She jumped, expecting the freezing claws, but no attack came.
Her dress was dry, her feet clean. The curtain between the worlds held.
She laid back, frightened and exhausted, planning to close her eyes for a moment, when sleep defeated her and pulled her into its dark embrace.
• • •
Liana was twenty-twowhen she first met Amron.
Wrapped up in her daily hunting tasks, she’d cared little about the war raging in the south and less about the delegation coming to see Echton of Till. And yet, when Brano asked who wanted to join the lord on his journey to welcome the important guests, she volunteered.
Early winter had dusted the forest with the first layer of new snow, pristine and brilliant in the weak sunlight. From a gentle hillside, they watched the royal delegation approach, their dark cloaks and blue liveries in stark contrast with the white landscape.
Liana rarely had a chance to see any foreigners in the Brezov castle. Occasionally, there would be a visit from some noble, and a hunt, but none of them ever paid attention to a young huntswoman. She longed to go south—from the dark forests of Till, there was nowhere to go but south—and see the brilliant cities, golden fields, vineyards, and olive groves. The cold never bothered her, but she longed to feel the kiss of the southern sun on her face.
She melted into the trees with the rest of the lord’s escort, only to appear before the delegation as they negotiated a slippery bend in the road. Half a dozen men, followed by two dozen soldiers. She imagined they would look like courtiers, or at least the courtiers from the stories and songs she’d heard—dressed in exquisite clothes, groomed, pampered. Instead, she saw a pack of hardened, weary riders—some gray-haired, some bearded, some young and comely—who looked no different from her companions.
Actually, that wasn’t true.
She noticed him as soon as he removed his dark hood and the sunlight gilded his hair. There was such a serious, subdued beauty to his face that she couldn’t take her eyes off of. She had no idea who he was. A young nobleman among his peers? He felt her burning gaze and his eyes found her in the throng of two groups of riders meeting.
She expected the usual reaction: a lewd, inviting smile, a wink, some kind of overture. Instead, he just widened his eyes and held her gaze for a fraction of a heartbeat before turning away.
“What are you staring at?” Brano asked, laying his gloved handon her thigh.
The head huntsman had several ideas about Liana’s place—among the hunters, in his bed, before a priest exchanging vows—which he never bothered to get her opinion on. His persistence in taking care of her had eroded her reluctance. She’d been alone and lonely, constantly besieged by men who wanted to possess her. She’d tried women for a while, and liked them, but they were no less jealous and possessive. She’d given in to Brano because he’d never doubted her hunting skills. She refused to marry him, though. Her divine sight had never given her a glimpse of the future, but she had a disquieting feeling love wasn’t supposed to look like that. No matter how limited her choices were, how vast and empty the forests of Till, Liana gritted her teeth and persisted in her belief that one day she would find a love undeniable and true.
“Who is that man on the left, the blond one on the bay courser?” Her curiosity got the upper hand, even though she knew Brano was prone to jealous fits.
“Some Amrian lordling, no doubt,” he said. “Let’s get them into the castle and be finished with this.”
Liana wasn’t finished, though. The ride back was short and her horse knew the way, which was fortunate because her gaze kept returning to the man, who was deep in conversation with Gospodar Echton. It turned out that Brano was wrong: He was no lordling, but the Prince Regent himself, the famed military commander, the king’s uncle, and as far above Liana on the social ladder as she was from the mouse living in the corner of her room.
Liana barely remembered the rest of that day—she spent it in a fog, performing her duties like a senseless puppet. Lord Echton negotiated with the prince about sending more soldiers south, about raising the taxes once again to fund the war, about the food he could spare. Liana had seen her first map of the wholekingdom that day, and when the prince showed how far the Seragians had advanced, it seemed to her they were almost at the foot of the mountains. Without an army, the forest and the snow wouldn’t be enough to protect Till.
When the evening came, both parties gathered at the great hall, which barely deserved the name. The castle at the border with Leven was old and small, chosen for its insignificance, the perfect spot for a discreet meeting that could turn the tide of war.
The group of hunters sat on the benches around a trestle table in a dim corner with the rest of the soldiers and retinue. On the other side of the cold, smoke-filled hall, the high table looked grand only because of the lords who sat there. They’d reached a deal, it seemed, yet the atmosphere was serious, their heads bowed together in an animated discussion, Gospodar Echton’s gray, wiry fuzz and the prince’s tawny gold. No music, no entertainment, no merry drinking—the soldiers and the hunters soaked in the tension and drank their beer in silent determination. Even Liana’s perfect eyesight had trouble penetrating through the gloom, but that didn’t stop her from staring at the prince.
“You haven’t touched your food,” Brano noticed, pointing at a gray piece of mutton glistening with congealing fat on her trencher.
“My stomach is upset,” she said. “I’m going to lie down, excuse me.”
The four huntswomen in their group were given a curtain-separated nook with two pallets. Although everybody knew that Brano considered Liana his lover, she chose to sleep among the other women. She claimed it was for the sake of decency, yet she had a gnawing suspicion that the frayed ties which held her close to Brano were ready to snap.
A short, dark man waited at the chamber’s door. He had theblack, relentless eyes of a terrier which measured Liana up as she approached. She’d seen him standing behind the prince that day, dressed in the blue royal livery. He wore a sword on his left hip and a dagger on his right, and he looked like someone who knew how to use them.
“Mistress Liana, my name is Telani, and I’m a secretary to His Highness,” he said. “He’d like to see you.”
“Why?” she asked. She didn’t mean to be rude, but something about his stance annoyed her.
He raised one eyebrow, pointedly staring at her much-mended hunting garb. “Does it matter why? It’s not like you’re in a position to refuse.”
Gospodar Echton was too old to chase girls, but occasionally he had guests who thought their status allowed them to use the women in the castle as bed-warmers. Liana had always managed to slip out of such situations.
“Is that so?” she asked.
A mocking smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “Don’t play coy, I’ve seen that redheaded ruffian treat you like his property,” he said. “But if you think I’m here to procure a piece of warm flesh, think again.” He turned on his heel and walked down the corridor. “Come with me or don’t.”
