Prologue: Daughter of Darkness

Daughter of Darkness: Book 5 of The Watchers series

Prologue

Rhada

Part Two

Cornelious Mosse rose before the sun. Sleep had been difficult for him that night—his back was aching more so than usual, and the old mattress upon which he slept only seemed to make the pain worse. He was glad to be awake, however. He had made up his mind the previous day to find someone to help in his shop, and now that he had risen before the sun, he could go into the city and be back in time for his day’s work, losing none of his working daylight hours.

He moved slowly through the house, getting dressed and making a quick breakfast while emitting groans of pain. He could no longer deny that age was getting the better of him, and he could no longer deny that he needed help. He needed a young, strong boy who could lift the heavy iron, who could hammer out the hot edges of steel, who could withstand working near the heat of the forge—all things Cornelious himself had been able to do most of his life, all things that were becoming more physically taxing on him each day.

The city was eerily quiet as he made his way towards the orphanage. He realized he had never been out this early in the morning; never experienced Axendra before its busy, waking hours.

The orphanage was nestled on the east side of town, down a small alleyway and hidden in an alcove of old buildings, almost as though whomever built it had the intention of keeping it out of public sight. Many believed a child with no parents was a thing to be ashamed of.

Cornelious approached the door slowly, reaching nervously for his coin purse. He hoped he had brought enough to purchase a child. He had no idea how much an orphan cost. The thought of purchasing a child was enough to make his hands shake. He’d never wanted children, though his late wife had. He had tried, for her sake, but she never did conceive. Cornelious knew he would never be a good father. He would be to a child exactly what his father had been to him—absent and unloving.

But this would be different. He did not think of it as becoming a father. Rather, he was purchasing an employee, one he would reimburse with food and shelter… and, perhaps a little fatherly love.

Cornelious took a deep breath, knowing he had to do this if he was going to continue producing fine works of iron. He let go of the purse and knocked loudly on the door, wondering if at such an hour all the children would still be asleep. His knock was immediately answered.

An elderly woman with haggard appearance opened the door. Her face and hands were wrinkled, and her wiry, gray hair was unkempt. She had an eyepatch over one eye and the other stared menacingly at him. Her lips were thin and tight, and pursed together in annoyance. “Yes?” she asked, her voice raspy and impatient.

“Good morning, Madam. My name is Cornelious Mosse. I have come to purchase a ward.”

The woman looked him up and down with her one eye, then nodded and pushed the door open wide enough for him to enter.

Cornelious stepped into a long corridor. There were doors on all sides, reminding him of a schoolhouse. Candles were lit along the walls, but it was still dark from lack of windows. The hallway was quiet—no sounds of children running or playing.

The woman slammed the door and stepped around him, walking with a slight limp from a bad hip.

“Wait here,” she grumbled, then trudged down the hall.

Cornelious waited, taking a few paces here and there, running his hand over the wall and around some of the doors, listening for any sounds. There was nothing. He seemed to be completely alone.

After several long moments, footsteps echoed towards him. He turned to face the newcomer. She was a younger woman than the one he’d just spoken with, but much larger in stature, and surprisingly less friendly looking, though she was smiling as she made her way towards him.

“Good morning, Sir,” she said, her voice cheery and loud. “I am the Nanny of this establishment, but you may call me Miss Obina.”

“How do you do?”

Miss Obina didn’t answer. She stopped just a few paces away and said, “I’ve been told you are interested in acquiring a ward?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“And have you ten silver, Sir?”

“Ten?” Cornelious looked down to his purse. He had hoped it would not cost so much, for ten was all he had, but he knew he could not walk away from here without help. If he was unable to continue working, his purse would be even more empty.

“I have,” he said. He held up the purse.

Miss Obina’s smile grew. “I need to ask several questions to evaluate whether you will provide good care for the child.”

“All right.”

Miss Obina motioned for Cornelious to follow. She led him down the hall, around a corner, and towards a small office near the end. On their way, they passed the dining room. Cornelious now knew why the orphanage was so quiet. All the children were in the dining hall, eating their breakfasts and not making a sound. The girls were seated on one side of the room, the boys on the other.

Inside Miss Obina’s office, Cornelious sat in the first chair he came to. Miss Obina plopped herself down at her desk, drew a quill and an inkwell from a drawer, and straightened out a piece of parchment.

“Might I have your name, Sir?”

“Cornelious Mosse.”

She scribbled it down.

“And occupation?”

“Blacksmith.”

“Annual income?”

“Five gold, give or take.”

Miss Obina glanced up at this. “That is not much, Sir.”

Cornelious cleared his throat. “I know it isn’t, but I have steady clients, and it is more than enough to provide food and clothing for a child.”

“And what is your purpose in acquiring a child today?” Miss Obina’s voice was slightly less friendly than it had been, which seemed impossible.

“I need someone to help in my shop. I am getting older, after all. I want to train a pupil who will one day inherit it all from me. I have no children of my own.”

Miss Obina scrutinized him for a moment. He knew his income was less than ideal but hoped she would sympathize with his need for help.

She suddenly smiled again and set her quill down. “I assume you wish to examine the boys, then?”

Cornelious let out a breath of relief and nodded.

“I will assemble them in the courtyard. Give me a few moments, please.” She stood and shuffled around her desk, knocking a spare quill to the ground with her belly.

