Chapter 1
October 5, 1307
France
The air in the main roomof the inn was tense, filled with expectation. The scent of body odor and cooked duck permeated the space. Five men leaned forward over one of the wooden tables in the center of the room; their gazes focused like pinpoints on the hand holding the dice. Two of the men were farmers, two were travelers, and the last was the toothless innkeeper who sat atop a wobbly chair.
Sage Hawke shook her hand, making the dice she held clink together. Her analytical mind had already worked out all possibilities of the die roll. They had been playing for three rounds. There was no way she was losing this round; the odds were in her favor. She glanced across the room where her oldest sister, Raven, sat alone, quietly drinking ale and observing, her eyes casually shifting from person to person. Her dark hair was plaited into a braid, and she wore leather armor and a sword strapped to her waist.
Sage held the die for a moment longer to build anticipation, her gaze traveling from one man to the next. Then, she let the die fly across the table. The square cubes rolled, clunking on the wooden tabletop as they tumbled.
The door opened. With a gust of wind, Sage’s younger sister, Willow, entered. Some of the male patrons glanced at her. She pushed her blonde braid over her shoulder and walked up to Sage’s side.
Sage saw her in her peripheral vision but kept her focus on the die.
The blocks slowly came to a halt.
The toothless innkeeper smiled and nodded his head eagerly as the rest of the men groaned and shook their heads, mumbling their disbelief.
Sage reached forward, a grin of triumph on her lips. How foolish these men were. It was almost too easy for her. She wrapped her arms around the coins in the center of the table.
The innkeeper caught her wrist as the men around them dispersed. “My winnings,” he reminded her.
“Half of it,” she agreed. “The rest is mine.” Sage slipped her wrist free of his hold and pulled the coins to her.
He nodded greedily and watched her split the coins.
Sage handed him his winnings.
He smiled a toothless grin at her. “Nice doing business with you.” He cast a glance at Willow and stood, moving toward another table.
Sage untied a bag from her belt and opened it, scooping all the coins carefully into the bag. Then, she tied it and attached it to her belt. She glanced over her shoulder at Willow. “You’re back early.”
Willow had been with Christian Sterling, a family friend of theirs, tending the wounds he had received in a sword fight at the back of the inn.
Willow bent to her and said quietly, “I want you to look at something.”
Sage stood, looking at her sister with concern. Willow was beautiful. Tiny blonde curls framed her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were blue and wide and sparkling. The men noticed, and Willow knew they did. She used her beauty to her advantage.
“Are you well?” Sage asked with worry.
Willow nodded and led Sage from the inn. She guided her around the side of the wooden building where moonlight lit up the yard.
“What is it? Did Christian hurt you?” Sage asked, ready to take off his head. Although Christian was a longtime family friend, they hadn’t seen him for years until this night.
Willow stopped and whirled. “No! No.” She looked one way and then the other, making sure there were no others around. She reached inside her armor and pulled out a pouch. She untied it and removed a small book. It was about the size of her hand.
A book! Shocked and intrigued, Sage hungrily took it. She inspected the little, black leather-bound book, opening it and examining the parchment pages. Books were rare, and it was even rarer for Willow to have one as she had never shown interest in them. “Where did you get this?”
“Christian gave it to me,” Willow answered. “Can you read it?”
Sage stopped at a random page and scanned it, longingly drawing her finger over the parchment. How she wished she could read it! She could recognize simple words like “to” and “in.” But none of the letters formed any words she knew. She shook her head in frustration. “I can’t read. You know that.”
“You can read some things. More than me, anyway.”
“Nothing like this.” She flipped through the parchment pages carefully. It might as well have been in a foreign language. “Why would he give you a book? He knows you can’t read.”
“He can’t read either. Maybe he found no use for it.”
