promise.” Strong and sure, the lie slid through her 
lips. 
For a seemingly endless moment he searched her eyes. 
She fought to keep the fear and doubt that crowded her 
mind from her face. Was she strong enough? Skilled enough? 
Satisfied with what he found, Graham eased the pressure 
on her wrist. His body went lax, and his eyelids drooped again. 
“Then get on with it. I will live. But be warned, if you fail me in 
this I will personally escort you to the gates of Oblivion.” 
*** 
Sianna closed the door behind her and sagged. Graham 
slept, the bleeding finally stopped, but there was much yet to 
do. She stretched and stepped out into the great hall. Warda 
rose from where he waited outside the small chamber and 
followed. 
Across the hall, directing the disbursement of the caravan’s 
contents, Kyne towered over the crowd. Determination drove 
off exhaustion as she pushed her way through the crowd toward 
him. 
“Rul Cathor, a word with you.” Loud and a bit shrill, her 

voice cut through the babble. 
A puzzled silence fell over the people as they looked at her. 
“I’ll see to the rest later. Destroy the nika,” he said. “There 
will be a few less addicts to serve DiSanti’s plans.” 
“No, you mustn’t!” She hurried to Kyne’s side. 
Frowning, he dismissed the steward and turned to face 
her. “Mustn’t what?” 
The crowd around them melted away, leaving her alone 
with Kyne. Apprehension rippled through her, but she pushed 
her doubts and fears aside. For Graham she would dare Kyne’s 
wrath for what she was about to ask. At her side, Warda leaned 
against her knees, his presence a solid comfort. 
“Graham does well enough, for the moment, but I have 
need of certain supplies and some assistance.” 
“Whatever is necessary will be provided.” 
“Do I have your word on that, Rul?” 
“Of course.” Suspicion darkened his gaze. “What do you 
require?” 
Though expected, his continued mistrust hurt. Would he 
ever regard her as other than her father’s daughter? See her 
as a person in her own right? 
She glanced around. Curious stares and hushed whispers 
indicated the crowd’s interest. “May we speak more privately?” 
Arms crossed over his chest, his legs spread in a stance of 
command, he stared down at her. “Why? Do you anticipate an 
argument? If I have the ability to provide the items, you will 
have them. Do you doubt my word?” 
“No, only your temper, my lord.” 
“I am the most temperate of men.” He silenced the chuckles 
from the crowd with a hostile look. 
“Very well. I need several strong men to hold Graham down 
as I set his bones.” 
“This is not a problem. What else?” 
She wet her lips and continued. “Alt root will not do to dull 
Graham’s pain for the setting of his bones. Something stronger 
is required, or the shock alone will kill him.” Mouth dry, she 
placed her hand on Kyne’s arm and willed him to read her 
intent in this matter. For once she wished for the strange 

connection between them. She spoke softly, for his ears alone. 
“I do not ask this lightly. The only anesthetic that will work is 
distilled from the nika root. I must have a quantity of the root.” 
Other than the tensing of his arm muscles and a small twitch 
at the corner of his pressed lips, he did not react. She felt nothing 
of his emotions, nor did his eyes betray the anger she knew 
must be brewing within him. His stillness fueled her fear. Not 
for herself, but for Graham. Without the body-numbing drug, 
Graham stood no chance of survival. 
“Time is of the essence,” she hurried on. “The longer the 
delay in setting Graham’s bones, the less likely he will regain 
the use of them. Don’t let your fears and prejudices blind you. 
Trust me in this matter.” 
Kyne gripped her upper arm. Sensing a coming storm, 
people fled as he pulled her across the hall and up the stairs to 
his chamber. Thrusting her inside, he commanded Warda to 
remain without. With a whine of protest, Warda positioned 
himself in front of the closing door. 
The bolt slid home with an ominous clank. A niggle of fear 
jolted Sianna. Kyne would not harm her. Would he? His cold, 
dark eyes and tense stance made her convictions waver. She 
stepped back as he advanced on her. When the table blocked 
her backward movement, she braced her palms against its edge 
and lifted her gaze to his. 
“You dare too much, woman. Trust you! Why?” He leaned 
over her, and his body’s heat melted the chill of the room. 
Warm and solid, he stirred more than fear in her. Unfamiliar 
feelings quickened inside her. Though he didn’t touch her, for a 
heartbeat she felt a thread of connection between them, and 
his glare softened into confusion. 
“Since I’ve been here have I done anything to harm you or 
your people?” The thread snapped, and his gaze hardened. He 
didn’t respond and her hopes faltered, but she pressed on. “I 
cannot help the blood that flows in my veins, but I am not my 
father. His crimes are not mine. Can you not see me for who I 
am?” 
“Who are you?” Loud and harsh with restrained anguish, 
he growled the question at her. His fingers curled around her 

shoulders, and he pulled her against him. 
Heat and longing jolted through her, nearly hiding the flicker 
of his emotion that touched her. He wanted to believe her, but 
refused to allow himself any weakness. She struggled to latch 
onto his thoughts and feelings, to form a connection, but her 
body’s responses to his touch defeated her. All she could do 
was ride the waves of sensation crashing through her. Did he 
feel what she felt? Or was he immune to these physical 
sensations? 
“Aubin was no fool, yet you lured him to his death with 
your false innocence.” With a shove he released her, and she 
stumbled against the table. The self-disgust in his voice shattered 
the spell his touch had created. “Such an accomplished actress 
could no doubt beguile even me—if I let you. I’ll not trust you.” 
She straightened, refusing to cower or admit to the pain his 
words caused. Could she tell him the truth? Break her silence 
and reveal her identity? Could she betray Laila to gain favor in 
Kyne’s eyes? 
Perhaps there was another way. “And what of your word?” 
Color drained from his skin. “You shall have the men you 
need.” 
“And the nika root?” 
“No. In this matter, Graham’s welfare means more to me 
than my honor.” 
“Without my skill Graham will die, if not from his injuries 
then because he chooses not to live. Why can’t you put aside 
your doubts about my sincerity and give me the chance to try to 
save him? Search your heart. Do you truly distrust me? Or 
does fear hold you back? I’ve already offered my life in 
guarantee of Graham’s, what more do you wish for? Tell me 
and it’s yours,” she pleaded. 
“Return to your patient.” 
“And the nika?” 
“No.” Hard and implacable, Kyne’s expression killed 
Sianna’s hope. Still, she argued. 
“But....” 
“Go now before I do something you’ll regret.” 
*** 

Stubborn man. Like a thrust of his crystal blade deep within 
Sianna’s heart, Kyne’s lack of trust hurt. Couldn’t he see beyond 
her birth? No. Blinded by hatred and ignorance, he would 
hesitate until Graham’s life was forfeited. She refused to allow 
that to happen. Not while the solution lay within her grasp. 
She slipped out the chamber door and down the stairs, intent 
on her goal. No one took note of her passage as she made her 
way toward the wagons in the courtyard. Though subdued 
because of Graham’s injury, an air of celebration hovered in 
the castle. The loaded caravan would provide for all throughout 
the coming winter. Under the direction of the castle steward, 
people unloaded and stored away the various goods—food, cloth, 
house and farm implements, and weapons. Sianna shuddered 
at the thought of future battles and injured men. 
A smaller wagon filled with medicines stood to one side. 
Kyne had ordered the nika destroyed, but she knew the steward 
needed to sort through the contents of the wagon before doing 
so. For now the wagon sat abandoned. 
The nika’s distinctively sweet aroma guided her to its 
location. Package after package of pressed blossoms filled the 
air around the wagon with a heady scent, intoxicating in itself, 
enough nika to addict everyone within the castle. Kyne was 
right to destroy these packages of future misery. Darting a look 
over her shoulder, she prayed there was some root, and dug 
deeper into the wagon. 
A smell similar to the nika blossom, though moist, pungent 
and somehow cleaner, wafted under her nose. With eager fingers 
she grabbed and tore open the lumpy bag. Gnarled and dirt-
crusted, the size of her clenched fist, a dark purple root with 
pale pink flesh rewarded her effort. 
Shoving the root into her pocket, she glanced around. No 
one seemed to have noticed her. Fear battled with satisfaction. 
Satisfaction won. She would deal with Kyne’s anger later. For 
now, she hurried to the herb room to begin her preparations. 
Graham had no time to spare. 
*** 
Questions and doubts chased through Kyne’s mind, but no 
answers. 

What more do you want from me? Sianna’s words lingered. 
What could he take without condemning his ka to 
damnation? Her body? Her heart? Her ka? Despite the 
evidence, he fought against giving this daughter of DiSanti his 
trust. 
What was this strange connection he felt whenever he was 
near to her? Was it just lust? He doubted it. At eight and twenty 
annum, he was no boy to be swayed by a desirable body and 
honeyed words—though few of Sianna’s words were sweet. 
Her innocence had to be false, a chimera sent to tempt him to 
destruction. 
Yet how earnest she sounded as she argued her case, and 
her words held more truth than not. Since her arrival at the 
castle, she’d done nothing but good for his people. Order now 
reigned where before chaos held sway. Hot, tasty meals 
appeared at regular intervals. Clean, scented rushes covered 
the hard stone floors. People went about their tasks with smiles, 
and hope filled the air. All these things he knew had been 
accomplished through Sianna’s efforts. Only the question of 
why haunted him. Did she seek to gain their trust to betray 
them? Or was she as she seemed, another victim of her father’s 
ambition and greed? 
The decision rested heavily on Kyne’s heart and shoulders. 
If he withheld his trust, would Graham die? Despite her bold 
claims, no man could survive injuries such as Graham’s. If nika 
could ease Graham’s passage to eternity, what right did he have 
to deny him? What would he lose that was not already lost? 
Was his honor worth Graham’s suffering? 
*** 
Shoulders and hips colliding, Kyne, Sianna and two men 
crowded into the tiny chamber. Kyne looked at Graham’s 
colorless, pain-racked face and felt the blood drain from his 
own. The smell of blood, sweat, and pending death hung in the 
room’s still, warm air. Could he stay and watch his friend suffer 
and die? Why did he allow this woman, this witch, to torment 
them with false hope? 
“Position yourselves one on each side of Graham’s hips,” 
she directed the two men. Chosen for their strength and steady 

nerves, the men showed no emotion as they followed her orders. 
“Rul Cathor, would you stand at his head?” 
Brisk and efficient, her tone brooked no refusal. He moved 
to Graham’s head. Sweat drenched Graham’s body and 
plastered his hair to his skull like an obscene death cap. 
Sianna stepped to Graham’s side, and her shoulder brushed 
against Kyne’s. Clean and fresh as the mountain air, her scent 
filled his nose. His body grew taut and hard. He jerked away. 
She gave him a curious glance then leaned over the bed 
and laid her palm against Graham’s forehead. 
“Graham? Can you hear me?” 
Graham’s eyes flickered open. Dull with pain, his gaze 
fastened on her. “Yes,” his voice cracked. 
“I have something to lessen your pain. Drink.” Lifting 
Graham’s head with one hand, she held a cup to his lips. 
A familiar odor banished her scent from Kyne’s nostrils. 
“What are you giving him?” 
“Nika root.” Her soft words reached no further than his 
ears. 
He grabbed her wrist. “You dare defy me?” 
She flinched at the pressure of his fingers, but met his gaze 
boldly. “For the good of my patient I dare much. Will you stop 
me?” 
From the connection of their flesh, her emotions flowed 
into him. Her wave of love for Graham washed away Kyne’s 
rage. Whoever this woman was he knew she wouldn’t hurt 
Graham. Another feeling lurked just out of range of his senses, 
but fear of what he might find kept him from searching. He 
dropped her wrist. 
“No, I’ll not stop you. But be warned you’ll pay dearly for 
betrayal.” 
Hurt darkened her eyes. She nodded and turned her attention 
to Graham. 
“Drink,” she urged. 
Graham drank and grimaced. “Bitter,” he complained. 
Kyne watched as Graham’s eyelids drooped, and his 
features lost their contortion of pain. 
“Graham?” Sianna questioned. 

“Hmmm....” he murmured. 
“I don’t want to put you completely out while I set your 
bones. If I do I’m afraid you may not awaken again. Can you 
stand the pain?” 
“Have I a choice?” 
“There are always choices. With life comes pain,” she 
answered. 
Her words held a wealth of wisdom for one so young. Had 
she, Kyne wondered, learned of pain at her father’s hand? 
She pulled back the blanket covering Graham’s lower torso. 
“It is time.” 
Kyne couldn’t prevent his gasp of horror. Even the two 
soldiers blanched and looked away. Pale skin stretched tight 
over Graham’s swollen, twisted limbs, while white bone flecked 
with rusty red pierced through mangled flesh. 
“Be strong, Graham.” Cupping his face in her hands, Sianna 
leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead. Then she 
straightened and squeezed past Kyne to stand at the foot of the 
bed. 
“Are you ready?” she asked, her question for all, but her 
gaze rested on Kyne. Four heads nodded. With both hands she 
gripped one of Graham’s legs. Her slender fingers barely circled 
his ankle. “Hold him steady.” 
Kyne braced himself and pressed Graham’s upper body 
firmly against the bed. The other men held Graham’s hips in 
place. 
Sianna lifted Graham’s leg and gave a quick twist and pull. 
Graham stiffened and gave a choked cry, but didn’t move. Bone 
ground against bone, then settled into alignment. Sweat dripped 
down Sianna’s flushed face. Her hair, pulled back and away 
from her face, escaped its confines and clung to her damp 
cheeks. 
Running her hand over the leg from ankle to thigh, she 
gave a relieved sigh. “One more, my friend, and the worst is 
past.” 
“No more,” Graham groaned. 
“Give him more pain killer,” Kyne said. 
She shook her head. All color vanished from her face. “I 

dare not.” 
Anger at his friend’s suffering made Kyne harsh. Honor 
be damned. He would eat nika himself to spare Graham. “Do 
you take pleasure in his pain? He cannot stand more.” 
“He must.” 
“I will,” Graham gasped between clenched teeth. “Do 
it...now....” 
“Kyne, come here. You,” Sianna directed one of the men, 
“take Kyne’s place.” 
Kyne stood at Graham’s feet, his hip pressed against 
Sianna’s. Pale as a crystal moon, she swayed into him. 
Exhaustion swamped him. His? Or hers? He wasn’t sure. 
“Grip his leg here and here.” She placed his hands on 
Graham’s twisted and shattered limb. Against his battle-scarred 
hands, her slim, white fingers looked fragile. 
In contrast to her icy touch, the heat of Graham’s flesh 
burned his palms. 
“When I tell you, push the bone back into place and hold it 
while I stitch the wound closed. You men keep him from 
thrashing.” 
At her signal, Kyne did as directed. 
Pain and fear not his own jolted through Kyne. Instinctively 
he tried to pull away, but he couldn’t break Sianna’s grip. She 
went rigid and locked his hands in place with her own. 
Graham screamed, lurched upward, then his big body went 
limp. With surprisingly little effort the bone slid back beneath 
muscle and skin. 
Exhilaration flowed through Kyne. Deep inside, something 
he couldn’t name quickened, a swirl of strength beyond the 
physical grew and demanded release. Like liquid sunshine, a 
glow flowered around their joined hands and spilled out over 
Graham. 
Unwilling to believe, wanting to deny the communion 
between Sianna and himself, Kyne squeezed his eyes shut and 
waited. Minutes or hours passed, he lost any sense of time, 
then the warmth ebbed leaving him drained and cold. He blinked 
as Sianna lifted her hands from atop his. Reality reasserted 
itself, and he dismissed his odd reaction as an effect of breathing 

nika fumes. The drug was known to cause strange hallucinations. 
Then why did confusion darken her eyes? Why did the 
removal of her touch leave him feeling alone and forsaken? 
Before he could question his logic, she turned her attention 
back to Graham and made quick work of stitching and bandaging 
his wounds. 
She straightened, looked at the two soldiers waiting and 
said quietly, “It is done. You may leave.” 
The two men looked to Kyne for confirmation and at his 
nod left the room. After the door shut behind them, he was 
surprised to find the chamber seemed smaller rather than larger 
with their absence. The cloying smell of nika and blood couldn’t 
drown out Sianna’s clean, fresh scent. 
“Graham will live.” 
Her words filled his heart as her presence filled the chamber 
and his senses. He forced himself to remember who she was 
and not to reach out for her. “Will he walk?” 
“Perhaps. I am unsure.” Her gentle eyes filled with sorrow 
as she looked up at him. “If not, will he hate me for saving 
him?” 
At her ragged confession, his heart softened. He didn’t 
doubt her affection for Graham. Did guilt torment her as it did 
him? Could either of them find redemption? 
Not a hint of color touched her cheeks or lips. Her dark 
hair hung limp and lusterless. Set in a face as white and dry as 
crystal dust but without its sparkle, her eyes glittered feverishly. 
“You are ill?” Concern for her welfare made him uneasy. 
He should take pleasure in her downfall, as she had in Aubin’s, 
but he saw not a fierce enemy, rather a small, exhausted woman. 
“No. No,” she rasped, her shoulders drooping. “Tired. 
Healing drains me.” 
“Return to our chamber and rest.” How easily the words 
slid off his tongue, our chamber. How quickly she managed to 
fill that space with her presence, her scent. When she wasn’t 
there the space felt barren, abandoned—like his heart. 
“I cannot leave Graham. There is much I yet need to do.” 
Her hands soothed and stroked over Graham. 
Squinting against the dim chamber light, Kyne tried to 

discount the faint glow that followed the path of her hands as 
naught but a reflection of the wavering lamplight. 
Graham stirred once. A grimace started to form, but with a 
murmur and a gentle touch of Sianna’s hand, he sighed and 
relaxed. With each line that disappeared from his rugged face 
hers grew more strained, as if through her touch she absorbed 
his suffering into herself. 
Pain no longer etched Graham’s features, and he appeared 
almost youthful in his peaceful slumber. 
With a tired sigh, she let her hands fall away from him into 
her lap, and the glow evanesced. 
What magic did she practice? Thoughts of the strange 
connection he ofttimes felt at her touch filled Kyne with 
foreboding. He remembered how anger and pain evaporated 
beneath the feel of her fingers on his flesh. What kind of healer, 
woman, had such power? 
“Do you practice the black arts? Are you a witch?” Despite 
his disbelief, he blurted the questions. 
Distress flared in her eyes then faded to melancholy. She 
shook her head. “I merely have a special gift for healing.” A 
small, sad smile touched her pale lips. “If I were a witch I’d not 
be here, would I?” 
She spoke true. He laughed at his own sudden, irrational 
fear of a creature that existed only in superstitious minds. 
“Graham sleeps, so should you. Leave him.” 
“I can’t. He needs me.” 
“You’ve done what you can. Now his fate is in the hands 
of the Eternal One. Rest. You’ll need your strength to deal with 
Graham when he wakes. He’ll chafe at his own weakness and 
will sore test your patience as he heals. Althea or Betha can sit 
with him for a time while you rest. You’ll be no good to him if 
you collapse.” 
She smiled and cast a fond gaze over Graham. “I pray this 
injured sardak soon growls again.” 
Her voice trailed away. 
Kyne caught and lifted her in his arms as she crumbled. As 
insubstantial as a wisp of summer cloud, she nestled against his 
chest. Her eyes drifted shut and her warm breath kissed the 

skin of his throat. A shiver coursed through him and he tightened 
his arms around her slender, pliant body. 
With a tired sigh, she nodded and let her head fall back 
against his shoulder, her entire body going lax. 
“Sleep,” she murmured and placed her palm over his heart. 
Like the feel of blue mountain crystal, cold seeped through 
his shirt from her hand and chilled his flesh. Gathering her close, 
he headed toward the door. 
As he battled to hold on to his anger and hatred, Kyne’s 
heart and conscience stirred at the trust she gave him. This 
woman was the enemy, the daughter of DiSanti, architect of 
his family’s and his country’s destruction. He could not allow 
himself to soften toward her. To do so threatened not only his 
heart but the lives and well-being of his people. She could be 
nothing more to him than a weapon to end her father’s reign of 
terror. 
But neither would he see her abused. Outside the chamber, 
he spoke briefly to the hovering Althea. With a quick nod she 
hurried into the room to start her vigil at Graham’s side. 
Confident that his honor, if not his heart, was safe, Kyne 
carried the now sleeping Sianna to his chamber. She never 
stirred as he laid her on his bed, stripped off her bloodstained 
tunic, and bathed her hands and face. 
Warda followed close at Kyne’s heels and settled at the 
side of the bed. His shaggy head resting a whisper from Sianna’s 
fingertips, his dark, liquid eyes gazed at Kyne in distress. 
“Easy, boy, she’ll be fine after some sleep. Your mistress is 
just worn out,” Kyne soothed the hound and himself. 
How innocent she appeared, almost childlike, fragile limbs 
relaxed, moist lips slightly parted. But the rounded curve of her 
hip and the swell of her full breasts against her simple white 
shift drew his gaze and destroyed the illusion of childhood. Her 
fragrance rose on the warm chamber air. Clean and fresh as a 
mountain meadow, it banished the smell of blood and pain. 
The longer he spent in her company the less he believed 
she disguised an evil heart behind gentle ways. But to concede 
her innocence was to deny vengeance, not a simple choice. 
She moaned, her body twitching in response to some 

nightmare. 
Drawn by an urge to ease and console her as he would 
Zoa, and his own building need to touch this woman, he reached 
for her. 
Guilt battled compassion. Revenge warred with desire. His 
heart grew cold and heavy. This was no child in need of comfort. 
This was a woman grown. A woman whom evidence proved 
had seduced and betrayed his brother. 
Kyne turned and fled. 

Nine
Unwilling to expose his outrage and fear to DiSanti, Timon 
kept his gaze impassive as he eyed the prisoner lying on the cell 
floor. In the dim dungeon light Timon could see that the man’s 
clothes hung in bloody tatters and his face was swollen so even 
his mother wouldn’t recognize him. 
“Leave me,” he told the guards. “I will question the prisoner 
alone.” 
“But...” DiSanti began to protest. One guard stepped to 
Timon’s side, a subtle threat obvious in the tilt of his spear and 
his hand on the hilt of his sword. 
Timon knew this was not part of DiSanti’s plan, but his 
power, though spreading like a tangled nika root, was still 
circumscribed by the castle guards’ loyalty to the royal family. 
By torturing a prisoner, DiSanti had pushed the limits of his 
authority. With ill-concealed anger he bowed, whirled and left 
the dungeon cell. As he passed Timon, he whispered, “You 
surprise me, pup, but make no mistake, the throne will be mine. 
Soon.” 
Dread slithered down Timon’s spine. DiSanti made no idle 
threats. 
The two castle guards also paid homage to Timon, their 
bows deeper and sincere, before they too turned and left. 
Closing the door they took up a position just outside. 
The sour smells of blood, urine and fear churned Timon’s 
stomach. Despite the loyalty of the castle guards there was 
little he could do against DiSanti’s growing power outside the 
castle walls. Evidence of his increasing control huddled in the 
dank dungeon cells. During King Dracken’s rule the dungeons 
had gone unused. Now the moans and cries of the imprisoned 

echoed down the dark, narrow corridors. 
Cramming his fear into a corner of his mind, Timon turned 
and, ignoring the dirt floor, knelt next to the prisoner. “You wished 
to speak with me?” 
The man’s one uninjured eye opened. He studied Timon in 
the dim light. “Prince Timon?” he rasped. 
“Yes. You are a messenger for those who kidnapped my 
betrothed? What is it they demand for her release?” 
The man struggled to sit up. Timon moved to help, but the 
man glared until Timon withdrew. Bracing his back against the 
damp stone wall, he stared at Timon and asked, “Are we alone?” 
Timon could barely hear the man’s hoarse whisper, a result 
no doubt of screaming. Anger tightened Timon’s resolve. He 
must find a way to break DiSanti’s control, to regain his kingdom 
and his family. But how? Did this barely breathing man hold the 
key? Were there others outside the castle walls who fought 
DiSanti’s hold on Dramon? “What demands do these kidnappers 
claim? Money?” 
“No. The girl is nothing but a pawn to gain DiSanti’s 
attention...and yours. Because you are but a lad, Rul Cathor 
thinks you are innocent of your father and DiSanti’s destruction 
of Dramon. Is he right? Or do you follow blindly where they 
lead?” 
The man’s condemnation of his father sparked Timon’s 
own anger. “My father is king. He does naught to destroy his 
country or people.” Though he spoke with vehemence, Timon 
knew his father’s addiction to nika, however unintentional, was 
what had thrown Dramon into DiSanti’s hands. If something 
was not done soon, there would be no turning back. 
Anger faded out of the man’s eyes. “And DiSanti?” 
“I follow no man. I am crown prince and until my father is 
well enough to once again sit upon his throne, I rule in his stead.” 
A small smile twitched at the man’s swollen lips. “Well 
spoken, young prince. I’m Je’al. Perhaps the news I bear will 
help you to do just that.” 
Timon listened closely as Je’al told him of the building 
resistance to DiSanti’s harsh rule, the growing rebellion among 
the people. Rage built within Timon. He’d known DiSanti was 

putting undue pressure on Dramon’s populace, but isolated in 
the castle with little access to news from the outside, he’d not 
realized how bad things had become. 
“Does Rul Cathor have your support in ridding Dramon of 
DiSanti?” Je’al finished on a wheezing breath and slid back to 
the ground. 
At that moment Timon realized Je’al was only a few annum 
his senior. What courage did it take for this young man to risk 
his life to come to him? What had Je’al lost to DiSanti’s greed? 
“I’ll do what I can, but my power is fading. With each 
passing day more Ruls pledge their allegiance to DiSanti. Only 
a few, along with the castle guard, are still loyal to the royal 
family. And DiSanti holds my mother and sister to guarantee 
my cooperation.” 
How could he risk his mother, his sister? And what of his 
father, that withered, mindless man locked away in his room 
eating nika? What choice did he have? 
“My sympathies, but many have lost family to DiSanti’s 
ever-growing ambition. Will you sacrifice all of Dramon to keep 
yours safe?” 
Timon rose and turned away from Je’al. The man’s question 
opened his eyes, and grief blossomed in his soul. His mother 
and sister were already lost to him. He had no choice to make. 
“DiSanti must fall. Be ready.” 
“Ready for what?” Je’al reached out and snagged Timon’s 
robe. “What do you plan?” 
Timon didn’t turn. “Your escape.” 

Ten
The next morning Althea rose as Kyne entered the small 
chamber where she sat with Graham. 
“Sit,” Kyne told her. Graham’s pale and drawn features 
were a match for Sianna’s. “How does he fare?” 
“Well enough. The drug has faded from his system, and he 
now sleeps a normal sleep. Your woman is a skillful healer. 
Graham will live, and he will keep his legs, but...” she paused, 
her watery eyes full of sorrow. “I doubt he will walk again.” 
His woman. The rest of Althea’s words lost meaning. With 
all that had happened he had forgotten his pretense of Sianna 
being his woman. The deception worked too well. Everyone 
within the castle sang her praises, and he found himself 
somewhat disconcerted by their not-so-subtle interest in his 
bedchamber activities. What would be their reaction when they 
learned the truth? Who would bear the brunt of their anger? 
Sianna? Or himself? 
No matter. Graham would live. But could he resign himself 
to life as a cripple? 
“His dressings need changing, but I hesitate to disturb him 
before necessary,” Althea said. “I fear when he wakes, the 
pain will be intense.” 
Graham stirred, gave a low groan and opened his eyes. He 
squinted up at Kyne. “Blast. I knew I’d end up consigned to 
Oblivion, but I didn’t think the Unredeemed would be so damned 
ugly.” 
A chuckle started deep in Kyne’s chest and grew to a shout 
of laughter. Despair slipped from his shoulders like a heavy 
cloak on a warm day. 
“Cease cackling like a mad rooster and get me a drink. My 

throat is drier than a landbound water worm.” 
Kyne’s laughter slowed as the forced quality of Graham’s 
humor registered. He leaned over and helped Graham sit up. 
After gulping two cups of water, Graham slid back against 
the wall and sighed. “Better.” He looked at Althea. “Good healer, 
would you see to obtaining me some food? My legs were broken, 
not my innards. I’m hungry,” he complained. 
A grin broke over the old healer’s wrinkled face as she 
nodded and hurried to do Graham’s bidding. 
“Are you in any pain?” Kyne asked. 
“Of course I’m in pain, you moon-cursed fool,” Graham 
growled, shifted his hips and grimaced. 
“Would you have a draft to kill the pain?” Kyne reached 
for the flask of nika root infusion Sianna had left. At the moment, 
nika seemed a lesser evil than Graham’s suffering. Somehow 
Kyne knew Graham’s pain did not reside in his limbs. 
Graham stayed his hand. “Pain and I are old friends. I will 
deal with it. What I have need of is....” Color touched his cheeks 
as he directed his glance toward the pot hidden beneath the 
bed. 
“Graham?” 
Two male heads swiveled to the doorway where Katya 
stood poised to enter. Dressed in sadly rumpled clothing, her 
blonde hair tangled around her tear-stained face, she looked 
more child than woman, but the love and hope shining in her 
eyes as they settled on Graham told Kyne she was no little girl. 
Graham’s injury had forced her beyond the boundary that 
separates girl from woman. Perhaps now she was worthy of 
the love he knew Graham felt for her. 
Humor drained from Graham’s face, and he stiffened. 
“Graham?” Kyne’s usually brash young sister took a 
tentative step into the chamber and looked to Graham for 
welcome and reassurance. 
“I wish no visitors.” Closing his eyes, Graham slid down on 
the bed and effectively shut himself away from Katya. 
Her face crumpled. Tears sprang to her eyes as she turned 
and dashed away. 
“What did you do that for?” Kyne demanded. He wanted 

to shake Graham. Not only for hurting Katya, but for the hurt 
he did to himself. “Your love for Katya is a well-known secret. 
Why reject her now?” he insisted when Graham remained silent. 
“I heard the old healer’s words. I may never walk.” 
Graham’s accusing glare met Kyne’s. “You’ve forced life on 
me, but I’ll not force my broken body on Katya. She deserves 
a whole man.” 
“Bloody moons!” What could he say? In the same situation 
what would he do? Kyne had no answer for Graham. 
Had Sianna saved Graham’s life, yet left his ka to perish? 
*** 
Awareness returned to Sianna slowly. She stretched and 
groaned as her body protested the movement, but the pain was 
not truly physical. Instead her ka, the center of her being, felt 
bruised and battered. Why did she ache so? 
Graham! 
She bolted upright. Warda gave a yelp as her sudden 
movement dislodged him from her side. He slid to the floor and 
gave her a baffled look when she ignored him. 
How long had she slept? Last she remembered, the shadows 
had been long. Now sunlight streamed into the chamber. Had 
she slept through the night and into the next day? After a healing 
she often needed as much as a day and night’s sleep to recover, 
but at the valetudinarian the Sisters would watch over her patient 
while she slept. Who watched over Graham? 
Disregarding the weakness of her limbs and the wave of 
dizziness that washed over her, she grabbed and pulled on the 
clean tunic she found draped over a chair. Barefoot, she hurried 
toward the door. Her feet refused to follow her orders, and she 
stumbled. 
Graham needed her. Had he died while she slept? Panic 
and urgency filled her. She closed her eyes and reached out for 
him. He was there, his consciousness veiled by slumber, but 
strong and sure. A sigh of relief staggered her, and she sank to 
her knees. Head bowed she waited for her strength to build so 
she could go to his side. 
She’d given Graham all that she could. Was it enough? 
Memory of melding her energy with Kyne’s burst over 

her. How had she forgotten? When her hands clasped his 
against Graham’s body, she’d been jolted by the power that 
flowed out of Kyne, into and through her. Though he appeared 
unaware of his ability, Kyne, like herself, could heal with his 
touch. Without conscious thought she had channeled their 
combined healing force into Graham. Holding Kyne’s unfocused 
power along with her own fading strength had nearly burned 
her out. 
Between them they had performed what she alone could 
not have done—restored the possibility of mobility to Graham’s 
shattered legs. Whether or not Graham would walk again now 
depended on his own efforts. 
Somehow she and Kyne were connected. But how? 
“Two bloody moons! What are you doing, woman?” The 
curse snapped her head up and drove out her questions. Kyne 
stood framed in the open doorway. 
Had she breathed too deep of the nika fumes and imagined 
everything? Where was the gentle man who had caught her as 
she fell and tucked her into bed? The healer who added his 
strength to hers to save a friend? A hostile warrior stood in his 
stead. She met his glower with more courage than she felt. 
“Going to see to my patient.” 
“On your knees?” Three strides brought him to her side. 
His caustic tone and angry eyes made her cringe as he 
reached for her. She hadn’t the energy to cope with Kyne now. 
Graham’s healing required her entire concentration. 
“If needs be, but now that you’re here you may assist me.” 
She lifted her hand and placed it on his forearm. 
“When quinar fly!” 
She gasped and clung to him as he swung her into his arms 
and deposited her on the bed. For a moment she lay stunned, 
then ignoring the pounding in her head, she scrambled to her 
knees and faced him. “I must see to Graham’s care.” 
Legs spread in a stance of command, hands fisted on his 
lean hips, he stared down at her. “Althea sits with him while he 
sleeps. He has no need of you right now. Time and nature must 
take its course. It will not speed his recovery for you to wear 
yourself to exhaustion at his side.” His voice softened slightly. 