After a short period of silence, Miss Obina returned. She led Cornelious back down the hallway and through a door to the left. It opened into a courtyard where the children spent their outdoor time. There was nothing of entertainment outside, just an odd wooden post in the center, holding up a trellis to provide a little shade. The sun was beginning to rise, giving enough light for Cornelious to see the boys clearly.

There were twenty-three young boys, ranging in ages from three years old, up to almost sixteen by the looks of them. Cornelious needed an older child, but not one almost old enough to venture out into the world on his own.

“I would like to see the children ranging in ages of eleven to thirteen, please.”

Miss Obina nodded and snapped her fingers at the one-eyed woman, whom Cornelious just realized had followed them outside. She began pulling the boys back inside who were not within Cornelious’s specifications. The dejected looks they shot at him before disappearing inside the orphanage broke his heart, but he could not help them. He knew what he needed, and he would accept nothing else. He only had enough coin for one child.

There were ten boys left, scooting in closer to form a tighter line. They were all small and scraggly looking; too small for their ages, as though they had not been properly nourished.

Cornelious started at one end of the line and walked slowly down it, looking the young boys up and down carefully, smiling at each of them. Some of them returned the smile, trying to appear friendly, and others avoided eye contact.

There was one boy who looked promising. A tall lad, probably twelve or thirteen. He had long dark hair and sharp eyes. He was standing at attention, in military fashion—straight back, eyes forward, not blinking. He was not as scrawny as the others. Cornelious looked him over extra carefully, trying to find any deformations that might hinder his work. He found nothing. He continued, all the way to the end of the line, and Miss Obina walked away, towards the one-eyed woman to whisper something to her.

Cornelious made his decision before reaching the end of the line. He smiled to himself, feeling elated that he would finally have some help, some reprieve for his tired muscles and aching joints. But as Cornelious was about to turn to Miss Obina and announce his choice, a small movement caught the corner of his eye.

He turned and saw, behind the line of boys, around a darkened corner of the courtyard, a face, small and pale. The child was peering around the corner, making no sound, just staring with two wide, gray eyes. It was a girl, frightened looking and apparently trying to hide, for when she saw Cornelious staring at her, she ducked around the corner, vanishing from view.

Curious, Cornelious crept forward, peering around the corner at the child. She was huddled near the wall, her knees pulled up close to her chest. Her chin rested on her knees and her eyes stared up at him as though she feared him.

Cornelious was stunned at the ragged appearance of the girl. The sad state of the boys he’d just examined and felt sorry for were nothing compared to her. The only thing she wore was a thin night gown, too small for her growing frame. Her long black hair was tangled and greasy. Her cheeks were bright red from the cold, and her face was dirty. She was scrawny as well. Cornelious realized she was much thinner than the other children. She looked starved.

He knelt beside her, trying to appear less intimidating. The girl began to tremble when he came close, and she pressed herself as far as she could against the wall.

“Hello,” he said, putting a smile on his face and trying his best to sound friendly. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

The girl did not answer.

“My name is Cornelious. What is your name, young one?”

Still no answer. The girl shuddered and tried to hide away her face. She was terrified of him, though he could not understand why.

Cornelious looked her over further, seeing now that her arms and legs were covered in scratches and bruises, some of the bruises taking on the shape of fingers.

“Sir?” the voice was Miss Obina’s.

The girl looked up at the sound, her eyes wide with fright and her body trembling even more. Cornelious realized he had probably gotten her in trouble.

Miss Obina came around the corner with a smile upon her face. “Oh, here you are. I turned around for a moment and you were gone. I thought perhaps you had changed your mind.”

“No,” Cornelious said, getting slowly to his feet, revealing the young girl to Miss Obina.

Obina’s smile vanished when she saw the girl. Her lips tightened, and the corners of her eyes wrinkled in rage.

“You!” she snarled, pointing a finger in anger. “How many times must I tell you, Rhada, you are not allowed to come out here outside allotted hours?” She stormed over to Rhada and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her roughly to her feet. Rhada cried out in pain as Obina lifted her, a sound that made Cornelious’s heart shatter.

“Get inside, you little brat!” Obina shouted, shoving Rhada forward, making her lose her balance. She landed on her face. Cornelious bent to help her back to her feet, seeing a small scratch on her cheek that was now bleeding. She was crying when she stood but pulled herself away from him and ran inside.

Cornelious turned back to Obina, about to scold the woman for being so cruel to a child, but Obina spoke before he could say anything. “Sometimes these children forget who is in charge. If we do not keep them in order, they run amuck and destroy the place.” The large woman laughed, then wrapped her arm underneath Cornelious’s and led him back to the courtyard.

“Have you made your decision, then?” she asked.

“I have,” Cornelious said, his tone turned cold.

“Wonderful! Let’s return to my office and discuss the terms.” She led him inside, while the one-eyed woman escorted the boys back to the dining room.

Cornelious took the same seat he had occupied earlier in her office. She plopped back down in her chair, lifted the quill and dipped it in the ink, ready to make notes.

“Now then, which boy have you chosen? You need only to describe him and I can tell you the name.”

“I’ll take Rhada.”

Miss Obina glanced up, surprised. Her quill hovered over the parchment and her smile vanished.

“Rhada? That little sprat? Why would you want her? I thought you wanted a strong young man to help in your shop?”

“I did. But none of the young men you showed me today are strong. Quite in fact, I’d say they are weak, even for their ages.”

Miss Obina’s face softened as she said, “Sir, believe me, you don’t want Rhada. She is a troublemaker, to say the least. She is constantly starting fights with the other girls and always disobeying my orders.”

“She looks hungry,” Cornelious said.

