Chapter 1

The shimmer of light appeared on the far-off horizon, barely illuminating the immobile figure sitting by the edge of the rocky cliff. The tumble of clouds absorbed it, looming low until she felt her heart thumped with the fear of small spaces. The waves crashed regularly onto the rocks below, their steady rhythm calming. The wind howled into her ears, batting against her already numb body, the fabric of her cloak snapping about in the air under its fury. She closed her eyes, breathed the salty air deeply and opened herself until she was lost in the sound of the crashing waves.

She had wandered to the cliff late last night when she couldn't fall asleep.When she closed her eyes, all she could see was his face the last time she saw him alive.

The first cry of the gull startled her out of her meditation. Opening her eyes, she saw that the sky was now stained with a bloody red, the sun rising quickly to chase away the darkness — all the darkness except for that which was in her heart. A storm is coming, she thought, although she did not need the red sky to know that. She had spent all of her life by the pounding sea, and knew its mood like an old friend.

She watched as the strip of gold on the water came closer. A line of pelicans started their day, gliding low over the shimmering surface, their bellies almost skimming the water. Cries of the birds peeped between the slivers of silence before the waves crashed.

Holding herself tightly, she rocked back and forth, letting out a scream that was only heard by the stoic cliffs.

William Ravenshire was urging his mount on at a break-neck speed. Though it would be dark soon, he still had a stretch to go before he could rest for the night. He had been traveling for many days now, and had many more to go before he would reach his destiny. Not for the first time, he cursed his brother's untimely death. If you ask him, autumn was a damn inconvenient time to die. It was a busy time for everyone, regardless of occupation. Though William thanked the gods that he was spared the labors of the fall harvest, he had responsibilities overseeing the purchasing of winter supplies as a general in the King's army. Mohana Mountain was barely hospitable at best, and completely merciless during the winter months. Henry's death had him scrambling to delegate his responsibilities to aids with questionable ability. William hated to think ill of the dead, but the death of his alienated brother could not have come at a worse time.

He received his father's summon last week and had started out for Ravenshire almost immediately. Since his regiment was camped in the middle of the Mohana Mountains, his father's letter did not reach him until much too late. He hadn't been able to attend the funeral, if it was indeed held as his father had specified in the letter. As he moved with instinctive ease with his mount, his thoughts drifted to his late brother, whom he hadn't seen in years.

He and Henry were never close, though not for the lack of trying on his part. As a boy, William followed his older brother around vigilantly. It was before he found Henry kicking a dog one day, a ragged and starved dog that had wandered into their garden. Outraged, William fought Henry, though he was much smaller than him at the time. He lost the fight, but their father was so furious when he heard about the fight that he sent Henry to Pelicana the next day, partly to intensify his training as Second Counselor, partly to separate him from William. It was the last time the brothers lived together, but the problems between them did not stop. William knew about the gambling debts that Henry often ran up, and the bunch of ruffians with whom he passed the time. It seemed that the older William grew, the less respect he had of his brother.

Perhaps he ought to feel guilty about thinking ill of the dead, but he could not lie to himself well enough to be convinced that he actually missed his brother. He was wary, however, of the title that he might receive from Henry's death. Part of him prayed fervently that his father would relinquish the title to a public election, because he sure as hell did not want to be Second Counselor. Unlike Henry, who had been groomed for the position ever since he was in his cradle, William had not a clue about politics or the Royal Court. Gods help him, he would count himself lucky if he managed to keep his family estate in order after his father passed. He couldn't expect any more of himself.

As he crossed the fields, peasants looked up at the noise, shielding their eyes from the piercing afternoon sun to squint at the traveler. William, occupied with his black thoughts, did not notice as the dust flew under his mount's hooves, his cloak bellowing behind him like a banner.

Lucia closed the door behind her, clutching the cold knob long after the lock clicked. Tiptoeing quietly across the floor, she tried her best to minimize the water that was dripping onto the floor. She congratulated herself when she reached the stairs to her room, but an "ahem" quickly deflated her spirit. Maria, her childhood nurse, stood behind her, foot tapping and hands at her waist.

"I hope you have a good explanation for this," she started, staring disapprovingly down her nose, even though she was a good head shorter than Lucia. Still, the little woman instilled fear. Maria humphed again, "Especially if you don't want the housekeeper coming after you for what you've done to her newly waxed floor."

