The girl gripped the reins of her mount tightly as they galloped through the western servant’s gate into the city’s noble district. Strapped to the saddle was a satchel, weighed down by the torrential downpour.
The guards at the gate cast a few second looks at her, but the deluge and rumbling sky dissuaded any further inquiry.
She wore the attire of a lower-class peasant who cleaned chimneys with soot stains and the smell of burned wood covering the over-patched clothing. One look at her and anyone of wealth turned the other way. At times, someone would shout that she had stolen the warhorse she was riding. They would call for the nearest guard, but nothing would come of it. The rain kept everyone inside.
Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the towers of Sarsda Palace ahead in brilliant white. Moments later, thunder rolled down the many streets of the marketplace, merchants trying to quickly close their shops. The effects of the early morning storm had since passed, but this new rainfall had swept in suddenly without warning.
Releasing her grip of the reigns in one hand, she clenched her fists tight, feeling the numbness of the air bite deep. She grimaced for a moment before bringing her fingers to her mouth, blowing warm air on them before gripping the reigns again.
“Just a little bit further,” she whispered through chattering teeth.
So far the old war horse hadn’t balked when thunder cracked. He splashed through the downpouring rain on cobble stones without a fuss even as another crack of thunder rolled overhead.
There was no getting around the fact that the horse had seen his days in battle. For a serving girl to be riding a horse at all begged dangerous questions, which was why she tried her best to keep hidden in the shadows and only reveal herself when necessary.
Ahead, the palace grounds came into view behind a pair of iron gates at the end of the third tunnel. These gates weren’t passable without someone noticing.
The rain lessened as she slowed the warhorse to a trot and entered the gate tunnel. Her heart still pounded from the thrill of riding ahead of the storm. It filled her with sudden energy! When the lightning lit up the sky, the girl wanted to shout in excitement. What she would give to fly like a bird and witness the storm up close!
“Halt!”
The girl’s quiet reverie vanished with the commanding voice.
The guard was a giant of a man. His muscles spoke for themselves, making him look menacing. In one hand, he held a long sword outstretched as he stood in the center of the tunnel, blocking any advancement. His eyes were cold and angry. Nobody wanted to be out in this weather. Even in the tunnel, the cold air of Rawtis warned that winter was fast approaching.
“What business do you have entering the palace grounds!” The guard closed the gap between himself and the girl in two fluid strides. The black armor he wore made little sound. He reached for the girl’s slender arm to pull her off the obviously stolen horse.
With a sigh and shift of her posture, her demeanor transformed. In a firm, commanding voice, she said, “Ashton, if you are finished threatening me, let go of my arm.”
Ashton blinked several times in bewildered shock, recognizing the voice. His mouth opened, trying to find words, but nothing came out. Hurriedly, he sheathed his sword and bowed low. “My apologies, Princess Averin!” When he looked up again, he added, “I did not recognize you!” He cast a quizzical glance at her attire. “Your clothing is not what I would picture someone of your stature wearing.”
Averin laughed, more for show than anything else.
_Divert his attention. Don’t let him see what I’m carrying._
“Stop staring, Ashton.” Averin’s face blushed a little. “I’ll be laughing all the way inside the palace, and people will start thinking you flirted with me.” As she kicked her mount into a trot, she glanced back at him with a wink. Ashton blushed furiously.
At the opposite end of the inner gatehouse, a second guard watched Ashton questioningly.
She smirked to herself and made her way through the passageway into the long courtyard, where covered lanterns cast wavering light down the main road to the stables.
From one end of the Academy wing, she spotted Tims hurriedly making his way across the palace grounds, his boots splashing through puddles. Glancing her way, his face lit up with laughter and he changed course, striding toward her through the downpour.
She smiled in turn, warmth blooming inside her chest whenever she came into his presence. She tried to tell herself it was the same familial affection her father had expressed over and over these last few years. Despite his abysmal skill with the sword, Tims had become part of the family in King Joshua’s eyes, a brother in all but blood. Now that the two of them were grown, she found herself stealing glances more often at him when he wasn’t looking, cataloging the way raindrops clung to his dark hair, the easy confidence in his stride despite the nobles’ mockery. Mother, on the other hand, seemed neutral at best, characteristically hard to read, her opinions locked behind diplomatic silence.
Somewhere in the far recesses of her mind where she dared not venture, she knew she felt more than sisterly love. The realization scared her, a dangerous ember she couldn’t allow to catch flame.