“Well, yes, but that is her own fault. She refuses to participate with the other children, often missing her meals so she can rifle through their belongings while they eat.”

“I can’t imagine a situation where a starving child would deny themselves the chance to eat, unless they were so mistreated, they would rather starve than join the others in the dining hall.”

Miss Obina’s features hardened again. She did not respond.

“I’ll be leaving with Rhada, Madam. That is my decision.”

Miss Obina scribbled the name on the parchment then stood. “Whatever you wish, Sir, but you should know that you cannot return her.”

“I won’t.”

Miss Obina moved to the door and called out into the hallway, “Carisa! Fetch Rhada and tell her to gather her things.” She came back into the office and told Cornelious they would meet him outside.

Cornelious rose, counted out the ten silver pieces, then left.

They brought Rhada in the same ratty nightgown she’d been wearing when he first saw her. They had made a feeble attempt to wipe the dirt and blood from her face, but she still looked dirty and frightened.

Cornelious smiled at her, seeing that she had a ragged doll draped in her arms. She looked too old to be playing with dolls.

“Here you are,” Miss Obina said, shoving the girl towards him. “Enjoy.” She stepped back into the orphanage and slammed the door.

Rhada jumped at the sound, then turned her eyes up to Cornelious, still looking intimidated under his gaze.

Cornelious lowered himself to one knee and reached up to brush some hair from Rhada’s face. She flinched away and did not let him touch her.

“Now, child,” Cornelious said, trying to take on a fatherly tone. “I don’t know what you have suffered in your short life, but I promise, you have nothing to fear from me. I am going to take care of you from now on, all right?”

Rhada still did not speak, but she slowly consented to trust him and nodded her head.

“How old are you?”

This time, she did answer. “Twelve,” she said, her voice low and squeaky.

“Twelve. That is a good age.” He pointed at the doll. “Do you think twelve is a little old to be playing with dolls?”

Rhada looked down at the doll, staring at the stains on its clothes. She nodded slowly.

“Is this all you have to bring with you?” he asked.

Rhada looked back up and nodded again. “This is all that belongs to me, Sir.”

Cornelious was appalled. The girl had not been given proper clothes. She possessed no blankets, no hats, no gloves. It was a wonder to him she had not frozen to death. He wanted to take her into the city and buy new things for her, but he’d spent all his coin on getting her out of the orphanage.

“And how long have you been here, Rhada?”

“Since I was four,” she said.

“That is a long time.”

She nodded.

“And where are your parents? Have they passed away?”

Rhada trembled as she answered, looking to be on the verge of tears. “My mother brought me here and left me. I never knew my father.”

Cornelious nodded. It was a typical story. A young couple, letting their desires take over their senses, the woman being forced to have the child and the man fleeing for a different life. Raising a child alone was a hard thing to do. Many children were abandoned by their unwed mothers.

Cornelious stood and reached his hand out to her. She gazed at it for a moment before seeming to decide he wasn’t going to hurt her, then placed her own, small hand in his. They walked together, like father and daughter. Anyone who saw them passing on the streets would think them nothing else.

Rhada glanced back at the orphanage one last time before leaving the alcove. She loosened her grip on her doll, letting it fall to the ground. She turned away from it and never looked back.

“Papa,” Rhada said, hardly above a whisper. She was leaning over his bed, speaking into his ear, hoping not to frighten him awake, but the old man did not stir. He was becoming a deep sleeper.

Rhada sighed and stood up, deciding to get the day started without him. She could do all the work herself. Papa needed his rest.

First, Rhada went to the kitchen and started the kettle. Papa liked his tea in the morning, as did she. She took the coin purse and a small basket, then left the house, trotting down the road towards market square. The sun was just rising, and the markets were just opening. She would have first pick of everything.

“Good morning, Miss,” a woman behind her produce cart said. Rhada saw her once a week when she came shopping. She was a young woman, not much older than Rhada, but already had four children. They laughed and played together behind the cart.

“Good morning,” Rhada replied. She smiled at the children, then looked over the goods in the cart. “How is your family?”

The woman glanced back at her rowdy children and grinned. “Loud and obnoxious. Same as always.”

Rhada purchased a bag of strawberries, four large apples, several pears, and some potatoes. She moved on to the baker’s cart and bought a loaf of warm bread, not even an hour out of the oven. She purchased some dried, salted fish from Lerous, a new bottle of red wine—also from Lerous—a dozen eggs, and some cheese.

When she returned home, Papa was sitting at the table, sipping his tea. He’d poured a mug for Rhada. It was sitting on the table, steam rising into the air.

“Breakfast will be ready in a few moments, Papa,” she said, placing the basket on the counter.

“Good. I am famished. Will you be finishing the hinges for Sir Crulin’s doors today?” he asked.

Rhada nodded. Making door hinges was not the most glamorous job she’d ever had, but she and Papa could not afford to turn down any job. Rhada would prefer to make swords, which on occasion, she was able to do. Only prestigious families with riches could afford such a thing, and they often came to Papa’s shop with an order. Many of the swords would never be used in battle. Rich families liked to have them as an heirloom to pass on to their children. This fact did not bother Rhada. She admired the technique that went into crafting a well-balanced blade, even if it was never used as intended. She and Papa could make fine swords and daggers, and she knew it was Papa’s dream, too. Acquiring the royal contract had been his life’s goal, making weapons and armor for the king’s army, but the job remained their rival’s, the Mullson family. The royal contract had brought the Mullson’s wealth beyond imagination. Rhada knew that Papa was jealous. The only reason Sir Mullson had been granted the contract over Papa was because he had four strong boys to help in his shop. They could produce in a week what Rhada and Papa could produce in a month.