A warm glow began inside Sianna. Did he have a care for 
her? His next words shattered that frail hope. 
“And if you carry Aubin’s babe? Would you sacrifice its 
health with your foolishness?” 
Aubin’s babe? “Have I no value beyond brood mare to 
your brother’s child?” she whispered the question without 
thinking. 
“What would you have me say? You are a hostage, a pawn 
to bring down your father. What more would you be?” Cold 
and clipped, his words froze in the air between them. 
What would he do if she told him there was no babe? That 
she was not whom he believed her to be? That her father would 
likely not respond to their demands for her return? That he 
would abandon her to her fate and save himself? Would her life 
be forfeit? She searched Kyne’s impassive face for a clue to 
the emotions he hid so well. 
Why couldn’t she see into his heart as she saw into the 
hearts of others? What force blocked her empathic talent, yet 
let them link to heal? And what of those times when she touched 
his emotions and knew he felt hers as well, if only briefly? 
Something other than blood prevented her from reading him, 
for when they did join, the bond was stronger than any she’d 
ever known. A communion, a merging of their kas. 
He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her up so her eyes 
were level with his. “Why did you dally with Aubin?” 
At his touch, emotions jolted through her—Kyne’s jumbled 
emotions. Did he feel hers as well? 
“I...” She shook with reaction to the searing agony housed 
in his ka. 
“Wasn’t a marriage to Prince Timon and the power of the 
throne enough for you? Did you have to break Aubin’s heart 
then throw him to your father’s mercy?” 
“You don’t understand.” She struggled to block the 
maelstrom of dangerous debris whirling within Kyne—hatred, 
anger, desire, guilt. Only his strong will kept the deadly emotions 
from breaking free to wreck havoc and destroy him, but weak 
as she was, Sianna couldn’t shield herself. “La...I loved Aubin.” 
The pain of his fingers biting into her arms couldn’t compare 

to the torment his pain caused her. Like a hungry water worm 
he fed his passions with her life force and left her drained. 
“Love? You used Aubin for your own selfish ends, then 
cast him aside. You and your father are takers. What could you 
know of love?” 
Tell him the truth. Tell him who you really are, a small, 
traitorous voice inside her whispered, and he’ll turn his hatred 
elsewhere. And Laila? What will become of her? 
Defeated by loyalty, Sianna pressed her lips together to 
keep from revealing the truth. 
Kyne clutched Sianna’s arms with uncalled for force, but 
couldn’t loosen his hold. With his grip he fought the urge to 
bend his head to hers and take her moist lips. He used harsh 
words to drive out the need to push her back on the bed and 
bury himself in her soft, womanly body, to ease with her heat 
the chill of loneliness in his heart. 
His efforts failed to quench his desire. Rage made him 
rash. Why deny himself? 
What difference would his possession of her make? The 
babe growing in her belly proved her no innocent, that she had 
lain with a man. 
Even though the man had been his own brother, the thought 
enraged Kyne. Sianna belonged to him. He would not share 
her, even with a dead man. He wanted her hot and wet and 
willing. He wanted to brand her with his taste, his touch, his 
smell, until she forgot she’d ever lain with another man. 
Until she forgot Aubin. His brother. 
“Aubin.” He groaned his brother’s name. 
Kyne felt Sianna’s twinge of pain as his fingers tightened 
on her arms. Guilt doused passion. 
“Let him go,” she whispered. “You need peace, and he 
needs to move on.” 
“I can’t. He’s part of me. The better part, I fear.” 
Her slim hand spread over his chest. “You’ll always carry 
Aubin in your heart.” 
“Aubin was my heart. His goodness. His gentleness. His 
quiet strength bonded my family, our people, together.” Kyne 
laughed harshly. “I wonder if, when your father killed Aubin, he 

knew he struck a mortal blow? Without Aubin we have no 
heart. We’re lost, floundering. Though we fight on, to what 
purpose?” 
No longer could Kyne believe Sianna had any part in Aubin’s 
death. The woman he’d come to know was caring and gentle. 
She forgave without hesitation any who hurt her and gave 
unstintingly even to those who named themselves her enemies. 
She was as much a victim of her father as Aubin. With this 
conclusion, Kyne found a measure of serenity in his desire for 
her. Still, she was DiSanti’s daughter and had been Aubin’s 
lover. Had she loved him? She avowed so. The thought caused 
an ache deep in the heart he claimed he no longer possessed. 
“You’re wrong. Aubin is still with you. Here.” She touched 
his chest. “And here.” She touched his forehead. “You fight on 
because it’s right to do so. My fath....” she faltered then 
continued, “DiSanti is an evil man. He must be stopped.” 
At her condemnation of her father and the feather light 
brush of her fingers across his chest and brow, Kyne’s desire 
surged anew. Purged of anger and guilt, his passion built. 
Whatever their past, whatever their future, for this moment 
Sianna belonged to him. 
Her hands framed his face, and she pulled him down to 
meet her kiss. 
“I’m not Aubin,” he groaned against her lips, giving her one 
last chance to stop him. 
“I know.” 
Her low moan reached past his anger. He loosened his grip 
and closed his eyes against the accusation he would see in her 
eyes, but unwilling to release her, retained his hold. Struggling 
to regain control, he opened his eyes. Except for the rapid beat 
of her pulse at her throat which betrayed her agitation, she met 
his gaze boldly. 
Taking a deep breath, he opened himself and sensed her 
presence within him. Emotions not his own tugged at him— 
longing, forgiveness, hidden guilt. No longer could he deny the 
connection between them, the feeling that some unknown force 
bonded them together. 
He lowered her to the bed. Warda growled and bared his 

teeth. At Kyne’s sharp reproach, the hound whined and slunk 
away. 
Honor demanded he punish her for her part in Aubin’s death. 
Honor demanded he remain aloof from her. Honor demanded 
he deny what his heart told him of her. 
Honor be damned. He would have her. 
*** 
Sianna closed her eyes as Kyne’s head swooped down 
and his lips captured hers. Expecting to feel anger in the crush 
of his mouth, his tender caress surprised an unexpected response 
from her. At the sweet stroke of his lips, her body softened and 
went pliant in his now gentle embrace. Warmth spiraled in her 
belly, a tumbling, chaotic feeling that left her breathless and 
yearning for something she’d never experienced, but knew she 
needed to be complete. 
This man, and this man alone, could fill the emptiness she’d 
carried inside herself for so long, the aloneness, the longing. 
Her hands fumbled with his shirt and trousers. She never 
thought to protest as he stripped off her tunic and bared her 
skin to his heated gaze. With a frustrated snarl, he ripped away 
the remainder of his clothes. 
Braced on his arms, he hovered above her, his skin gleaming 
like smooth, dark honey in the sunlight. She lifted her hand then 
hesitated. What did he want of her? Would he welcome or 
reject her caress? His jumbled emotions gave her little guidance. 
“Touch me.” His warm whisper stirred the down of her 
cheek. 
In a distant corner of her mind she felt the bed against her 
back, the rumpled sheets and the brush of the silky bed robe. 
Then the heat, touch, taste and scent of him surrounded her 
until she lost any sense of where she ended and he began, as if 
the joining of their lips also melded their spirits. 
Doubts and fears melted away. They were one. Mind and 
body. Her flesh his. His flesh hers. Familiar, yet new and exciting. 
Like a baby first explores its own body, they discovered each 
other. Touching. Stroking. Feeling. 
Warm and solid, his chest muscles quavered beneath the 
palm of her hand, and his breath caught in his throat. On either 

side of her, his arms trembled. Made bold by his response, she 
let her hand drift lower down the ridges of his abdomen. His 
flesh was as smooth and hard as polished crystal yet warm and 
pliant beneath her touch. She glanced up at his face, and the 
look of naked longing in his eyes stirred her own growing desire. 
Her fingers brushed over his heated length, and he jerked. 
At his groan, she knew what he needed and cupped his weight 
in her hand. A surge of heat shot through her own groin as she 
experienced the touch of her hand on his body. 
Did all people feel this way? Or did the unique bond 
between Kyne and her make their mating different? 
When he bent his head and took the peak of her breast into 
his warm, moist mouth, her questions dissolved. 
A sweet river of emotions swirled around them, their 
essences blending into a rapid rush. Forgetting all that lay 
between them, she let sensation carry her into an unfamiliar 
realm of wonder. 
Kyne felt Sianna’s presence, a part of him, yet separate. 
How honestly she responded to his touch, no tricks or guile in 
her reactions. The catch in her breath, the arch of her body 
toward his, the flush of pink staining her chest and cheeks 
revealed her arousal. She affected him far beyond the physical. 
Made uneasy by the thought, he focused on the merging of 
their bodies—the brush of skin against skin, the soft moistness 
of her lips under his, the tingle of her cool, slim fingers grazing 
shyly over him. He couldn’t stop his groan as those fingers 
worked their way down his body and cupped him. Heat flared. 
Need battled patience. Blood ran hot and thick through his 
veins. Every muscle and tendon strained to let loose, to run this 
race full speed rather than savor each sweet moment. 
On a voyage of discovery, her hands, wanton yet somehow 
innocent, wandered across his flesh and sought out his secrets. 
Afraid it all would end before it began, he took her hands in his 
and pinned them above her head. 
“Relax and trust me,” he soothed when she started to 
protest. 
Clear azure eyes searched his. Before the tension in her 
delicate wrists eased, he sensed her surrender. Satisfaction shot 

through him as her lips parted slightly on a sigh and she yielded 
herself to his care. 
He released her hands and knelt over her. Though her gaze 
followed him, she didn’t lower her arms or attempt to cover 
herself. Bare to his view she stretched out on the bed, fearless, 
a proud offering to some ancient god. 
A cool harvest breeze contrasted with the warmth of the 
sun streaming in through the open windows. Specks of dust 
glittered and danced in the sunbeams, bathing Sianna in a 
shimmering haze. With one large, calloused hand, Kyne cupped 
her soft breast and stroked the nipple with his thumb. Instantly, 
the pink bud puckered and stood erect, demanding attention— 
attention he had no intention of denying it. Her breathy gasp 
when his mouth closed over her breast echoed inside him. His 
own nipples contracted and his stomach clenched at the sweet 
suction of his mouth on her breast. 
He felt her delight in his touch as he knew she felt his 
pleasure in her caress. The realization that they were connected 
beyond the norm unsettled him, but a torrent of sensation 
dissipated his concern. 
Breath whispered through her parted lips and her back 
arched, thrusting her breasts upward in a silent offer. Her steady, 
undaunted gaze never left his. Held captive by his reflection in 
the dark depths of her eyes, he surrendered to her power and 
levered his body over hers. 
At the slight nudge of his knee, her legs slid apart to accept 
him. Like sun-warmed silk her inner thighs brushed his hair-
rough skin. He clenched his teeth against the urge to drive 
himself into her body without first seeing to her pleasure. His 
need to stroke and satisfy her went beyond enhancing his own 
enjoyment in their physical coupling. 
“Love me.” 
He swallowed her husky whisper and plunged his tongue 
into the hot, wet cavern of her willing mouth. Arms winding 
around his neck, she arched into him, her soft curves filling his 
hard hollows. 
His hand closed over her warm, damp woman’s mound, 
and he felt a corresponding pressure over his own groin. Her 

whimper of need echoed his moan of demand. Against her 
belly his arousal throbbed in time with the rapid beat of her 
heart. Eager hands stroked over trembling flesh. Kyne couldn’t 
tell who stroked and who trembled. It didn’t matter. They were 
one, both reaching, straining for a distant summit. 
Parting the downy softness of her nether curls, he found 
the tiny nub hidden in her folds and began a rhythmic massage. 
With each stroke of his fingers her body grew taut and her 
breath short. Lost to rational thought, she twisted compulsively 
beneath him, legs twitching, body undulating, fingers clenching 
the bed sheets. Concentrating on bringing her to completion, 
Kyne tried to ignore the shafts of pleasure darting through him 
with each stroke. 
“Please, Kyne. Please,” she pleaded. “I can’t...I didn’t....” 
Glazed now with passion nearly met, her eyes fluttered 
shut and her mouth formed a soundless “O” as her body arched 
into his hand and went rigid. Pink tinged her throat and chest, 
and her nipples turned hard and red. For long moments she 
hung there, suspended by the ecstasy coursing through her. 
Echoes of her pleasure speared through Kyne, then moisture 
streamed over his fingers. 
With a ragged exhalation, she sank back to the bed. “I 
didn’t know it could be like this.” 
Her bemused confession confused him. Had Aubin left her 
wanting? “There’s more.” 
She shook her head slowly in denial, her sated lethargy 
stealing over him. “More?” 
“Much more.” With hands and mouth he bent to fan the 
glowing embers of her desire. When the inferno raged again, 
he positioned himself above her trembling form and plunged 
into the heated blaze. 
A fragile barrier blocked his thrust. 
At her shocked cry and the brief piercing pain in his groin, 
the connection between them ended. Though they remained 
physically joined, their minds were no longer as one. He was 
alone. Frozen, he fought his body’s demand to move, his arousal 
throbbing insistently inside her hot, tight sheath. 
A virgin? She was a virgin. 

The thought had barely formed when she shifted beneath 
him, and her long, slender legs wrapped around his hips. The 
movement snapped his brittle control. Nothing mattered except 
he purge himself in Sianna’s fire. Groaning in defeat, he let 
instinct take charge and, regardless of the consequences, 
embedded himself to the hilt in her body. 
Again and again he withdrew and thrust. Though virgin, 
she matched him thrust for thrust until sweat slicked both their 
bodies and the tempo of their breathing grew hoarse and ragged. 
Suddenly she shuddered, and her internal muscles milked him. 
With a harsh moan he surrendered to his own climax and gave 
her his seed. Though more intense than any coupling he’d yet 
experienced, Kyne sensed that the sensation was only a fraction 
of what could have been if they had maintained their link. 
Drained and confused, he sagged against her limp form. 
Questions hammered at his mind. 
Virgin? Who was she? Laila, daughter of DiSanti? Sianna, 
Daughter of Light? What of her relationship with Aubin? This 
woman would bear no child of Aubin’s. Grief for the loss of 
Aubin’s child faded before primitive male elation—she had lain 
with no other man. She was his. 
Determined to confront her and demand answers, Kyne 
lifted his head. Words died on his lips. 
Framing her porcelain features like a scarf of midnight silk, 
her long hair spread across the white sheet. A dark lock curled 
around her breast and teased a dusty-pink nipple. Moisture 
pooled in his mouth at the thought of tasting that soft little bud. 
Through parted lips, her warm breath brushed his cheek, and 
deep inside her his body throbbed to life. Even in sleep she held 
him. 
“Moon madness!” As he uttered the curse, he jerked away. 
Cool air swirled between them, drying the sweat on his skin. 
Sianna shivered and murmured a protest, but didn’t wake. 
She curled onto her side, her tangled hair draping over her body 
like a misty black veil. 
Easing himself from the bed, Kyne stared down at her. 
“Sleep for now, little liar. Soon enough I will know the truth.” 

Eleven
When Sianna awoke later that evening, the setting sun cast 
the room in blue-green shadows. Bemused by her strange 
languor, she forced herself to rise to see to Graham’s care. Her 
muscles protested the movement, and a sticky dampness trickled 
down between her thighs. Flecks of red stained rumpled white 
sheets. Her tunic lying on the floor stirred her awareness and 
brought heat to her cheeks. She pushed the memories aside. 
Later, she would deal with what had passed between her 
and Kyne and how it would change things. Work would take 
her mind from the dangerous path it sought to wander. For 
now, she ignored her aching body and heart, snatched up the 
wrinkled tunic and yanked it over her head. With shaking fingers, 
she combed the worst of the tangles from her hair and quickly 
braided the long mass. Warda rose from his place by the hearth, 
stretched, and followed as she made her way out into the hall. 
Like an unexpected wind, heartbreak made Sianna stagger 
just before Katya barreled around a corner and into her. In a 
tangle of arms, legs and fur, they went down to the hard stone 
floor, Sianna on the bottom. Warda yelped and scrambled to his 
feet, his nails scraping Sianna’s belly and thighs as he did so. 
Pain distracted her for a moment. 
Over her, Katya pushed herself to a kneeling position. “I’m 
sorry,” she sniffed. Tears trickled down her cheeks. 
Stunned by both the impact and Katya’s lack of animosity 
toward her, Sianna lay still. 
“Let me help you.” 
Warily, for physical contact heightened the flow of emotions, 
Sianna accepted Katya’s outstretched hand. As their fingers 
touched, Sianna sensed Katya’s deep sorrow, but her rage had 

burned away. Katya pulled Sianna to her feet. 
Fingers entwined, Sianna felt the young woman’s newfound 
maturity. “You no longer hate me?” 
Surprise flashed in Katya’s eyes. She snatched her hand 
away. “Hating you is useless. It will not bring back Aubin. It 
doesn’t punish you nor your father for your crimes. It only 
tears apart my soul. And whatever else you’ve done, your skill 
has saved Graham’s life. For that, you have my gratitude.” 
Sianna could both see and feel the effort it took Katya to 
keep her voice steady, but it broke on Graham’s name. Without 
hesitation she sought to reassure Katya. 
“Graham is a proud, stubborn man. Right now he can’t see 
beyond his injuries, and he would not burden those he cares 
for.” She didn’t speak of Graham’s love for Katya. It was for 
him to tell her. “Let him heal some before you offer him your 
love.” 
“Love!” Katya’s eyes snapped denial. “I’d as soon wake a 
hibernating sardak than approach Graham again. Only a fool 
would try to love that overgrown, obstinate, exasperating bear 
of a man.” 
Hiding her grin of understanding, Sianna said, “But then 
love makes fools of us all, doesn’t it? Be patient with him as he 
has been patient with you.” 
A reluctant smile tugged at Katya’s lips. “Perhaps.” 
“I must see to Graham’s care, but I find myself weak. Will 
you help me down the stairs?” 
“I will not beg at his door!” 
“No one asks you to. Merely lend me your arm for a 
moment.” 
When Katya offered her arm, Sianna leaned on it heavily, 
grateful for the support as they headed down the stairs to the 
great hall. Weariness tugged at her and hunger burned at her 
innards. Could she take a moment to eat? 
“You are different from any healer I’ve known,” Katya 
mused. “They treat only the body, but your touch goes deeper, 
to a person’s heart, doesn’t it? Are you a witch?” 
Sianna both heard and felt Katya’s sudden awe and niggle 
of fear. “I’m but a skilled healer. Unless you would see me 

dead, be careful what you say. Your people would burn me as 
quickly for being a witch as they would for being DiSanti’s 
daughter.” 
“You are right. I should not bandy the name witch about. I 
would not see you dead for what is naught but a silly superstition. 
There are no witches, only that which we’ve yet to understand.” 
Her tone hardened as she continued, “If you die, it will be for 
Aubin’s foul murder.” At the foot of the stairs, Katya halted 
abruptly and turned to face Sianna. “Then again, the lessening 
of my hatred toward you smacks of spells and witchery, and 
the emptiness I felt at Aubin’s death is no longer so deep or 
dark. Have you touched my ka with your magic?” 
“No magic. Love.” Love surely played a part in Katya’s 
maturation. But while Sianna disclaimed the title of witch, she 
often wondered about the source of her healing skills. The good 
Sisters didn’t possess her talent, and they were the most learned 
of healers. Was she blessed or cursed? And what of Kyne? 
Katya snorted. “Love, indeed. I am naught but fond of 
Graham. Why, he’s old enough to be my father.” She seemed 
to have forgotten her tearful confessions of love when Graham 
was carried into the castle. Sianna refrained from reminding 
her. Soon enough, Katya and Graham would have to sort out 
their relationship. 
“You can try, but in the end love will not be denied. Older 
he may be, but not quite so old as to be your father.” 
At the door to Althea’s chamber, Katya stopped and stepped 
back. “Can you manage?” 
“Yes.” She touched Katya’s arm. “One last favor.” 
Suspicion darkened Katya’s eyes. “What?” How quickly 
the fragile truce between them ended. 
“Ask Betha to prepare a tray of food for Graham and me. 
He is sure to be hungry and so am I.” At that moment Sianna’s 
stomach grumbled, and humor eased some of the tension from 
Katya’s body. She nodded and headed toward the kitchen. 
Feeling Graham’s bitterness, Sianna faced the closed door 
with misgiving. He didn’t believe he would walk, and without 
that belief he wouldn’t. 
“Will Graham live?” 

Zoa’s tearful voice drew Sianna from her worried thoughts. 
She turned to look down at the child standing next to her. Tears 
made pale tracks down the girl’s dirty cheeks. Where had the 
child been? Judging by her crumpled, dirt-stained clothing, with 
the hounds. Apparently, in the confusion of the caravan’s arrival 
and Graham’s injury, Zoa had slipped away from her nurse’s 
care. 
“Etam says Graham will be a cripple. I called him a liar and 
hit him! He tried to hit me back, but I ran and hid. Grenna 
called and called, but I didn’t come out until I saw you.” She 
threw her arms around Sianna’s waist. 
The impact of Zoa’s small body and her tangled emotions 
of fear, hope, anger and trust staggered Sianna. In an instinctive 
response to Zoa’s cry for comfort, she knelt and wrapped her 
arms around the child. 
“Don’t let him die.” Sobs punctuated Zoa’s words. 
“There now, Graham isn’t dying.” Knowing she lacked the 
strength, she resisted the urge to offer more than a physical 
soothing and merely stroked Zoa’s back. 
“Make him walk again,” Zoa demanded and pulled away. 
“You healed me. Make him better.” 
“How do you know I healed you?” Shocked, Sianna didn’t 
deny Zoa’s pronouncement. Other than Kyne, no one was ever 
aware of her when she touched their emotions or performed a 
healing. 
Zoa shrugged. “I tingled funny when you touched me, and 
then I breathed better.” 
With the simple logic of a child, Zoa easily made the 
connection between her own restored health and Sianna’s touch. 
Could she show Graham the same? If she revealed her skill, 
would he believe and welcome her touch, or cringe in fear of 
what he didn’t understand and denounce her as a witch? 
Not for the first time, she bemoaned the fact that her 
connection with people’s emotions did not give her insight into 
their thought processes or knowledge of how they would react. 
Like a fallen leaf on the water, she merely rode the stream of 
their emotions, unable to change or direct the flow. Only when 
she attempted a spiritual healing could she channel a person’s 

emotional energy, but such healing took a psychic toll greater 
than for healing the body, and even then she couldn’t read the 
thoughts behind the emotions. 
“Zoa, you little scamp.” Grenna threaded her way around 
the infirmary’s pallets to their side. “I’ve been looking 
everywhere for you.” She tsked and shook her head. “Just 
look at you. Have you been rolling in the mud with the shoats? 
Come along now. It’s time you were bathed and put to bed, 
young lady.” 
“Don’t wanna.” Zoa’s lower lip pouted out, and she clung 
to Sianna. “Wanna see Graham.” 
Sianna gently eased the child away and raised her face. 
“You can’t see Graham just yet. He’s still very sick, but I 
promise he’ll get better.” Another promise made. One only 
Graham could keep. “Go along now with Grenna. Maybe 
tomorrow you can visit Graham.” 
Hope sparked in Zoa’s dark eyes. “Really?” Without 
waiting for an answer, she slid from Sianna’s embrace and 
grabbed Grenna’s hand. 
Arms empty, Sianna watched the child skip away. 
“Really?” 
At Kyne’s voice from behind her, Sianna rose slowly to 
turn and face him. From a face carved of crystal, without a hint 
of warmth or compassion, his eyes stared at her as if their 
connection had never been—as if they had never made love. 
She reached out to him empathetically, but felt nothing. Pain 
staggered her as unacknowledged dreams died in her heart. 
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. 
“I’ve come to see my patient. His dressings need changing, 
and I would check for fever and infection.” Struggling against 
her need to flee from Kyne’s icy composure, she took a step 
toward the door. He barred her way with an outstretched arm. 
Unable to read his emotions, she couldn’t interpret the stiff set 
of his broad shoulders or the rigid press of his lips. Did he hate 
her for being her father’s daughter, or for the lies he now knew 
she told? 
“Graham has no further need of you. Althea can see to the 
rest of his care.” 

“You’re wrong. Graham needs me even more now. Haven’t 
I proven myself to you? Please let me see to him.” She couldn’t 
keep the pleading note from her voice. 
“Your actions do not change the fact you are DiSanti’s 
daughter.” His expressionless gaze settled on her face then 
moved lower and studied her. “Or are you?” 
Memories of his hands and mouth on the same flesh that 
his eyes now touched flooded through her. Her nipples beaded 
against her soft shift material, and moisture gathered at the 
juncture of her thighs. A wave of heat brought the pungent 
scent of sex to her nostrils. Warmth blossomed in her belly 
while her tongue froze in her mouth. 
She hadn’t considered what her virginity would mean to 
Kyne. His belief that Laila had lain with Aubin and might carry 
his child now made him question her identity. 
Could she lie yet again? Deny her relationship with her 
father? What of Laila? Guilt and fear made her drop her gaze. 
“I am his daughter,” she whispered. 
A twinge of what felt like distress touched her, but it 
disappeared before she could confirm it. 
“See to your patient.” 
Relief surged through her. She swayed, catching his arm to 
maintain her balance. Beneath her fingers he felt warm and 
solid. A sudden longing to rest in his embrace caught her off 
guard. Stiffening her resolve, she thrust aside her hopeless 
feelings for Rul Cathor. He could be nothing to her or for her, 
but Graham needed her. 
“Are you strong enough?” Reluctant concern threaded 
Kyne’s words but revealed nothing of his true feelings. 
Unable to speak for the emotion clogging her throat, she 
nodded. 
“You may have saved his life, but he’ll not thank you for 
it,” Kyne cautioned. 
“I don’t seek his gratitude, only his rehabilitation.” 
“Will he walk? Althea thinks not.” 
“Graham’s recovery will not be easy or painless, but if he’s 
determined enough he should regain almost complete mobility. 
I’ve done what I can. The rest is up to him.” 