The relationship she and Tims had was unusual to put it bluntly. They were of two different worlds and yet fought like brothers and sisters, much to the ashen-faced horror of any who noticed. When someone would get it in their head to threaten Tims, Averin would face down the troublemaker with steel in her eyes and ice in her voice. She would remind them of Tims’ rank, of his position as the King’s own squire. She alone could spar with him, challenge him. Anyone else would find her wrath swift and merciless.
Averin didn’t fool herself though. Her friendship with Tims didn’t go unnoticed in the viper’s nest of court. One mistake on Tims’ part would send the nobles running to the high court demanding justice, their voices raised in righteous indignation. It didn’t matter that he was the King’s squire. To those perfumed courtiers, Tims was nothing more than the King’s pet, a curiosity to be tolerated and ridiculed. Year after year, his reputation as a failed swordsman turned him into the butt of their cruel jokes. And still, he held his own, shoulders squared, dignity intact. This quiet strength stole her heart more than anything. His gentle nature in the midst of those vicious nobles made her feel very dangerous things.
Tims held a broad grin as he approached the stable yards, rain streaming down his face. He was still grinning when his eyes followed her to Ashton then back again, mischief dancing in their depths.
“Anything the King should know about?” He called out over the rumbling thunder. The question didn’t match the knowing expression that threatened to betray him. His features and clothes were drenched with rain, but his spirit never dampened.
Averin hid the smile tugging at her lips. She could hear Ashton’s voice suddenly rise behind her, indignant at hearing Tims.
Tims couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst out laughing, the sound rich and unguarded.
Averin could still hear the two of them bickering as she rode the old war horse the rest of the way to the stables, Tims’ expression lingering in her mind like an afterimage. His gentle demeanor touched her deeply like no other. He had a heart as loyal to her family as any Black Knight in service to the crown, steadfast as oak and twice as enduring. It was probably why she felt the need to so fiercely protect him against the nobles and their constant barrage of insults. It made her sick to know men twice her age could stoop so low as to ridicule someone so devoted, their cruelty a shield for their own inadequacies. It infuriated her to no end!
The large double doors of the stable barn swung open on Averin’s approach, lamplight spilling out into the grey morning.
Daniel greeted her with a bow and a welcoming expression, though concern flickered across his features.
Dismounting, she grabbed her satchel, trying to appear normal, but she knew better. Daniel was eyeing her curiously, taking in every detail. Her outfit screamed she had gone out in disguise, the common cloak, the plain tunic smeared in ash, the absence of any royal insignia.
“Did Tims see you like this?” Daniel raised an eyebrow, his tone careful.
She frowned with a sudden need to protect her reputation. “Of course. What does it matter?”
He shook his head with a soft, curt laugh devoid of humor. “We swore to look after you, Averin. It’s kind of hard to do that when you go sneaking off without telling anyone.” He held her gaze more sternly, the weight of responsibility heavy in his eyes. “You can’t be doing this without one of us with you! Whatever insane reason you have.”
Averin glared, that stubborn fire kindling inside her. “I’m my own person, Daniel. I do what I want, when I want.”
His features turned grave, and for the first time, she noted an expression that wasn’t that of a friend who wanted to banter but something far more serious, almost afraid. “Back in that blacksmith’s shop, Tims and I meant what we said to you, Averin. Don’t treat us like what we said isn’t important. Don’t treat _us_ like we’re not important.”
His words struck her like a physical blow. She hung her head, the weight of the satchel growing unbearable in her arms. She wanted to open up and confess what she’d been doing for many years, reveal the secret life she’d led in the city’s shadows. But that part of her was sworn to secrecy, bound by oaths she couldn’t speak aloud. She couldn’t break that promise for anyone, not even her two best friends who would die for her without hesitation.
In a sorrowful whisper, she said, “I understand, Daniel.”
He shook his head slowly, disappointment etched in every line. “We’re not children anymore, Averin. Everything we do has consequences, heavy, long-term consequences that echo through years. To say you will do what you want when you want...makes you sound...” He gazed away toward the rain-soaked courtyard and sighed heavily.