It made Rhada angry and sad when she thought on it. The Mullson’s were not better at the craft than she and Papa. He had given up his dream when he adopted her. People whispered behind their backs, saying that a smithy was no place for a young lady. The King must have thought so as well.

Rhada cooked some eggs, sliced some cheese, and shared a glass of wine with Papa, their morning ritual. They would have another glass when their work was finished.

The shop was in the front of the house, beneath a low hanging roof. The walls were open, allowing anyone to walk up whilst they worked. Rhada focused herself on the hinges. She had six more to make. Sir Crulin had added another section to his already large estate and had contracted Papa for several small items.

Rhada was dragging out the pieces of iron she’d placed on the shelf yesterday, while Papa was lighting the forge. It would take a little while for the forge to reach a proper temperature, so Rhada began sorting the iron and laying out the pieces Papa would need to finish his gate, also for Sir Crulin’s house.

“Young Thomas Halston came by again yesterday,” he said.

Rhada did not respond. She focused on the iron, trying to ignore what Papa said. She knew where this conversation was going and wanted no part of it.

“He inquired about you.”

Rhada dropped an iron bar, barely missing her toes. She cursed and picked it up.

“He is rather handsome, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No,” she said flatly.

“Rhada…”

“Papa, please, can we not talk about this?”

Papa sighed but said no more. Rhada knew he wanted her to get married and start a family. She was nineteen years old now, and most girls her age were married with a child or two, but the idea was not appealing to her. Papa had used the argument that people were talking behind her back, calling her unfeminine. She didn’t care. She knew she wasn’t like most girls and it did not bother her. Besides, she could run the smithy on her own just like any man could. She didn’t need a husband to help, or little children running around, getting in the way. She was perfectly happy keeping herself occupied with her work.

But also, she was already in love.

His name was Danathin, and he was the second to youngest of the Mullson boys. She had not told Papa yet, for he would feel betrayed, and Danathin had not told his father either, for he would certainly be enraged, so they kept their love a secret.

Later that day, Rhada spotted Danathin a little distance off, circling round the stables and peering up at her with small grins. Rhada returned these smiles. He mouthed the word ‘finished’ to her. She shook her head.

The sun was beginning to set, and Rhada was just finishing the last door hinge. Her face was sweaty, and her hair was tangled. She wanted to change her clothes, replace her tight shirt and leather pants for one of her house gowns, but Danathin was still lurking around the stables. She placed the hinge in the basket with all the others, told Papa she was going to feed the horses, then walked around the house, finding Danathin there.

He reached for her, wrapping his arms over her shoulders and pulling her in close to kiss her. Rhada melted in his arms, melted into his kiss. She moaned with pleasure, with desire, as their bodies pressed against each other. They had not slept together. Rhada would not allow it, but she wanted to so badly, it drove her mad. She reached up and ran her fingers through his curly, blond hair.

Danathin pulled away and said, “My want for you becomes unbearable when I watch you work.”

“Oh, please. I am sweaty and dirty and probably smell like a pig.”

Danathin smiled. “I like you this way.” He kissed her again.

“Rhada?” It was Papa’s voice calling for her.

She pushed Danathin away and he ran down the road and out of sight. She lifted the pitchfork and moved to the haystack, trying to straighten her hair and shirt where Danathin’s hands had made a mess. She turned as Papa poked his head around the corner.

“Come up to the house at once,” he said, his voice slightly frantic.

Rhada’s heart began to pound. She thought, from the tone in his voice, he had perhaps seen her wrapped in Danathin’s arms. She would be scolded, maybe even confined to the house for a while, and forbidden to ever see him again.

Rhada leaned the pitchfork back against the wall, ignoring the angry knickers of the horses as she walked by. They were hungry but would have to wait. She came around the shop, and froze.

Her father was standing near the forge, leaning against the post of the half-wall that separated their shop from the street. In the street stood two castle guards, wearing their leather and chainmail armor, swords strapped to their belts. Between them, was the High Protector.

He was a tall man, with white hair and deep blue eyes. His face was not exactly wrinkled but did show the signs of age. His armor was less grandiose than the guards, dark leather with metal plates, but he wore a white cloak, which meant he was on royal business, and on his belt, hanging at his hip, was the sword Bloodbinder. Rhada stared wide-eyed at it, unable to move or speak. Something had taken hold of her as she stared at the hilt of the sword. It wasn’t fear or awe—it was respect. The sword required a certain reverence from those in its presence. Rhada found herself wishing he would unsheathe it so she could see the infamous blade, but she regained her composure and bowed to the High Protector instead.

“This is my ward, Rhada,” Papa said.

Viktor’s eyes flashed to her. She could not move under his gaze. His eyes were fierce, engaging. They were the eyes of a man who had lived nearly two hundred years. The things those eyes have seen, the knowledge behind those eyes, were incomprehensible to her. She felt very small in his presence, like a mouse standing beneath a bear.

Viktor grinned warmly at her, then turned back to Papa. “I have met her before, when you petitioned for our contract. I was impressed with her work, indeed.”

Papa smiled widely. It was apparent he thought the High Protector had come to offer some work to them. Rhada had a feeling that was not the case.

“The High Protector has asked me to take a walk with him,” Papa said, looking at her. “Clean up while I’m gone, will you?”