“See to him.” Kyne stepped away from her, and her fingers 
slid off his arm. “After you finish with Graham, we will speak 
in my chamber.” He turned and strode away. 
Dread lodged in Sianna’s heart. Of what would they speak? 
Her virginity? Or rather the recent loss of it? Her true identity? 
What answers could she give to his questions that would not 
endanger her sister? 
“Milady? Are you well?” 
Sianna pushed aside her worry and turned to meet Betha’s 
troubled gaze. “I’m fine.” 
Tantalizing aromas of fresh bread, roasted shoat, and spiced 
fruit drifted up from the loaded tray the plump little woman 
carried. Sianna smiled and buried her apprehension in a dark 
corner of her mind. “More than fine if this tray is for me. It 
smells wonderful.” 
“For you and Graham,” Betha said. “Katya asked me to 
prepare it for you. Open the door for me, please.” 
“Stay, Warda.” The beast snuffed in protest, but settled 
just outside the door. Sianna opened the door and stood aside 
for Betha to enter the small chamber. 
“Get out,” Graham bellowed. “I said I wanted no visitors!” 
Betha quaked and would have dropped the tray in fright if 
Sianna hadn’t reached out and taken it from her shaking hands. 
“I’ll take it from here. Close the door behind you, Betha. No 
need for the rest of the castle to hear Graham’s tantrums.” 
With a quick, grateful nod Betha scurried away. The soft 
click of the door sounded loud in the silence following Graham’s 
outburst. 
“I hope you’re pleased with yourself. You scared the poor 
woman with your ill-natured roaring.” As she scolded, Sianna 
busied herself arranging the tray across Graham’s lap, careful 
not to put any weight on his injured thigh. 
Graham didn’t answer. She sensed the conflicting emotions 
chasing through him—relief and regret. Arms over his bare 
chest, he glared at her. Anger simmered in the small chamber. 
Pale and drawn, he still possessed a powerful and unpredictable 
temper. She steadied the tray and prayed he wouldn’t toss it 
away. Though concerned for her patient’s well-being, her mouth 

began to water in anticipation of food. 
“Eat, then I’ll check your dressings.” She held out a knife 
and fork. When he didn’t take them from her, she picked up his 
hand and closed his fingers around the utensils. 
“I’m not hungry,” he pouted. 
She took note of the way Graham’s nose twitched at the 
smell rising from the cloth-covered tray and how he licked his 
lips. “Of course you’re not, but now that Betha has gone to the 
trouble of preparing this tray, it would be sinful to waste food. 
If you don’t mind, I’ll join you. I’m starved.” She sat on the 
chair next to the bed and lifted the cloth. 
As she helped herself to the meal, Sianna felt the battle 
raging inside Graham. His strong survival instinct commanded 
him to eat and live, no matter what, but his stubborn male pride 
demanded he live as a whole man or not at all. His internal 
struggle played havoc with her already delicate stomach. Finally, 
she stabbed a piece of meat and held it to his compressed lips. 
“Eat.” 
With obvious reluctance, yet undeniable eagerness, he 
accepted the morsel and ate. Only when the tray was nearly 
empty did he lower his fork and look at her. 
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she teased. 
A cagey grin eased the tension from his face. “Think you’re 
smart, do you,” he answered, his normal good-humor slipping 
past his angry distress. 
“Of course.” She smiled and removed the tray. “Now let 
me look at your dressings.” Without waiting for his approval, 
she flipped back the blanket and set to work. A small corner of 
the cloth preserved his modesty and hers. 
Though his legs were swollen—the discolored skin stretched 
taut over abused bone and muscle—no telltale streaks of red 
around the gash gave indication of inflection. Her neat stitches 
held the flesh together, and the bleeding had ceased. She adjusted 
the splints that held his legs immobile. The skin around his mouth 
went white, but he didn’t object or move. 
But he grabbed her hand when she started to spread a 
creamy salve over the raw flesh. “What is that?” 
“Naught but an herbal ointment to ease your pain and 

promote healing. I’ll not injure you further.” 
The mistrust in his voice and eyes hurt worse than she had 
anticipated. Would they never accept her? Would her father’s 
sins be forever laid at her feet? 
*** 
Kyne closed the door to his chamber behind him and leaned 
against the raw wood. Though exhaustion dogged him, inner 
turmoil kept him tense. What would he say to Sianna—if that 
was her name—when she arrived? His gaze went to the 
rumpled, stained bedding, then darted away. Guilt and satisfaction 
stabbed him in equal measures. 
Virgin. The word and memory lingered in his mind. Aubin’s 
last words had been of the possibility of a child. But if Sianna 
was not DiSanti’s daughter, who was she and why did she lie? 
Questions tormented Kyne, but he’d find no answers until 
Sianna arrived. Determined to rest, he moved toward the bed. 
One small lamp bathed the room in a soft, mellow glow and 
forced his attention to changes in the once barren chamber. 
Instead of walking across cold stone floors, his booted feet 
sank into large sardak-fur rugs. A piece of lace cloth covered 
the rough wooden mantel over the hearth. On the cloth a cracked 
clay pot held a profusion of wild flowers. He touched the fragile 
petals. The silky softness and delicate perfume reminded Kyne 
of Sianna’s skin and her own sweet, fresh fragrance. Disgusted 
to find himself mooning like an untried youth, he jerked his hand 
away. 
Two chairs and a small cloth-covered table placed before 
the hearth invited him to sit and relax. A bottle of wine and a 
glass along with a bowl of fruit rested on the table. With a few 
small touches, Sianna had turned his chamber from merely a 
place to sleep into a comfortable retreat from the demands 
outside the door. Faced with anger and hostility, she had created 
a haven of peace around her. Defeated by her solicitude, he 
sank into a chair and stared at the cold hearth. 
Too weary to rise and light a fire against the growing chill 
of night, he let his head fall back and his eyes close. How many 
times while fighting DiSanti’s forces had he slept on the hard, 
cold ground and listened to his men moan in pain? Too many to 

count. In comparison, the discomfort of an evening breeze was 
nothing. 
Soft cushions cradled his body, and wild flower perfume 
filled his nostrils, but sleep evaded him as he waited for Sianna. 
Sianna eased the door to Kyne’s chamber open and shushed 
Warda as he pushed past her into the dark room. The rest of 
the castle slept. Did Kyne? She prayed so. 
The meal she’d shared with Graham sat heavy on her 
stomach. Grit grated in her tired eyes, and the ripe smell of her 
own body made her nose burn. The flesh between her thighs 
ached and throbbed with each beat of her heart, a constant 
reminder of Kyne’s possession. 
She had used nearly all her remaining strength to reach 
through Graham’s fear and hostility, but she now felt confident 
he would recover. Physically and emotionally drained, she 
wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep, which she could 
do only if Kyne allowed. In the morning she would be better 
able to deal with his questions. 
“How does Graham fare?” 
Startled, she whirled to face Kyne where he sat before the 
hearth. “He does well. The bones are properly aligned and 
should heal straight. With work he’ll soon be back on his feet.” 
Kyne stood, a tall, menacing shadow outside the lamplight’s 
welcoming circle. A fall of dark hair concealed his expression 
from her, and she received no hint of his emotions. Was he 
angry? Hurt? What did he feel about her lies? 
Suddenly she no longer wanted to sleep, she wanted to 
confront him, taunt him, tease him, until he let loose his rigid 
control and freed his emotions to mingle with hers. She 
wanted...she wasn’t sure just what, but knew she would find it 
only with this man. A rush of exhilaration pushed her toward 
Kyne. 
His hard gaze locked with hers, and a twinge of 
apprehension touched her. Where was her fear? Was she foolish 
enough to prod a sleeping sardak? Her shiver had nothing to do 
with the chill of the chamber, but she continued until she stood 
before him. 
She tilted her head back and searched his eyes in the cool, 

blue moonlight. “Kyne.” The word was both question and plea. 
With a strangled groan he reached out and cupped her face 
in his hand. “Who are you?” 
His thumb stroked her cheek. A shudder coursed through 
her. “I’m Sianna Di...” 
Placing his fingers against her lips, he silenced her reply. 
“No. Don’t answer. For tonight who you are doesn’t matter. 
Who I am doesn’t matter. I won’t let it. For tonight there is no 
Aubin. No DiSanti. No rebellion. No Kyne. No Sianna. Tonight 
you are naught but a woman and I am naught but a man. 
Tomorrow we will sort out the truth.” He held out his left hand 
to her, palm up, fingers slightly spread. 
His fierce command ignited an answering spark in Sianna. 
Trembling, she placed her right palm against his and watched 
as his strong, dark fingers closed over her slim, pale ones. Once 
again he offered his protection, and once again she accepted. 
For this night. 
With dawn would come the questions. Would she have the 
right answers? 

Twelve
Sianna didn’t question as Kyne led her from the bed chamber 
and through the great hall. Her feet flagged only briefly when 
he lit a small lamp and started down a darkened stairwell. Would 
he now confine her to the castle’s supposedly nonexistent 
dungeon? The warm squeeze of his strong fingers around hers 
banished her fleeting fear. For this moment in time she trusted 
him without hesitation. 
Like a quiet, dark shadow Warda padded along behind. 
Still, she asked, “Where are we going?” 
Kyne’s smile flashed white in the dim lamp light. “To the 
bathing cavern below. After the trials of this last day, I thought 
you might enjoy a bath. The mineral waters are warm and 
soothing, the pool deep enough to swim in.” 
Glad the darkness hid her sudden flush, she nodded. “You 
are kind.” 
“Not kind. Practical. At this late hour it would be difficult 
to rouse someone to heat bath water and carry it to my 
chamber.” 
“Kind,” she insisted, “both to myself and those who would 
serve you.” 
He grunted in reply and strode ahead, his spine stiff with 
male pride as if to deny his gentle gesture. A sigh escaped her. 
Would she ever understand this dangerous, demanding man? 
Would he ever lower the barriers surrounding his heart and 
grant her entrance? 
At the opening to the bathing cavern she hesitated. She 
had no doubt if she entered she would again join her body with 
Kyne’s. Could she be satisfied with a physical joining, when 
she craved so much more? 

“Stay,” he commanded Warda at the entrance. With a 
muffled grunt the beast collapsed across the opening, a shaggy 
guard to their privacy. 
She watched Kyne move around the perimeter of the cavern 
and light the lanterns hanging at intervals on the walls. Redolent 
with the smell of water and rock, warm moist air swirled around 
her. Below the heavy mineral smell, a bouquet of herbs and 
spices rose from the rushes scattered across the rock floor. 
She breathed deep and let the scent calm her fluttering nerves. 
Like yellow stars in an inky night sky, lantern lights reflected 
off the pool’s smooth, black surface. Moisture glistened on rough 
rock walls and stone floor like crystal flakes. In this enchanted 
place, doubts and fears faded. 
“There are towels and bathing powder over there.” He 
pointed to a shelf filled with fluffy towels and crystal carafes. 
He didn’t wait, but started to strip off his clothing, letting it fall 
in a forgotten heap. 
Unexpectedly shy, she averted her eyes from the sight of 
his bared flesh. At the small splash and the ripples on the water’s 
surface, she glanced up. Kyne had disappeared. She stepped 
to the pool’s edge and gave a strangled cry when his head 
surfaced at her feet. Water lapped the cool stone and soaked 
through her thin slippers. Despite the warmth of air and water, 
she shivered. 
Pushing back his sleek, wet hair, he grinned up at her and 
held out his hand. “Join me.” 
Trust me. She sensed his unspoken plea. Did she dare? 
Could she not? 
Water dripped down his sculpted cheeks, beaded on his 
eyelashes, and trickled over his lips. Her tongue slipped over 
her own dry lips. She sucked in air and another scent assaulted 
her—warm wet male. 
The naked need in Kyne’s eyes stirred Sianna’s own 
dormant passion. Memories of their earlier encounter flickered 
through her mind, until her inner heat threatened to consume 
her. He wanted her—Sianna. Anticipation tingled in her heart 
and body. Before there had been no conscious choice, she had 
given herself to him without premeditation or thought. This time 

she must decide. 
She kicked off her slippers and took a step forward. At the 
edge of the pool she paused. The stone felt wet and warm 
beneath her bare feet. 
“Are you going to bathe in your clothes?” His tone held a 
teasing note, but his gaze burned through her thin tunic. 
Tendrils of emotion wafted around her. Longing. Fear. The 
two emotions twisted and turned within Kyne like mating water 
worms, each struggling to dominate the other. 
She knelt in front of him, her gaze searching his. “What do 
you long for?” 
Surprise crossed his face. “You.” 
“What do you fear?” 
“You.” The word ended in a groan of defeat. 
She loosened the ties that held the neck of her tunic gathered 
and allowed the loose garment to slither down her body and 
puddle around her feet. Kyne’s sudden intake of breath sparked 
an answering gasp from her. 
“Beautiful.” 
Leaning forward, she rested her palms on his wet shoulders. 
Warmth crept up her arms, but faded in comparison to the 
searing heat of his hands closing around her waist. With 
deceptive ease, he lifted her. Shivering, not with cold but with 
scalding desire, she seemed to hover above him. Her naked 
breasts gleamed white and brushed against his rough cheek. 
Her nipples tingled and contracted into small, hard beads. Then 
he let her down into the dark, welcoming depths of the pool, her 
body gliding along his. Each touch generated a wave of longing. 
She pressed close, melding her flesh to his from shoulder to 
knee. 
Secure in his embrace, she floated. Like liquid satin the 
water stroked them, while scented steam drifted above the black 
surface of the pool, swirling gently in the air. 
“Touch me,” he groaned. His tongue teased the sensitive 
hollow behind her ear. 
Made bold by his plea, she ran her palms down his arms. In 
response his fingers dug almost painfully into her waist. At her 
small sound of distress his grip eased, and his hands stroked 

over her hips to clasp her buttocks. His arousal throbbed 
insistently against her belly. 
Fingers probed between her thighs. In a moment of panic 
her muscles clenched, then memories stirred, and her body 
seemed to liquefy. Except for the band of Kyne’s arm around 
her hips, she felt at one with the pool—soft and flowing, warm 
and open. Her legs drifted apart. She rested her cheek against 
his shoulder and pressed her lips to the moist skin of his throat. 
His low growl of pleasure spurred her to imitate his actions 
and taste the flesh behind his ear. 
“No more, little witch, or I’ll disgrace myself. I was too 
rough and quick this morning. You are still raw and swollen.” 
His fingers lightly stroked the sensitive flesh, and she felt a 
twinge of pain. But the feeling was quickly overwhelmed by 
others far more compelling. Wanting more, she pressed her 
hips into his hand. 
His soft chuckle made her flush with embarrassment and 
bury her face in his shoulder. When he held her at arms’ length, 
she felt abandoned. Despite the warmth of the water, cold 
seeped over her. 
How could he want her? She was his enemy’s daughter. If 
only she could read his emotions, but aside from a few fleeting 
moments of connection, he remained closed to her empathic 
talent. 
After the warmth of the water, the rock felt cool against 
her backside as Kyne seated her at the pool’s edge. Ashamed 
of her brazenness, she shut her eyes and wrapped her arms 
protectively around her chest. 
He placed his fingers beneath her chin and said, “Look at 
me, Sianna.” 
Reluctantly, afraid of what she might see, she opened her 
eyes and met his gaze. She hoped the dim light and moist air hid 
the tears trembling in her eyes. 
His dark eyes reflected the flickering glow of the lamplight, 
but revealed little of his thoughts or feelings. 
She started to rise. “I’ll get dressed now.” 
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Dressed? Whatever for?” 
He held her in place with his hands on her thighs. “Have I 

frightened you? Don’t be afraid. There will be no pain this 
time, I promise. We will take this slow and easy.” 
His tender, concerned looked eased the building ache in 
her heart. 
He slid his hand behind her head and pulled her forward. 
“Kiss me.” 
Because he asked and did not demand, Sianna’s doubts 
and fears melted away. She pressed her trembling mouth to 
his. 
Molten desire boiled through her—hers or his, she could no 
longer discern. With the touch, their emotions melded. In that 
moment they became one. She felt the heavy silken weight of 
her hair on his one hand, the soft skin of her thigh beneath the 
other, along with the smooth, wet flesh of his biceps under her 
palms and his hot, slick tongue tangling with hers as they kissed. 
Kyne’s emotions and sensations became hers and, by his 
body’s ripple of satisfaction, she sensed that hers became his. 
Excitement raced through her veins like the bubbles of fermented 
wine. This is what she had longed for—the blending of souls, 
the becoming as one with another. 
And yet they were not one. She still knew nothing of his 
thoughts. Only his desires and physical sensations were clear 
to her. 
For now they were enough. She refused to think beyond 
this moment, to the future, the distant morning when he might 
again look at her with anger and hatred. She clutched his head 
to her breast and gave herself to this instant out of time. 
He freed his head from her clasp. With his hands on her 
inner thighs, he spread her legs wide apart and moved between 
them. Water lapped over the edge of the pool to lave her exposed 
flesh. She gasped in startled awe and clenched his hair in her 
fists when the liquid fire of his tongue replaced the warm balm 
of water. Her back arched and her hips thrust forward to meet 
his hot mouth as it closed over her. With every stroke of his 
tongue, tension coiled in her belly like a whip ready to crack. 
Sweet and salty, her own taste and scent pooled in her 
mouth. Like a shower of crystal dust, feelings cascaded over 
her skin. Low, animal-like moans echoed in the cavern. She 

trembled on the brink, unwilling to pull back, yet afraid to step 
off into the unknown. But it wasn’t unknown, she reminded 
what little remained of her consciousness. Kyne had shown 
her this abyss once before. He would keep her safe. With a 
sigh she surrendered to the glory of his assault and let herself 
take flight beneath his touch. 
Boneless and weak, she sagged forward, resting her chest 
on top of his now lifted head. 
His low chuckle of masculine satisfaction barely made her 
stir. She smiled, wondering who was the conqueror and who 
was the conquered. 
“You taste like warm honeyed wine, sweet and tangy.” 
Heat flushed Sianna’s cheeks at his brash words, but she 
felt no true embarrassment. Nothing that passed between them 
could be ugly or wrong. 
He lifted her upright and tugged her forward into the water 
once more. She flowed into his arms like the river flows into 
the sea, without hesitation or awareness of where one ends 
and the other begins. Her legs wrapped around his hips, and he 
slid smoothly into her tight sheath. She pressed her face to his 
chest. 
“Look at me,” Kyne commanded and nudged her chin up 
with his knuckles. “Don’t be shy. Yes,” he said when she gave 
him a startled look. “I can sense your emotions. What kind of 
unholy bond has been forged between us?” Fear and a fierce 
sense of exultation surged from him to her. 
Locked in his embrace, his body intimately joined with hers, 
she had difficulty forming her words. “I’m unsure. I’ve never 
experienced this before.” 
His laughter vibrated throughout her body. “That was 
obvious this morning, but I wasn’t referring to the joining of our 
bodies.” 
Stung by his seemingly casual dismissal of their lovemaking, 
she stiffened. “Neither was I.” 
“I know.” He tightened his hold, allowing her no room to 
pull away. “I but teased. How is it I sense your emotions? Feel 
what your body feels?” He moved his hips and groaned. 
The sensation of him sliding in and out of her drove any 

rational thought from her mind. Though her insides quickened 
to his motion she went limp in his arms, unable to speak an 
answer. 
He didn’t ask again. Instead, he backed her against the 
smooth stone wall of the pool and began to rock his hips. His 
muscles went taut beneath her hands. She knew he held his 
need in check while he drove her again to the brink of the 
abyss. 
This time she didn’t hesitate. She plunged willingly into the 
unknown. Moments later he threw back his head with a 
triumphant shout and followed her. 
Only a damp towel separated his backside from the hard 
rock floor of the bathing cavern, but Kyne felt no desire to 
move. Like a fragrant silk coverlet, Sianna’s damp hair draped 
across his chest. Her head rested on his shoulder, and one leg 
nestled deep between his thighs. The brush of her nether hair 
teased his hip, while her gentle breath stirred the underside of 
his chin. Though well-sated by their hours in the pool, his body 
roused to her touch. 
Contentment radiated in the air. He could almost reach out 
and touch it, but feared to do so. Like a cloud or a dream, if you 
gripped it too hard it would dissolve. 
And, like a dream, this feeling could not last. Outside the 
bathing cavern the world waited. 
He chided himself for succumbing to her feminine charms. 
With the finish of their sex—he refused to acknowledge 
their joining as lovemaking—the strange bond he had felt with 
Sianna evaporated like a morning mist. Perhaps what he felt 
was nothing more than the sensations of a man who had long 
denied himself the pleasure of a woman’s body. He clung to 
the thought and ignored the small voice inside that countered 
the idea. 
Damping down his growing arousal, he moved her aside. 
He needed to rise. There were questions to be asked. Decisions 
to be made. By remaining here he only delayed the inevitable. 
“Kyne?” she questioned sleepily. Flushed from the cavern’s 
moist heat and passion well spent, her cheeks and chest were 
rosy. Dark, tangled hair tumbled over her shoulders, blocking 

his view of dusty pink nipples. 
Guilt prodded him as he rose. What excuse did he have for 
taking what she offered when he didn’t know who she truly 
was? 
“Get dressed,” he ordered. 
At his harsh tone, color leeched from her face. With 
trembling fingers she snatched up her stained and crumpled 
tunic. Clutching the cloth to cover her nakedness, she faced 
him with a courage he rarely saw. Even warriors often cringed 
when he used this tone. 
“You regret what we’ve done.” She spoke the words as a 
statement, not a question. 
“Do you regret your lies?” 
Anger sparked in her eyes. Her chin lifted. “Lies! What 
lies? I am my father’s daughter?” Her voice gained volume 
with each word. One hand fisted at her waist while the other 
clutched her tunic to her chest. The limp fabric hid little of her 
charms. The curve of her hip peeking from around the faded 
material distracted him. 
“Does what we shared mean so little to you?” 
“What exactly did we share? Sex.” 
Her lips tightened. “It was more than mere sex.” 
He rejected her claim.”And how would a virgin know the 
difference?” 
“I may have been a virgin, but I have eyes and ears. In my 
years with the Sisters of Light as a healer I saw and heard 
much about what goes on between men and women. Deny it 
all you like, but we shared more than just our bodies.” 
“Seeing and hearing are far different from experiencing. 
You read more into our joining than was there.” Kyne dismissed 
his memory of the bonding between them as the fantasies of a 
man too long without a woman. 
“If you truly believe so, you are denser than the rock 
surrounding us. I will waste no more breath arguing with you.” 
Though he discounted her words and his own nagging 
thoughts, at her show of outrage, Kyne’s annoyance faded. He 
smothered a smile. When riled, the little shecal would bare its 
teeth. “We will speak of this further, but not here. In my chamber. 

I will have the truth from you.” 
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass,” she 
muttered and turned her back to him. Sianna quickly pulled the 
tunic over her head and secured the cord at her throat. 
The soiled fabric clung to her damp skin like guilt clung to 
her soul. Though she hid behind bold words, her own weakness 
and longing had led her down this path. At any time she could 
have cried “no,” and he would have stopped. For a moment of 
pleasure she had led Kyne to corrupt his honor. For that he 
might never forgive her. 
“Kyne, I....” 
Warda’s low growl interrupted her. 
Unmindful of his nakedness, Kyne pushed her behind him 
and grabbed up his sword. “Who goes there?” 
“It’s just me, Etam, Rul Cathor.” Eyes downcast, the boy 
shuffled nervously into the cavern. “The guard sent me to find 
you, but...” he stammered, “I didn’t want to disturb you.” 
Kyne glared at the poor lad. 
Even in the dim lamplight Sianna could see the boy’s fiery 
blush. Heat at what he might have seen flooded her own cheeks. 
Kyne yanked up his trousers and strapped on his sword 
belt as he questioned the boy. “Did the guard send a message?” 
“Yes, Milord.” Etam’s tousled head bobbed. 
“And?” Kyne prompted with ill-concealed impatience. 
“Je’al has returned. The guard says to bring the healer as 
well. Je’al is injured.” Having delivered his message, Etam 
bowed and quickly scampered away. 
Je’al. A chill of foreboding crept through Sianna. He would 
have word from her father. Soon Kyne would know the truth 
of her identity, but not from her lips. She had to speak first. 
Explain her lie. And find a way to continue to conceal Laila. 

Thirteen
Kyne crowded close behind Sianna in the small, dim 
chamber. Her backside rubbed against his groin as she bent 
over the bed and brushed sweat-soaked hair from Je’al’s bruised 
and battered face. Her gentle touch contrasted sharply with 
the brutality inflicted by her father. 
Half-dead, Je’al groaned when she opened his shirt and 
ran her hands over his chest. Dried blood covered his white, 
still childish flesh. If he died, Kyne knew the fault lay on his 
shoulders. He’d sent a lad to do a man’s job. Kyne’s fingers 
closed around the hilt of his sword. Along with his other sins, 
DiSanti would pay for this. 
“How bad is he?” He forced the question past a throat 
tight with anger. 
Brow furrowed in concentration, Sianna leaned over the 
lad. She carefully wiped away the crusted evidence of her 
father’s inhumanity. “Bruises. Cuts. He’s been...tortured.” Her 
voice broke, then firmed as she continued. “His ribs are broken, 
as well as one arm.” 
For a moment Kyne waited and watched. 
With each pass of her hand, Je’al’s ragged breathing 
seemed to grow easier, while hers grew more labored. A tinge 
of color touched his chalky cheeks, and the glaze of death faded 
from his eyes. Her shoulders slumped. She turned to Kyne. 
“Will he live? Can he speak?” 
With one hand against Kyne’s chest, she held him away. 
The warmth of her fingers burnt through his shirt. “Do not 
badger him. He must rest. His information will wait until 
morning.” 
“Do you fear what he might say? Will he live to see the 

dawn?” Anger made him discount the weariness in her tone, 
and he jeered at her concern. 
“I seek only his welfare. If you do not trust me to care for 
him, I will wake Althea.” 
He felt the stab of pain that flashed in her eyes as she 
turned away from his harsh accusation. 
Before he could retract his words and soothe the ache he 
knew had settled in Sianna’s tender heart, bloodied fingers 
gripped his arm. 
Je’al struggled to sit up. “I will speak.” 
Disregarding Kyne’s presence at her back, Sianna slipped 
an arm behind Je’al’s shoulders and settled him against the 
wall. “Drink this.” She held a cup of heated alt root broth to his 
mouth. His lips curled in distaste, but he didn’t hesitate to drink 
the foul-smelling brew. 
“Prince Timon sends greetings to Rul Cathor,” Je’al rasped. 
Rul Cathor. Elation rushed through Kyne. With two words, 
Prince Timon acknowledged Kyne’s position and declared his 
own. Though yet a lad, Prince Timon would some day rule 
Dramon. If he lived and if he did not support DiSanti, there was 
hope. 
Sianna bathed Je’al face as he spoke. He caught her wrist 
in a punishing grip. She flinched. Before Kyne could protest, 
the lad eased his hold. 
A look of bemusement settled over his old-young face as 
he stared up at Sianna. His lips twisted in a odd smile. 
“My thanks, Lady Sianna. And my apologies.” His words 
held a meaning Kyne could not decipher. 
She nodded and smiled. 
“Send the woman away. The prince’s message is not for 
her ears.” 
“Leave us.” Kyne felt her distress at Je’al’s harsh tone. 
Hurt flashed in her eyes, and her brief accord with Je’al 
shattered like brittle crystal. 
She pulled her arm from Je’al’s hold, straightened her 
shoulders and threw back her head. Damp, tangled hair slapped 
and stung Kyne’s arm. The blaze burning in her blue eyes 
promised she hadn’t finished with him. 

Puzzled, Kyne watched her stomp out of the chamber. What 
had happened to the gentle, frightened woman Katya had stolen 
from DiSanti’s palace? The woman who worked tirelessly 
healing the sick and injured and setting the castle to rights? The 
virgin temptress who answered his passion kiss for kiss? Who 
was this angry impostor? 
“Rul Cathor?” 
Je’al drew Kyne’s attention. The mystery of Sianna must 
wait. There were other more important questions to be 
answered. 
“Prince Timon will support our move to unseat DiSanti. 
For just a lad he has done what he can to undermine DiSanti’s 
growing power.” 
Kyne hid his smile. Je’al was only a few annum older than 
the prince. “You forget he has been raised to some day rule. 
Politics and intrigue were spoon-fed to him along with pabulum 
in his cradle.” 
Je’al coughed and weakly wiped the blood-flecked foam 
from his swollen lips. Kyne’s inner amusement died before it 
could flower. Pain, treachery and loss quickly killed childhood. 
“Were you followed?” 
“No. There are still those loyal to the Royal family. They 
helped the prince secret me out of the dungeon. DiSanti was 
told I died of my injuries. Before I left, Prince Timon learned 
that DiSanti will come to the place you named to bargain for 
the return of his daughter. He believes what you had me tell 
him—that she was abducted by outlaws for ransom. Despite 
his torture, I told him nothing else.” 
Justifiable pride laced the lad’s words. Not many men 
endured DiSanti’s methods of persuasion without breaking. 
“He has agreed to the price, but he’ll not come alone,” 
Je’al added. 
“I never believed he would. DiSanti is no fool. However, it 
will not matter. Alone or with a troop of men, he will fall into 
our trap.” The anticipation of satisfaction flowed through Kyne. 
Soon his blade would taste DiSanti’s blood. 
“Does the prince understand what we will do? Does he 
accept the risk?” 

Je’al nodded. “Those loyal to the prince will do what they 
can to protect him, but he knows his life along with that of his 
family might be forfeit in the chaos that follows DiSanti’s death.” 
“We will do everything to safeguard the prince and the 
royal family. The lad is Dramon’s one hope of avoiding civil 
war. With DiSanti gone, the populace will rally around Prince 
Timon, and the Council will follow. Were you able to determine 
who among the Council supports the prince?” 
“No. DiSanti either bought them outright, killed them or 
forced them into hiding. If any are loyal to the prince they are 
not saying. The Prince’s support comes from the servants, the 
palace guard, the ranks of the army and a few of the 
commanders. With DiSanti dead, his rogue generals will fight 
to maintain control, but will be like a sand worm without a head. 
They will devour themselves.” 
And any who get in their way. “I pray we’re right, or 
we’ll be plunging Dramon into a bloody civil war.” 
“Better to die fighting for our freedom than to die as 
DiSanti’s slaves.” 
Je’al’s heated protest did little to ease Kyne’s apprehension. 
“DiSanti is a wily bastard. He’ll not be easily defeated. How 
many will die to gain freedom for the rest?” 
“As many as necessary,” Je’al declared. 
*** 
In Kyne’s chamber, Sianna stripped off the damp and soiled 
tunic. Exhaustion tugged at her. Each breath made her chest 
ache. 
Je’al would live. She’d told Kyne of Je’al’s broken ribs but 
neglected to mention his punctured lung. Only her special touch 
had saved the young man from drowning in his own blood. 
Coughing, she wrapped her arms around her waist, leaned 
forward and waited for her body to absorb the damage. 
When would she learn to ration her talent? To give only 
what was needed rather than trying to heal all? 
Never. She couldn’t hold back. Though draining, when she 
offered a healing touch she received more in return than she 
bestowed—a satisfaction, a benediction. The Eternal One had 
blessed her with a gift. One she must share. Despite the risk, 

she couldn’t be miserly with it. 
The coughing stopped and the ache faded as her body 
returned to normal. Warda whined anxiously and nudged her 
with his cold, wet nose. She shivered, suddenly aware she 
crouched naked in the middle of the room. 
“I’m fine,” she reassured the hound. “But,” she huffed 
through the fabric of the clean blouse she pulled over her head, 
“your master is a complete fool. He cannot see the truth about 
me,” she complained as she tugged a fresh skirt over her hips 
and slipped her feet into slippers. 
She plopped down into a chair by the hearth. Heat from 
the cheery fire eased some of the chill from her flesh as she 
turned her attention to her tangled hair. The teeth of Kyne’s 
comb snagged and yanked at the knotted mass. Tears sprang 
into her eyes, but whether from pain or heartache Sianna couldn’t 
say. 
Warda laid his shaggy head in her lap. She fondled his ears 
and asked, “What is the truth? I am my father’s daughter, but I 
am not who Kyne believes me to be. By not telling him my 
father has two daughters, I lied to Kyne. But I only did so to 
protect Laila and myself. I didn’t know Kyne then as I do now. 
Because I couldn’t read his emotions, I didn’t know what he 
would do if he thought I wasn’t Laila. Now that I know he’s 
incapable of hurting an innocent, I could reveal the truth and 
know I’ll be safe.” Her hands stilled on Warda’s head. 
“But what of Laila? What if he discovers her presence 
here in the castle? Will he still think her guilty of Aubin’s murder? 
Can I be certain of what Kyne will do? And what of the others? 
Even if Kyne offers Laila pardon for her supposed crimes, will 
his people allow the pardon to stand, or will they seek their own 
justice against her?” The questions haunted Sianna. 
As if offering comfort, Warda pressed against her leg. 
“No. I cannot risk her nor the child I believe she carries 
until I am assured of their safety. I must seek Laila out and 
convince her to leave this place. Only then can I reveal myself 
to Kyne. But your master will want some explanation for my...” 
Heat rushed up her throat and into her face as memories crowded 
her mind. “...being a virgin when he thought I...Laila...had lain 

with Aubin.” She shoved away thoughts of Kyne’s hands and 
lips touching her, stroking her, introducing her to the passion 
between a man and a woman. “What do I tell him?” 
“Yes, what do you tell me?” 
Sianna gasped and looked up. How much had Kyne heard 
of her conversation with Warda? 
Legs spread, he stood in the open doorway, silhouetted in 
the light spilling into the chamber from the hall. In her rush to 
dress she had neglected to light any lamps, finding her way by 
the glow of the fire. 
“About what?” she managed to squeak. 
“You tell me.” He stalked toward her. 
Behind him the door closed with a thump. She winced at 
the finality of the sound. Judgement was at hand. 
On trembling legs she rose and moved behind the chair, 
putting it between him and her, meager protection if he decided 
to grab her. His tone told her nothing of his mood, and shadows 
shaded his expression. Like his face, his emotions were hidden 
from her. A sudden longing for the bond she’d felt with him 
settled in her heart. Would she ever again know that sense of 
completion? 
Warda woofed a greeting and trotted over to Kyne. 
“Traitor,” Sianna accused, then smiled as the hound wove 
around Kyne’s legs and he stumbled. 
He swore softly. “Lie down, Warda.” 
With a grumbled growl, the hound found his corner and 
settled into a shaggy ball, head buried beneath his tail. Sianna 
watched and wished she could curl up away from the questions 
she knew Kyne would ask. Questions she still had no idea how 
to answer. 
“Come here, Sianna.” 
Kyne sat in the chair across from the one she sheltered 
behind. Flickering flames cast his features into sharp relief, all 
hard angles and dark shadows, but she still could gain no clue 
as to what he might have heard. Had she revealed all? 
“I’ll not hurt you.” 
Regret laced Kyne’s voice, and in that instant his emotion 
came clear to her. That she might fear him gave him pain. 