For a moment, silence hung between them like a curtain before Averin whispered, “selfish.” She glanced out into the rain-swept courtyard where Tims had stood moments ago. He was the living example, a beacon of light in this dark and forlorn court, embodying what true selfless devotion looked like. She lowered her head, shame washing over her as though she’d been slapped. She began to understand why so many nobles hated him now, he outshone them all in his loyalty, his devotion and readiness to serve without expectation of reward. There was only one other man close to her family she saw in this light, Yothin Stingar, her adopted uncle who had watched over her like she was his own flesh and blood. His family felt closer to her than her own extended relatives ever had.
Sighing, she raised her eyes to see Daniel wasn’t going to say anything more. He had turned back to her horse, brushing down the animal’s flanks with practiced strokes, whispering soft nothings that calmed the beast.
In a broken whisper, she said, “I’m sorry for treating your vows to me so flippantly.” She reached over to touch his hand, stilling his movements. “Thank you, Daniel.”
He paused his brushing and watched her for a long moment. “For what?”
She gave a trembling smile. “For reminding me that there are others in this world I should consider before acting.”
He returned the gesture, though sadness lingered in his eyes. “It’s fine, Averin. We understand the burden you carry.”
She let the warmth seep back into her expression and began to walk toward the stable doors when she heard him call her name. Turning, she gazed at him questioningly.
He didn’t meet her eyes this time, and she instantly recognized that carefully neutral expression. He wanted to say something that made him deeply uncomfortable, something that might wound.
“Just say it, Daniel,” she laughed softly, though anxiety tightened her throat. “I’m used to you being blunt by now.”
In a hesitant voice barely above the drum of rain on the roof, he said, “I saw you watching, Averin.” At her confused frown, he continued, “watching Tims. The way you look at him.” He paused, measuring his words. “We all know there can be nothing between you two. You know what would happen.”
A sudden flare of anger burst from nowhere and she glared daggers at him. “Daniel, you need to stop right now. There is nothing...” She tried to finish the sentence but felt emotions surge up and choke her words. Closing her eyes against the sting of tears, she whispered, “Just stop.” She turned on her heel and briskly walked out of the stables into the cold, unforgiving rain.
***
She hurried across the drenched courtyard to a colonnade of pillars, where she finally slowed her pace. The rain couldn’t pelt her here with its icy fingers, though the drops still covered the tears that streamed down her face as Daniel’s words carved into her heart. Was it so obvious? Who else knew? Dread coiled in her stomach at the realization that she wore her feelings like a banner for all to see. She had to wall them up somehow, bury them deep where no one could find them. She couldn’t go on feeling for Tims like this! The implications...what would happen if some noble got it into their heads that Tims posed a far greater threat because he held the princess’s affections?
Ahead, the Black Knight Academy loomed with its towering walls and ancient architecture, weathered stone that had witnessed centuries of warriors. The academy was what made Sarsda legendary throughout the five kingdoms of Elise, a beacon that drew the ambitious and the brave.
Many people came to Sarsda for one specific reason: to attend the Black Knight Academy. Most students who arrived rarely survived the first phase of testing. King Joshua maintained the sacred tradition that the position of a Black Knight was open to all walks of life. You could be a merchant, squire, soldier, or even a peasant fresh from the fields. If you believed you possessed the mettle to become a Black Knight, you would be tested in the academy’s unforgiving halls.
Averin hefted the heavy satchel to her other shoulder and quickly passed through the protocols of the main entrance to the palace. She had no intention of parading through the grand halls dressed like she was.
It took her a few extra minutes of weaving through corridors, but at last she turned to one side of the palace wall obscured by a thicket of ancient trees.
She climbed through the brambles of thorny vines till she reached the spot she had slipped through last night, leaves still disturbed from her passage.
Opening the small unlocked servant’s door, she glanced around to ensure no eyes watched from the shadows, then shut the door behind her with barely a whisper.
The expansive kitchen roared with activity from one end of the steaming chamber to the other. The air hung thick with the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat. Men and women clustered around large wooden tables kneading giant balls of dough, their hands working in rhythmic precision, while others hovered over iron pots bubbling in enormous hearths. In the center of the organized chaos stood an old man with a crooked nose and flour-dusted apron. Shouting orders like a general commanding troops, he brandished a long wooden spoon.
Averin sank low to the ground and snuck her way past the bustling kitchen to the servant’s corridor nearby. This narrow passage led to the expansive pantry and cooler. A working of priestly magic held the cooler at a freezing temperature all year round, defying the summer heat.
Once in the enclosed corridor, she stood straight again and released a sigh of relief, her shoulders finally relaxing.
