CHAPTER ONE

TARYN

I THOUGHT DEATH would taste bitter, but it was surprisingly sweet. The savor permeated my mouth, growing stronger as Death wrapped his arms around me, paralyzing me with a numbness that chilled every piece of my body. Part of me wanted to escape his grasp and fight my way to freedom; yet another part yearned to melt into his embrace and deliver myself from every sorrow that haunted me in this life.

As Death dragged me into the unknown, my world grew darker, and there was nothing to fill my lungs with. I gasped for air as I struggled against him, but my antics only made his grip tighten. The light was growing dimmer behind me, yet was still within reach, offering me hope. Death clutched at me, desperate to keep his hold as I tried to slip away. I shut my eyes, fear overtaking me. Not yet, I whispered.

Death’s icy fingers slid over my skin like daggers as he released me from his hold and pushed me back to the warmth of life. I turned to look over my shoulder, to get one last glimpse, but he was already gone. I shivered, the lingering coldness in the air a dark reminder that he would one day return.

My consciousness slowly returned to my body. Each sense awakened like a ray of dawn shooting into the sky, filling the world with color and engulfing it in light. My nose twitched, smelling smoke, and my ears detected the crackling of a small fire. I jolted upright, and an eruption of pain burst inside my head. I quickly fell back with a grimace, gingerly touching my forehead and willing the pain to go away. It swelled within me, the ache growing stronger, blocking everything else from my mind.

A search through my memories grasped for answers but came up short. I could sense them there, lingering at the edges of my clarity, just out of reach. When I managed to touch one, it immediately disintegrated, but then I seized another, and everything suddenly came rushing back like the waves of the ocean. I pieced each muddled recollection together as they shifted into focus—the sharpness of the dagger against my throat, the sickening stench of the thieves, the overwhelming pain as my head smashed against the ground. Clinging to Stryder’s neck as he galloped away, and then falling, falling through empty air into the swirling darkness.

My fingers stretched beside me and stroked what felt like the rough fibers of a woolen blanket. I cracked my eyes open, flames licking at my peripheral vision. The star-studded sky was barely visible through the outstretched branches of the trees, their silhouettes woven together like the bars of a cage, imprisoning me. A strange sensation overcame my body. I stiffened as goosebumps traveled up my arm, and the hair on the back of my neck rose. Death may have left me, but I was not alone.

Someone was watching me.

I rotated my head, the forest spinning around me, until I found what I was looking for. Across the fire sat a motionless figure shadowed by the dancing flames. The firelight illuminated his piercing blue eyes. They were fixed on me. And waiting. Waiting for something. Strands of dark hair hung over his forehead, and stubble covered his clenched jaw. Neither of us spoke. Neither moved. I swallowed hard. Fear raced through my body and screamed at me to run, but I didn’t move. I held his gaze, my steely eyes refusing to break contact with him.

“If you’re looking for money,” I said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you like the others.”

The thieves had emptied my saddlebags on the ground in a fit of rage, becoming angrier when they found its contents held little more than the sour cheese and moldy bread I had been rationing. Villages had been sparse out here in the wilderness these past few weeks, and I was fortunate to have what little food I did.

“I’m not looking for money.”

His voice was low and steady, spoken with a casualness that implied he possessed all the time in the world to have this conversation. An owl hooted in the distance, the only other noise beyond the crackling flames. I lay there, waiting for an explanation, but he remained quiet. My fingers slowly traveled underneath the blanket in search of a weapon. I craved the security of having something to defend myself with.

My eyes roamed, relaxing as they came to rest on Stryder grazing several paces away with another horse. Stryder was okay, and with him so close, my chances of escape were rising.

“The horse is fine.” The man’s gaze had followed mine. “In better shape than you are.”

The pain was almost manageable now, but when I sat up on my elbows, my head began to swim.

“I wouldn’t get up yet.”

I ignored the advice, swaying as I moved into a sitting position, and faced the stranger. The dagger concealed within my boot secretly made its way to my lap, hidden between the folds of my skirt. Without taking my eyes from the stranger, I assessed my surroundings. An escape plan was beginning to form in my mind when another memory resurfaced. This one was of the long-shafted arrows protruding from the thieves’ chests—arrows that had not been delivered by my hand. My eyes fell to the longbow lying at the man’s side. If he had saved my life, this complicated things. A favor had been granted, and no doubt, he wanted one in return.