Though he was a warrior, Kyne, like all people, desired to be 
loved not feared. 
Though frightened of his judgement, she knew he would 
not raise his fists to her. She could not let him believe otherwise. 
Kyne watched the flicker of emotions dance across 
Sianna’s pale features: fear and misgiving, understanding then 
compassion. In a rush she came to kneel at his side and rested 
her head in his lap. Like a skein of tangled silk, dark hair spilled 
down his legs, leaving her slender throat bare and vulnerable. 
The warmth of her cheek against his thigh and her display of 
trust sent a jolt of longing through him. He wanted to gather her 
into his arms, soothe her fears, ignite her passion and his, but he 
no longer had the right—if he ever had. 
He wished her anger had remained. Anger he could counter. 
Her gentle understanding near defeated him. He pushed her 
away and stood. 
“In a matter of days, your father will fall from power. He 
will be captured, tried and found guilty of his crimes. My sword 
will soon separate his head from his body.” He hardened his 
heart and stared down at Sianna. “Will you stand at his side and 
share his fate? Speak. Convince me of your innocence.” 
She lowered her head, refusing to meet his glare. “I am 
DiSanti’s daughter, but I am guilty of nothing else.” 
Kyne knew he must pass judgement on the slender woman 
at his feet. Could he do it? Condemn her to death? Lift his arm 
and bring his sword down across her neck? His stomach lurched 
at the thought. 
What other choice did he have? She claimed to be DiSanti’s 
daughter and as such shared at least a portion of his guilt. 
“Aubin’s dying words were of the child he and his lover 
might have conceived. But you came to me a virgin. Why would 
Aubin lie? Did he love you so much he sought to protect you 
from my vengeance even in the face of your betrayal?” 
Sianna’s head shot up. “I did not betray your brother!” 
Kyne grabbed her shoulders and yanked her to her feet. 
“Liar! When I found him, Aubin still clutched a note from you 
asking him to meet you at the Lyon’s Head tavern.” His fingers 
dug into her flesh but, caught up in his memories, he didn’t ease 

his grip when she flinched. “Your father’s men waylaid him in 
the woods. Do you know what they did to him?” He punctuated 
each word by shaking her. 
Images flashed through Sianna’s mind. She felt his pain 
and anguish. She saw what he saw that terrible day—Aubin 
lying broken and bleeding in the mud. Tears streamed down 
her cheeks as Kyne held his brother’s mutilated body in his 
arms—her arms—and begged him not to die. She heard Aubin’s 
pained whisper when he spoke of Laila’s betrayal and the child 
she might carry. 
She trembled with the intensity of Kyne’s memories—now 
hers. But below them all she sensed something more, something 
stronger than pain or guilt or fear or hate. Stronger even than 
vengeance. An elusive something that drew her like a flower 
draws a bee. A force that commanded her. 
Staggered by the cruel reality of Aubin’s death, she felt 
faint as she realized the depth of the connection Kyne had 
forged with her. In this instant she bonded with Kyne beyond 
what she had ever imagined possible. She became him. 
“Give me a reason not to condemn you. Save yourself. 
Save me.” His voice trailed off to a whisper, and he released 
his hold on her shoulders. 
As suddenly as it had come, the connection between them 
ended. Pain left her limp. The bond went only one direction. 
None of herself reached into Kyne’s ka. To him she remained 
DiSanti’s daughter. He understood nothing. She sagged into 
the chair and raised tear-filled eyes to Kyne. “I can’t.” I can’t 
save myself at the cost of another. 
But in saving Laila would she destroy Kyne? If he executed 
her alongside her father, then learned the truth, guilt would shatter 
his ka. 
“So be it.” He turned away. “You seal your own fate. 
Tomorrow we leave to meet your father.” He strode to the 
door and left. 
Warda’s warmth pressed against her knees. She buried 
her face in his fur and sobbed. She cried for Kyne. For Aubin. 
For Laila. For the suffering caused by her father’s lust for 
power. For lives wasted and lost. For the stillbirth of Kyne’s 

love for her. For her hopeless love for Kyne. 
When her tears ended she rose on shaking legs and went 
looking for her sister. 
An hour later, Sianna found Laila in the stable. 
Dressed in a clean blouse and trousers, her cropped, dark 
hair and skin freshly scrubbed, Laila’s tall thin frame looked 
more like a lad’s than a woman’s quick with child. Only the full 
jut of her breasts beneath the thin material and the roundness 
below her waist hinted at her condition. Brow furrowed in 
concentration, she rhythmically stroked a brush over her quinar’s 
already sleek coat. Eyes shut, the beast nearly purred with 
contentment, his massive head resting contentedly on Laila’s 
shoulder. 
Sianna stepped forward, intent on talking with her elusive 
sister. “Laila.” 
Laila whirled around. The brush dropped from her hand, 
and a knife flashed in front of Sianna’s eyes. “By the moons, 
woman. Don’t you know enough not to sneak up on a person?” 
She relaxed her battle stance, and the knife disappeared into 
whatever hiding place she’d retrieved it from. “And my name 
is Lisha.” She turned back to the quinar and soothed its agitated 
prancing. 
Sianna swallowed her sudden fear of this near stranger 
and approached. “I must speak with you. It is not safe for you 
here. Rul Cathor has become suspicious of my identity. If he 
discovers our father has two daughters, he will begin to hunt 
for you. In his eyes you bear equal guilt with our father for 
Aubin’s murder. Think of the child you carry.” 
Laila gave a harsh laugh. “Believe me, I think of little else.” 
“Then you do carry Aubin’s child?” 
“Yes, and as long as our father lives, no one is safe in 
Dramon, especially not my child. Given half a chance DiSanti 
would rip the babe from my belly. Where better for me to hide 
from him than in the lair of his most feared enemy? Tell me, 
little sister, what has roused the good Rul’s suspicion?” 
Heat rushed into Sianna’s cheeks as Laila stared at her. “I 
know not,” she stuttered. 
“You are a poor liar. No wonder Rul Cathor doubts your 

identity. Or have you given him other proof you were not his 
brother’s lover? Hmmm?” 
“I...I....” At Sianna’s renewed blush and stammer, Laila 
grinned. 
“It matters not. On the morrow, Cathor and his men ride 
out to meet DiSanti. I ride with them.” 
“Are you mad? You cannot! There may be fighting. You 
might be injured.” 
“Perhaps. It matters not. Cathor intends to take DiSanti 
prisoner. The fool believes in justice and would try our father 
for his crimes before executing him. I will kill him and save 
Cathor the wear on his blade.” 
Like hot lava spewing from a long dormant volcano, Laila’s 
hatred drenched Sianna in fiery agony. She staggered against 
the burst of raw emotion, the blood bond between them 
intensifying the connection in a way Sianna would not have 
thought possible. “And if you are injured or killed, what becomes 
of Aubin’s child? Does he die with you?” 
Indecision flashed across Laila’s face. She placed her hands 
protectively over the swell of her belly. 
Sianna rested her palm over the back of Laila’s hand and 
was surprised by the flicker of life she felt within Laila. “He 
deserves the chance to be born. To have his mother there as he 
grows. Don’t throw Aubin’s gift away to avenge his death. 
With his last words, Aubin spoke of the babe the two of you 
had created, knowing his brother would stay his vengeance 
until the birth. Perhaps Aubin believed by then you would have 
convinced Kyne of your innocence.” 
Laila jerked away from Sianna’s touch. Her gaze turned 
hard. “Why are you so convinced of my innocence? You barely 
know me. Perhaps I did betray Aubin. Power is a heady wine, 
and DiSanti nursed me on the brew. He would have me rule at 
his side.” 
“No. There is no evil in you to do such a thing. You loved 
Aubin. I’m sure of it.” 
“Then you are a fool.” She turned her back to Sianna. “I 
love no one and nothing. DiSanti beat love out of me years 
ago.” 

“Then why are you so angry over Aubin’s death?” 
As if in pain, Laila’s shoulders hunched forward. “Aubin 
was mine until I chose to let him go. DiSanti stole what was 
mine. He will pay for it,” she rasped. “Now leave me. I tire of 
your questions. My mind is set. I ride with Rul Cathor and his 
men on the morrow. I will take my chances on my identity 
being discovered. As you said, my pregnancy will protect me— 
at least for a time—from Cathor’s wrath. As long as DiSanti 
dies first, I will be content. Tell Cathor the truth now. Protect 
yourself. You have my blessing.” 
“Just one more question.” 
“Very well, but then be gone.” 
“Did you write to Aubin asking him to meet you at the 
Lyon’s Head tavern?” 
Even before she heard Laila’s whispered “No,” Sianna 
knew the answer. 

Fourteen 
Though the pale, emaciated form on the bed no longer held 
his beloved father’s spirit, his physical presence gave Timon 
comfort. Breath rasped through King Dracken’s toothless, slack 
mouth. Chewing nika rotted a person’s teeth along with his 
brain. Timon gently wiped away the spittle from the king’s chin. 
How often in the last two annum had he sat at his father’s 
side and begged him to wake from his nika-induced stupor. 
Pleaded for advice and answers to the dilemmas facing him? 
But the only time his father stirred was when his body’s craving 
for the drug that had destroyed his mind set him to screaming in 
agony. Then only a mouthful of the harmless looking leaves 
eased his pain and let him drift back into whatever limbo he 
found peace. 
Timon strode to the window and gazed out over the castle’s 
quiet courtyard. Hours before, DiSanti and his loyal personal 
guard had left for their rendezvous with Rul Cathor. The outcome 
of that meeting worried Timon. If DiSanti escaped Cathor’s 
trap, there would be no doubt in his mind as to who had betrayed 
him. With only a few of the remaining palace guard loyal to 
DiSanti, Timon didn’t fear for his own well being. As he waited, 
his own guard were securing the palace. 
Even if DiSanti regained control of the palace, he needed 
Timon too much to do more than threaten and bluster. And his 
father would probably embrace death. But what of his mother 
and Thomasa? 
None of Timon’s spies or informants had been able to 
discover where DiSanti had hidden the two women. Timon could 
only pray Rul Cathor would be successful. If not, Thomasa and 

his mother might pay the price. 
Had he been foolish to put his faith and trust in a man he 
didn’t know? A man declared an outlaw by the Council. A 
Council controlled by DiSanti. 
Rul Cathor hadn’t been to court since the death of his 
parents six annum prior. Eight at the time, Timon remembered 
little of the Cathor family or the tragedy and scandal surrounding 
their deaths. He knew that year heralded the beginning of 
DiSanti’s rise to power and his father’s decline into nika 
addiction. 
He gripped the stone sill. What choice did he have? Cathor 
offered him his only option other than meekly submitting to 
DiSanti’s dictates. 
If Cathor succeeded, the battles would be far from over. 
DiSanti was but the head of a large and ravenous beast. The 
death throes of a headless sardak could still kill. 
How soon before he heard? 
A soft rap at the door heralded his manservant with his 
morning meal. Though food did not interest him, Timon ate. He 
had much to do to prepare. Whatever the outcome of the 
encounter, this day DiSanti’s rule of Dramon ended. 
*** 
Swirls of thick mist hung over the mountain valleys. Dew 
clung to the courtyard’s meager vegetation and slicked the 
paving stones beneath the restless feet of the waiting quinar. 
Scents of milling animals, unwashed men, wood smoke and 
hastily cooked morning meals flavored the cool air sour and 
sweet. Dawn barely lit the sky as Kyne mounted Hakan. They 
must leave to set the trap for DiSanti. Time grew short, but 
only fools traveled the mountain trails in the dark. 
In the grey morning light he watched as Hamon, his second 
in command since Graham’s injury, readied his troop of fifty 
men for departure. Though stout of heart and filled with courage, 
they were a ragtag bunch made up of mostly old men and 
beardless lads. The few men of fighting age stood out like early 
autumn leaves on a summer’s landscape. 
Swords and daggers flashed in sun’s first feeble rays. 
Thanks to the raid on the supply caravan, at least all were well

armed. Did he have enough men to carry his plan through to 
success? They desperately needed the element of surprise on 
their side. If DiSanti reached the rendezvous point before they 
did, they were lost. 
Je’al said DiSanti believed his story of outlaws, but DiSanti 
was a cunning adversary. Though told to come alone, how many 
men would he bring with him? Enough, Kyne was sure, to defeat 
what DiSanti would think to be a small band of desperate men. 
Outlaws were common throughout Dramon since DiSanti’s rule 
began. Any man faced with the starvation of his family might 
turn to thievery, but most died before they became adept at it. 
With luck, DiSanti would discount the risk and come with only 
a few soldiers. 
Hamon was a good man, strong and brave, but he did better 
following orders than giving them. Kyne would miss having 
Graham at his side during the coming encounter. Both for his 
strong arm and for his solid counsel. 
Kyne frowned as Je’al rode up beside him. Though a far 
cry from the pathetic bundle of skin and bones who’d arrived 
just the previous morning, the lad couldn’t be well enough to 
ride into battle. 
Before Kyne could question the lad’s strength, Je’al said, 
“I am fine, my lord. You have need of every man.” 
“And woman.” The woman Lisha urged her mount between 
Je’al and Kyne’s, and lifted an eyebrow as if challenging him to 
object. 
Other than a general dislike for women in battle, Kyne had 
no valid objection to her presence. He nodded his agreement. 
“You proved your worth in the caravan raid. I welcome 
you at my side.” 
A slight easing of her tense stance was her response. 
Since their return he’d not seen her around. With her face 
and hair washed and combed, her trim, full-breasted body clothed 
in fresh garments, she was a handsome woman. Something 
about the clean lines of her face struck a familiar cord in Kyne’s 
mind. Clear blue eyes met him stare for stare without flinching 
at his scrutiny. She held her full lips in a tight, unsmiling line. 
The rising sun caught blue glints in her short, black hair. 

Sianna ran out into the courtyard, Warda charging at her 
heels. She grabbed Hakan’s bridle. 
“No, Kyne. She cannot go with you.” 
Startled, the quinar reared and yanked Sianna off her feet. 
With a growl, Warda lunged at the quinar. In panic Hakan swung 
his massive head and half-reared. His feet beat a tattoo on the 
stone pavement. Sianna dangled in air. Only her grip on Hakan’s 
bridle kept her from falling beneath his flailing hooves. 
Blood thundered in Kyne’s head. 
Before he could react and control his mount, she murmured 
a few words, and the beast settled down. Her feet touched the 
ground, but Kyne’s heart still raced. Warda crouched at her 
side, fangs bared, eyes focused on the still nervous quinar. 
“Are you mad, woman,” he gritted out, not willing to risk 
startling Hakan yet again by shouting. He leaned down, wrapped 
an arm around Sianna and hauled her across his lap. 
He braced himself for a reoccurrence of their strange 
emotional connection, but nothing happened. Instead of the relief 
he knew he should feel, he was disappointed. Still, her fear and 
agitation communicated itself clearly to him. Her slender body 
quivered in his arms, her breathing as fast and erratic as his 
own. 
Gripping his coat front to maintain her precarious balance 
on his lap, she squirmed around until she faced him. He shivered 
as the cold of her fingers sliced through his thick shirt. The feel 
of her soft, round buttocks grinding into his groin stirred an 
unwilling response from him. He almost missed her next words. 
“Lisha cannot ride into danger. You must forbid it.” 
With her now safe in his arms, he nearly laughed at the 
command in her tone, but was oddly hesitant to humiliate her in 
front of his men by calling her on her arrogance in giving him 
orders. Silence had fallen over the troop as they waited to hear 
the rest of the conversation. Kyne considered dismissing them 
and moving the women to a secluded area, but before he could 
act, Lisha spoke. 
“Sianna. This is not your concern.” Anger and warning 
rang in Lisha’s words. “I am my own master. No man commands 
me. Do not meddle in this.” 

“Someone has to. You are too reckless for your own good.” 
The argument sounded like one of some standing, yet how 
could that be, Kyne wondered. The two women had met just 
days before and hadn’t been together at all that he knew of 
those few days. What went on here? 
“Lisha has already proven herself a capable warrior. Why 
shouldn’t she ride with us?” he asked. 
“Because....” 
“Sianna.” Lisha’s low growl stopped whatever Sianna had 
been about to say. 
She glared back at the other woman, defiance obvious in 
her mutinous expression. 
Both women were good at giving commands, but neither 
seemed willing to take them. 
“Well?” Kyne prompted. From the look of Lisha’s set, 
angry features, a war waged within her. 
For a moment her mouth quivered and her eyes moistened, 
then her shoulders went rigid and she whirled her mount away 
from them. “I ride with Rul Cathor,” she shouted. Her quinar 
reared up at her command. “Who rides with us!” 
Battle cries filled the air. Men whooped and hollered. The 
quinar went a little mad, adding their raucous screams and 
stamping feet to the commotion. 
One arm occupied holding Sianna, Kyne struggled to 
restrain Hakan from following suit. He barely felt her shudder 
of despair as she clung to him, her cheek pressed to the hollow 
of his throat. 
The women’s argument forgotten in the excitement of 
pending battle, the troop went on with its preparations. 
“Keep her safe from harm, my lord,” Sianna whispered. 
“She cares not what she risks in search of her vengeance against 
my father.” 
“Tell me why she should not ride with us, and I will 
command it.” Why did he feel the urge to fix whatever was 
wrong in this woman’s life? If not his enemy in fact, she was 
his enemy’s daughter. Her distress should not weigh heavy on 
his shoulders. 
“I cannot. She must follow her own destiny, but if she suffers 

an injury or...death, only the Eternal One could forgive me for 
my silence, for I never will.” She raised tear-filled eyes to his. 
“I can only beg you to guard her with your life.” 
“I guard all my people. Is this stranger so important to you?” 
“Yes.” 
Je’al moved closer and spoke. “The troop is ready to leave, 
my lord.” 
Kyne nodded and reined Hakan over to the edge of the 
courtyard where Katya stood. He let Sianna down. Cold touched 
him at the loss of her warmth against his chest. His arms and 
his heart felt empty. 
“Keep a close watch while we are gone,” he told Katya. “I 
doubt DiSanti has knowledge of our fortress, but I would take 
no chances.” 
“It will be as you command, brother.” 
In the last few days Katya had changed from a petulant, 
angry child to a woman. Now she faced him as an equal, 
confident in her strength and knowledge, but mature enough to 
admit her limitations and accept guidance and command from 
one with more experience. Determination shone in her golden 
eyes. How like Aubin she looked. Pain mingled with pride in 
Kyne’s heart. 
She smiled, and the resemblance to Aubin faded. While 
Aubin’s smile burst with the radiance of Sol, Katya’s was the 
soft glow of a waning moon. 
“In my absence I charge you with the care of the castle 
and its people.” He glanced at Sianna, who stood at Katya’s 
side. 
She followed his gaze. “I will protect all.” 
“Moon stones! Sons of water worms!” Graham’s deep 
curses burst from the castle followed by his body carried on a 
chair by two lads. “Clumsy oafs! Do not jostle me so.” 
Several feet away the lads stumbled. The chair thumped to 
the stone paving. Graham’s face went white. The chair creaked 
ominously. He groaned. 
Katya scowled. Sianna’s eyes widened, and her fingers 
flew to her lips. Both women rushed to the fallen giant’s side. 
They fluttered like sparrows around a downed quinar. 

“Fool,” Katya yelled. 
“Have a care for his legs,” Sianna fussed. 
“Take him back to his bed.” 
“Leave me be, you knocked-kneed, ham-fisted moon 
blights!” 
Heads swiveling from Katya to Sianna to Graham, the lads 
turned and bolted into the safety of the castle. Graham slumped 
in the rickety chair. 
Kyne dismounted and came to his side. At his quelling look, 
the women fell silent and took a step back. If only they obeyed 
his other commands so easily. 
“Apologies, my lord. I had no wish to detain you, but I 
would say my farewells,” Graham rasped. 
Bending down on one knee, Kyne clasped Graham’s 
shoulder. “It is I who owe you an apology. I should have come 
to you before I left.” 
“Would that I could ride at your side.” 
“You will for our next battle.” 
“Pray to the Eternal One there is no next battle, my lord. I 
grow too old for fighting. I weary of the clash of swords and 
find myself wishing for quiet days beside a warm hearth, children 
and pups playing at my feet.” His heated gaze stole to Katya. 
Color slashed across her cheeks seconds before she whirled 
and disappeared into the men and quinar milling in the courtyard. 
Graham’s shoulder sagged beneath Kyne’s hand. Kyne 
smothered a grin. Graham and Katya’s game of advance and 
retreat amused him. 
“Have patience, my friend.” Kyne stood and glanced at 
the rising sun. Apprehension trickled down his spine. “I must 
leave now.” 
Graham sighed and nodded. He turned and bellowed into 
the castle hall, “Come back here, you weak-willed, puling pups 
and carry me to my bed!” 
“Farewell, friend.” Kyne quickly swung into Hakan’s saddle 
and pulled the beast around. 
Sianna bustled to Graham’s side. Though she said nothing, 
Kyne could feel her gaze like a warm summer sunbeam on his 
back as he herded his troop out of the courtyard and down the 

mountain trail. 
*** 
The hours passed slowly into night. 
Other than her visits to Graham, there was little to occupy 
Sianna’s time. A grumpy, difficult patient, he allowed her 
attentions, did the exercises she prescribed, then demanded to 
be left alone. She tried not to be hurt when he permitted Katya 
to spend time at his side. She should be thanking the Eternal 
One for his wisdom in bringing these two lost souls together 
rather than feeling jealous of their growing love. 
The infirmary emptied of patients. Zoa, her lungs healed, 
scampered and played with the other children. Their laughter 
cut like sunshine through the thick air of tension in the castle. 
People stopped at their chores and smiled when a group of 
children passed at their games. Though anyone in the castle 
would welcome Sianna and include her in their activities, she 
found herself discontent with their company. 
Night birds dipped and swayed through the dark sky, their 
high chirps like the tinkle of crystal bells. Few insects flew in 
the snow-scented harvest air. Soon the birds would flock to 
their hidden caves and sleep through the coming winter. 
Sianna sighed, her warm breath fogging the air in front of 
her, and wished she could do the same until Kyne returned, but 
sleep eluded her. She leaned forward against the cold, damp 
stone wall and gazed sightlessly into the night. Long ago the 
joining moons had set. Night lay over the mountains like dirt 
covering a grave. No glimmer of light came from beyond the 
castle’s walls. 
Her longing and worry for Kyne kept her from sleep. Eager 
for dreams of his embrace yet fearful of nightmares of his 
death, she shunned his bed. Instead she walked the battlements, 
eyes searching the gloom for a sign of his return. Her heart 
reached out to him, but like a pebble tossed into a bottomless 
well it fell endlessly. Still, she tried again. Was he dead? No. 
She knew the emptiness within her would be different—deeper, 
darker—if he were. For now her ka waited in limbo. 
Lost in thought she jumped when a strong, warm arm 
wrapped around her waist from behind and tugged her back. 

“I’d advise you not to lean on the stone.” A voice whispered 
in her ear. Breath stirred the fine hairs on her cheek. 
Katya spun her around and pulled her away from the edge 
of the battlement. She kicked the low wall where Sianna had 
rested her arms. A portion crumbled and tumbled into space. 
Moments later a dull thunk echoed in the night. “Castle Vareck 
is in need of some repairs.” 
Sianna stared at the ragged gap in the battlement and dark 
emptiness beyond and shuddered. She touched her fingers to 
Katya’s hand. “Thank you. You saved my life.” 
Katya’s arm tensed. Her muddled emotions flowed over 
Sianna, none clear enough to decipher. 
“Why do you haunt the night when a warm bed waits in 
Kyne’s chamber?” 
“Because that bed is empty.” The admission slipped past 
Sianna’s cold lips. 
“You love him, don’t you?” Tentative belief sounded in 
Katya’s voice. 
“Yes. More than my life.” 
“Did you love Aubin?” Katya’s tone hardened. 
“I never knew him. Until you abducted me, I’d never even 
heard his name. I was not his lover nor his betrayer.” 
“Who are you?” 
“I am Sianna DiSanti, daughter of Endric DiSanti.” 
Katya threw up her hands. “You befuddle me. You are not 
what I expected of the spawn of DiSanti. If you tell me you are 
not kin to him I will believe you. Kyne will believe you. Deny 
DiSanti! Save yourself from judgement.” Katya’s voice grew 
to a shout. 
“I cannot. For all his sins, he is my father. His blood flows 
in my veins.” 
“Cannot? Or will not? You are a stubborn woman. Suit 
yourself, but DiSanti does not deserve your loyalty.” 
“Perhaps not. But he gave me life, and for that I cannot 
deny him.” 
Snow started falling. A fat white flake landed on Sianna’s 
face and melted. Like a tear it ran down her cheek. She shivered. 
Katya reached out and touched her arm. “By the moons! 