Rhada nodded.

Viktor turned and walked away, Papa following at his side. The two guards took up positions in the rear and Rhada watched them in awe as they disappeared down the road.

Rhada’s heart was beating furiously. She knew the High Protector had not come to offer Papa work—he had come for Papa. It was no secret he had been having trouble finding a successor. Three young men had already died taking the test. And it was whispered they had died all because the High Protector refused to acknowledge who was truly supposed to wield the sword. But now Rhada knew why. Papa was not a young man. Rhada wondered how the High Protector expected him to be able to take the position, to lead the King’s armies and brandish the heavy sword. It was absurd. He would die taking the test, just like the others, and then Rhada would join the rest of the realm in believing the High Protector deserved to be imprisoned. If he took Papa away from her, she would petition the King for punishment against Viktor.

Rhada began picking up pieces of iron and angrily throwing them into piles. She slammed the hammer down into its box and shoved the box back on the shelf. When she turned around, she jumped in fright. Danathin was only two paces away from her.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, angry that he had come. Papa could return and see them together. Danathin standing in Papa’s shop would be enough to enrage him.

“I saw your Old Man leave with the High Protector. Is he commissioning him for some work?”

Rhada shook her head, feeling tears coming to her eyes. “I do not believe so. I… I think he has come to take Papa to the castle, to take the test. I fear I may never see him again.” She could contain her tears no longer. She began to cry, and Danathin stepped forward to wrap her in his arms.

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“Why else would he come?”

“Your Papa is an old man. Surely the High Protector cannot want him to take his place?”

“The High Protector does not choose, the sword does.” Rhada pushed away and returned to her work. “He’ll be back soon, and I need to clean up. You should go before he returns.”

Danathin hesitated for a moment, then said, “Will I see you tonight?”

Rhada nodded and he left.

An hour passed before Papa returned. Rhada had cleaned the shop, fed the horses, and was now pouring their afternoon wine when he came into the house. She looked up in curiosity as he plopped himself down at the table, exhausted, his face stricken with concern. Rhada sliced some bread for him, set the wine next to his plate, then took a seat opposite him.

“Papa?” she said, trying to get him to look at her. When he did, she was surprised to find tears in his eyes, and she knew that she had been right. Viktor meant to take him away from her.

“We must talk, Rhada,” he said in a low voice, taking up the wine and drinking. Rhada waited patiently for him to continue.

“Viktor has called the next chosen one for the test.”

Rhada leaned forward and said in a panicked voice, “You cannot go, Papa. You won’t survive it. Surely, he can see that you are too far along in years. He cannot possibly believe you to be the one to take the title.”

“He doesn’t,” Papa said, turning his red eyes up at her. “He believes it is you.”

Rhada froze. Her eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped. She leaned back in her chair, her gaze falling away from Papa and landing on the wine glass before her.

“Me?” she whispered, unable to believe it. “There must be some mistake?”

“That is what I said. But there is no mistake. Viktor is sure of it. He has called you to take the test.”

Rhada felt more tears in her eyes. She did not want to go to the castle for the test. She wasn’t ready to die. True, her life as a child had been hard, but her life as a young woman was wonderful. She had many good years ahead of her. She could not just throw it all away because some senile old man believed her to be chosen for his position. How could he be certain? He’d been certain about all those young men he’d called for the test. Now they were all buried in the dirt and gone from this world forever.

Rhada pushed herself away from the table and began pacing the kitchen. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her hands shook.

“Papa, don’t let them take me. I don’t want to go! I want to stay here with you!” She stopped pacing and began to shudder as she cried.

Cornelious stood and came around the table. He wrapped her in his arms and said softly, “Hush, now. Everything will be all right. You don’t have to go.”

Rhada gazed up, surprised. She knew his words were untrue. Everyone had to take the test once called or be executed as a traitor.

“The King has declared that you have a choice. If you choose not to go, you will not be punished. They are giving you until sunrise to make your decision.”

Rhada’s heart stopped thrumming and her hands stopped shaking. “I will stay here, then,” she said, smiling up at Papa. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders and sighed a breath of relief.

“I hate to say this, but perhaps you should put some more thought into it. The sword does not call on someone for no reason, and the realm always needs a High Protector.”

“That person is not me, Papa. I can’t fathom doing that job. I know nothing of military matters: commanding armies and fighting in battles. That is not the life I was born for.”

Rhada went back to the table and poured more wine, feeling less on edge. She drank her glass and peered out the window. The sun was setting, and Danathin would be waiting for her. She kissed Papa on the cheek and said she was going for her nightly walk.

“Perhaps you should stay so we can discuss this further?”

Rhada shook her head. “No need. I’ve made up my mind.” She left through the front door and down to the gates of the city. The city guards let her through. They knew she came for her walk at the same hour every day. They nodded to her as she left.

Danathin was waiting near the edge of the trees. He took her hand in his and led her along, into the forest and to the edge of a small stream where they always sat and talked.

“Did you find out what the High Protector wanted with your Old Man?”

“It wasn’t Papa he came for, it was me.”

Danathin gazed up, surprised, waiting for more detail.

“He came to call upon me to take the test.”

“What?” Danathin’s voice was loud and panicked. He leaned away from her and said, “You? He wants you to be the next High Protector?”

Rhada narrowed her eyes, a bit offended by his tone. “Yes, me. The King has said that I can choose for myself whether to take the test or not. I decided not to. I think the High Protector has made a mistake.”