She turned to look out a glass panel in the wall. Through the rain-streaked surface, she watched the trees outside ignite in brilliant flashes of lightning, branches swaying like dancers in the storm. The wild beauty drew her in, but she couldn’t linger. She quickened her steps once again and followed the twists and turns of the servant halls, her boots barely making a sound on the stone floor, coming to a stop at the carved back doors of the Inner Garden.
The Inner Garden was one of Mother’s favorite sanctuaries. Its giant domed ceiling of glass and iron spanned across the lush vegetation with windows gazing into the heavens. Its warmth and tranquil beauty beckoned her like a siren’s call.
She entered the garden and everything in life paused as it usually did, the weight of the palace falling away.
This was Mother’s true home, the one place where the queen could simply be herself. She always retreated here in the winter months when the outer gardens lay dormant beneath blankets of snow.
Elegant pillars lined the space, decorated with climbing ivy vines that spiraled their way up toward the domed ceiling in verdant curtains.
Averin touched the delicate stems and closed her eyes, breathing in the earthy scent of growing things. For the countless time, she wished she could go to Mother and pour out her heart. But with the things she had been doing of late, the secret missions, the disguises, the lies, Mother’s disapproving stare kept her silent as a tomb. “You’re so much like your father,” Mother would say, not with pride but with that sad, resigned expression that spoke of old wounds.
Now Averin operated alone, telling no one where she went or what dangerous games she played. She figured this was better than facing Mother’s disappointment all over again, watching those regal features harden with disapproval.
At the heart of the garden lay a crystalline pool of water with an arched wooden bridge crossing to the other side.
She stepped onto the smooth planks till she reached the center. From here, she gazed out over the tapestry of plant life that thrived year round—exotic blooms from distant lands mingling their distinct fragrances into an intoxicating perfume.
A sudden commotion from the far end shattered her reverie.
Servants rushed toward her with pristine white towels draped over their arms. On their heels, Eseme came hurrying along, her elaborate gown trailing behind her like a peacock’s tail.
Eseme was what Averin considered a friend in need, the young woman couldn’t do anything by herself. She always required someone beside her to talk to, to validate her existence.
Growing up together, Eseme’s privileged station in life manifested in every gesture, every breathless word. It never stopped Averin from befriending her though. With Eseme’s father being her uncle, Yothin Stingar, Marquis of Sier-Tav, it was remarkable that she saw them as often as she did. Sier-Tav was a remote province on the other side of the country, nestled in the jagged western mountains where snow fell even in summer.
Yothin Stingar somehow carved out time to bring his family with him every chance he got when visiting Sarsda. Averin delighted in their arrivals each time, the palace coming alive with their boisterous energy. And with Yothin and his wife striking up animated conversations with her own father and mother over wine and elaborate dinners, she would drag Eseme off on one of her latest adventures. They would sample exotic foods from the market stalls or slip into the practice fields of the academy to watch the home guard and Black Knights drill each morning. This was one thing Eseme enthusiastically embraced, her eyes fixated on one shirtless warrior after the next as they flexed their muscles and performed the intricate steps of the Sword Dance, blades flashing like silver lightning.
Most times Eseme simply tagged along because Averin was the closest thing she had to a sister. They did everything together despite Eseme’s prissy complaints and theatrical aversion to getting her hands dirty. She was nothing like her adventurous parents, as if the gods had placed the wrong soul in the wrong body.
She often wished Uncle Stingar’s bold spirit would somehow transfer to Eseme. This way, she wouldn’t obsess over the latest trends and fashions that consumed the vapid lives of the ladies at court. They were such a tedious, boring lot!
Eseme’s eyes betrayed her worry, and upon reaching Averin, she seized her hand. “Come with me!” Her eyes widened in shock at Averin’s clothing. She whirled about and half dragged her companion out of the garden into a secluded side hall of the palace.
With a dismissive wave, Eseme called, “Alice, my dear.”
One of her attendants hurried forward. “Yes, my lady?”
“Hasten to the princess’s chambers and draw a bath. I want the bubbles fluffed and ready when she arrives. Just look at her! She must be shivering from that dreadful rain!”
Alice dipped a crisp curtsy. “Very good, madam.” She half ran, half jogged ahead of the procession.
Averin found herself guided into yet another dim corridor as they approached one of the main halls.
