The Governor scoffed. "Galasvar? Who sent you?"
Galasvar was a small border fort. They watched over the edge of our kingdom, picking off the occasional monster that roamed in from the Shadowlands.
"Paragon Killian, sir," the guard said.
I blinked at the man. Paragons were our most vaunted heroes. They strode with the authority of kings and walked where the world needed them most.
"Is that bad?" I whispered.
"Yes," Laiserian breathed, dropping my hand.
The king paled. "Governor, forgive me, but I need to step out for a moment." He marched across the room and addressed the guard. "You. Come with me."
Laiserian turned and followed his father. And for some reason, I hiked up my skirt and hurried after them.
My father caught up with me and took my arm. We left the ballroom through a side door, following a dark hall into a quiet parlor. A handful of guards pursued the king. I wasn't sure I had the authority to be here, but nobody told me to leave.
Bathed in the light of a dim mantle, the king spun on his heel. "What's happened? Why did he send only you?"
"The Paragon didn't want to spare any men," the guard explained. He pulled off his helm, revealing a youthful face smudged by dark shadows. "There's movement beyond the walls, sir. He fears an imminent attack."
"Movement?" Laiserian questioned. "From who?"
"We're not sure."
Nothing lived beyond the southern walls but shadow. Monsters prowled the depths of a living hell—the darkness we were tasked with dispelling, to win back the gods' lost favor.
I'd never given it much thought before.
"There is nothing there," the king said. "In a hundred years, the worst the walls have faced is the occasional roaming pack of wyverns."
"Something's changed." The young guard handed the king a scroll. "It's not merely Galasvar he fears for."
The king paced away from us, eyes scanning the letter. He returned with a furrowed brow. "Finan," he addressed my father. "I'm afraid your leave's been cut short. You're headed to Tsuyan, and someone must meet with Killian."
The king handed my father the letter and strode past him, running a hand through his hair. Father glanced over the note and spun around, calling out to the king.
"Send Mare," he said.
My eyes widened, and I glared at him.
"I can vouch for her. I've trained her myself."
The king's pale green eyes traced my face, and he nodded. "Perhaps one of Killian's own can talk sense into him. You leave on the morrow."
He turned on his heel and marched away, a stream of guards following him.
One of Killian's own? Was the Paragon from Tirnanog?
"Saints," Father breathed, fingers clenching the scroll. "Come with me." He touched my arm, and I stumbled after him.
What could that letter have possibly said?
Chapter 3
Mare
An hour ago, the crown prince of Aenir had asked me to dance. I'd since stripped from my ballgown into a traveling dress and ripped the flowers from my hair.