“Damn right he has,” Danathin said angrily. He grabbed Rhada by the shoulders and pulled her in close. “No one can take you from me. You are mine, now and forever.”

Rhada allowed him to hold her, though she felt put-off by his words. She loved him, there was no question in her mind, but sometimes he became a little possessive of her.

“Promise me you will not go to the castle.”

Rhada nodded. “You have nothing to fear. I don’t want to die.”

“Still, I want to hear you say it.”

“I promise,” Rhada said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Danathin sighed, then said, “Will you marry me, Rhada?”

Rhada looked up, her eyes filling with tears. Danathin was smiling.

“Yes,” she whispered.

When it was dark, Rhada crept back into her house. She tip-toed to Papa’s room but did not need to enter—she heard his snores echoing down the hall. She went back to the front door, motioning for Danathin to come inside. She told him to be quiet as they crept past Papa’s door. They went into Rhada’s room and shut the door softly.

Danathin moved to the curtains near the window of her balcony and opened them, letting in the moonlight. She came closer to him and he pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly. Rhada could not deny her want for him any longer. And if they were to be married, what was the harm in being intimate on this night?

She reached up and pulled at his cotton shirt, lifting it over his head and tossing it aside. She ran her hands over his tight chest, breathing heavily as she did so.

Danathin grabbed her shirt by the hem and pulled it over her head. He looked at her breasts for a moment, unable to move, then lowered his lips to them. Rhada leaned her head back and moaned in pleasure. He stepped carefully, pushing her to the bed. He pulled the tie on her pants and removed them. She sat up tall and did the same, shocked at what she saw. She had never seen a naked man before, and almost giggled in embarrassment.

Danathin crawled onto the bed, then lowered himself slowly on top of her. She smiled at the warmth of his flesh, like a blanket. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he pushed into her. Rhada gasped from a sharp pain and squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn’t realized it would hurt so much. Danathin looked up and asked if she was all right. Rhada nodded, then placed her hands on his hips, helping him get over his fear of hurting her.

They moved together, their breaths as one. Rhada gazed up to the moonlight, seeing dark clouds beginning to roll over it. She gasped in pleasure, and closed her eyes, focusing her thoughts on her body, on how it felt to have Danathin atop her, inside of her. She forgot everything else.

Rhada woke—she wasn’t certain why. She sat upright in bed, looking dazedly around her room. Danathin was there next to her, snoring softly. She gazed up to the window, seeing the curtains flapping in the wind. Rain was tapping at the open window, and a sudden flash of lightning broke out over the sky.

Rhada stood, careful not to wake Danathin, and walked out to the balcony. It was not a large balcony, barely big enough for two people to stand on at once, but she often came out here at night when the moon was full, and the air was warm. Going outside during a storm was not something she would normally do, but she felt drawn to the outside, as though an invisible force was pulling her.

She stepped out into the cold rain and wind, blinking against the stinging droplets. She looked up to the sky, seeing the stubborn moon trying to shine through the storm clouds.

A sudden lightning bolt made Rhada jump. Her gaze turned towards the city, and then, fell upon the castle. From her balcony, she could see it in the distance, resting upon its hilltop, menacing and foreboding. She shuddered again as lightning crashed and thunder rolled over the city. When the thunder died, she heard something else, something she could not explain.

It was a hum, low and comforting. It enveloped her, wrapping around her to provide warmth. She relaxed for a moment and focused on the sound, like a buzzing in her head. It was calling to her, trying to guide her to something. That was the feeling she got from it. She could feel it pulling, and knew where it was pulling her to.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the drab walls of the castle. Rhada could not peel her eyes away from it. Her destiny lay within its walls—her future. She could deny it no longer. She felt it in her heart, in her soul. She could hear Bloodbinder calling to her. Though she was not yet bound to it, she knew it was the sword. She felt its presence all around her. She could not refuse the call.

Though she feared a life as High Protector, she knew, with no doubt, it was her duty. She turned and went back inside, pulled a gown from her wardrobe and dressed quietly. She ran a comb through her hair, and put it back with a leather strap, pulled her boots on, then stood up tall and looked regretfully at Danathin. He lay on his back, one arm draped over his head, bare chest turning blue with the flash of lightning. She was never meant to be with him; never meant to marry or have children. This she knew. This she had always known. She was meant for something much greater. To deny herself that future would be to deny herself a future at all.

She sighed and left, pulling a cloak over her shoulders as she descended the stairs. She pushed the front door open and ran through the rain and mud towards the stables, all the while still hearing the call of Bloodbinder.

She saddled her white mare and led her by the reins from the stables, then mounted and kicked the beast into a run, trotting through the empty streets, up the winding path of the hill and over the castle grounds. She had never been this close to the castle before. She stopped just outside its wide, front doors and stared up at it in awe. She had never known its true size. It loomed over her like a monster ready to swallow her up.

Two sentries came down from the entrance to greet her. They seemed to know who she was, for one of them helped her down from the saddle, and the other took her horse around towards the stables. Rhada followed her helper inside, marveling at the grand corridor of the castle, feeling along its walls with her hand. Tapestries hung from the walls, depicting long ago kings, queens, and battles. Rhada stared at each one as she passed.

The sentry stopped just outside two large, double doors—doors larger than any others she’d seen. He turned to face her, pulling her hood down over her shoulders to expose her face.

“You will address the King as ‘his Majesty’. You will address the Queen as ‘her Majesty’. You will address the High Protector as ‘Sir’. You will bow to them all upon entrance.”

