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An urgent knock rattles the door, startling both of them.

Ella hurries to the door and leans her ear against it. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Dagmon. I need to check on Princess Sassa.”

Ella’s shoulders relax. “It’s only Dagmon.” She opens the door. A tall, dark-haired man wearing a dark blue uniform with silver trim epaulets on his shoulders stands at attention in the corridor. His protective gaze sweeps the room and then his expression changes into something hideous. It stretches and contorts. Ella screams and falls back, cowering in a corner. Mom’s heart is pounding, and she runs for a nightstand near the bed. She opens the drawer and pulls out a long thin dagger. Her gaze swings back to the door. The tall, liveried guard has vanished and a woman with piercing green eyes, an evil smile and a cloud of wild white hair stands in his place. I recognize her face.

Mom holds up the dagger. “You’re Morga. I’ve seen you following me in the village. I see my uncle still hasn’t improved his social standing. He’s still keeping company with the likes of you, an evil mage who was never good enough to be called sorceress.”

The woman’s wicked grin pulls up like a creepy horror movie villain. I can feel Mom’s heart beating so fast she’s shaking. “Where are my parents?” Mom asks.

Right then a scream breaks the eerie silence in the palace. “Mama!” Mom screams. She runs full force at Morga. The mage grabs for Mom, but she slashes the mage’s hand with the dagger, drawing blood and a rage-filled yowl from the evil woman.

Mom races down a long corridor dimly lit by wall sconces. Her feet pound the narrow, ornate runner that lines the hallway. She turns and cuts across the landing of a long, winding stairway and straight down another long corridor. Blood drips from the end of the dagger and onto the pink dress. “Mama!” she cries and pushes open a door. “Mama!” The room is empty.

Mom turns and flies down the long stairway. Her feet barely touch the landing before she races past a vast entry with light flooding from the candles of a multi-tiered chandelier.

“Papa!” she cries.

A faint reply. “Stay away. No, Sassa.”

Mom follows the direction of her father’s weak plea. She reaches another door and pushes it open. A man with a dark blond beard and shaved head raises a dagger, much like the one Mom holds. She screams as he brings the dagger down into the chest of a man already prostrate on the floor in a puddle of blood.

Mom bursts into the room and screams again. A woman in a bright blue gown is crumpled in another pool of blood. The horrid man pulls his dagger free from his victim. Mom runs over and collapses down on top of the man. “Papa!” she cries. “No, please.” A gurgled breath rolls up from the king’s chest as he strains to lift his trembling hand. It falls onto Mom’s back and turns limp. Icy cold hands grab her, and she screams. I scream.

Revel thundered into the room with such force, I fell back, then immediately rushed into his arms. My reaction shocked me, but he wrapped his protective arms around me and, right then, there was nowhere else I wanted to be but in his secure, strong embrace. My head still throbbed, and coming out of a glitch, especially an intense one, always left me in a numbing fog. But I knew one thing for sure: Everything felt less scary in Revel’s arms.

“What is it?” Raina’s voice trembled from somewhere in the room. “Oh, wait,” she said, sounding more stable. “You found your mother’s locket.”

It took all my will, but I managed to peel myself off Revel’s chest. He smelled exceptionally good, like fresh cut cedarwood. I glanced up and found him gazing down at me with worry. His body relaxed around me. “You gave us both a scare, Whisper,” he said quietly.

I stepped out from his protective warmth, reluctantly. Raina was holding the locket. “It was a glitch. The first time I’ve traveled back in time and saw things through another’s eyes.” My throat tightened around the next words. “I was seeing through Mom’s eyes. She was young, a teenager.”

Raina’s face smoothed in comprehension. “You witnessed your grandparents’ murders through Sassa’s eyes.”

“It was awful. How did it happen? Why did it happen?”

Raina put the locket in her apron pocket. “Come, supper is ready. I can give you some history on the whole thing. It’s time you learn something about your ancestry.”

By the time Raina had ladled the stew into bowls, my head had cleared and only a dull ache remained. Revel and I clashed gazes numerous times but didn’t say a word to each other. It was both awkward and, admittedly, fun, like two teens who’d spotted each other at a school dance but were too shy to step onto the floor. At least, there was shyness on my end. For Revel, there was something deeper, almost tortured about the way he looked at me. I’d learned enough details of my predicament to know that nothing could ever happen between us. My fate had been decided entirely without my personal involvement, and my own heart and feelings were irrelevant.

Raina sat down with a worried look. “Are you feeling better, my sweet?”

“I’m fine. I think I’m getting better at handling the glitches. Maybe it’s because I know what they are now.” The next question felt heavy like stone as it came out. “So, Mom witnessed her parents being murdered?”

“Assassinated is what they called it.” Raina put on a somewhat flirtatious smile and passed a plate of fry bread to Revel.

“This is delicious, Raina,” he said as he plowed a piece into the stew.

Raina chuckled. “I’m glad I doubled the recipe. As you already know, Rafi, your grandparents were, at one time, the King and Queen of Troikana. The Triumvirate of Sorcerers decided Troikana needed a king and queen to hand down edicts and rules to all three regions. Their main goal was to stop the persistent wars between the regions. They chose Articus and Raphaela because they were wise and thoughtful and didn’t exhibit any bad qualities like greed or a penchant for war. Not that your grandfather wasn’t a great Valian warrior, he most certainly was.” Raina looked at Revel for confirmation. Our kitchen looked comically miniature with him sitting at the table.

Revel had tied the top of his hair back again, and in the glow of the hearth and the candles, he looked nothing short of breathtaking. “My grandfather told me stories of fighting alongside Articus …” He looked at me. “And Ortoro, your father. They were both great warriors, brave, honest, trustworthy and tough as fucking iron.” Revel looked apologetically at Raina. “Sorry about that. Just came out.”

“I forgive you,” Raina chortled. “In fact, in that context it seems entirely appropriate. And your grandfather was a great leader.”

Raina had told me the incredible tale of an infant Revel being sent off in a trunk to float ashore in Norvale, where his grandparents then raised their orphaned grandson. “I’ve heard the story about how you came to be in the care of your grandparents. Did you know my father?” I asked.

“I was very young, but I remember he always brought me a cake of hard sugar when he visited.”