You are frozen. Why do you wander the battlements dressed in 
your night clothes? Do you court lung sickness?” She shrugged 
out of her heavy woolie coat and draped it over Sianna’s 
shoulders. 
White speckled the darkness beyond the battlement, drifting 
softly to cover the ground. 
Sianna smiled at the motherly concern in Katya’s young 
voice. The coat warmed her flesh, and Katya’s caring blew a 
breath of summer across her chilled soul. But only Kyne’s safe 
return could coax the bud to flower. 
“I’ll walk you to your chamber.” Katya tugged at Sianna’s 
arm. “Kyne will not return at least until morn. No one wanders 
Azul Mountain trails at night.” 
*** 
One misstep, and the journey would end. 
Like a heavy shroud, darkness blocked Kyne’s progress 
along the mountain trail. Hakan picked his way behind Kyne. 
His hooves crunched the frost covered ground, the sound as 
harsh as the rasp of breath from the woman draped over his 
back. 
“Hold on, Lisha. We are almost there.” Kyne spoke, but he 
knew the woman was beyond hearing. Unconscious, she didn’t 
respond. “Sianna will heal you,” he whispered his hope. 
He pushed away the thought of others that could no longer 
benefit from Sianna’s healing touch—Je’al among them—and 
crushed the seed of grief. He would mourn later. 
The trap had sprung true and well. DiSanti’s small guard 
had fallen quickly before Kyne’s larger troop, but just when 
victory lay within their grasp, the prey had escaped. 
Separated from his men, his sword shattered by another 
opponent’s blow, Kyne faced DiSanti alone and unarmed. 
Gleefully, DiSanti toyed with Kyne, making him dance to the 
tune of his sword. 
“I know you, Rul Cathor. Outlaws indeed. I should have 
guessed this was naught but a trap. Do you even have my 
daughter?” 
“Of course.” Kyne laughed. “How badly do you want her 
back? Her marriage to Prince Timon will solidify your hold on 

the throne. What do you offer in exchange for her life?” The 
words tasted foul on Kyne’s lips. He stalled, trying to distract 
his opponent. He needed time for his men to reach him. 
“Where is she? Tell me, or I’ll kill you now!” DiSanti feinted 
to the right. 
“You can try.” Kyne danced left. The blade flickered inches 
from his eyes. 
DiSanti seemed to study the length of his sword. “Your 
father died on this blade. He begged for his life,” he taunted. “I 
granted his wish, long enough for him to watch me ride his 
wife, then slit her throat and listen to her moans of pleasure 
turn to strangling as her life’s blood stained the ground at his 
feet.” 
“My father would never beg!” Enraged, Kyne lunged. 
DiSanti danced out of reach. “Temper. Temper. Remember 
your lessons, pup. A swordsman must always remain in control.” 
His blade flashed, slicing Kyne’s left arm from shoulder to elbow. 
Pain cooled his rage. He eyed DiSanti’s stance, the graceful 
movement of his sword. If he’d had his sword, he and DiSanti 
would be evenly matched. Without it he was a cornered rodent 
to DiSanti’s lyon. 
“Aubin also tasted of my blade. I used it to carve him as I 
would a plump hen for my dinner.” 
“You killed him for the crime of loving your daughter.” 
DiSanti’s eyes glittered with madness. His sword swayed 
erratically. “I killed him for being Cathor spawn. Slaughtered 
him like I would a shoat for stealing what was mine!” He lunged 
again. 
Clutching his injured arm, Kyne fell back from DiSanti’s 
attack. A quick glance told him his men were still too far away 
to hear his call. He stumbled on the rough ground, fell and 
rolled. DiSanti pressed forward. His blade nicked Kyne’s cheek. 
“My blade is thirsty for more Cathor blood. First it will 
drink yours. Then your sister’s and any who would side with 
you against me.” 
The other sounds of battle died away. DiSanti glanced over 
his shoulder and went still for a moment. 
Two men raced toward them. At this distance Kyne could 

not tell whose men. 
“Your men are defeated, DiSanti. It’s over. Surrender to 
me, and I promise you a fair trial. Or my men will strike you 
down where you stand.” Honor demanded Kyne speak the 
words, but he threw them like arrows at DiSanti’s pride. 
DiSanti growled. “But they’ll not reach us before I kill you. 
Be still, Cathor and I promise to kill you quickly. Trouble me 
more, and I’ll fillet you like a fish.” 
“Come then and do so.” A cool battle calm took hold of 
Kyne. His heels hung over the edge of a cliff. One step more, 
and he’d fall to his death and save DiSanti the trouble. 
“With pleasure.” He started to lunge. 
“Face me, you coward!” Lisha shouted. Sword flashing, 
she attacked. 
DiSanti whirled and blocked her blow. Swords clashed. 
“You!” With a howl of unholy rage, DiSanti struck out and 
knocked her arm wide. His blade slashed down her throat and 
across her chest. 
Surprise registered on her face. Then blood welled. Over 
DiSanti’s shoulder her eyes met Kyne’s in a mute plea. The 
sword dropped from her fingers. 
DiSanti raised his sword and lunged. 
Kyne sprang forward. Too late. From the left a man jumped 
between Lisha and DiSanti. DiSanti’s sword skewered him. 
Leaving the sword, DiSanti jumped back. “Tell Prince Timon 
his mother and sister shall pay for his betrayal,” he shouted, 
then turned and fled. 
Kyne let him go as he caught Je’al in his arms. He gently 
eased Je’al down and tested the depth of the sword in his chest. 
Je’al blinked owlishly and gave a crooked grin. “It doesn’t 
hurt as much as I feared.” Blood gushed from his mouth. He 
coughed and slumped into death, eyes wide and unseeing. 
Like Aubin, Je’al died, a smile on his lips, in Kyne’s arms. 
Hatred burst anew in Kyne’s heart. He would see DiSanti die 
by inches and snuff the DiSanti name from the world. 
Next to Kyne, Lisha’s eyes rolled back in her head, and 
she crumpled to the ground. Crimson stained her once white 
shirt from shoulder to waist. He pressed his hand to the bleeding 

wound. Warm and red, blood seeped up through his fingers to 
mingle with Je’al’s and his own dripping from his arm. 
A group of his men approached silently. 
Hamon knelt beside Kyne. “We’ve a need to stop the 
bleeding.” He touched Kyne’s injured arm. 
Kyne jerked away. “Your shirt, Hamon. Press it to her 
wound.” 
Hamon shook his head. “She’s all but gone, my lord.” 
“She will not die.” 
Through clenched teeth Kyne hissed orders at his men while 
he tightly bound Lisha’s chest with strips of cloth. 
Now her only chance of survival lay up a treacherous 
mountain trail. Caution told him that to attempt the climb at 
night would result in his death, but to wait would doom the 
woman. Blood drained from her body despite all efforts to 
stanch its flow. First light would see her dead. 
So Kyne put Hamon in charge, sent them on to Prince 
Timon and began the ascent. DiSanti’s death would have to 
wait until another day. Kyne could only pray that DiSanti realized 
he’d been lured out of the palace and betrayed, and would not 
attempt to return there until he’d gathered his forces. 
Sianna’s final words haunted Kyne. What foreknowledge 
of events did she have? What were these women to each other? 
In what way other than as a brave comrade in arms was this 
woman important to him? He’d never seen Lisha before, and 
she claimed no political connections. Was he foolish to risk 
both their lives on the chance Sianna could save Lisha’s? 

Fifteen
An unborn scream on her dry lips, Sianna bolted upright in 
bed. In the darkness, icy sweat beaded her brow and slithered 
down her back. She pressed a palm to her chest to calm her 
racing heart and looked around. Other than the crackle of the 
fire and Warda’s whiffling snores, the chamber lay still and 
quiet. Yet something woke her. Evil stalked the night and 
threatened all she held dear. 
Closing her eyes, she mentally sought out those she loved: 
Katya, sleeping peacefully; Graham, stirring in restless 
discomfort. Zoa. Etam. Betha. All were well. She tried to sense 
Laila, but could feel nothing of her sister. 
Dread lodged inside Sianna as she reached out for Kyne 
and prayed for the power to break through the barrier between 
them. 
Physical pain slammed into her, but she knew his injury 
was—at least in his own mind—minor. Like angry waves 
against a rocky shore his confused emotions battered her. 
Determination set his course. 
He was returning and would arrive soon. She scrambled 
from the bed, hastily flung on her clothing, then paused as another 
emotion struck her. Grief. For whom did Kyne grieve? 
Seeking to strengthen the bond between them, she touched 
his thoughts. Faces and images flickered in her mind, none clear. 
She could not sort his jumbled emotions. He lived. It was enough. 
For now. 
Moving quietly through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, 
she woke Althea and together they readied the infirmary. 
“Who is there?” Graham’s voice came from Althea’s 
chamber. 

Sianna hadn’t yet moved him back to his own quarters. 
With most of the men gone, the few left at the castle were too 
busy to take the time to carry Graham up the steep stairs. 
Besides, they feared the bite of his sharp tongue. The stronger 
he became the more he chafed at his inactivity and helplessness. 
Only Katya had the fortitude to face the sardak in his cave. He 
didn’t thank her for it, but neither did he chase her away. 
She stepped into the doorway. “Kyne is returning. There 
are injuries. I am preparing.” 
Graham leaned over and lit a lamp. In its glow, Sianna saw 
Katya stretched out on a pallet near his bed. 
“Are you sure? Kyne must be desperate to risk climbing 
the mountain trail in the dark.” He ignored the woman sleeping 
at his side. “Who is injured?” 
“I am unsure, but they will be here before morning.” 
Katya sat up and blinked. “Kyne is hurt?” 
“Yes, but I don’t believe seriously.” 
“I’ll help you prepare.” In the small chamber, Katya’s hip 
bumped Graham’s bare shoulder as she stood. She stumbled. 
Before she tumbled across his lap, he caught her shoulders. 
For a minute she rested in his strong grip, their lips nearly 
touching. 
A sensual cloud of repressed longing heated the air in the 
tiny chamber. Sianna caught her breath. 
Color flared in Katya’s cheeks, and she scrambled upright. 
Head bowed she mumbled something incoherent and hurried 
out. 
Graham grinned and, arms folded over his broad chest, 
relaxed back against the wall. “The little pika grows wary of 
the kite.” 
“A wise mouse knows to flee from a bird of prey before 
she’s caught in his talons.” 
With a thoughtful frown, Graham flexed his battle-scarred 
fingers. “My talons will never pierce her soft skin.” 
“It’s not her flesh she fears will be torn asunder, rather her 
tender heart.” She wrapped one of his large hands inside her 
own smaller ones. “Hold it with care.” 
He touched her cheek. “How is it one so young is so wise?” 

The warmth of his touch and the depth of his affection for 
her eased the chill of fear in Sianna’s heart. Among this small 
band of desperate rebels she’d found the home and the family 
her father had long denied her. Praying silently that her father 
wouldn’t destroy them, she followed Katya to the infirmary to 
await Kyne. 
Near dawn a sentry called out Kyne’s arrival. Dread lodged 
in Sianna’s throat at the sight emerging from the mist; a blood-
splattered man leading a quinar with a limp form draped over 
its broad back. The acrid tang of blood and sweat corrupted 
the crisp night air. 
“Laila!” The name burst from her lips. She rushed to her 
sister’s side. 
Beneath the pallid skin of Laila’s throat a faint pulse still 
throbbed. Blood soaked the makeshift bandages binding her 
chest. 
Disturbed by the sentry’s cry, people emerged slowly from 
the castle. They rubbed sleep from their eyes while they 
struggled to walk and dress at the same time. A small crowd 
formed around Kyne and Sianna. 
“Help me get her to the infirmary.” Swallowing her sick 
fear, she directed two young men to lift Laila from Hakan’s 
back and carry her into the castle. 
Over Laila’s body, Sianna’s eyes locked with Kyne’s angry 
glare. He’d heard her involuntary cry. He now knew Laila’s 
true identity, the depth of her lie. Did he understand what he 
would lose if Laila died? 
He leaned toward her, blood tricking from a cut on his cheek 
and staining his torn clothing. “What other lies do you conceal?” 
His whisper scraped her raw conscience. “Althea, please 
see to Rul Cathor’s injuries.” She pulled herself away from his 
silent accusations and followed Laila into the castle. 
Kyne brushed Althea aside and berated himself for not 
seeing the obvious sooner. Everything he’d learned about Sianna 
had told him she could not have seduced and betrayed Aubin, 
but he’d clung to that scenario, never guessing the truth. 
DiSanti had two daughters. Laila and Sianna. Despite 
Kyne’s best information, DiSanti had managed to conceal this 

fact. He’d hidden Sianna’s existence from everyone. 
Unwilling to brave his angry scowls, the small crowd 
dispersed back to their beds. None seemed to have heard 
Sianna’s startling revelation, which was just as well. Hatred for 
DiSanti would put both women’s lives in jeopardy. 
Did she carry Aubin’s child? Was that small living link to 
his brother doomed to die because of his failure and Sianna’s 
silence? 
Brushing aside the few who attempted to see to him, he 
turned Hakan over to the stable master and stalked into the 
castle. 
Inside, the castle was awake. The scent of baking bread 
and frying meat floated through the great hall as Betha 
supervised the morning meal. A few sleepy-eyed children played 
quietly near the hearth while their mothers stirred the embers 
to flame. 
In the infirmary Althea and Sianna bent over Laila’s 
motionless body. Katya stood to one side ready to fetch and 
carry as directed. Several other people formed a ragged circle 
around the women. 
Helpless to do anything but watch, Kyne slipped into 
Althea’s chamber. 
“Welcome home, my lord. How went the battle?” 
“DiSanti’s force was defeated, but he escaped. With any 
luck Prince Timon’s men gained control of the palace in DiSanti’s 
absence. Hamon and the rest have gone ahead to act as 
reinforcement. I’ve sent messages to the other rebel leaders to 
strike now while DiSanti is off balance. His commanders need 
to be neutralized before they can regroup and seize power. The 
ministers must be convinced of the power of the rebellion.” 
Thoughts of the coming struggle sapped Kyne’s resolve. 
He sank into the chair next to Graham’s bed and massaged the 
bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “Many will die 
before this is over. Je’al was killed and Lisha was injured.” 
“How badly?” 
“It will be a miracle if she survives.” 
“You believe Sianna will provide that miracle. Why else 
would you risk climbing the trail in the dark?” 

“Perhaps. I only know I couldn’t just stand and watch her 
bleed to death. She is Laila DiSanti. He has two daughters.” 
“It makes sense, but how did he keep Sianna a secret all 
these years?” Graham’s dark brows pulled together. “After 
Sianna had been here awhile, I couldn’t believe her capable of 
plotting Aubin’s murder. I could barely accept she’d lain with 
him. She wears innocence like a cloak.” 
Heat flashed through Kyne. How sweetly she bestowed 
that innocence on him even as he thought her guilty of Aubin’s 
foul murder. 
“Nor do I believe Laila plotted with DiSanti to kill Aubin,” 
Graham continued. 
“Neither do I. But I believe she and Aubin were lovers. 
She commands the liking and respect of the people. Either she 
truly hates her father, or she is an extremely clever spy, but 
none of her actions or those of DiSanti bear this out. On the 
battlefield she saved me from DiSanti. He struck her down 
without a qualm.” 
Kyne sank into a chair. Shoulders bowed, he buried his 
face in his hands. “She carries Aubin’s babe.” 
Graham touched Kyne’s shoulder. “Seek your bed. There’s 
naught for you to do but pray. If any can save the woman and 
Aubin’s child, Sianna can.” 
*** 
Sianna straightened and groaned as her back protested the 
motion. Her work was done. The immediate danger past, Laila’s 
life now lay in the Eternal One’s hands. 
Outside, long shadows signaled the coming night. A hush 
hung over the great hall, broken only by the clink of crockery 
and the murmur of voices. Over the sour stench of blood, the 
aroma of Betha’s cooking tantalized Sianna’s nose. She hadn’t 
eaten since the previous night, and then only lightly. 
“You’ve done all you can. Go eat. Rest. I’ll sit with Lisha.” 
Though tempted, Sianna looked at Katya and hesitated. 
Blood covered Katya’s hands and clothing. Red streaked her 
straggling blonde hair while exhaustion painted dark circles 
beneath her eyes and etched lines around her mouth. “But, 
you....” 

“Go. Don’t worry about me. When Althea awakes I’ll 
retire.” Katya waved her hand toward the old healer, asleep on 
a nearby pallet. “And there are others who will gladly sit with 
the woman who saved their Rul’s life.” 
Sianna sighed and nodded. Would they be so eager if they 
knew the truth? More than their father’s blade imperiled Laila’s 
life. Sympathetic eyes followed her progress across the hall, 
but guilt turned the love they tried to wrap around her into a 
funeral shroud. Watching these people’s affection turn to hate 
would be a bitter brew to swallow. 
Heart and feet heavy, Sianna headed up the stairs toward 
Kyne’s chamber. Warda hugged her side, his shaggy body warm 
and comforting. Too soon the chamber door loomed before 
her. Did he wait for her? Fear dissolved hunger. What answers 
would he demand? Her hand drifted protectively to her belly. 
What truths could she tell him? 
The handle moved beneath her hand, and the door swung 
inward. A cozy fire burned in the hearth, casting a flickering 
glow over the dim, quiet room. Darkness shrouded the rest of 
the chamber. Beside the hearth, a cloth-covered tray rested on 
a table. The yeasty scent of fresh bread mingled with the smell 
of spiced wine and roasted vegetables. 
“Come in.” Low and gravelly, Kyne’s voice came from a 
murky corner. 
Sianna jumped, and the door swung shut with a bang behind 
her. Warda growled and pressed close. 
“Go lie down,” Kyne commanded the hound. 
Warda turned his dark, liquid eyes to Sianna. 
“Go,” she whispered. 
Reluctantly, the hound lumbered to his spot by the hearth 
and crouched in the shadows. His wary gaze moved from Kyne 
to Sianna and back again. 
“You’ve won them all to your side.” Kyne gave a humorless 
laugh and stepped into the light. “Even Katya follows at your 
heels. What will they say when they learn the truth?” 
He had bathed and changed, but his battle with DiSanti had 
left its mark. An angry red cut marred his cheek, and flecks of 
blood soaked through the white bandage around his arm. Firelight 

flickered over his chest, left bare by his open shirt, and cast a 
sheen of red to the still damp hair falling over his shoulders. 
Like an angry god he stood straddle-legged, fists clenched at 
his sides, the cords of his neck taut, eyes cold and hard. 
A shiver flowed down Sianna’s spine. She struggled to 
reconcile this merciless stranger with the man who had so gently 
introduced her to passion. Stiffening her resolve, she moved 
toward him. 
“Will you kill me now? Or may I eat first?” 
Surprise and confusion drew Kyne’s brows together. “Kill 
you?” 
Sianna slid into the chair by the table and looked up at him. 
“That has been the plan all along, has it not? Use me to draw 
my father into your trap. Kill him, then me as punishment for 
our crimes. Why do you hesitate? I don’t carry Aubin’s babe. I 
am DiSanti’s daughter. Kill me, and part of your vengeance is 
done.” 
Why did she taunt him? Deep inside she knew he would 
not raise his hand to her. But could he accept her — love her 
— despite her parentage? The words continued to flow withoutaccord from her lips. 
“Oh, I forget Laila. Yes, she is pregnant. But can you be 
sure it is Aubin’s babe? No? Well, I suppose even you would 
balk at the murder of an innocent. So Laila will live until the 
child is born. You think you still need me to save her and the 
babe she carries? Be assured I have done all I can. The rest is 
in the Eternal One’s hands. You may kill me without risking the 
babe.” Laila’s babe. 
Kyne stormed forward. “What nonsense do you spout?” 
His fingers bit into her upper arms as he yanked her up. “May 
the Eternal One give me peace. I do not kill innocents.” 
Face to face, her feet dangling above the floor, she looked 
into his stormy eyes. “Reveal my true identity to your people, 
and they will do the deed for you.” 
“No!” She felt his horror before he released her and turned 
away. 
She staggered against the back of the chair. Warmth from 
his denial spread through her and eased the chill of loss that 

had settled around her heart. Though he had not spoken the 
words, he was as aware of the strange bond between them as 
was she. The knowledge did nothing to solve the dilemma they 
faced, but a spark of hope flared in her breast. Should she tell 
him of the newer, more fragile bond they also shared? 
“Eat,” he commanded roughly. “There is a bath prepared 
for you.” He pointed to a screen blocking a corner in front of 
the hearth then stalked toward the door. “Then sleep. We will 
speak of your future in the morning, when both our tempers are 
calm.” 
A thin wisp of fragrant steam wafted across the room from 
the heated, waiting water. She sagged into the chair. Tears 
burned the backs of her eyes. Though Kyne spoke of her 
comfort and her future, his stony gaze and tone told her he had 
hardened his heart to her. He might not kill her body, but without 
him, her ka would surely perish. 
Kyne did not return that night. The next day passed in a 
blur of activity. Despite his words of the night before, he never 
approached her throughout the day. At times she felt his gaze, 
but when she looked up he would be gone. 
Under Sianna’s healing touch Laila’s condition stabilized 
and improved. Late that evening, Sianna retired to Kyne’s 
chamber. He did not join her. 
The next two days passed much the same. Tension coiled 
like a living thing inside her. 
On the evening of the third day a royal messenger arrived. 
When Kyne broke the seal and opened the folded parchment, 
Sianna felt a blast of emotion from him—anguish—then nothing. 
She fled to his chamber. 
As the sun crept over the edge of the mountains, Kyne 
entered his chamber. Warda stirred briefly and gave a low growl 
until he recognized Kyne’s scent, then he closed his eyes again. 
Aside from the crackle of the fire and Warda’s whiffling snores, 
the chamber lay still and silent. Sianna watched Kyne settle 
himself near the hearth. He ran a hand through his hair then 
rested his head against the back of the chair. 
She slid from the bed and padded to his side. Other than 
the weariness he wore over his broad shoulders like a rain

heavy cloak, he guarded his emotions well. Without conscious 
thought she sought out the tight muscles of his neck. Strong 
and sure, her fingers massaged the knots. In a sensuous cascade 
the warm black silk of his hair fell over her hands and forearms. 
His moan of pleasure-pain at her touch startled her. She started 
to pull back, but he wrapped his fingers around her wrists and 
held her hands to his neck. Fire sizzled up her arms and burst 
like lightning in her belly. 
“Touch me, sweet healer. Cure me of this mad obsession I 
have for you.” 
Sianna gasped both at his words and as he pulled her around 
and into his lap. Through the fragile crystal silk of her nightdress 
she felt the hard evidence of his desire and smelled it on the 
musk that rose from his skin. She pressed her palms against 
the warm, solid wall of his chest. His breath fanned her cheeks. 
When his mouth sought and found the sensitive skin of her 
throat, her head fell back, and her answer melted in the liquid 
fire of his kisses. The past ceased to exist. Tomorrow was a 
lifetime away. Only here and now held meaning. Eager hands 
stripped away clothing. 
Limbs entangled, they tumbled to the fur rug in front of the 
hearth. Lips touched. Bodies fused. 
Afraid any hesitation would recall the barriers between 
them, they came together in a frenzied rush. Kyne plundered 
Sianna’s soft mouth and body as if to imprint himself on her, not 
caring if she cried out in passion or pain. She seized the moment, 
aware that beneath his heated kisses and savage loving he hid 
something from her, a desperate need. 
“I love you,” she whispered. 
“Don’t,” he growled against her lips. “You’re the daughter 
of my enemy. I cannot love you back.” With a hair-roughened 
knee, he spread her thighs and plunged into her. 
She accepted his invasion with a small gasp. “You may lie 
to yourself, but you cannot lie to me.” She met him thrust for 
thrust. 
Raw passion banished rational thought and drove her 
mindless with physical need, until she screamed her release 
and he spent himself within her. 

Afterwards, they sprawled naked across the fur rug, the 
night air cool against their sweat-dampened skin. Eyes closed, 
Kyne’s chest heaved. His skin glistened in the firelight. Anxious 
to share the heat radiating off his large body, she wiggled closer. 
At her touch he rose and turned his back to her. She shivered 
from more than the chill air. 
“Get dressed and come down to the hall.” After dressing, 
he strode out of the chamber. 
Though he hadn’t hurt her physically, her ka felt bruised 
and torn by the contempt in his voice. A blush of anger heated 
her skin. His words proved he hated the very blood that ran in 
her veins, yet she accepted his kisses and more without protest. 
Like a faithful hound she waited on his convenience. She pulled 
her torn nightdress over her nakedness. Pride, long subdued by 
the Sisters’ training, and more recently by guilt, rose within her 
and stiffened her spine. 
Legs trembling she stood. Despite her father’s crimes, no 
longer would she beg at Kyne’s feet for crumbs of affection. 

Sixteen
Kyne leaned against the stone mantle while the hall came 
slowly to life around him. When he scowled, a young boy sent 
to tend the morning fire scurried away. 
He straightened and crumbled the prince’s message in his 
fist, tempted to toss the thing into the fire. Loyalty and common 
sense prevented him. But could he obey the prince’s command? 
When his parents were murdered on DiSanti’s order six 
annum ago, he took on the burden of raising and protecting 
Katya and Aubin, as well as the responsibility of leading the 
rebellion. Others looked to him for strength and guidance. They 
searched in vain. He had none to give. 
How he missed his younger brother’s quick wit and 
intelligent insights. No matter the tragedies or hardships, in 
Aubin’s company no one remained downcast for long. His death 
had snuffed the joy from life. Until Sianna. 
What would Aubin do? Kyne’s heart knew the answer. 
Could he follow his head in this matter? At what cost? 
“Are your thoughts so dark, brother?” Katya placed her 
hand on his arm. 
“As black as a moonless night.” He turned to face his sister. 
“How fares the warrior woman?” 
“Though her wound was severe and she lost much blood, 
she does well. First Graham, now Lisha. Without Sianna they 
would both be dead. I don’t know what magic she wields, but I 
thank the Eternal One for it and her.” Awe and affection rang 
in Katya’s voice. 
“What of your hatred of her? She is still DiSanti’s daughter.” 
He refrained from revealing Lisha’s true identity. Sianna may 
have earned Katya’s devotion with her saving of Graham, but 

Laila was as yet an unknown quantity. 
Katya’s eyes darkened with pain, but she held his gaze. 
“Love is stronger than hatred. Sianna herself is evidence enough 
that her father’s crimes are not hers. Do you really doubt her? 
I know you too well. If you thought her guilty of Aubin’s murder, 
you would not have taken her to your bed.” 
Kyne started to protest. 
“No, don’t deny it. I may be as yet unschooled in physical 
matters between men and women, but I am not blind. I’ve seen 
the way you look at each other.” 
“You see too much,” he grumbled and shoved the prince’s 
message into her hands. “Read this.” 
She smoothed out the wrinkled parchment and leaned 
toward the fire for better light. Her brows drew together as 
she digested the words. “You cannot seriously consider this.” 
“We have few options. DiSanti wasted no time gathering 
his forces. Prince Timon and our men are under siege.” 
“DiSanti attacks the royal palace, and the Council does 
nothing?” 
“The province ministers bend like river reeds with the wind. 
They wait to see which side proves stronger. If they are swayed 
in DiSanti’s direction, the monarchy will fall. A wedding between 
Prince Timon and Sianna will draw DiSanti from the shadows 
so he can be dealt with.” 
“And guarantee Sianna’s death. When she is found pregnant, 
her fate will be a gruesome one.” 
“We have no evidence yet that she carries Aubin’s babe.” 
But what of his own? The thought rocked Kyne, but he 
continued. “I have a tenday to appear with Sianna at the palace. 
DiSanti holds Queen Theone and Princess Thomasa. He 
threatens to execute them before the palace walls if Sianna 
does not marry Prince Timon on the morn of the tenth day.” 
“He wouldn’t dare. The Council....” 
“...strongly favors the match. They are old men, afraid for 
their own skins. To pacify DiSanti they will delay action until it 
is too late. The prince is but ten and four. Will he have the 
strength to stand and watch his mother and sister murdered 
when he could save them by agreeing to marry an eligible young 

woman?” 
“There must be another way.” 
“Think of one and I will consider it. Otherwise, I must take 
Sianna to the palace.” Somehow he would find a way to protect 
her. 
“If you can condemn to such a fate the woman who may 
carry your brother’s babe, I shall consider both my brothers 
dead.” Katya’s voice broke as she tossed the royal missive into 
the fire and fled. 
Kyne watched the heavy paper smoke and curl as the fire 
licked at its edges. In seconds the letter burst into flames and 
was gone. If only his plight were so easily dispensed with. 
Katya spoke true. After the marriage ceremony a royal 
bride was examined by the king’s zard. While the prince could 
either ignore her lack of virginity or annul the union, if found 
pregnant, she would be sentenced to treason—a crime 
punishable by impalement on a spike. Though unused for over 
three hundred annum, the penalty remained law. Kyne knew 
that when the prince had made his suggestion, the old law did 
not concern him. He considered Rul Cathor an honorable man. 
Once Prince Timon joined with Sianna her fate would pass 
out of Kyne’s hands. If she carried his babe, she would die. 
The image of Sianna broken and bloody made his gut churn. 
Perhaps a royal zard could be persuaded to lie? Unlikely. 
Notoriously independent, the mystical holy men rarely followed 
orders—even royal ones—succumbed to bribes, or gave in to 
threats. 
And if she were not pregnant? She would be queen. Sianna 
would make a great queen. Loyal, just and loving, she would 
mold Prince Timon into the king he was meant to be. Under 
their rule Dramon could not help prospering. Why didn’t the 
thought ease his mind? 
Even if it destroyed his ka to keep her safe, it fell to him to 
assure his seed did not quicken inside her. Althea would have 
knowledge of how to prevent a pregnancy. 
“KYNE CATHOR!” 
Graham’s roar echoed throughout the great hall. Kyne 
winced. People stopped at their morning chores, and heads 

turned. Katya had wasted no time in carrying the tale to Graham. 
From the shadows Sianna watched Kyne move across the 
hall like a reluctant boy called to task by an angry schoolmaster. 
But his words banished any humor. Marriage to Prince Timon 
was no longer an option. She searched for a trace of Kyne’s 
emotions, but found nothing. He hid his feelings behind an 
unscalable wall. Though he’d promised her nothing, his betrayal 
cut deep. 
Foolishly, she had thought to heal these people of the wounds 
inflicted by her father, and in doing so find a home for herself. 
Against her own blood she offered her love and loyalty to Kyne 
and his people. Would death be her reward? 
Her hand settled protectively over her flat belly. Already, 
she sensed the new life quickening within her. While she might 
offer herself to save Kyne and the others, she could not forsake 
her child. She had to flee. But to where? 
Kyne’s tale of a place of peace hidden in the depths of the 
Azul Mountains gave her an answer. 
She would find Andacor. 
A short time later, with a pack of provisions concealed 
beneath a cloak she had borrowed from Kyne, Sianna left the 
castle amid the steady procession of people headed to the fields 
to glean the last of the crops before the snow fell in earnest. 
Frost crunched beneath her boots, and her feet struggled for 
purchase on loose stone. 
Without Warda, the space at her side seemed as empty as 
her heart. Dosed with a mild sleeping draught, the hound 
remained locked inside Kyne’s chamber. She refused to risk 
the faithful beast’s life in her attempt to escape. 
The well-traveled trail down the mountainside beckoned. 
Instead, she chose the path leading further into the mountains. 
When Kyne found her missing he would not think to search the 
higher reaches for her. Perhaps he would even believe she had 
fled to her father’s side. 
A feeling she couldn’t express in words drew her toward 
the sheer blue peaks. Despite their cold, harsh facade, she 
sensed a warmth radiating from the center of those craggy 
rocks. Ever since she had watched with Kyne as the blue twilight 

burst across the valley, she had known that some day she would 
search for Andacor. She had hoped he would be at her side. 
Though her heart was far from pure, she prayed for 
guidance. The one growing within her deserved a chance at 
life, no matter how slim. 
Early morning bled into midday, and like a fading dream the 
castle vanished behind the mountainside. Browned foliage gave 
way to stunted trees and boulder-strewn slopes. The higher 
she climbed the less the sun warmed the thin air. Shivering 
inside Kyne’s heavy cloak, she picked her way along the nearly 
imperceptible path. Her lungs ached with effort, but she pushed 
on. By now Kyne would have discovered her absence. In case 
he somehow guessed her direction, she had to put as much 
distance between them as possible. 
Churning grey clouds obliterated the last rays of the waning 
sun. As night approached, the temperature dropped. Cold, snow-
laden wind tore at her cloak and froze the moisture on her 
cheeks. Afraid she would weaken and turn back, she fought 
the urge to reach out for Kyne. 
When he learned she was gone, what would he do? What 
would he feel? He would pursue her, but for what purpose? As 
a pawn in his struggle against her father? Or to save her from 
her own recklessness? 
A loose rock turned beneath her foot. With a cry of pain, 
she went down. Sharp stones scraped her palms. Cradling her 
hands to her chest, she sucked in the salty smell of blood along 
with thin, icy air, and looked around the barren mountainside. 
Doubts began to eat at her resolve. Her hand moved 
unconsciously over her belly. Was it better to die pursuing a 
dream than to meekly accept an unjust death? 
She stood, and her feet carried her forward despite her 
misgivings. Where was she going? Andacor was a myth. How 
could she seek sanctuary in a nonexistent place? 
Even when Katya first abducted her, Sianna hadn’t felt so 
frightened and alone. Her ankle throbbed in time with the rapid 
thud of her heart. 
Stones rattled down the trail. She froze. Something moved 
toward her without regard for silence or caution. Kyne’s 

warnings of the sardak and big cats that called the mountains 
home made her breath grow ragged. Absorbed in her thoughts, 
she’d ignored the warnings her empathic nature provided. 
Scooting on her backside until she bumped against a large 
boulder, she clutched a rock in her aching hand and scanned 
the growing gloom for whoever or whatever followed her. 
Soft sobs sounded in the silence. Seconds later, a small 
form emerged from the shadows. The rock fell from Sianna’s 
fingers as she scrambled to her feet and limped toward the 
crying child. 
“Zoa, what are you doing here?” She picked up the shivering 
girl and enfolded her close to her chest beneath Kyne’s cloak.. 
“I heard Father and Katya arguing about you. Then you 
left. So I followed, but it got cold and dark. I got scared. Can 
we go home now?” A ragged cough shook Zoa’s tiny frame as 
her tears subsided to muffled hiccups against Sianna’s breast. 
Though healed of the lung sickness, Zoa was far from 
strong, and the thin, cold mountain air took its toll on her limited 
stamina. If Sianna didn’t see her warm and dry, Zoa could well 
fall sick again. What had she thought to accomplish by running 
away? She had acted without thinking. Now her lack of faith in 
Kyne threatened not only her life and that of her unborn babe, 
but Zoa’s as well. She shivered in cold and pain. 
Night covered the mountain slope. Later, if the clouds parted, 
the joined moons would rise and cast their red glow, but for 
now they couldn’t travel. 
“I’m cold, Sianna. Can we go home?” Zoa asked again. 
Sianna carried the child over to the boulder and settled her 
against it. “Rest here. I’ll light a fire, and you’ll soon be warm.” 
Start a fire with what? She looked around. Vegetation was 
scarce along the rock-strewn path, but there were a few stunted 
thorn trees. Her palms stung as she broke branches from one 
and gathered an armful of dry leaves. Though the wind had 
died, fat, wet flakes of snow drifted from the dark sky and 
quickly blanketed the world in white. 
“I want to go home.” Zoa started to cry. 
“We have to wait for the storm to let up, then we’ll go 
home,” Sianna promised. 