Once they were safely out of sight, Eseme wheeled on Averin, shaking her head. “This is not right! How can you go about dressed as a man? You will be the talk of the entire palace, and I’ll be whispered about by every lady as the one who allowed this! Why do you do this to me? I am your friend, aren’t I?”
Averin let Eseme continue her frantic worrying for a while.
Finally, she stopped mid-corridor and turned to face her friend. She placed both hands on Eseme’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Eseme. How long have we known each other?”
Eseme paused to consider. “I’ve lost count. It’s been forever.”
Princess Averin smiled warmly. “And in all these years, how many times have I let you take the blame for my actions?”
Eseme’s gaze fell away. “Never.”
Averin pulled her into an embrace, letting the heavy satchel drop to the floor. “You are my dearest friend, Eseme. Never forget that. You know my nature. I simply need to escape these walls once in a while. I have never been at ease among courtly women, except you. I refuse to parade about like those who find it grand to masquerade behind masks, preening and posturing to outshine one another for the attention of suitable men.”
Eseme nodded, understanding flooding her features.
Averin caught the gesture and rolled her eyes, recognizing Eseme was merely placating her. “Let’s get to my chambers. I’m growing cold, and you’re being no help at all. Do you realize that?” She retrieved her satchel and resumed walking.
After a moment, Eseme’s lips curved into a subtle smile. “Perhaps one day, a man will look at me and recognize I’ve been trained to care for him properly.”
Averin arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Eseme’s smile deepened. “I need only mention I’ve survived managing you, and he’ll know I’m worth a second glance.”
Averin’s laughter echoed through the corridor, though she offered no rebuttal.
After a stretch of silence, Eseme spoke up. “Did you know Squire Tims has a crush on you? I heard it from some of my servants.” She gave Averin that knowing look.
When Averin refused to respond, Eseme pressed on. “I know how you look at him.” Her smile turned mischievous. “You know he likes you too. He just won’t say it to your face. He’s too consumed with proving to your father he has what it takes to be a Black Knight. But he still watches.” She gave a soft, teasing giggle.
Averin switched subjects before Eseme could see the unbidden heat bloom across her face. She would not admit even to Eseme how she ached for Tims to speak something romantic to her. It would only add fuel to Eseme’s fire.
After another stretch of silence, Eseme’s gaze fell on the sodden bag Averin had carried into the palace. “What treasure have you brought home this time?” Eseme asked more to fill the quiet than from genuine curiosity. “I hope it’s nothing revolting. I still remember when you decided it would be amusing to keep a menagerie of pets.” She shuddered at the memory.
“It’s nothing,” Princess Averin replied a bit too hastily. She received a curious glance from Eseme, but her friend knew when to leave well enough alone.
They reached a long flight of stairs and began their ascent. This passage would lead directly to the royal apartments from the servants’ wing.
Averin had half hoped to encounter Tims on the stairs, but one glance at Eseme banished the notion. With the three of them together, disaster would surely follow. Eseme harbored little fondness for Tims. He wasn’t noble born. Her mind worked like most nobles’—people should remain within their own class. Romanticizing anything beyond that was foolishness. Not that Eseme would ever show Tims cruelty. She knew such behavior, if it reached Averin’s ears, would jeopardize their decades-long friendship.
But that didn’t stop Eseme from zealously guarding her friend’s best interests. And that, at times, created problems of its own.
Upon reaching her chamber doors, Averin was immediately surrounded by a flurry of fussing servants. It grated on her how Eseme insisted on such a large retinue for herself, then inflicted the same excessive attention on Averin.
From the washroom, tendrils of steam curled through the doorway, and suddenly all thoughts of Eseme and her meddlesome servants evaporated. The cold from outside now felt like shards of ice against her skin.
With mounting urgency, Averin peeled away the sodden clothes clinging to her body.
Naked, she felt the frigid air bite her skin and dashed for the washroom.
The promised hot bath awaited her, soap bubbles crowning the surface of the lengthy tub.
She stepped into the steaming water and released a soft moan of pure relief.
Alice stood nearby, ever patient.
Sinking deeper into the warmth, she closed her eyes momentarily, feeling her rigid muscles begin to unknot.
Then she remembered.
Her eyes snapped open, and she whirled toward Alice with a sharp intake of breath.
“Alice,” she attempted a calm tone despite her heart’s sudden frantic rhythm.
Alice moved closer. “My lady?”