Rhada nodded, feeling a nervous fluttering in her chest. She swallowed hard and stiffened as the sentry pushed the doors open. Light from the great hall spilled out into the corridor and Rhada squinted against it before following him in.

She was surprised to find the room partially full of people. Sentries lined the walls, standing at attention. Servants sat near serving stations, trying to stay awake at such a late hour. She turned her gaze forward and saw the King and Queen, sitting in their thrones, heads in their hands, also trying to stay awake. As she approached, they sat up taller. They had all been waiting for her.

Viktor was also there, sitting at a table with a flagon of ale in his hand. He stood when Rhada approached. Her gaze fell on his sudden movement, then her gaze lowered to the sword. She could hear it loud and clear now, calling to her.

The sentry nudged her shoulder, and Rhada started, then bowed to the King and Queen and to Viktor.

“You came,” Viktor said, stepping around the sentry to look at her.

“Yes, Sir. I came.” She glanced up, meeting his gaze for the second time that day.

“I did not think you would.”

“Neither did I.”

King Darrion stepped down from his throne and approached. Rhada felt intimidated in his presence. She kept her gaze firm on him, however, thinking it might be rude to look away.

“I assume you are aware of the consequence of failing this test, young lady?” the King asked irritably. He looked tired and unhappy to be awake at this hour.

“Yes, Majesty,” she replied respectfully.

King Darrion nodded. He turned to Viktor. “If this test fails, I will not be able to save you, Viktor. The people demand justice and justice will have to be given.”

“I understand,” Viktor said. He nodded to his King, then turned back to Rhada.

Rhada gasped in surprise when two sentries came from behind and grabbed her by the shoulders. They placed their palms firmly upon her, so she could not move, and Viktor unsheathed the sword.

Rhada inhaled deeply as the blade glistened in the firelight. The steel was bright and looked like new. There was a blood-red streak running along its center, as though uncleaned from its last battle, and amongst the blood, words were etched. She read the inscription to herself, Lim Canarte Bae Elei, and wondered what it meant. She could hear the sword singing, telling her not to fear it.

Viktor approached slowly, holding the sword in both hands. He placed the tip of the blade at the center of her chest, then his eyes fell into her gaze.

“The blade that was bound in blood must bind to the blood of its new master. It must see the true nature of one’s heart to give itself over.”

The words sounded distant and practiced. Rhada could hardly hear them over the pounding of her heart. She stiffened and tried not to move, feeling the cold steel like a pinprick against her chest.

“Are you certain you are ready for this?” he whispered, almost as if he wanted her to change her mind.

Bloodbinder hummed at her, as though eager to be bound to her. She nodded.

Viktor grimaced, then pressed the blade slightly forward. Rhada felt it cut through her skin. She clenched her jaw, then Viktor thrust the sword with force.

Rhada gasped against the flash of pain that blinded her. And then everything was dark, her consciousness fled.

When she reopened her eyes, she was lying on the floor of the great hall. Many men were standing around her; the guards who had held her in place, Viktor, even the King was peering down at her.

The sentries helped her back to her feet, while Viktor took a few steps back. He seemed ill, staggering unsteadily. Rhada felt ill as well. Her heart, now beating once again, was throbbing. She felt pain in her chest and looked down to find her gown soaked in blood. There was a burning inside of her, a pulsing warmth near her heart, and then she heard Bloodbinder once again, louder and clearer than before. It was as if the sword had been buried beneath water before she was bound to it, its voice muffled and distant, but now it was out of the water and singing with clarity. Viktor held the sword out lengthwise towards her, struggling down to his knees as he offered it up.

Rhada was reluctant at first, but then reached out and grabbed the sword by the hilt. Energy surged through her palm and up her arm. She felt strength course through her body and her illness and pain suddenly vanished. She grasped the sword in both hands, looking the blade over carefully.

“All hail the High Protector!” one of the sentries shouted. The words were echoed by the rest of the people in the room. Viktor shouted them louder than anyone else, bowing his head low. All the others, save for the King and Queen, got down on their knees, bowing in respect for their new commander.

Rhada lowered Bloodbinder and gazed in awe at the room. She had never imagined she would be bowed to, or called ‘High Protector’. It did not feel real. It felt like a dream, though Bloodbinder was most certainly real. The feelings she gained from the sword were real. The knowledge that she was meant to be here, the sword in her possession, was real.

She scanned the entire room, feeling elated, joyous, and… a little frightened. Then she looked towards the doors of the great hall and she stopped. Danathin was there, standing in the entrance. He had followed her; had convinced the guards to let him inside. She did not go to him, did not smile or cry, did not try to explain her reason for breaking her promise. The scowl on Danathin’s face told her to stay far away. He glowered at her for several moments, until the people in the room began to stand out of their bows. Then he turned and left, and she was never to see him again.

Rhada did her best to move quietly through the city. It was still the early hours of morning; the only light to guide her way was that of the predawn glow. Not many people had stirred yet from their homes. Rhada did not want to disturb the peace.

She pulled her horse to a stop outside the chapel and dismounted. A chapel guard came to take the reins from her, bowed low, then moved her horse away towards the stables. She had sent word the previous day that she would be coming, and the chapel priest had made certain there would be guards to greet her.

The guards of the chapel were not actually guards. They were priests in training, wearing dark robes and short-cropped hair. Rhada felt unease in their presence, though there was no need to. No one worshiped the old Gods anymore. In fact, religion itself had died many years ago, before her time. The priests were glorified caretakers of this once sacred place.