Zoa’s tears trailed away. She nodded. “Father will come 
for us.” 
Yes, Kyne come for us. Like a prayer, Sianna opened her 
heart to him and sensed a response, felt his fear and 
determination as her own. For that moment they became one. 
Then the connection snapped, and she was again alone. 
“I’m cold, Sianna.” Zoa’s teeth began to chatter. 
The child’s shift and leggings did little to shield her from the 
cold. Sianna bundled Zoa securely inside Kyne’s cloak. In 
minutes the girl’s breathing eased and her eyelids started to 
droop. 
Left in only her tunic, Sianna shivered. She used the rock 
to strike a spark, then coaxed a flame to life. Billowing smoke 
from the green wood burned her eyes and throat. She choked, 
but the fire caught and held. Soon a cheerful blaze lit the 
whitening world with a reddish glow, but she knew the small 
supply of branches would not last through the night. 
Moisture trickled down her cheeks as soft and silent snow 
continued to fall. Sinking back on her heels, she held out her icy 
fingers to the fire. What had she done? Her fear and lack of 
trust in Kyne now endangered another. Neither her own fate 
nor that of her unborn babe could take precedence over Zoa’s 
life. No matter the risk, come first light she would take the child 
home. She would tell Kyne of the child growing within her and 
trust him to keep them safe. With her decision came a sense of 
peace. 
Next to her Zoa stirred and poked her head from under the 
cloak. “Who is singing?” 
“It is just the wind.” Sianna crawled beneath the cloak and 
tucked it securely around them. Meager warmth crept over 
her. “Now, go to sleep.” 
“They sound like angels.” Zoa’s voice trailed away into 
slumber. 
Beneath the wail of the wind, voices filled the air with a 
beguiling song. Sianna strained to decipher the words, but though 
the sound was clear, the meaning was not. Purity rang in those 
sweet voices, wrapping her in a sense of peace and comfort. 
Surely the singers would help Zoa and her. Cold and fear 

forgotten, she stood and followed the sound into the darkness. 
*** 
“Saddle Hakan!” Fear lent strength to Kyne’s roar. 
His cloak flying like the wings of some great bird of prey 
preparing to pounce, he stormed across the great hall. People 
scattered. He pushed past a woman serving last meal. Her 
tray tipped. Plates clattered to the floor. Food splattered. Etam 
darted out to do Kyne’s bidding. 
Katya chased him into the courtyard and grabbed his arm. 
“Where are you going?” 
He whirled around. “Sianna’s run off. I found Warda in my 
chamber. Drugged. I’m after her.” 
“In this weather? Alone?” Katya matched his long strides 
toward the stables. “By the moons! She must have heard us 
talking. Where would she go?” 
Feet dancing over the snow-covered cobblestones, Hakan 
emerged from the spangles of white filling the air. He snorted 
and shook his head, throwing a shower of snow from his already 
dusted hide. At his side, Etam struggled to hold the beast. 
“To her death.” Kyne leapt into the saddle. He sawed the 
reins, forcing Hakan’s head around, and prepared to kick him 
into a gallop. 
Katya snatched Hakan’s bridle. “Kyne, wait!” 
“Let loose.” The thick mantle of falling snow muffled his 
shout. 
“Which way will you search? It’s near dark. You can’t 
chance the trail. The snow will have erased her tracks. Why 
not wait until morning?” 
“There’s no time.” 
“Then I’ll go with you. Etam, saddle Deju.” 
“No.” Katya’s rational words calmed his first rush of panic, 
but nothing could ease the fear eating away at his heart. Because 
of his rash words, Sianna wandered the mountainside, frightened 
and alone, easy prey to predators and elements. 
Why would she flee? Not for fear of marriage to Prince 
Timon. By her own admission she was resigned to her father’s 
plans for her. Only a babe growing in her womb could send her 
fleeing into the night. With her knowledge of healing she could 

easily rid herself of a babe. Instead, to protect that babe—his 
babe—she had dashed headlong into danger. 
He pulled Hakan’s head free of Katya’s grip. “Come first 
light organize a rescue party and search the downward trails. 
Rouse Warda if you can. He can track her. Tonight I’ll head 
upward as far as a woman afoot could travel in a day. If I don’t 
find her, I’ll turn back and meet you along the trails.” 
Common sense suggested Sianna would head down the 
mountain. Few people ventured higher into the Azul Mountains, 
and even fewer returned. Danger lurked around each bend for 
the careless or unwary. Death hid in the sharp claws of a hungry 
sardak, a fall of loose rock, a misstep over a steep cliff. With 
each thought, he whispered a prayer for Sianna’s safety. Still, 
something urged him toward the craggy peaks. He remembered 
well her fascination with his stories of the mythical Andacor. 
Katya nodded and stepped back. “Take care. And find her.” 
Calling on childhood memories of his mother’s tales and 
his own adventuresome nature, Kyne guided Hakan up the little 
used path. As though he knew what was at stake should he 
hesitate, Hakan sprang forward. 
Hours passed, and the storm intensified. The wind howled 
around Kyne, turning the gentle fall of snow into a swirling 
gale. He squinted against the sting of icy pellets and watched 
the trail for sign of Sianna’s passage. The higher he climbed 
the thicker the downfall. Drifts soon slowed them to a walk. 
The steep trail exposed them to the raging elements. Eyes 
slitted, Kyne hunched forward over Hakan’s neck. Moisture 
froze on his cheeks. His fingers grew numb. The quinar’s rear 
hooves slid off the ice-crusted trail. For a moment he floundered 
on the edge of oblivion, then with a mighty surge he staggered 
forward. Sides heaving, Hakan lowered his head and stood 
trembling. 
His own heart racing, after a moment Kyne nudged the 
beast into the leeward side of a large boulder. Until the storm 
broke they could travel no further. He could only pray that 
Sianna too had sought shelter. 
As he dismounted, the faint scent of wood smoke teased 
his nose. His foot disturbed the remains of a fire. He knelt. 

Smothered by snow, green wood still smoldered, but cast no 
heat or light. Sianna had been here. Where was she now? Kyne 
looked up. 
A few feet away, huddled against the boulder was a small, 
snow-covered mound. Heart pounding, he reached out and 
brushed away the white blanket. In the snow lit darkness, he 
could just make out the brown of a travel cloak. Frightened by 
what he might find below, he lifted the edge. 
Dark, sleepy eyes blinked up at him. 
“Zoa?” In a glance he took in the child, wrapped in Sianna’s 
his cloak. But where was Sianna? 
“Father. You came. I told Sianna you’d come.” Zoa’s thin 
arms reached out for him. 
Kyne shook the snow off the cloak and rewrapped her in 
it. “Where is Sianna?” Fear tightened his vocal cords. 
Zoa yawned and snuggled into his embrace. “We heard 
voices. Singing. She followed them. I’m hungry. Can we go 
home now?” 
“How long ago? Zoa? How long?” 
Her small head flopped against his shoulder, and her eyes 
fell shut. Asleep, she didn’t answer. 
He eased the child back into the shelter of the boulder and 
stood. Hours or minutes, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t track her. 
No footprints marred the smooth expanse of snow. Even his 
and Hakan’s footprints were filling rapidly. 
Wind whistling through the rocks could resemble muted 
voices singing in the distance. Befuddled by cold, dressed in 
naught but her tunic, did she search for a chimera of sound? 
He turned in circles. Which way had she gone? He had to 
find her? But how? And what of Zoa? He couldn’t leave her 
alone. Nor could he drag her further into the storm. 
“Sianna! Where are you? Come back!” The wind snatched 
his words and whirled them back at him, but gave no answer. 
Like twin beasts of prey, guilt and grief clawed his heart. 
Because of him Sianna would die on this mountain. He lifted 
his head and howled his anguish. 

Seventeen
While the storm continued to rage, Zoa slept, curled warm 
and lax in Kyne’s lap. He found no such escape. Sorrow 
haunted his dreams. Guilt devoured his heart. 
Sianna was out there somewhere. Alive? Dead? Either 
way, he vowed to find her, but duty demanded he first see Zoa 
safely returned to the castle. 
The storm cleared, and the sun inched up into a placid blue 
sky to glint off a blanket of white. Sparkling like silver crystal in 
the early morning light, rivulets of melting snow streamed down 
the trail. The tinkle of water coursing over rock provided a 
soothing sound that didn’t touch Kyne’s pain. 
He eased Zoa from his lap and stood, preparing to return 
her to the castle then continue his search for Sianna. The child 
slept on. 
A few steps away, a mound of white gave a mighty heave 
upward and shook. Snow flew. Through the storm, the quinar’s 
bulk had provided a living barricade against the cutting wind. 
Now he snorted and stamped his feet. Clumps of snow clung 
to his furry hide. 
The deep baying howl of a hound pierced the tranquility. 
Warda! Kyne recognized the beast’s voice. 
“Rauk!” Hakan rasped in answer. 
Kyne stepped out onto the trail as the clatter of hooves 
against rock echoed in the quiet. Led by Warda, two riders 
approached. Katya and Graham. The quinars’ sweat-lathered 
coats steamed in the cold. 
“Rul Cathor!” 
“Kyne!” 
Graham and Katya shouted together. 

Graham sat his quinar awkwardly, his splinted legs sticking 
straight down and slightly outward. Deep lines of pain bracketed 
his mouth and, despite the crisp mountain air, sweat beaded his 
pale skin. Katya rode just behind, her gaze darting from Graham 
to Kyne then back. 
Warda raced ahead. He halted at Kyne’s side, snuffed at 
Zoa, then head down, he crisscrossed the ground around the 
boulder. Catching a scent, he gave an anxious whine and dashed 
away, only to pause head up, as if waiting for Kyne to follow. 
Hope flickered in Kyne. Would Warda respond so if he 
smelled death? Kyne wasted no time. As Graham and Katya 
rode up, he leapt into Hakan’s saddle. “Katya, take Zoa home. 
And this crazy man as well.” He turned toward Graham. “Sianna 
will tear a strip from your hide for your foolishness.” If she 
survived her own. 
“I’m fine.” Graham gripped his saddle with white-knuckled 
fingers and looked around. “Where is she?” 
“She wandered off in the storm before I arrived.” 
Katya’s gasp of dismay reflected Kyne’s own fears. She 
slid from Deju’s back and picked up Zoa. He chafed against 
this small delay. 
“Want Sianna.” Zoa muttered a sleepy protest. 
Sianna’s name came out sounding like mama. Kyne’s heart 
lurched at the thought of a babe, his babe, in Sianna’s arms. 
Had his quest for vengeance driven her to her death? 
Katya handed Zoa to Graham and strode over to Kyne. 
“What of Prince Timon’s command? Clearly Sianna carries 
Aubin’s child. Why else would she flee into the night?” Katya’s 
tone and look conveyed her contempt for his actions and its 
consequences. “She cannot marry the prince. Nor is it safe for 
her to return to Castle Vareck. The prince’s messenger leaked 
word of Sianna’s parentage. Though she has friends who rise 
to her defense, tempers run hot over her deception. What will 
you do?” 
“I will find her.” A sudden surety came over him. With 
every breath he took, he felt Sianna’s living presence, her heart 
beating in time with his. 
“And then?” Graham asked. “You have nine days until 

DiSanti carries out his threat to kill the queen and princess. 
Dramon hovers on the brink of civil war. DiSanti will push the 
country into chaos with his madness.” 
“Let him,” Katya shouted. “You can’t sacrifice Sianna or 
Aubin’s child to his lust for power.” 
“But....” 
Kyne stopped Graham’s objection. “Katya is right. Sianna’s 
pregnancy changes everything. Her death on the spike would 
throw the country into turmoil as surely as the deaths of the 
queen and princess. There’s naught we can do to prevent war. 
Go back to Castle Vareck and send messages to the rebel 
leaders to prepare. When I find Sianna, I will return and join 
the battle.” 
“What do we tell Prince Timon?” 
Graham’s quiet question nearly shattered Kyne’s resolve. 
He knew well the pain of losing one’s family. How could he 
stand by and do nothing to save Timon’s? His own queen and 
princess? Yet what could he do? 
Kyne met Graham’s gaze. “I hope you are better than you 
look, my friend. I need your help.” 
Graham’s back straightened. “I am well enough to ride. I 
can do whatever you require.” 
“And I, what he cannot,” Katya added. 
“Good. Take a small troop of men and infiltrate DiSanti’s 
siege. Seek out his weaknesses. Find where he holds the queen 
and princess.” With growing impatience to be off, Kyne relayed 
the rest of his hasty plan. “Go. I’ll see you in nine days.” 
He turned Hakan and started up the trail. Warda trotted 
alongside. For an hour they pushed upward through melting 
drifts of snow. Then he saw her. 
Like warmed wine, relief flowed through Kyne’s frozen 
veins. Body poised, arms outstretched as if to embrace an 
approaching lover, Sianna stood at the edge of a cliff, her slender 
body outlined against the sky. Snow dusted her dark hair and 
dampened her tunic until it clung like a second skin, but she 
was oblivious to the cold, her gaze focused inward. One step, 
and she would tumble into a vast chasm. 
“Sianna.” She gave no indication she heard him. 

Warda started toward her. 
“Warda. No.” The hound stopped and gave a reluctant 
whine. Kyne dismounted. Beneath his feet the snow-covered 
ground groaned. Hakan snorted in fear. Kyne dropped the reins, 
and the quinar shuffled backward. Step by cautious step, Kyne 
crept closer until an arm’s length separated them. “Sianna?” 
She turned her head to him and smiled, her gaze still 
unfocused. Her eyelids fell shut, then rose again in a languid 
motion. Moisture spiked her lashes and glistened on her pale 
cheeks. “Do you see?” 
Puzzled, he followed the sweep of her arm over the mist-
shrouded valley below. For a brief moment he thought he saw 
a city of white and gold gleaming in a warm summer sun. Simply 
garbed people strolled along flower-lined paths which wound 
around unpretentious yet elegant buildings. The sound of music 
drifted on sweetly scented air. Then he blinked, and the image 
blurred to a swirl of snow. “See what? There’s nothing but 
rocks and snow.” 
“Andacor.” 
“The cold has muddled your mind.” Slowly he reached out 
his hand. “Come to me, Sianna. Andacor is naught but a myth.” 
His fingers brushed her shoulder, but she slid away from him, 
closer to the edge. The icy feel of her flesh pierced through his 
gloves and chilled his heart. If he didn’t warm her soon, she 
would be beyond his help. 
“You’re wrong. Andacor is real. It is here.” A confused 
look settled over her serene features. “I can see it. Hear it. 
Smell it. Almost feel it, but I can’t find a passageway.” She 
leaned forward and stretched out her hand. 
His heart jolted as her body bent over the drop, but didn’t 
plummet into the abyss. Something held her back, an invisible 
barrier he couldn’t see, the same barrier she fought to find a 
way through. He inched forward to try to grab her arm. With 
an ominous creak, the ground shifted under his feet. He 
stumbled backwards and fell to his knees. 
A few yards away Warda paced back and forth, whining. 
Hakan pawed the ground and shook his head. Both beasts 
sensed the unstable ledge he and Sianna stood on. Any moment 

it could give way and plunge them to their deaths. He had to 
act quickly. On his hands and knees he crawled toward her. 
Through the barrier, Sianna could see Andacor spread out 
in front of her, a dream of perfection. Here she and her child 
would never know fear or pain, anger or discontent. Harmony 
flowed in the air. Peace and serenity beckoned her to enter this 
otherworldly place. One more step and she would be home. 
She lifted her foot. 
“For moon’s sake, Sianna! Step back. If I come any closer, 
the ledge will crumble under my weight. I cannot reach you. 
Step back.” 
Kyne’s heartfelt entreaty stayed her efforts. She paused 
and glanced back at him. He crouched just out of reach. Fear 
tightened his lips to a thin line. 
“There’s nothing to dread. This is Andacor. Laila told me 
my mother was from the mountains. These are her people. I 
feel it in my ka. I belong here.” 
“There’s nothing in front of you but oblivion. Andacor is a 
myth, an illusion of light.” He rose. The ground groaned. “You 
belong to me. I’ll not relinquish you to a mirage. Either come 
back to me, or I’ll come to you and we’ll both die.” 
Poised at the gates of paradise, she hesitated at his words. 
“You would risk death rather than release me?” 
“What is mine I hold. Come to me, Sianna.” 
Though hardly a declaration of love, possessiveness rang 
in his voice. She was his. And he knew it. But he was not hers. 
In her mind, wordless voices drowned out Kyne’s harsh 
command. She cocked her head to listen. Later she would 
consider Kyne’s feelings for her. 
They are of us. An elderly woman spoke first. She is Mala’s 
daughter. 
A younger man said, The man’s bloodline is thinner than 
the woman’s. His connection to us is weaker, third 
generation. Perhaps even fourth. He does not believe. 
Few outsiders trust in what they cannot see, hear or 
touch. To them we are naught but a tale with which to put 
young ones to sleep. We are the world that was. They are 
the world that is. She spoke with resignation, then addressed 

her words to Sianna. Child, all who accept our reality are 
welcome in Andacor. 
Sianna smiled at Kyne. “The people of Andacor welcome 
us.” 
No, child. You may enter, but the other may not. He 
walks the path of vengeance. It destroys him. Hatred blinds 
him to this world. Andacor does not exist for those without 
faith, hope or love. Forgiveness is his only path to salvation. 
Understanding blossomed inside her. She and Kyne were 
of two worlds, but they could live only in one. Kyne denied 
Andacor’s existence. If she chose Andacor, when he tried to 
stop her, he would fall into the void below. Even if he did not 
die, his current path would ravage his ka until there was naught 
left but an empty shell. 
There was no choice. Farewell. 
She turned and stepped into his embrace. The ground shifted 
beneath them. Kyne threw himself away from the edge, and 
they fell backwards into a snowdrift. With a sharp crack and a 
low rumble, the ledge sheared away at their feet. A cloud of 
snow and dust rose in the air. Kyne’s rasping breath in her ear 
muffled the sound of falling rock and dirt. 
Like an icy rain, reality drenched her. How close he’d come 
to death. Shuddering, she buried her face in his shoulder. 
She lay on top of him, their limbs aligned from shoulder to 
knee. Heat from his body seeped through her chilled flesh, his 
warm breath slid over her frozen skin, sending shivers down 
her spine. The rapid thud of his heart matched the uneven 
thumping of her own. 
He stood, taking her with him. His fingers dug into her 
cold-numbed arms, and he gave her a shake. “Foolish woman. 
Why did you run off? You could have died of exposure. Fallen 
off a cliff. Been ravaged by a sardak. What were you thinking?” 
At his touch, his anger swept through her, sparking her own. 
She shoved away from him and crossed her arms over her 
heaving chest. “I did not give up paradise to be scolded like a 
naughty child.” 
“Then cease to behave like one.” 
Cold rattled her teeth as she challenged his accusations. 

“Are the deaths you speak of any worse than death on a spike?” 
Only after she had blurted her question did she sense the fear 
he’d hidden below his anger. 
One hand flew to her mouth, the other settled protectively 
over her still flat belly. Did he realize what she admitted with 
her rash words? 
Rage faded from his eyes. “I would not let harm come to 
you. Could you not have trusted me?” 
Tension eased out of her body. All along she had seen past 
his angry words. “I never truly doubted you.” 
A curt nod acknowledged her belated trust. He said nothing 
of his babe, but his gaze drifted to where her hand rested, and 
his expression softened. 
“You know?” She ducked her head, shielding her face from 
his eyes with her tangled hair. 
He placed a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head 
up. “I know.” 
With his smile and soft words, the knot of fear inside her 
unraveled. Together they could face any challenge. 
He stood and pulled her up next to him. When her legs 
trembled, he swung her into his arms. 
“I can walk.” 
“Perhaps,” he agreed as he plunked her atop Hakan’s broad 
back. “But not today. I’ve wasted enough time chasing after 
you.” 
Though his tone was even, she could sense the crack in his 
inner control. Like grapes crushed in a mesh bag, the wine of 
his emotions oozed forth, a sweet, heady liquid that infused her 
battered ka with hope. 
When he swung up behind her and wrapped her inside his 
cloak, she snuggled into his warmth. With one hand he held 
Hakan’s reins. The other slipped under the heavy cloak and 
came to rest on her belly. 
“It’s time to go home.” 
Despite the warmth of Kyne’s bulk pressed against her 
back and thighs, Sianna shivered uncontrollably. Home. Like a 
lamp in the darkness the word beckoned her. She peered up at 
his face, but could detect no forgiveness there. If not for the 

reassurance of his gentler emotions flowing through her, his 
scowl would indicate his anger with her. 
“Is Castle Vareck my home?” 
A muscle at the corner of his mouth tightened and pain 
flashed in his eyes, then his lips softened and he looked full into 
her face. “Your home and life are now with me, my little 
Daughter of Light. From this moment your former life ceases 
to exist, and you are reborn.” 
The meaning of his words and emotions crashed over 
Sianna. She stiffened in his embrace. “You would have me 
deny my father? I cannot. Whatever his crimes, his blood flows 
in my veins. He gave me life. For this alone I must honor him.” 
Kyne’s eyes took on a wintery hue. “Why? There is naught 
to honor in such a butcher. When he is dead, he’ll soon be 
forgotten.” His grip tightened painfully. “You will forget him.” 
“You are wrong. We must never forget him. Only in 
remembering can we avoid a reoccurrence of his sins. And 
only in forgiving can we find peace.” 
“DiSanti’s blood on my sword will give me the peace I 
seek. Then the cries of those he’s murdered will no longer 
haunt my dreams.” 
A feeling of terror jolted Sianna as Kyne’s hatred stirred 
his unborn babe to wakefulness in her womb. “Sh-h-h,” she 
crooned beneath her breath. 
Cold and exhausted, she pulled away from Kyne’s harsh 
emotions. Later she would deal with his quest for vengeance. 
For now she settled deeper into his embrace. She soothed their 
fretful babe back into slumber and sought the same escape for 
herself. 
Kyne guided Hakan down the slippery mountain trail, his 
thoughts and emotions in turmoil. Sianna’s slight form resting 
against his chest had little to do with the heavy weight around 
his heart. How could he care for her? He refused to consider 
the word love. Daughter of his enemy, the man who had killed 
nearly all those he loved? The man who in his lust for power 
had brought an entire country to the brink of ruin? 
Yet how could he not care for her? Her actions proved her 
innocent of DiSanti’s evil. Her loyalty, though misplaced, could 

not be faulted. Could it be forgiven? 
Kyne splayed his fingers over her belly. Awareness fluttered 
through him. She carried his babe. The fragile connection to his 
unborn child eased the doubt from his heart if not his mind. 
Sianna was his. DiSanti would have no part of her. 
*** 
“Hmmm.” Sianna sighed in pleasure as a firm warmth 
massaged her icy feet. Where was she? Her eyelids flickered 
open. Shadows obscured the ceiling above her while firelight 
danced across the walls of Kyne’s chamber. She stretched and 
sighed again. On the bed, his body silhouetted by the fire behind 
him, Kyne knelt over her bare legs. 
Memory threatened to destroy this moment of accord 
between them. There was much they needed to settle between 
them. She started to sit up. 
Dark skin against pale, his strong fingers stroked up her 
calves, drawing a groan of satisfaction from her lips as she 
went limp against the bed. Rational thought was driven away 
by his touch. 
He glanced up and smiled. “Do you like? Or shall I stop?” 
His enjoyment in his action enhanced her own delight. 
“Please continue.” 
She watched as his hands glided around her knees, nudged 
them apart and kneaded her inner thighs, his thumbs teasing 
the sensitive flesh where her legs joined. Her breasts swelled, 
nipples puckering. Nothing covered her body. Suddenly shy, 
she tried to clamp her legs together, but he gently held them 
open with his own. Cool air swirled over her heated liquid core. 
Heat flooded her neck and cheeks at her obvious response 
to Kyne’s seduction. She closed her eyes against his self-
satisfied, knowing grin. They flew open again at his intimate 
kiss, his tongue lapping the dew of her desire. Back arching, 
her fingers tangled in the dark, silky hair spread out over her 
thighs as he drove her on. 
Without warning, her climax exploded inside her, a burst of 
sensation so intense she cried out Kyne’s name. Lost in wonder, 
her body convulsed. Tears streamed down her face. “Oh, Kyne.” 
She stretched out her arms to him. 

His gaze locked on hers, he slid up and into her. Their bodies 
fit together without hesitation, a mighty sword in its silken sheath. 
“You are mine,” he growled in her ear. 
Despite his possession of her body, he still doubted what he 
sensed was in her heart. 
“I am yours,” she reassured him. As you are mine. 
“Always and forever,” he answered her unspoken words. 
His mind might deny the bond between them, but his heart 
knew. 
Then as he began to move within her, all conscious thought 
fled. 
Later, she curled against his side and listened to the steady 
thud of his heart beneath her ear. Above the heavy bed robe 
the air was crisp as the fire in the hearth had burnt to embers. 
The scent of wood smoke and sex perfumed the air. Sleep 
evaded her. Kyne’s disquiet seeped into her and banished the 
contentment she should feel after hours of his thorough loving. 
The weight of his worries were hers as well. 
“I will go with you to see Prince Timon.” 
“No.” His response was as quick and firm as his hold. 
She felt his panic at the thought of her condemned to die on 
the spike. An answering shudder went through her. “As long as 
I don’t attempt to marry the prince, I am safe from that fate. 
But, perhaps between us we can find a way to rescue the 
queen and princess from my father without the need of 
marriage.” 
“You are not going anywhere near the palace, the prince or 
your father. You will stay safely here.” 
“But....” 
“I’ll not let you risk the life of my babe with your foolish 
attempts to save your father from my wrath.” 
His babe? Hurt, she pulled away from Kyne. Anger heated 
her next words. “I have no intention of putting my babe in peril, 
but I must go with you to speak with my father, to convince him 
to give up his mad scheme. Perhaps I can appeal to some 
remnant of his love for me.” 
He climbed out of bed and began to dress. “You are beyond 
foolish if you believe DiSanti has a care for you. He loves no 

one and nothing beyond his quest for power.” 
She felt his absence in her arms and, with his words, he 
ripped himself away from her heart. Clutching the bed robe to 
her chest, she knelt and faced him. “And what do you care for 
beyond your pursuit of vengeance? Is there room in your heart 
for love? For me? For our babe?” 
He kept his back to her as he strapped on his sword and 
headed toward the door. “DiSanti killed my heart years ago. Is 
his daughter the Eternal One to resurrect it?” 
Sianna sensed the lie, but knew Kyne truly believed himself 
incapable of love. He thought he could possess her and their 
babe, keep them safe, but prevent his own pain by never giving 
them his heart. For to love meant the threat of loss, and he 
couldn’t bear to lose anyone ever again. He thought DiSanti’s 
death would free him of his burden of guilt and pain, but she 
knew it would destroy his ka. 
Before she could respond, the door closed behind him. The 
click of a key in the lock roused her from her stupor. She bolted 
from the bed and ran to the door. The knob rattled beneath her 
hand, but the door refused to budge. With a cry of despair, she 
sank to her knees and leaned her head against the wood. 
*** 
Aside from Betha’s twice daily, silent visits, Sianna saw no 
one for the next three days. On the fourth day when the chamber 
door opened, she rushed forward. 
“Please, Betha, talk to me,” she pleaded. “Where is Kyne? 
Katya? Zoa? Graham? How fares Lisha? I must know what is 
happening.” 
Though pity sparked in Betha’s eyes, she shook her head, 
placed a tray of food on the table and turned to leave. 
“Please, I’m going mad with worry.” 
Since her bonding with Kyne, their connection remained 
constant, but she received only vague impressions rather than 
clear feelings. Flickers of anger fought with hurt, betrayal with 
forgiveness, love with hate. He replaced the solid wall between 
them with a locked door and retreated from her presence. 
Betha paused at the door and, without turning, whispered, 
“Lisha recovers rapidly. Rul Cathor, Katya, Graham and most 

of the fighting men are gone from the castle. I’m not privy to 
their plans.” 
In his effort to keep her safe, Kyne denied the bond between 
them and went to confront her father. A shadow of future anguish 
shivered through her. They would destroy each other. 
“Now that people know your true identity,” Betha continued, 
“the Rul locks you in here for your own protection. There are 
those who harbor hatred in their hearts for any child of DiSanti 
and would do you harm.” 
Her own emotions in turmoil, in part because of her father’s 
and Kyne’s actions, but mostly due to the influence of the new 
life she carried, she found it difficult to focus on Betha’s. Unclear 
and unfocused, her babe’s feelings swirled through her and left 
her dizzy. Was the strength of her babe’s emotional connection 
with her normal? With no one to ask, she made a conscious 
effort to contain the babe’s disruptive influence. 
“Do you hate me?” 
Back still turned to Sianna, Betha’s shoulders sagged. “You 
risked your life for my child, and for that I owe you. But you 
share the blood of the man who stole my husband and other 
sons from me.” She left the room without answering Sianna’s 
question. 
At least Laila was safe. No one yet knew her identity. But 
what of Kyne? 
In six days, if she did not wed Prince Timon, her father 
would kill the queen and princess. Guilt ate at her. How could 
she have run away? Her fingers fluttered over her belly. Were 
hers and her child’s lives any more precious than those of Prince 
Timon’s mother and sister? 
Could she do something to prevent this tragedy? Persuade 
her father to abandon his mad quest for power? Reach some 
uncorrupted part of him? Perhaps Kyne was right and her father 
was truly evil, but she had to try. But how? 
She sagged into a chair by the fire and eyed the chamber’s 
heavy door. Through the window, the waning light of the day 
reflected blue off the Azul Mountains, casting the chamber in a 
shadowy gloom. By now last meal would be finished, the great 
hall quieting as people went about their final evening chores 