“Please retrieve the satchel I brought with me. It should be in the other room.”
Alice’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but she asked nothing.
Averin silently blessed her discretion. She had no ready explanation to offer.
Moments later, Alice returned bearing the satchel.
“Set it beside the tub.” she improvised quickly. “I discovered some books I’d like to read. Perhaps I’ll peruse them while I soak.”
Alice accepted this without question.
“That will be all.” Averin managed a smile. “You may return to Lady Eseme.”
The attendant dipped a curtsy and withdrew from the washroom, leaving Averin blissfully alone.
Her pulse gradually steadied and the terror of losing sight of the satchel began to ebb.
“Foolish girl!” Averin chastised herself severely. She should never have been so reckless as to abandon her precious cargo for the temptation of a hot bath. What catastrophe would unfold if some well-meaning servant opened it to dry the contents?
Hopefully nothing disastrous. They couldn’t possibly decipher the ancient script contained in the volumes she’d discovered.
Still, what explanation could a princess offer for possessing crumbling tomes written in an indecipherable language?
Averin released a heavy sigh and forced the worry aside. She was meant to be relaxing, not spiraling into anxiety.
Instead, she let her thoughts drift towards her father.
More than a few times, Averin had accompanied her father on routine hunting expeditions. This raised countless eyebrows and drew pointed questions from lords who openly questioned the wisdom of endangering the King’s sole heir. It was common knowledge that after her birth, King Joshua had never sired another child with Queen Anna. This had, naturally, cast the queen in an unfavorable light among the people. Even though the royal couple had produced an heir, Averin was not a son. And although history held examples of princesses ascending to the throne, it left a palpable unease within the council of lords. They viewed Averin as delicate, fragile, nothing like what a ruler needed to be. What would happen if war erupted between factions? What of the disputes among lesser lords who demanded swift answers and harsh judgments? Could Averin command the same respect as her father? Joshua was neither tyrant nor unjust ruler, but when the time came to dispense justice, the King never permitted personal sentiment to override his country’s needs.
When Averin turned sixteen, every eye in the court fixed upon her, scrutinizing her every move.
The weight of their constant observation was suffocating. Mother had forewarned her this day would come, that she must steel herself for it. The council resembled a pack of ravenous hounds, circling, waiting for her to falter. Most of the time, she suspected the council would welcome her disappearance. Yet such an outcome would ignite civil war. The council had never agreed on anything in living memory. It would rend the kingdom apart.
Everyone watched her now. Every breath she drew was dissected and judged.
This was precisely why she had slipped away last night. She needed to escape the oppressive atmosphere, the crushing burden of their perpetual scrutiny. And if she allowed herself honesty, Averin feared she would never measure up.
Rage flared suddenly within her chest.
She stared down into the bathwater as the last bubbles dissolved. She could see her bare skin beneath the surface. Her body bore no resemblance to a man’s. She possessed no warrior’s build because no one would train her. How could she hope to rule people who regarded her with the same dismissal they showed Tims?
Tims...
Averin squeezed her eyes shut as a flood of emotions crashed over her. Unbidden visions danced behind her closed lids, his face, his hands, his voice. “Stop it!” she hissed aloud. The fervor of her own feelings startled her, and she felt scorching heat bloom across her cheeks.
The tender emotions gradually ebbed, displaced by the austere faces of the noble lords. Their frigid stares pierced through her, and all the warmth she’d felt moments before evaporated like morning mist.
That familiar anger kindled again, burning brighter.
They would not dictate her choices. She carried too much of her father’s blood for that.
The early morning rides with Tims were merely one item on the lords’ ever-growing list of grievances. Lately, complaining seemed to be the court’s sole occupation.
Averin knew every whispered rumor that circulated about her. She need only listen to Eseme’s gossip to stay informed. Yet for all her public defiance, her heart remained bound to her kingdom as deeply as her father’s. She would never act so recklessly as to endanger those who relied on her family’s protection.
Throughout her bath, Averin’s gaze kept drifting to the satchel resting within arm’s reach. Part of her questioned the wisdom of such dangerous risks. What purpose would this serve beyond enlightening herself and her father? The knowledge could never be shared. The mere thought of revealing it sent cold nausea rippling through her, images of mage fire raining down on the palace for defiance against the White Council. And she knew deep in her bones she wasn’t exaggerating the image of fire. They’d most likely do worse.