PROLOGUE
INthe fevered hour after he narrowly escaped with his life, the young prince paused only to snatch up parchment and a quill.
In less than a moment, he’d written two letters.
One to a friend.
One to someone he would not call so.
Both held the same message, written in a flat, left-handed scrawl.
The tiger has fled, the mountain lion is dead, the wolf has found his head.
No signature was needed for one, nor advised for the other.
Satisfied and running out of time, he sealed the letters and sent them on their way. Then, without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he disappeared into the night.
INthe captain’s quarters of the pirate shipGatzal,the princess watched her true love open his eyes.
From where she’d lain for the last several hours—on the wood-plank floor, her hand nestled in his—she slipped onto the edge of the bed where he slept. She was careful not to jostle him, as his chest was still raw from having been cleaved nearly in two by a prince’s mad hand, and then carefully mended with a thread, needle, and stinging sagardoa.
As the boy’s golden eyes focused on her face, he smiled, dimples winking. “We made it, Ama.”
She kissed him then, softly, mindful of his wounds. But her love was stronger than he seemed and put gentle fingers in her auburn hair, pulling her closer, deeper. When they parted, his fingers caressed the side of her face. “Of course we did,” she answered. “A wise pirate once told me love is the most powerful force on earth.”
“It is indeed powerful, as it is the only reason I am still here,breathing your air. I do hope our love will readily accept the blood I’ve shed and call it settled, because I doubt I can take much more.”
Pure joy bloomed across her face then, delight in her sea-stained eyes. “Oh, Luca, I have so much to tell you about your blood.”
That was not at all what he’d expected her to say. “My… blood?”
She told him everything then. About what the wolfish tattoo across his heart really meant—that he was the Otsakumea, the last of the Otxoa, ruling family of the Kingdom of Torrence. About the underground movement within the Torrent to restore the kingdom, and that the black wolf she’d encountered on the plateau was a harbinger of the resistance. She told him her father had known he had a hidden prince in his care. And that the man they’d killed at the Hand knew Luca’s true identity and had died trying to capture him.
“Luca, this is your birthright and the people want you to lead. They’re willing to fight a ruthless tyrant to get their land back; all they need is you.”
“But… are we sure this is true? Stableboys aren’t the chosen ones.”
“That tattoo is proof.”
“The tattoo is simply ink.”
“Not to the people who have been waiting for it.” Her eyes were full and pleading, hoping that he would see. Believe. She dropped another kiss on his lips, then up the line of his jaw. Whispered in his ear. “I know this is so much. Too much. But it is your chance.… And our chance to be together.”
TOthe south, the king who long ago forged his legacy in his only brother’s blood sat on his balcony in the salmon-bright dawn, a contract in hand, warm salt air pushing the remains of his snow-white hair around his face.
The royal seal was peeling off the parchment, slit straight through with the dagger he preferred for a letter opener. Crumbs of wax littered his nightshirt as he read through the amended offer one last time.
The changes were not of consequence—silly, cosmetic things that did not matter. Worth much more was the fact that she either didn’t or couldn’t see what was actually of importance. Clearly the queen had kept her more seasoned advisors in the dark about the terms.
A smile sliding across the craggy landscape of his face, the king plucked a quill from his inkpot and, in a flourish of just a few letters, changed the entire shape of the continent. As the ink dried, the king watched the waves crash across rocks as sharp as his worst edges.
“My king, you’re up early,” came a small voice from within his chambers. In a moment, his fifth wife stepped into the dawn light, so young that not a line showed when she squinted from the bedroom shadows into the blinding promise of a summer day.
The king didn’t roll or fold or otherwise obscure the content of the parchment. This wife wasn’t the type to pry in his official business. It was a quality that until that very moment had served her well. “Let’s take a walk on the beach, Nania. Just the two of us. Would you like that?”
The girl lit up like the brilliant flash of a falling star. “Oh yes, my king. I shall dress at once.”
CHAPTER1