Another guard waited for her at the door, bowing to her as she passed. Normally, it was required of any person entering the chapel to disarm themselves, but no one would dare ask Rhada to part with Bloodbinder. Wherever she went, so too did the sword.

Rhada moved quickly through the quiet chapel. It was lit with candles but they only managed to add a warm glow to the darkness. Its light usually came from the large windows along the walls. Once the sun was up, this room would have no need for candle light. She passed the ancient shrines, four alcoves in the back wall, paying tribute to the old Gods, now dusty and forgotten. There was no water in the chalice, the windpipes were rusted, and the once green vines that draped to the floor were now withered away. There was no candle in the fourth shrine. But none of this meant anything to her as she walked by.

She made for the back door, which would lead her to the cemetery. Here she stopped, because the priest entered the chapel through a side entrance and bowed before her.

“Madam Protector,” he said.

“Colson,” Rhada tilted her head in acknowledgment.

“I wished to warn you before you proceeded to the outside, there is a young man out there, arrived not an hour ago. We screened him to make certain he is a non-threat. He simply wished to visit his father’s grave.”

Rhada nodded. “Thank you for your thoroughness.” She pushed past him and went outside, taking in a breath of fresh air. She scanned the cemetery briefly before pulling her pipe free of her belt and lighting it. It was a tradition to come here once a year and share a pipe with her deceased friend. She and Natharian used to smoke together while traveling the realm. Since his body had been brought back to Axendra six years ago on this day, she’d had no one to share a pipe with.

She moved carefully, avoiding stepping on any of the gravestones. Natharian had been buried near the back of the cemetery, and when she approached the stone, she stopped, gazing down at the young boy whom the priest had warned her about.

He was lying on the ground, curled into the fetal position. His eyes were closed, and she would have thought him to be asleep, had he not been crying.

Rhada knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his back. Mayvard stirred and looked up, his blue eyes shimmering with tears in the dim light. Rhada smiled warmly at him.

“Do you miss your father?” she asked.

Mayvard shook his head and sat upright, wiping his tears away. “I barely remember him, Madam Protector.”

Mayvard was only a small child when his father and mother were killed. He was now a boy of ten. Occasionally she saw him around the castle. She realized this was the first time she had ever spoken with him. She had wanted to, but the thought of seeing Natharian’s child up close was too painful for her—he looked so much like his father. She was ashamed to admit that she usually avoided the child when she could.

“Then why are you out here crying?”

Mayvard blinked, as if trying to decide whether he should tell her the truth. “I come here sometimes, when I need to hide,” he said.

“And why should a young man such as yourself need to hide?”

Mayvard sniffled and said, “The other kids are mean to me. They don’t like me. Seth and Billy told me that I was going to be sent away to the orphanage because that’s what I am, and I have no place in the castle.”

Rhada’s heart broke for the young man. She turned her gaze to Natharian’s headstone, realizing she had not been a true friend to him by shunning his orphaned son. Natharian would have wanted her to take care of him.

Rhada inhaled from her pipe, then looked back to Mayvard. He was crying again, but trying to hide his tears from her. She became aware that she had been just like this at his age, alone and abandoned, picked on and hated. She also had to hide, from the other kids and from her caretakers.

Rhada wrapped her arm over his shoulders and pulled him in close. “You are not being sent away. You will stay in the castle with me. I am going to take care of you from now on.”

Mayvard’s head twisted up at her. He wiped his nose and eyes and said, “Truly? I can stay with you?”

“Of course, young one.” Rhada pointed at his father’s tombstone. “It is what your father would have wanted.”

Mayvard leaned his head in close, resting on her shoulder. They remained there while Rhada smoked her pipe. When she looked down, she realized he had fallen asleep. She sighed and stroked his hair, feeling a sudden kinship between them. She had been him once, and a stranger had saved her life—been kind to her, come to the orphanage and taken her away into a loving home. Now, it was Rhada’s turn to return the kindness, and Mayvard was her ward.

The day King Firion married the woman named Scarlet was a grim and dreary day indeed. The sky was darkened by storm clouds, and a solemn mood had taken over the city, as though an unknown force was whispering into the people’s ears, telling them this was a poor match. Rhada felt it too.

She watched the priest pour the ceremonial wine, stared stone-faced as he handed the glass to Scarlet first. When Firion took it, he was beaming from ear-to-ear. Rhada wasn’t sure what he saw in the woman, other than her obvious beauty.

She had simply appeared one day from nowhere, and Firion announced the next day his deep love for her and that they were to be wed at once. Rhada had advised him against this.

“You are young still, Majesty. There are many women to court, many women who would line up to share an evening with you. Perhaps you should not be so hasty in your decision.”

Firion’s eyes had turned cold when she said this. She had never seen so much malice in the young man before, never known him to be capable of so much hatred.

“You will shut your mouth!” he had snapped, taking Rhada by surprise. “I will marry whomever I want, and if you object to our wedding again, I’ll have your head!” He stormed away, leaving Rhada dumbfounded. He had never spoken to her like that before, never spoken to anyone like that before. Firion had always been a happy young boy; a charismatic and free-spirited man. But there seemed to be something dark about him now, like a shadow hovering over his head. Even now, as he stood smiling at his new bride, Rhada could see it.

She grimaced when they kissed before the eyes of their people. She stiffened when they turned to wave at the crowd. And when Scarlet’s eyes flashed over to Rhada and their gazes met, Bloodbinder buzzed a warning at her side.