before they retired. Soon fires would be banked and silence 
would descend for the night. 
In a dark corner of the room lay her herb bag. An idea 
formed. 
When Betha returned with her evening tray, Sianna was 
ready to act. 
“Are you feeling ill?” A flicker of concern edged Betha’s 
question. She placed the tray on the table and stepped over to 
the bed where Sianna lay. 
As she leaned over, Sianna sat up, opened her hand and 
blew the powdered herb she held there into the startled woman’s 
face. Before fear could enter Betha’s eyes, they closed. Fast 
asleep, she slumped across the bed. 
Sianna scrambled up. With a bit of work she managed to 
remove Betha’s shawl and outer tunic and tuck her beneath 
the bed robe. Anyone glancing inside the chamber would mistake 
Betha’s form for her own. By the time Betha awakened, Sianna 
would be long gone. 
After donning Betha’s tunic over her own, Sianna wrapped 
the shawl over her head and shoulders. Similar in height to the 
plumper woman, if she kept her head down she might slip by 
undetected in the dim light. 
She eased the door open and peered out. Warda rose as 
she attempted to leave the chamber. 
“Don’t try to stop me,” she warned the hound. “I cannot 
wait here while Kyne needs my help.” 
At the mention of Kyne’s name, Warda whined and shoved 
his muzzle beneath her hand. Though far from a simple-minded 
beast, his emotions as complex as any person’s, Warda’s 
concern for his master was clear and sharp. 
She knelt, took Warda’s head between her palms, and looked 
into his eyes. “You’re worried about him too, aren’t you? Shall 
we go find him?” 
Warda didn’t object as she stood and moved down the hall. 
He followed at her heels. Together they slipped down the stairs. 
At one end of the hall, a fire burned low in the hearth, leaving 
most of the large chamber in shadows. The main entryway 
loomed ahead. She paused. By herself she could never lift the 

heavy beam that secured the latch, nor budge the massive 
aronwood door. 
“Sianna.” Damaged by her father’s sword stroke, Laila’s 
voice rasped from behind her. 
Hand to her chest, Sianna spun around. Warda pressed 
closer, but otherwise didn’t react. “Laila! Where do you think 
you’re going? You shouldn’t yet be out of bed. You’ll tear loose 
your stitches.” 
Laila gripped Sianna’s arm and pulled her to the edge of 
the hall, out of sight of any casual observer. “The same place 
as you, I would imagine. To confront our father.” She spat the 
words. 
Even in the dark, Sianna could see the lines of pain on 
Laila’s face, her pallor. “You’re in no condition to confront 
anyone. Let me help you back to bed. No one here yet knows 
your true identity, so you’re safe. Rest. If not for your own 
sake, then for the sake of the babe you carry.” 
Laila’s hand covered her belly in a protective gesture, then 
her fingers curled into a tight fist. “Aubin’s babe cries to me for 
vengeance. Until DiSanti lies dead by my hand, I’ll not rest.” 
Sianna couldn’t control her gasp. “You would kill your own 
father?” 
“Father?” Laila croaked. “I have no father. Planting a seed 
in a woman’s belly does not make a man a father.” Her fingers 
traced the wound running across her throat and down her chest. 
“I owe him for this. And murdering my unborn babe’s father.” 
“No,” Sianna whispered. For too long she’d harbored a 
hope that Kyne and the others were wrong about her father. 
Now she could no longer deny the truth. Remembering the 
vicious wound inflicted on Laila, Sianna’s stomach lurched. 
“Yes,” Laila insisted. “We have no father, merely a sire 
who bred us to further his own ends. You, he seeks to sell into 
marriage to cement his base of power. Me, he sought to train 
as his successor. And I allowed him to. I never questioned his 
actions, his methods, or wondered about the people he hurt in 
his quest for dominance. Until Aubin, I was deaf, dumb and 
blind to DiSanti’s evil.” 
She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. “Now he will 

pay for his crimes with his blood. When he and I meet again, 
one of us will die. Are you with me?” 
“I cannot contemplate the taking of a life, even a life 
committed to evil. It goes against all my training, everything I 
know...all I am. I go to see to the safety of Rul Cathor and the 
others.” 
“Very well, you can play nursemaid to men more than 
capable of defending their own interests. I’ll take care of our 
father.” 
“Killing our father will not bring Aubin back to you.” 
“But it will allow him to rest knowing his death has been 
avenged. Let us be off before someone wakes and attempts to 
stop us. What of the hound?” 
“Warda comes too.” 
Laila headed toward the kitchens and the smaller door which 
led to the stables. Sianna stopped her. 
“If I can find a way to save our father’s ka, I will do so.” 
Back to Sianna, Laila stiffened. “You may try, but do not 
get between him and my sword.” 

Eighteen 
“Where is my daughter?” DiSanti’s voice carried across 
the open land between his encampment and the palace wall. 
“Produce her by morn, or face the consequences.” 
From his hiding place in the woods, Kyne saw Prince Timon 
standing on the palace battlement. Though the distance was 
too great for Kyne to make out the boy king’s expression, Kyne 
knew the lad’s feelings. 
Helpless fear. 
“Do your mother and sister mean nothing to you?” DiSanti 
dragged Queen Theone from his tent and paraded her in front 
of the palace wall. 
The woman had been beaten. Her hair hung in dirty, tangled 
strands around her bruised face, but she held her head high, 
stood straight, and walked with as much dignity as her weakened 
state allowed. 
She looked up at her son. “Stand firm, my son. Do not 
ransom my life with that of others.” Her voice rang clear and 
strong in the hush her appearance caused. 
DiSanti jerked the queen to her knees and slapped her. “Be 
quiet, she-hound!” 
Uneasy silence from DiSanti’s troops echoed the growl of 
anger emanating from the men lining the palace battlements. 
Kyne resisted the urge to send an arrow through DiSanti’s 
black heart, knowing others loyal to the man would strike the 
queen down. And of Princess Thomasa there was no sign. 
Earlier, Katya, disguised as a boy, had infiltrated DiSanti’s 
camp, but during her three days there she had found no indication 
of where he held the young princess. 
Katya came up next to Kyne. “Our forces are gathered 

and ready to attack on your command. The rebel leaders brought 
every able-bodied man to fight. They grow eager to do battle.” 
“Are they so impatient to die?” 
“No, to be free. Every day more of DiSanti’s men defect 
and join us.” 
“Then perhaps in a few more tendays we would stand a 
chance in open battle. But we are yet outnumbered two to one, 
and time is short.” 
“But we have the advantage of surprise. With the palace 
controlled by Prince Timon’s guard, DiSanti’s forces will be 
caught between. He has no idea he is surrounded. His rage 
over his daughter’s abduction has made him careless. When 
he left the palace unguarded by his troops he forsook reason. 
His madness overwhelms his logic.” 
Kyne nodded. “We attack tonight.” 
“What of the queen and princess?” Katya voiced the 
question that plagued Kyne and had but one answer. 
“May the Eternal One protect them. DiSanti must be 
stopped here and now. No matter the cost.” 
*** 
Arms and legs aching, Sianna squeezed her eyes shut and 
clung to Laila’s waist as she pressed the tired quinar beneath 
them for more speed. To help him maintain the killing pace 
Laila set, for the last three days Sianna had bonded with the 
beast. Now both were exhausted. She had no more strength to 
give. 
“Stop, or the quinar will collapse, “ she whispered. Unable 
to keep pace with the fleet quinar, Warda had fallen behind two 
days earlier, but she knew the hound would continue to follow. 
Laila slowed the quinar to a walk, but did not stop. “There 
is no time. Tomorrow is the tenth day. We must reach the palace 
this night if we are to prevent DiSanti from murdering the queen 
and princess.” 
From deep inside, Sianna summoned the last of her reserve 
and gave it to the quinar. He responded with a surge of speed. 
Darkness descended long before they stopped at the bottom 
of a cliff just out of sight of DiSanti’s troops. From their hiding 
place they could hear the murmur of men as they prepared for 

battle, as well as smell the odor of their cook fires. 
Sianna slid from the quinar’s back. Her legs wobbled as 
she leaned against the beast. Their labored breaths misted the 
crisp night air. Languor stole over her as she watched Laila 
strip the saddle from the tired animal with quick, efficient motions. 
Mercifully, the babe inside Sianna slept, comforted by the 
continuous motion. But what of Laila’s unborn babe? Her injury? 
From what hidden store did she draw her energy? 
“Vengeance gives me strength.” 
Unaware that she’d spoken her question out loud, Sianna 
started at Laila’s answer. 
“I’ll not rest until DiSanti lies dead at my feet,” Laila’s 
damaged voice rasped. “Then you may bury me.” 
“And Aubin’s babe? Shall I bury him as well?” Though 
Sianna’s connection with Laila was tentative, she sensed Laila’s 
child was male, as she knew her own was female. 
“Do not fear. I shall live long enough to give birth to Aubin’s 
child, but I will not be his mother. If I could strip his body of my 
tainted blood, I would not hesitate. Instead, I will give him into 
the care of his father’s family. I can only pray their honor will 
dilute the DiSanti poison flowing through his veins.” 
“Do you refer to the poison of an ungrateful child’s 
betrayal?” DiSanti’s black cloak swirled around him like a dark 
cloud as he stepped out of the forest. The red glow of the 
joined moons above cast crimson shadows over his smiling face. 
He looked at Sianna. “But I do thank you, Laila, for 
delivering your sister to me. As much as it pains me to admit it, 
she’s a necessary element for my plan to succeed. Seize them!” 
Weapons drawn, soldiers surrounded them. 
Sianna gasped as Laila pulled her sword. She grabbed 
Sianna’s arm and held the blade to her neck. “I’ll kill her myself 
before I’ll give her into your hands. Stand back.” 
The soldiers started forward. Again Sianna felt the prick of 
crystal and the warmth of blood trickling down her throat. As 
before she made no move, no protest. She didn’t doubt her 
sister capable of carrying out her threat. By his tense stance, 
apparently, neither did their father. 
He held up his hand, and the soldiers halted. 

Death hovered a hairsbreadth away. And she did not want 
to die. She soothed the panicky flutter in her belly with a gentle 
touch of mind and hand. With all her being she called out for 
Kyne. Deep within, she felt his wordless answer, his awareness 
of her flaring to life. He would come. 
A sense of peace settled over Sianna. 
“Send them away, Father, and I’ll release her. This fight is 
between you and me.” 
“After our last encounter I’m surprised you’re still eager 
to cross swords with me. You’re such a disappointment to me, 
child. I reared you to rule at my side, but you threw it all away 
on the second son of an exiled traitor.” With one hand DiSanti 
stroked his chin. The other played lightly over the hilt of the 
sword at his waist. 
“Perhaps it is time I finished this. Very well, Daughter. 
Return to camp,” he told the soldiers. 
Without question the men melted back into the darkness. 
“Your hounds are well trained.” 
“My daughters should be so obedient. Now release Sianna.” 
The blade dropped from Sianna’s throat. “Hide in the woods. 
Kyne will find you,” Laila whispered. 
“I’ll not leave you.” Sianna whirled in front of Laila and 
faced her father. “You can’t do this. We’re your daughters. 
Your blood flows in us as it does in you. Kill us, and you kill 
your ka and your future. Even now we carry your immortality 
in our wombs.” 
“You’re breeding! By whom?” DiSanti laughed harshly. 
“Why do I ask. Rul Cathor, of course.” He pinned Laila with 
his glare. “And you by his brother. I should have killed the lot of 
the Cathors. It never pays to leave the sons of your enemy 
alive.” 
“Give way, Father,” Sianna begged. “Release the queen 
and princess. Renounce your desire for power. Without my 
marriage to Prince Timon, you cannot hope to control him or 
the Council for much longer.” 
His stance deceptively easy, DiSanti slid his blade from its 
sheath. “True, but there are other ways. By ruling through you, 
I only sought to prevent a brutal civil war.” His twisted smile 

gave lie to his words. 
Sianna cringed as his excitement opened him to her, and 
she glimpsed her father’s inner emotions. He relished the thought 
of the killing and destruction a civil war would bring. Her heart 
ached at the depth of his ugliness. Did the evil go all the way to 
his core? Did any of his newborn innocence remain hidden 
deep within him? Had he completely destroyed his innate human 
potential? Was there a way to reach his center and resurrect 
his drowning ka? Did she have the strength to save him from 
eternal damnation? The courage to risk her own in the attempt? 
“But I’m not adverse to sitting on the throne. In fact, I 
rather like the idea. Prince Timon’s forces are not up to the 
task of defeating my troops. It is but a matter of time before 
the palace falls into my hands. With the royal family dead, it 
will take little to convince the ministers to crown me king.” 
His gaze raked over Sianna and Laila dismissively. “To a 
king, daughters are nothing more than pawns in the marriage 
mart. A king needs sons to carry on. As I am still young enough 
to father many sons, I find I have little need of two soiled 
daughters.” 
“He is as I told you, without conscience or ka,” Laila said. 
“Your pleas fall on barren ground, Sianna. Go. Now.” 
Sianna resisted as Laila pushed her toward the cover of 
the forest. 
“Yes, run away child.” He shrugged off his cloak. Like a 
living thing, the rich, black material floated to the ground at 
Sianna’s feet. “Hide if you can while I finish off your deceitful, 
ungrateful sibling. Then I will find you and do the same.” 
Her father’s callous words shattered the last of Sianna’s 
illusions. They would fight, and she could do nothing to prevent 
it. Nothing to salvage his ka. Nothing to save Laila. In the face 
of their hatred and anger, her love was meaningless. But neither 
could she abandon them. 
She could sense her father’s soldiers lurking in the shadowy 
woods—their twisted loyalty, their growing blood lust. If she 
ran, her death at their hands would not be quick or easy. 
Sword drawn, Laila pushed her aside. Sianna stumbled to 
her hands and knees and clutched the cool, damp silk of her 

father’s cloak between her fingers. 
Swords clashed. Sparks, turned crimson by the Blood Moon, 
danced in the night air. To and fro they moved in a deadly 
ballet. Laila’s breath rasped a counterpoint to the ring of crystal. 
DiSanti glided around the clearing, toying cruelly with his injured, 
pregnant daughter. He laughed and whirled. His blade sliced 
across her sword arm. 
Blood welled up. Laila faltered. Fingers numb, strength 
spent, her sword dipped, exposing her to his final thrust. Head 
high, she stood motionless as he lunged. 
Laila’s calm acceptance of her own death and that of her 
unborn babe’s shattered Sianna’s helpless terror. 
“No!” She surged to her feet and threw DiSanti’s cloak. In 
a swirl of black, the crystal silk snaked around his blade. 
His aim went wide, but the honed edge of the sword made 
quick work of the fabric. Shredded silk fluttered free. He stalked 
toward Laila. 
Sword again raised, she backed away. 
His chuckle held no hint of humor, no hesitation. “You can 
run, but you cannot escape.” 
Beneath Sianna’s feet, the ground vibrated with the thud of 
her heart. 
Head cocked, DiSanti paused as the rumble grew louder. 
Quinar burst into the clearing. Sianna and Laila staggered 
back as the animals thundered between them and DiSanti. Clods 
of dirt spewed upward from their churning hooves. She 
recognized the moonlit faces of the riders: Graham, Katya and 
Kyne. 
DiSanti swung around to face this new threat. His face 
reflected sudden fear. Then the clearing erupted in shouts as 
his troops swarmed forward from their concealment in the 
shadows. “Seize them!” 
Outnumbered twenty to three, Kyne, Graham and Katya 
fought while DiSanti melted into the woods. 
Swords swung and flashed. Blood spurted. Men screamed 
and cried out in agony. Confusion blanketed the clearing as 
clouds covered the glowing Blood Moon. Darkness hid friend 
from foe. 

Where was Laila? Kyne? Sianna reached out for them. 
Pain. Terror. Anger. Emotions battered her from all sides, 
drowning out any single person. Unable to see, afraid to move, 
she stood rigid amidst the chaos. 
Kyne’s first instinct was to run down the fleeing DiSanti. 
Then he saw a soldier lift his sword to strike Sianna. Kyne 
swerved, and Hakan’s bulk knocked the soldier aside. Kyne 
swept Sianna into his arms as DiSanti disappeared into the 
forest, but Kyne couldn’t regret his decision. Sianna’s safety 
mattered more than vengeance. His chance at DiSanti would 
come again. 
Dangling at his side, Sianna screamed and thrashed against 
his hold. 
“Be still. It’s me.” Kyne hauled the squirming mass of 
feminine outrage up onto his lap with one arm, all the while he 
fended off DiSanti’s foot soldiers with the other. 
“Kyne,” she whispered and sagged against him. 
A man grabbed her skirt. She started to slide out of Kyne’s 
grip. 
“Kyne!” Her fingers clutched at his arms. 
He reached across her with his sword and sliced through 
the man’s arm at his wrist. The man shrieked and fell back. For 
a moment, his fingers remained attached to her skirt, then she 
kicked, and the severed hand dropped away. With a shudder 
she buried her face in his chest. 
“I’ve got her,” Kyne shouted and whirled Hakan toward 
the woods. DiSanti was nowhere to be seen. 
The sounds of fighting faded as Hakan carried them away 
from the clearing, deeper into the surrounding forest. No foot 
soldier could hope to keep pace with a quinar. Once assured 
that none followed, Kyne slowed Hakan to a walk. The animal’s 
heavy breathing, the snap of branches and thud of his hooves 
against the ground broke the night’s quiet. 
Sianna peered up at Kyne. In the clouded moonlight, her 
expression of love soothed the terror he’d felt when he’d first 
sensed her presence. 
“You came,” she breathed. “I called to you, and you came.” 
Kyne couldn’t explain the sudden urge that had come over 

him. He only knew that Sianna needed him. Her cry for help 
echoed in his heart and mind, demanding a response. Even 
now he could sense her inside himself. They were linked, joined. 
He felt her pain and fear, her love and sorrow. Her spirit curled 
inside him like a contented kitten. 
Who her father was no longer mattered. She had had no 
part in his crimes. Her hands were clean, her ka pure. Her love 
washed the hate from Kyne’s heart and mind. DiSanti still 
needed to be stopped, but her sweet, fresh love quenched 
Kyne’s thirst for vengeance. 
He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face. “You’ve 
crawled deep within me. Where you are, I am. Where you go, 
I go. Run from me, and I will follow. Call me, and I will come.” 
Like liquid crystal the poetic words flowed from his lips and 
hardened in the air around them, ready to shatter if she denied 
their bond. 
“You’re within me as well. Without you I become an empty 
shell. I....” 
The rest of her words were lost beneath the clatter of hooves 
as Katya and Graham approached. 
Kyne felt Sianna’s quick stab of anxiety along with his own. 
“Where is Laila?” she asked. 
Katya and Graham exchanged a puzzled look, then 
comprehension dawned on their faces. 
“Lisha is Laila DiSanti!” Katya’s eyes blazed with angry 
confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded of Kyne, 
then turned on Sianna. “Why did you lie to us? Who are you?” 
“I tried to tell you I was not Laila, but you chose to believe 
differently. I am DiSanti’s younger daughter. When Laila arrived 
at Castle Vareck, I lied to protect her and the child she carries— 
Aubin’s child.” 
Katya sagged. “Aubin’s child,” she whispered. 
“But where is she?” Kyne’s own awe and joy at the thought 
of Aubin’s immortality was tempered by the woman’s absence. 
Graham rode forward. “In the confusion of the fight, she 
followed DiSanti.” Blood streaked his too pale features, but it 
was not his own. He gripped his mount’s saddle with a white-
knuckled hand. His still splinted legs stuck out and had surely 

been knocked about during his rush through the trees, but he 
made no complaint nor asked for any concessions to his pain. 
“Oh, no,” Sianna cried. “He’ll kill her. We have to stop 
her.” 
“We can’t help her now. The battle is begun. DiSanti knows 
we’re here. There’s no time to waste.” Kyne felt Sianna’s 
quick rush of worry and grief, but was relieved when she didn’t 
argue. “Graham, rejoin our men.” 
Graham nodded his agreement and urged his quinar into a 
run. The two quickly disappeared into the night. 
Kyne moved his mount next to Katya. “Katya, take Sianna 
back to camp.” 
“Where are you going?” Sianna clung to him as he tried to 
pass her to Katya. “You’re going after the queen and princess 
aren’t you? I must come with you.” 
“It’s too dangerous. Go with Katya.” He attempted to pry 
loose her fingers. Of all the people in his care whom he’d failed, 
he would not fail to keep Sianna safe. 
“I can use my skills to help you find them.” 
“No....” 
“She’s right,” Katya interrupted. “I don’t know exactly what 
talent she has, but without her help, you’ll never locate the 
princess. DiSanti has her well-hidden.” 
Sianna’s resolve swept through Kyne. If he forced her to 
go with Katya, she would follow. Better to keep her by his side. 

Nineteen 
Hakan pranced nervously, his hooves slipping on ground 
made slick with blood as Kyne guided him around the edge of 
the carnage. Sianna buried her face against Kyne’s chest to 
block out the sights, but battlefield images burned in her mind. 
The acrid smell of blood and urine scorched her nostrils. Her 
ears rang with the clash of swords and cries of men fighting 
and dying. 
Nor could she shield herself from the combatants’ emotions. 
Her whole being trembled with the force of their suffering, her 
normal barriers dissolving beneath a psychic whirlpool of rage 
and fear, pain and despair, threatening to swamp her senses 
and drown her ka. 
“Sianna?” 
Kyne’s voice broke through the oppressive cloud covering 
her. She reached out for him, and he was there in her heart and 
mind, a sturdy lifeline of sanity. His presence created a dam 
against the chaos. She took a shaky breath and lifted her head. 
His eyes blazed with determination. The battle roused within 
him the sleeping beast that lives in all men, stirred the blood lust 
that allows a man to fight and kill to protect those he loves. 
Only her presence and the need to rescue the royal family held 
him back from joining the attack. 
“Can you sense where the queen and princess are being 
held?” 
She sat up and looked around. Hakan stood in the middle 
of DiSanti’s encampment. With the battle raging, it was nearly 
empty. No one challenged them. 

Cautiously, she opened herself to the emotions flowing 
around her. A flood of anguish poured through the crack, and 
she jerked away. 
“I can’t...there’s so much pain...death...it overwhelms me,” 
she gasped. 
He pulled her tight against his chest. A shudder of 
understanding ran through him. “I know, but you must try. You’re 
their only hope. If DiSanti reaches them before we do, they are 
doomed. Use my strength to keep the emotions at bay. Together 
we can conquer the darkness.” 
“Together,” she whispered. Together they were stronger 
than the sum of their parts. Together they were invincible. She 
reached out to him. A bolt of energy surged through her. “We 
can do this.” 
Amid the emotional labyrinth of injured, angry men, she 
hunted for the soft aura of two frightened women. While she 
searched, the force of Kyne’s presence in her mind held back 
the tangle of negative emotions. 
Feminine strength and outrage blasted her. 
“The queen is here. That way.” She pointed toward the far 
edge of the encampment and a large tent shrouded in red-black 
gloom. 
“Laila and my father are there also.” 
With her talent merged with Kyne’s, Sianna found her 
family’s emotions were no longer barred to her. In Laila, anger, 
loss, and grief metamorphosed into a wrath that left a bitter 
taste in Sianna’s mouth, but DiSanti’s hatred and destructive 
quest for power stole her breath. Their intent was crystal clear. 
“Hurry! They’ll kill each other.” 
Kyne kicked Hakan into motion. 
At the tent, Kyne dismounted. “Stay here.” Sword in hand, 
he strode toward the tent. 
She felt as Kyne readied himself to do battle, then he blocked 
himself away from her. His absence left a dark, cold void in her 
heart. If he were killed in his fight with DiSanti, her ka would 
shrivel and die. But if he killed her father out of revenge, part 
of Kyne would perish, and in death DiSanti would triumph as 
he couldn’t in life. Kyne must choose his own path. She could 

only pray he followed the right one. 
She slid down Hakan’s side. Something warm and furry 
brushed by her legs. She strangled a shriek before she 
recognized Warda. Her legs wobbled, but she quickly followed 
Kyne to where he stood just outside the tent’s entrance. 
She slipped up behind him and crouched in the shadows. A 
lamp illuminated the scene within and hid them from the 
occupants’ view. 
His back to Kyne, DiSanti held the dazed queen before 
him, a shield against Laila. 
“Are you a coward as well as a madman, Father?” Laila 
taunted. “Hide behind a woman’s skirt if you want, but it’ll not 
stop me from killing you.” 
“But I’m your father.” His tone echoed his encroaching 
madness. 
In the maze of his mind, he justified his actions and blinded 
himself to the evil he sowed. Even now, faced with reaping a 
bitter harvest, he refused to admit his guilt. 
Grief tore through Sianna. Like wormy fruit, at his core, 
her father was rotten. 
“Father?” Laila spat the word like a foul curse. “A pity you 
didn’t remember that when you killed the man I loved. Fight 
me, Father, or die where you stand. You’ll not escape.” 
“Very well, Daughter. Prepare to die.” DiSanti shoved the 
queen aside. She hit a support post, slid to the ground and lay 
still. The lamp swung to and fro. Harbingers of doom, shadows 
careened around the tent. He pulled his sword free and faced 
Laila. 
Their dark fury rocked Sianna’s hope. She grabbed Kyne’s 
arm. “Stop them. She’s no match for him.” 
Sword drawn, Kyne darted into the tent. “Face me, 
DiSanti!” 
Breathing hard, his gaze wild but still filled with cunning, 
DiSanti slashed through the side of the tent. “Some other time, 
Cathor.” 
“No,” Laila screamed. She blocked Kyne as he lunged 
after DiSanti, then she crumpled at his feet. 
Sianna rushed to Laila’s side, further aborting Kyne’s chase. 

He tried to push past the two women when Queen Theone’s 
grip on his arm brought him up short. “Rul Cathor? Is it you?” 
“Yes, Your Highness.” Frustrated rage churned in his gut, 
but he stopped as DiSanti disappeared into the night. 
“DiSanti?” she asked. 
“The coward has fled.” 
At the sound of her satisfied chuckle, Kyne’s head shot up 
to meet her gaze. 
Though battered, her clothing torn, her hair hanging lank 
around her face, the woman held herself regally. Eight years 
under DiSanti’s control had taken its toll on her body, but had 
not diminished her pride or bearing. 
“You have my gratitude, young Cathor.” She inclined her 
head and held out her hand. “Your assistance, if you please.” 
Despite his protests, the queen insisted on rising. Wobbling 
slightly in Kyne’s respectful embrace, she looked down at Laila. 
“How does she fare?” 
Sianna examined her sister’s injuries. “She’s opened her 
wound, but she’ll recover. Her babe rests safe and secure.” 
Sianna tore a strip from her shift and rebound Laila’s wound, 
then took a step toward the queen and motioned toward the 
bruise forming on her head. “May I?” 
Queen Theone hesitated. 
“Sianna is a trained healer. She’ll not harm you,” Kyne 
said. 
With a simple touch, Sianna lent the queen strength. The 
queen gave a startled gasp, then smiled her thanks and started 
to speak. 
“We need to return to camp,” Kyne interrupted. “Can you 
walk, Your Highness? Or shall I carry you?” 
Queen Theone gave a regal sniff, and her spine went rigid. 
“I can most certainly walk, young man. See to the other woman 
and let us be on our way.” She shrugged off Kyne’s hands and 
strode out of the ragged tent. 
Kyne lifted Laila in his arms and shared an amused smile 
with Sianna as they hurried after the determined queen. He 
would deal with DiSanti—soon. First he must see to the women’s 
safety. 

