CHAPTERONE
“He’s going to die, Prim. Do you really want to risk leaving and not being at his side when he passes?”
My aunt’s words pierced my concentration, and my movements stilled. Outside, the capital was awakening, the start of a new day filtering into the windows from the busy street below.
Before me, my entire bed was covered with various supplies. I’d been reaching for a second pair of boots, but my hands fell to my sides, my boots forgotten.
“He’s not going to die,” I replied, the normal cheer absent from my voice as her words glued themselves to my consciousness. “I’m going to save him. You’ll see.”
But despite my firm reassurances to her, my stomach flipped, and sweat moistened my palms. The worry pummeling me from my aunt’s anxious aura wasn’t helping.
Hands shaking, I resumed packing, but my Aunt Gwenery continued to stare at me as if I somehow had a magicalresponse that would alleviate her fears at what I was choosing to do.
Her gaze practically burned a hole into the side of my head, and I knew she wanted me to stay, instead of insisting that I follow through with my plan, but Icouldn’tstay. Staying ensured Uncle Timith died.
So, I inhaled sharply and finished so I could leave.
My aunt released a breath. Arms crossed, she began to drum her fingers against her biceps, but I ignored that too.
“Will you pass me that book?” I asked and nodded toward one of my favorites. It was a collection of the flora and fauna of our realm, my particular expertise, and could come in handy on my journey.
Gwenery released an audible sigh but did as I asked.
I stuffed it into my sack, then surveyed what remained. Most of my big items—boxes of food, my bedding, and camping supplies—were already downstairs and ready to go.
But before me were my most precious things, the ones I’d decided not to pack until this morning since I was still researching things until late last night.
My gaze alighted on theseekerill, the magical device my uncle had created. It was of upmost importance that I not lose it, and I prayed to all of the gods and goddesses that it would be my saving grace in the end.
Aunt Gwenery stopped tapping her fingers and stepped forward to lay a hand on my arm. “Prim, just remember, if youdo fail and you don’t find the Stone, his death won’t be your fault.”
Her gentle words, in such contradiction to the constant arguing we’d been partaking in this morning and throughout the previous week, had the tenseness in my shoulders loosening. It was the first supportive comment she’d made to me all day. Or rather, ever since the Wishing Stone had appeared in the night sky and my plan had begun to form.
I smiled genuinely and leaned into her touch. “Thank you for that.”
My aunt nodded and smoothed a strand of hair back that had fluttered onto her cheek. Her normally coifed lilac hair—the color a trace of her Nolus fae lineage—was in disarray this morning. Wispy strands flew around her nape. Nowadays, she threw her hair into a haphazard bun on a whim, as if not even aware of what she was doing. Weeks of sleepless nights would do that to anyone.
My own simple woven braid kept my long brown hair tethered and free of my face. It was the fastest hairstyle for me, so it was one I’d chosen regularly since Uncle Timith had fallen ill. The plain style also matched my drab neutral-colored attire. Both would be needed if I wanted to avoid drawing attention or being targeted during my journey.
My aunt, on the other hand, wore a vibrant heavy gown. And while most females in the kingdom chose dresses or gowns to wear each day, gowns wouldn’t do for my upcoming journey, although the billowy skirts would have made hiding blades easier.
Regardless, I’d managed to conceal a weapon within my boot and one at my thigh. But blades weren’t my greatest defense. My mind was.
I offered my aunt what I hoped was a reassuring smile, then stuffed the last of my items into my sack. Once done, I mentally ran through my list to ensure I hadn’t forgotten anything.
My book from the Isle of Song – check.
Uncle Timith’s seekerill – check.
A lock of hair from Goddess Nuleef – check.
I’d placed the lock of hair in a side pocket so I would have easy access to it, and I wondered anew if it was real. The color was certainly unique since its fine golden strands shone as bright as metal in the sunlight, but I truly didn’t know if it was authentic.
I’d purchased it from a merchant two evenings prior, and even though the merchant insisted it was genuine, nobody could know for certain if the hair had once graced a goddess’s head. But according to the ancient texts, Goddess Nuleef had once walked this land thousands of summers ago, and if carrying a lock of her hair helped—real or not—then I would do it.
Because I would need luck due to my simple yet risky plan. If the Isle of Song book was wrong, or if the seekerill malfunctioned, then I would have failedbefore I’d even started, and only luck would carry me through.
But if my book was right and my device didn’t malfunction...then my gamble would pay off.