Lucia swallowed guiltily, thinking about the trail of puddles she had left. Meekly holding out her hands, a sign of a peaceful greeting, she said, "I was out for a walk and the thunderstorm took me by surprise." She tried looking remorseful, visualizing a picture of a wet puppy in her head which she hoped somehow transferred to her face. "I didn't mean to stay out for such a long time."

Maria snorted, shooing her up to her room. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to," she said, throwing a towel at Lucia. "Acting innocent is hardly going to mollify Betsy's wrath. Lucia, you know how she feels about her floor." She tisked from the wardrobe. Waving the sleeve of a gown at Lucia menacingly, she said, "You better come up with a better excuse for Betsy. Meanwhile, your father had requested your presence in his study."

Her heart lodged in her throat, pumping wildly. "Did he say what it was about?"

"No, he wouldn't tell me something that important. I think it had to do with your betrothed. A messenger came from the Lord of Ravenshire this morning, you know."

The breath whooshed out of her lungs. She dropped to her mattress, clutching the towel and stared blindly at Maria.

"Well, don't just sit there," Maria ordered impatiently. "Put on your clothes and go see your father."

Her father's study had scared Lucia when she was little. It didn't help that her brother Adrian used to tell her that their father buried their other siblings who had trespassed their father's domain under the floor. It was years before Lucia realized that the study was on the second floor, making highly doubtful that any dead bodies could be buried there.

Contraire to the thrilling tales, however, Lord Aubren had always encouraged his children to explore the selection of books in his study, provided that they kept out of his papers and his desk. Lucia read the same books as her brother, though her father spent more time training Adrian for his position on the Counsel. It wasn't that Lord Aubren was particularly radical. Though he agreed that a woman's place was to raise children, he felt that it was also important that Lucia gained a basic understanding about finances and politics, at least enough to have an inkling of her future husband's situation. His own mother was a young widow who had no inkling of her dead husband's income and debts. Lord Aubren spent a good part of his life rebuilding his family fortune and good name.

But he also supplemented her education with the fine accomplishments that young women ought to have: dancing, music, art, literature. He hired a whole team of governesses through Lucia's life to compensate for what her dead mother couldn't teach her. And Lucia, the ever complacent daughter, dutifully excelled at most.

Her great-grandfather, who refurnished the manor, had an austere taste when it came to his study. The walls were paneled with heavy oak, and the bookshelves, made of the same wood, were ornate with carved talons and snarling heads of griffins. It was fantastic work, if not a little oppressing for a study. Lucia used to study each face carefully, tracing the smoothness of each beak. She could never quite reach the two griffins perched on the top of each shelf though, but they were magnificent from what she could see. Some had their wings opened, some tucked close to their body, but there was no doubt that they were meant to guard the books. She sometimes imagined that their eyes followed her as she browsed through her father's collection.

Regardless of the season, there was always a fire in the fireplace when her father was working in the study. Living by the damp sea his whole life, the elderly First Counselor suffered from rheumatism. His wide arm chair had a hook on the back for hanging his cane. The elderly Lord Aubren kept the throw that Lucia knitted for his fiftieth birthday on his chair, its cool blue sharp against the dull walls. It kept his knees warm while he worked. It was now thrown across his lap.

"Lucia," her father said, waving at the seat across his desk to indicate that she should sit. It was a familiar ritual, one that she had known ever since she remembered. Praise or punishment was met out on this chair. Lucia sat, her eyes apprehensive. Laying down his reading glasses, Lord Aubren looked at her. "The Lord of Ravenshire sent a messenger. Apparently, he had received a letter from his second son, William, indicating that he would arrive to the estate in a few days."

"He missed the funeral," Lucia quietly said.

"Well, that can't be helped," her father said impatiently. "William was out in the mountains with his soldiers in some godforsaken place and probably didn't get the news until it was too late."

Seeing her blank face, he softened. Reaching out to pat the back of her hand, Lord Aubren said to his daughter, "Look, I understand that Henry's death has distraught you and that, understandably, you need time to mourn. It was too unexpected, but we must all move on eventually."

He had no idea, Lucia thought.

Clearing her throat, Lucia asked, "What did you want to talk to me about, father?"