Queen Theone and a groggy Laila shared Hakan’s back 
while Kyne and Sianna walked. They picked their way by the 
dim glow of the stars. Warda trotted at their side. 
Around them, with the setting of the joined moons and 
waning light, the sounds of battle faded. Kyne found the silence 
deafening. 
“Is the battle done?” Sianna’s voice quivered with 
exhaustion. 
Each passing moment strengthened the link between them. 
Her emotions and thoughts became his as his became hers. He 
knew her inner struggle to block out the pain and fear swirling 
around them. To shelter her battered ka, he projected a mental 
barrier. She smiled, and he felt the tension drain out of her. 
Would that he could protect her from every horror this world 
inflicted on the innocent. 
“Mayhap in the darkness they cannot tell friend from foe,” 
Queen Theone said. 
Kyne glanced over his shoulder and asked, “Do you know 
where DiSanti holds Princess Thomasa?” 
“I know not.” Darkness couldn’t hide the look of raw pain 
in the queen’s eyes. “Three annum ago we attempted an escape. 
We were betrayed. DiSanti’s guards caught us along a mountain 
trail. When one reached for Thomasa, she kicked her quinar to 
evade him. The beast reared, and she fell down the mountainside 
into the Aron River. The current snatched her away. Her 
screams yet haunt my dreams.” Her voice dropped, along with 
her head, hiding her tormented gaze from Kyne. 
“Over the years, DiSanti has taunted me with various tales 
of her capture, torture and death, but he could never show me 
her body. A loyal servant confirmed what I already know. 
DiSanti didn’t recapture her. She is out there somewhere. 
Alone.” Her voice broke on a strangled sob. 
Kyne doubted a child of eleven annum had survived a plunge 
into rocky river rapids. That DiSanti never found her battered 
body was no proof the princess lived. The river ran for hundreds 
of leagues and split into three branches. 
Proper decorum abandoned, Kyne took the weeping 
queen’s hand in his, surprised at how fragile she felt. Her 

imperious tone and commanding attitude had effectively hidden 
her physical state. Her strength was all mental. There were no 
words to ease her ache. 
“It will be dawn soon. We must hurry. My camp is but a 
league away. You can rest there.” 
Queen Theone straightened. “Of course.” Though her voice 
trembled, her mask of control was back in place. 
Kyne led, cutting a path through the forest undergrowth 
with his sword. He grimaced as the finely honed instrument 
took a beating from the tough saplings and rough bark. His 
crystalsmith would complain when he saw the condition of the 
blade. 
Sianna walked beside Hakan to help the queen hold Laila, 
but her gaze constantly strayed to Kyne’s broad back, watching 
the easy flow of his muscles as he slashed a way through the 
forest. Firmly joined with him, she easily channeled him strength. 
In turn, he maintained the wall protecting her from the mental 
chaos roiling around them. She smiled. They made a good team. 
She allowed herself only a brief moment of sorrow for her 
father’s wasted life. In the end, his quest for power would 
destroy him. She could only pray it would not ruin Kyne as 
well. 
Despite the cool harvest air, sweat trickled down her back. 
She longed to return to the bathing cavern of Castle Vareck. At 
the thought, images of being there with Kyne made her squirm. 
Heat rushed to the juncture of her thighs. Her heart began to 
pound. 
Soon. She started at Kyne’s amused thought. 
Other than with the people of Andacor, she had never been 
able to send or receive thoughts, just emotions. With each passing 
minute the bond between Kyne and her grew. How far it would 
progress she could only guess. 
By the time they reached their encampment, dawn lightened 
the eastern sky. Tents camouflaged with paint and brush blended 
into the wooded glen, invisible until they were practically on 
them. Tired, wounded men rested around small fires clutching 
cups of steaming gana. The smell of wood smoke and the sweet 
aroma of the nourishing drink barely covered the stench of 

blood. 
Katya rushed forward, hugged Kyne and burst into speech. 
“Thank the Eternal One you’re safe. The battle is won. Runners 
carried the news of DiSanti’s desertion. Demoralized, his troops 
surrendered immediately. Graham has gone to coordinate the 
disposition of DiSanti’s commanders, disperse the men and see 
to the care of the wounded. Are you hurt? Sianna?” She looked 
over Kyne’s shoulder and saw Laila slumped in the queen’s 
arms. Her voice died away as she dropped into a deep curtsy. 
“Your Highness.” 
“Rise, my child. Please show me to a spot where I might 
lie down. I fear I am quite done in.” 
“Of course. Forgive my poor manners.” 
Queen Theone’s chuckle eased the strain of the moment. 
Kyne lifted Laila from Hakan’s back and handed her to the 
waiting arms of another man, then lifted Queen Theone down. 
Katya slipped her arm around the queen’s waist and the two 
headed toward one of the small tents. 
Sianna started after Laila. “There is much work for me 
here.” She opened herself to the emotions flowing through the 
camp. Though bruised and battered, the men’s feelings of 
restrained jubilation washed over her. Even in those grievously 
wounded, she no longer sensed deep despair. 
Kyne grabbed her arm. “Do not overtax yourself.” 
“But I must heal the injured.” 
“Do what you must, but practice good judgement. Use your 
healing talent only on those truly in need. I will join you later.” 
“Where do you go?” 
“To help Graham.” 
“Be careful. My father will not accept defeat easily. He 
will strike without conscience or warning.” 
“Do not concern yourself. DiSanti will not prevail,” Kyne’s 
tone brooked no argument. 
“The need for vengeance still burns within you. Do not let 
it reduce our love to ashes.” 
“DiSanti’s death will not change my feelings for you.” 
Sorrow filled her heart as she felt him block his emotions 
from her. “Nor my love for you.” She touched his cheek and 

gazed into his eyes. “Seek justice, but do not let revenge direct 
your actions, or it will destroy you along with my father.” And 
me. 
He pulled her against him and slanted his lips over hers in a 
possessive kiss, then put her away from him. “I will do what 
must be done.” 
Though the injured kept her busy, worry made the night 
hours drag by. The sun stood straight overhead before Kyne 
and Graham returned to camp. 
One look at Graham’s pale, sweat-strained face and Katya 
hustled the man to bed. Sianna could hear his grumbled protests 
as she turned to Kyne. His harsh expression stilled her words 
of greeting. 
Exhaustion bowed his broad shoulders and dimmed the 
sparkle in his dark eyes. Blood stained his hands and clothing 
rusty brown. Dirt and sweat streaked his face. 
“There is no glory in victory.” His head nodded forward as 
if pulled by a heavy weight, shielding his face from her gaze. 
“So many dead. Crippled. Lives destroyed. All for the greed of 
one man.” 
All through the night, Kyne had continued to provide the 
protection she needed to work with the injured. Now, in his 
anger and despair over the destruction her father had caused, 
he closed himself away from her. 
Cold and numb—pain would come later—she asked, “Do 
you reject me?” 
“Reject you?” His head shot up. Confusion disturbed his 
stony calm. “Never! You are my heart.” His arms whipped 
around her waist and drew her tight against him. Emotions 
flooded over her. Rage. Fear. Wrath. Disgust. Guilt. But beneath 
them all—love—for her. 
To find peace he needed her strength. With a full heart she 
gave, filling him with her energy. Like a never-ending ring, their 
power circled between them, growing with each exchange. 
He scooped her into his arms and carried her to a tent. 
There her laid her down upon a pallet of soft furs and provided 
her with a physical expression of his love. 

Twenty 
“May DiSanti and his misbegotten seed rot in eternal 
damnation!” Timon shook his fist at the pink and gold of the 
rising run. Tears blurred his vision, but not his resolve. DiSanti 
would pay for his crimes against Dramon. 
From the battlement, Timon stared out over the carnage 
below. Like a putrid mist, the odor of blood and urine drifted up 
from the bodies littering the open ground. Soldiers and villagers 
alike moved among the dead, searching for loved ones. Earlier 
Timon had sent out the palace guard to see to the onerous task 
of identifying and burying of the dead. 
Above, their raucous cries a discordant echo of the deep 
melodious tolling of the castle bells, scavenger birds circled and 
dipped, waiting for a chance to dive and snatch a quick, 
gruesome meal. 
“The King is dead. Long live the King.” 
He barely heard the crier. With the news of DiSanti’s defeat, 
Timon’s beloved father had smiled. For one brief moment his 
breathing eased and his gaze cleared. 
“Rule well, my son.” His throat damaged by nika, his raspy 
whisper was nearly inaudible. “Tell your mother and sister I 
love them.” 
Then he had closed his eyes and died. 
Only now did Timon realize the strength his father’s 
presence had lent him. Now the burden of rule fell solely on his 
shoulders. 
“Sire?” A servant came up behind him. 
Timon banished the tears from his eyes and his heart and 
faced Pagas, one of the castle servants who had remained 
loyal through DiSanti’s rise to power. “Yes.” 

“Rul Cathor and his entourage have arrived.”
“Already it begins.”
“Pardon, Sire?”
“Nothing.”
“The queen is with them.”
“Is she well? And my sister?” He schooled the eagerness
out of his voice. Eight annum. Would they know him? How had 
they changed? 
“The queen is resting comfortably in her quarters. Though 
tired she appears in good health. There is no sign of the princess. 
Rul Cathor requests an audience. Perhaps he has further news.” 
“Settle them into rooms and advise the Rul I will meet with 
him at six bells in my chambers.” Cathor would have no news 
of Thomasa. Three annum ago, Timon had felt the twin 
connection between them break. Search as he did with his heart 
and mind, he never again found trace of her. Hope died. His 
sister was dead. 
“As you wish.” Pagas hesitated.
“And?”
“Sianna DiSanti accompanies the Rul.”
Rage exploded. DiSanti had fled beyond reach. His daughter
was here. “I will see her burn in Oblivion.” 
*** 
Sianna gazed at the opulent palace with wide eyes. Nothing 
in her life had prepared her for the elegance of the royal palace. 
Neither the simple, utilitarian enclave of the Sisters of Light, 
her father’s well-appointed but cold castle, nor the rundown, 
overcrowded Castle Vareck could compare. Polished marble 
floors and walls, intricate tapestries woven with gold and crystal 
silk thread, and rich aronwood furnishings upholstered with rare 
furs and silks were a feast to her senses. Her booted feet clicked 
a lively rhythm on the hard floor as she wandered about the 
room and trailed her fingers over the lush fabrics. Fresh flowers 
filled the room with a heady scent. 
Laughing in delight, she twirled around and around in the 
middle of the bedchamber to which the solemn servant had 
escorted them. She dismissed her misgivings about the hostility 
the man directed toward her. 

“I gather you approve of our quarters, my lady.” 
She turned toward Kyne, smiled and nodded her head in 
what she hoped was a regal manner. “They will do, my lord.” 
Her dizzy giggle somewhat spoiled the effect. She flopped 
backward onto the bed. 
He looked down at her. “For the first time in my life I feel 
young and carefree. You’ve lifted a heavy load from my 
shoulders.” 
Had she? She chose to ignore his lingering desire for 
vengeance. Perhaps her father had fled far away, and Kyne 
would never have to choose between revenge and the love he 
professed for her. 
He spread his hand over the soft swell of her belly. 
She covered his fingers with her own. “Soon, I’ll carry a 
heavy load.” 
He laughed and dropped down next to her. For a long time 
words were not needed. 
*** 
“My condolences on the death of your father.” Kyne knelt 
before the boy king. 
“He is at peace now. Rise, Rul Cathor.” 
Kyne stood. Though he had yet to reach his full growth, 
the new king’s eyes reflected an age and wisdom bred of pain 
and adversity. Thrust at the tender age of six annum into a 
situation many men would be unable to handle, Timon had 
matured alone into a strong, honorable man. He would rule 
well. 
The tantalizing aroma of meat, bread and wine reminded 
Kyne he’d foregone mid-meal to tumble Sianna on the broad, 
silk-covered bed. At the thought, his body which he had believed 
well-sated, stirred to life. He didn’t regret the trade, but now 
his stomach emitted a loud rumble. 
Timon’s laugh eased Kyne’s embarrassment. “Come share 
last meal with me.” The king pointed toward a table loaded 
with steaming platters of food set before the blazing hearth. 
As they ate, they spoke of the future of Dramon— 
reparations, repairs, reforms. Kyne was favorably impressed 
with the young king’s knowledge of the inner workings of the 

country. Dramon would prosper under this king’s rule. DiSanti’s 
name was noticeably absent from the discussion. If the man 
was wise, he’d find a way to disappear, but Kyne doubted they 
had heard the last of him. 
Part of Kyne welcomed the coming confrontation. Aubin 
and Dramon deserved satisfaction for DiSanti’s evil. But below 
his anticipation, Kyne dreaded the consequences of striking the 
killing blow to Sianna’s father. Her warning against pursuing 
vengeance sat heavy on his mind. 
The fire burnt low and only crumbs remained when their 
conversation turned to more personal matters. 
“How fares my moth...the queen?” Timon asked. 
“Your mother is a strong woman.” 
“I barely remember her.” Timon’s facade of adulthood 
slipped, and Kyne saw the lonely young boy hidden within. 
“She insisted on bathing before presenting herself to you. 
Then she fell asleep over her meal. Her attendants put her to 
bed. I’m sure we’ll all feel the sharp edge of her tongue on the 
morrow.” 
“I look forward to it.” Timon smiled, then the mask of king 
slid over his face. “Rul Cathor, for your service to crown and 
country, your lands and title are forthwith restored. As soon as 
the money counters calculate your losses, there will be a 
monetary settlement as well. But, I also offer you a reward of 
your choosing.” 
“You are too generous, Sire. No reward is required.” 
“Very well, but know that the crown...and I...owe you a 
debt of gratitude. You have my pledge. If ever I can be of 
assistance to you, you have but to ask and I will grant any 
favor.” 
Before Kyne could respond, the king continued. “On to 
other things. I find myself in need of a First Minister. Have you 
any suggestions?” 
Kyne gave the matter some thought before he spoke. 
“Minister Derric from the Southern Province proved his loyalty 
on the field of battle. Or perhaps Rul Mikken of the Western 
Province. He has always stood with the crown. There are many 
who would serve well. I would be happy to compile a list of 

candidates for your perusal.” 
“That will not be necessary.” Timon grinned. “Are you 
typically this dense?” 
“Pardon?” 
“I wish you to accept the position of First Minister.” 
Kyne collapsed back in his chair. Next to the king, First 
Minister was the most powerful man in Dramon. That was 
how when King Dracken fell under the influence of nika, DiSanti 
was able for all practical purposes to seize control of the country. 
“First Minister? I am too young and lack experience. I’ve 
never served as minister.” Suddenly, Kyne felt decades younger 
than Timon. 
Timon leaned forward. “I have neither age nor experience, 
but I’ve learned that loyalty, compassion and wisdom count for 
far more than either. Say yes. Dramon needs men of your caliber 
at the reins. We will make a good team.” 
“Yes.” The word slipped out before Kyne could think of a 
reason to refuse the king’s offer. 
“Excellent.” The king rose. “I suggest we both retire. 
Tomorrow begins a new chapter of Dramon history.” He struck 
his right fist to his chest. “Live hard. Die well, First Minister 
Cathor.” 
Kyne surged to his feet and struck his fist to his chest. 
“Live well. Die hard, Sire.” 
Behind him, the chamber door crashed open. They whirled 
around. 
Blood streaming from his throat, a guard stumbled over the 
threshold and collapsed. 
Kyne pulled his sword and placed himself in front of the 
young king. 
A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, another guard 
dead at his feet. 
“Guards,” Timon shouted. 
“They cannot hear you.” 
DiSanti’s evil laugh sent a chill through Kyne. 
*** 
Kyne’s sudden rage caught Sianna unaware, then there 
was nothing. She bolted upright in bed. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong. 
Again he had shut himself away from her. 
DiSanti! The name echoed through her. Her father was 
here! In the palace. With Kyne. 
She scrambled off the bed toward the door. She had to go 
to him. Warda growled and followed. 
They flew through the corridors of the unknown palace, 
guided by the faint thread that still connected Kyne and her, as 
well as Warda’s unerring knack for finding his master. The 
lack of guards to stop them fed Sianna’s panic. Gasping for 
breath, she stumbled over the dead guard outside the door to 
the king’s chamber. 
Not willing to distract Kyne, she crouched alongside Warda 
in the doorway and watched the battle unfold. 
DiSanti met Kyne’s thrust. Their blades clashed. Sparks 
flew. Unarmed, the king wisely stayed out of reach of the 
flashing blades. 
Warda growled and went to jump into the fray. 
She held him back. “This fight is between Kyne and my 
father. They must finish it alone. We cannot interfere.” She 
could only pray Kyne’s lust for vengeance did not destroy him 
along with her father. 
As he fought, Kyne blocked her from his heart and mind, 
but on a deeper level they remained connected. His unfamiliar 
and uncomfortable desire to fight and kill choked her. Though 
she had no control, no say in his actions, in this they became as 
one. His body, her body, his ka, her ka were bound together. 
What he experienced, she experienced. His victory would 
become hers, as would his death. 
With a whimper of distress, Warda pressed against her 
side. His whole body trembled with suppressed need to go to 
his master’s aid. Only Sianna’s command held him back. 
The light from joined moons poured into the room and bathed 
the macabre ballet between the combatants in a reddish glow. 
Advance. Retreat. Parry. Thrust. They moved in time to a 
soundless music, a death song only they could hear. The 
discordant melody rang in Sianna’s ka. 
The clash of their blades meeting echoed the recent battle. 

Kyne’s red crystal sword shone with purity, while DiSanti’s 
white crystal seemed to reject the light the moons cast. Their 
labored breathing was a harsh refrain to the ring of their 
weapons. Blood dripped from shallow cuts to mingle with sweat, 
staining the air with a sour, metallic scent. 
His strength and spirit fading with each blow given and 
received, her father slipped on the blood-covered floor. Kyne 
pressed forward. Sianna closed her eyes against the taste of 
his blood lust on her tongue, but she couldn’t close her heart. 
His pursuit of vengeance left her powerless. 
DiSanti tripped over the dead guard and fell. His head hit 
the edge of the room’s stone hearth, and he lay still. 
Kyne’s savage exultation struck her like a death knell. Inside 
him, vengeance tore a path of devastating destruction as her 
father’s unredeemed ka reached out to ensnare him. Her 
father’s evil doomed him to death, but she couldn’t let him drag 
Kyne into the pit of damnation. 
Though physically helpless, her father’s emotions drenched 
her in a black, oily poison of hatred and twisted satisfaction. 
Like acid, it ate at Kyne’s ka and fed his desire for revenge. If 
he struck down DiSanti now, her father would achieve in death 
what he could not in life—Kyne’s downfall. She moaned in 
pain and tried to break free, but their intense emotions held her 
captive. 
She didn’t have the ability to fight them both. She needed 
Kyne’s strength of heart and mind to combat the lethargy stealing 
over her. Without him she would crumble beneath the force of 
despair swirling around her. Her body might survive, but her 
mind and ka would be lost in limbo. She sank to her knees. In 
the dark, Warda pressed against her as if to offer consolation. 
She clung to him. 
“Kyne, help me.” 
His attention focused on DiSanti, Kyne barely heard Sianna’s 
voice. But like a warm ray of light in a dark, dank cavern, her 
mental plea pierced the ominous shadow that had him in its 
grip. Her despair rocked him. He felt her terror, her fading life 
force as she teetered on the brink of a bottomless chasm. 
He looked into the darkness of the pit and realized the power 

to save or destroy her rested in his hands. Linked together, his 
actions impacted her. If he slew the defenseless DiSanti, Kyne 
would lose not only a part of himself, he would ravage Sianna’s 
ka. 
The choice was his. 
Kyne let his sword arm drop to his side. He no longer needed 
to strike the killing blow to find peace. Living and loving life 
fully would be his revenge against the devastation DiSanti had 
wrought. Let others determine the man’s final fate. 
He strode to Sianna’s side. Crouching next to her, he 
wrapped his arms around her trembling form, and with his heart, 
mind and ka he reached out and pulled her away from the edge 
of the abyss. 
Their connection was instant and powerful. Energy surged 
through them as love overpowered hate. 
She curled into his embrace, her gentle hands stroking over 
the numerous cuts and bruises DiSanti had inflicted. Warmth 
tingled in the wake of her caress. Pain faded away, replaced 
by a new vigor. 
“Enough, my love.” He captured her slim, cool fingers in 
his own to stop her. “Do not spend your strength in healing me. 
My wounds are minor.” 
“In healing you I heal myself. Your strength is mine as 
mine is now yours. In this as in all else we are now one. Together 
our power is more than doubled. We are connected. Do you 
accept this?” Her gaze rested on his face. Through their strange 
joining he felt her fear of his rejection. 
He glanced at the unconscious DiSanti. Kyne’s anger 
flickered briefly to life. Then she placed his hand over her belly, 
and her love vanquished the ghost of revenge. 
Like the sun’s rays reflecting off crystal prisms, Sianna’s 
smile blinded him inside and out. She stretched up on her toes 
and fitted her mouth to his. Hard and fast, desire surged through 
him. His sword fell unnoticed as he snatched her up until her 
feet dangled above the floor, and he feasted on her soft lips. 
Then with a groan he gripped her arms and held her away. “As 
much you tempt me, love, this is not the time or place.” 
He felt her blush as she turned aside. “Do not be shy.” He 

caught her chin in his hand and turned her face to his. The red 
glow of the joined moons deepened her blush. “When the time 
is right, I’ll welcome your advances.” 
“Stand aside, First Minister,” King Timon’s voice quavered 
with restrained anger. 
Kyne turned to face the king. “Sire?” 
There was no disguising the air of power and command 
that hovered over the young king. 
“Guards,” Timon bellowed. There was no response. He 
strode forward and stood before them. His gaze focused on 
Sianna. “Which daughter of the devil are you?” 
Instinctively, Kyne tried to move Sianna behind him, but 
she slipped out of his embrace and silenced his objection. Head 
high, she faced the king. “I am Sianna DiSanti.” 
“The bridal pawn.” Faced with Sianna’s courage and fragile 
beauty, the king’s tone softened. 
“A pawn is just how my father saw me. I had no say in his 
plans.” 
“Where is the other? The devil’s spawn? What of her?” 
“Your wit is quick, Sire,” Sianna acknowledged the king’s 
flash of humor. “She fought alongside Rul Cathor and was 
wounded in battle against our father.” 
Doubt flickered in the king’s eyes. “Why should I believe 
that DiSanti’s heir, the daughter he reared to stand at his side, 
turned against him? Though she did not come to court, news of 
her exploits in quelling the people from rebellion against DiSanti’s 
rule reached even my ears. She was your father’s strength in 
the field. Her ruthlessness nearly matched his. Why would she 
relinquish such power?” 
“For love.” 
“Love?” 
“She speaks the truth, Sire.” Kyne wrapped his arm around 
Sianna’s waist. Though she appeared calm and fearless, he felt 
her tremble as she leaned into his strength. Their fate lay in the 
king’s hands. “Laila DiSanti carries proof of her love for my 
brother in her womb. When DiSanti had Aubin murdered, she 
renounced her father and joined with those who stood against 
him.” 

Rage faded from the king’s gaze. “You would guarantee 
her allegiance to the crown?” 
“As my own, Sire.” 
“And this woman?” The king’s gaze settled on Sianna. “Do 
you chance your life on her loyalty as well?” 
Kyne turned and looked into Sianna’s eyes and smiled. “My 
love for her is no gamble. She holds my life, my heart, my ka in 
her hands. Without her I am hollow. She is my mate and carries 
my child.” 
Indecision flickered across Timon’s face. “You risk much 
for the daughters of our enemy.” 
Kyne dropped to his knees at the king’s feet and bowed his 
head in supplication. “Sire, you offered me a reward for my 
service to you. I beg you, place the lives of Laila and Sianna 
DiSanti in my hands. They are not your enemies.” 
Time stretched out unbearably as Kyne waited for his king’s 
verdict. No matter what the king decided, Kyne knew he would 
protect Sianna with his last breath even if he lost all in the 
process. 
No. Sianna’s denial sounded in his mind. He is a just king. 
He’ll not demand my death. 
Timon placed his hand on Kyne’s shoulder. “Rise. A First 
Minister begs favors from no man—not even his king. I’ll not 
force you to choose between two masters. The women’s lives 
are yours. See that they cause no further trouble.” 
Relief coursed through Kyne as he stood. Though he sensed 
Timon’s doubts, in time the young king would learn Laila’s loyalty 
and Sianna’s true worth. “You have my humble thanks, Sire.” 
“Do not thank me too quickly. There are conditions. The 
DiSanti name must cease to exist. By royal decree I declare 
that Laila DiSanti was wed to Aubin Cathor. And,” Timon’s 
sudden grin revealed the mischievous youngster hidden beneath 
the burden of kingship. “You must wed Sianna DiSanti. Is this 
acceptable to you?” he asked Sianna. 
“Yes, Sire.” Joy sparkled in Sianna’s eyes and voice. 
“And you, First Minister?” 
Kyne straightened and began to return Timon’s broad smile. 
“How tender,” DiSanti rose behind Timon. 

Kyne shoved Sianna aside and dove for his sword, but the 
point of DiSanti’s blade against the king’s throat stopped him. 
Slowly, Kyne eased his hand from his sword and stood up. 
Blood trickled down Timon’s neck, but he didn’t flinch. 
Warda’s growl warned Kyne the hound prepared to attack. 
DiSanti’s blade bit deeper. “Call off your hound, Cathor, or 
I’ll slit the boy’s throat now.” 
“Warda. Hold.” 
The hound whined, his body quivering, but he held. 
“Release the king, DiSanti. You can’t hope to harm him 
and leave this room alive.” 
DiSanti’s laugh held little mirth and no sense of sanity. “Do 
you think I care? What is there left for me to live for?” He 
turned his glare on Sianna. “I curse the day you were born. You 
and your whoring sister. All my plans. Dreams. You’ve destroyed 
them all. Well, I’ll not die alone. The king dies first. Without him 
to rally the ministers and people together, Dramon will crumble 
into anarchy. I will have my revenge.” 
“He’s gone mad,” Sianna whispered. 
“And now you die, Your Highness!” DiSanti pulled back 
his sword and prepared to drive the point into the king. 
Before Kyne could react, Sianna sprang forward. She 
knocked DiSanti’s sword aside and threw herself between them. 
The king fell backwards out of harm’s way. 
“No!” DiSanti screamed and plunged his blade into her 
back. 
Pain staggered Kyne as Sianna collapsed in his arms. He 
sank to the ground with her. 
Howling, Warda sank his teeth into DiSanti’s sword arm 
and held him. The man shrieked and fell back, struggling to 
keep his feet and prevent the hound from reaching his throat. 
Sianna’s fingers closed around Kyne’s sword and thrust it 
into his hands. Inside, he felt her life force slipping away. 
“Sav...save yourself,” she whispered. “End...his evil. Not 
for vengeance, but for sal...salvation.” 
Warm from her touch, the hilt settled into his grip. How 
could he leave her? Without him, she would surely die. And 
without her, his life held no meaning. But if he didn’t stop DiSanti, 

he would kill them all. 
“Hold on, my love.” Vengeance played no part in his actions 
as he tore himself from her side. His thoughts focused on 
Sianna’s fight for life, he sprang to his feet, whirled around and 
struck. 
The red crystal blade found its mark deep in DiSanti’s chest. 
Kyne released his grip and stepped back. 
DiSanti’s sword fell from his fingers. Hands clenched around 
the hilt of Kyne’s blade, he went to his knees and looked up. 
Disbelief etched his face. Then his gaze went blank and he fell 
forward, dead. 
Warda sniffed at the corpse, then went and lay down near 
Sianna. 
Kyne felt no elation at the death of his long-time enemy, his 
thoughts centered on Sianna’s fading life force. He knelt and 
gathered her limp body into his arms. Blood covered her back. 
Breath wheezed through her parted lips. 
He barely noticed as Timon scrambled to his feet and came 
to their side. “I’ll fetch help.” He ran from the room, shouting 
for assistance. 
Kyne tried to stanch the flow of blood. “Sianna. You must 
live. For me. For our daughter. Without you, life holds no 
meaning.” Fate could not be so cruel as to steal her from him. 
With every beat of her heart he felt a stab of pain. “You are a 
healer. Heal yourself.” Anger heated his demand. 
Her hand touched his cheek. Cold already seeped through 
her flesh. “I...cannot.” She smiled at him, but it was as if she 
looked beyond him to a world out of his view. Her serene gaze 
held no fear of death. “But you...can. You ha...have the gift. I 
felt...it when I healed...Graham. I...could not...have done 
it...without you.” 
“Help me. What do I do?” 
“Do?” She looked puzzled as life and awareness drained 
away with her blood. 
“How do I use this gift?” 
“Just be...lieve.” The glaze of death crept over her eyes 
before they fluttered closed, and she went still in his arms. 
He clutched her close and searched for their connection, 

but where her ka had touched his he found himself alone and 
empty. Though her breath still stirred the hair at the nape of his 
neck, he no longer felt her presence or her pain. For this journey 
she had separated from him. If he didn’t act soon, she would 
move to where he could not reach her. A faint flicker of light 
pierced the darkness. 
Believe. 
The word sounded in his mind. Did he believe in this gift 
Sianna had and claimed he had as well? 
How could he not believe? Without it, she was dead. 
He’d seen the miracles she wrought. Zoa. Graham. Laila. 
By the two moons, to save her, he would believe. 
He pressed his lips to hers and whispered, “I believe.” With 
every ounce of his being he willed his energy into Sianna’s 
limp, cooling body. He spread his hand over her back. Warmth 
infused him, flowing through him and into Sianna as he absorbed 
her injury. Icy agony pierced him. He bit his lip to keep from 
crying out. Wave after wave of pain washed over him. Then 
like the twilight on the Azul Mountains, a blue light flashed around 
their entwined bodies. With each crest, the pain lessened and 
finally faded. 
Chest heaving, she gave a ragged cough, and her eyes 
opened. Love shone in her now clear gaze. She smiled and 
touched his lips with her own. Inside, he felt the renewed vitality 
of her body and spirit. With hasty fingers, he searched her back 
for the wound DiSanti inflicted, but found only smooth, unbroken 
skin. Miracle or witchcraft, he didn’t care as long as she returned 
to him. 
“Are you well?” 
She placed his hand over her belly. “We are both fine.” 
He felt his daughter’s presence, her reality. The soft flutter 
beneath his fingers echoed the awareness in his mind. A laugh 
of pure joy bubbled inside him. With this promise of the future, 
the past fell away. “I would name her Atrianna, Atra for my 
mother, and for you.” 
Sianna smiled up at him. “I believe our daughter approves.” 
Her smile faded. “My father?” 
Kyne stiffened at her continued claiming of DiSanti as her 

father. “He is dead.” 
Tears trickled down her cheeks. 
“He does not deserve your grief.” Kyne could find no 
forgiveness in his heart. 
The sadness in her eyes reflected her understanding. “I 
don’t grieve for the man he was, but for the man he might have 
been. No matter the circumstances or his actions that followed, 
he gave me life. Don’t ask me to disavow him. In doing so, I 
would lose a part of myself. I cannot change the circumstances 
of my birth. Nor can I deny the blood that flows in my veins, as 
it does in Atrianna’s.” 
Kyne couldn’t deny her words when her very being had 
healed his wounded ka. “Without DiSanti you would not exist. 
For that alone, I find I can put the rest behind me. For you I 
forswore vengeance. For your love, I will put aside hatred.” 
“The future is now ours to create.” 
Kyne grinned and stroked her belly. “I do believe we already 
have.” 

Don’t Miss Elysa Hendricks’ 
Gemini Moon
ISBN: 1-893896-57-9 
A warrior by nature, a prince by birth, Ash del Gar resigns 
himself to a loveless, political marriage with the princess of a 
neighboring country. On his wedding night he discovers his bride 
is Raaka—one without a soul. For peace to reign, the marriage 
must produce children, so when a holy man tells Ash of a way 
to retrieve the princess's soul, he agrees to try. In the midst of 
a storm, through the power of a crystal medallion, Ash is struck 
by lightning and transported to Earth. 
Lame since childhood, Cathy Lawrence expresses her 
longings for love only in the imaginary world and the imaginary 
lover she's created in her art. When the naked embodiment of 
her dream lover appears in her studio, Cathy fears her fantasy 
world is becoming more real than reality. 
Using the power of the storm, Ash abducts Cathy to his 
world. Cathy struggles to find her way back to Earth and sanity, 
while Ash fights his growing love for the woman whom he 
must convince to save his world by sacrificing her soul... 
Available Now from ImaJinn Books

About the Author 
Elysa Hendricks resides in Northern Illinois, but her 
imagination allows her to visit 1870's Texas, alternate universe 
and other planets. A voracious reader, she began writing in the 
early 90's. She helped found both the Windy City and the 
Futuristic, Fantasy and Paranormal chapters of RWA. 
Owned by two cats, one dog, two sons, a mortgage and 
two car payments, she dreams of escaping to a tropical island 
with her hero husband. For the time being, she keeps warm by 
writing hot, sensual love scenes. 
Elysa loves to hear from her readers. You may contact 
Elysa through her web site, www.geminimoon.org, or write to 
her in care of ImaJinn Books.