That wasn’t going to happen.

I had no reason to trust this man and needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. Given my present state, I wouldn’t be able to move fast, but if I kicked some of the embers at my feet into the man’s eyes, it might give me enough time to reach Stryder and escape.

“Before you run away,” the man began, and I blinked, disturbed at his ability to discern my inner thoughts so easily. “You might want to hear what I came to tell you about your father.”

Warning bells urgently rang in my mind as every muscle in my body tensed. I tightened my grip on the dagger, a sea of raw emotions flooding my being. Sharp pains shot through my head as I clenched and unclenched my jaw.

“I have no father.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

His gaze fell to the dying fire, and he reached over to grab a stick with his callused hands. As he stoked the fire, the flames momentarily enlarged, illuminating his serious face. He was young, but his authoritative demeanor suggested a knowledge beyond his years. Calmly, he set the stick down and settled his steady gaze on me. “Did Michael Gallows give his ring to the wrong girl, then?”

I sucked in a breath, my fingers involuntarily reaching for the familiar outline of the golden ring on my right hand. The sudden movement gave me away, destroying any hope of indifference. A smile tugged at the corner of the man’s mouth, and he chuckled.

“I didn’t think so.”

Anger rushed through me. Jumping to my feet, I clutched the dagger in front of me, struggling to stay upright. My eyes burned into the man, scared of what he wanted.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

He stood, his eyebrows drawing together, and I squared my shoulders as he rose above me.

“My name is Vladimir, leader of the Kavari.” He hesitated for a moment, as if waiting for some kind of recognition.

His rank paralleled the queen’s, but it was of no consequence. I would not defer to him no matter who he was.

“And what do you want, leader of the Kavari?” I asked mockingly.

“Your father sent me to find you.”

An icy chill seeped deep into my bones. He was lying. No one should know who I was. Who my father was.

“Why does a dead man need to find someone?”

For the first time, his calm demeanor transformed into surprise. Words didn’t come at first, as if he couldn’t find the right ones to say. “You already know about his death?”

I crossed my arms. It had only been two weeks since I had been informed of my father’s death, prompting the immediate departure from my home. With him gone, nothing held me to that small town. I’d been waiting to escape him for years, yet somehow even in death, he still managed to find me. I had barely known my father. Nor had I wanted to know him.

“Why did my father send you to find me?” I asked.

Vladimir’s face turned grave. “Because your father was murdered.”

My throat tightened, but I kept my emotions in check.

Murdered.

I had only been informed that my father was dead, not that he had been the victim of foul play. I swallowed the lump in my throat, regaining strength. My father meant nothing to me. The revelation of his murder meant nothing to me. I took a step back.

“Whatever happened to my father was his own doing. I’ll not have any part of it.”

I turned and stumbled toward Stryder like a drunk, the corners of my vision beginning to spin. Stryder gave a low whicker, neck outstretched to greet me. Vladimir’s horse grazed nearby, tethered to the ground, and my movements faltered. Stryder stood fully saddled, ready to go except for a quick tightening of the girth, but Vladimir’s horse had been untacked for the night. My eyes flicked between the two horses, wondering what the man was playing at.

Footsteps approached from behind, and I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. The knife was still in my grasp, and if Vladimir tried anything, I would take him down.

“If you cared so little for your father, why do you still wear his ring?”

My eyes fell to the golden ring encircling my finger. It was impossible to count how many times I had asked myself that same question. When my father had left it behind, all I wanted was to cast it from my sight—just as I had cast him from my sight. Yet every time I tried to get rid of it, I couldn’t.

If Vladimir knew who I was, then someone else might too. What if whoever killed my father came for me next? Had the thieves who attacked me known my identity?

My mother and I had never spoken of my father in public. When asked about him, I was instructed to say that he left when I was just a baby. My father never entered the village when he came to visit, and I don’t even know that the widow down the road knew about his existence.

I never understood why my mother had been so secretive about him. She insisted it was imperative for our protection; therefore, I had never questioned it. Even after my mother’s death, I never spoke of my father to anyone.

I looked out into the darkness surrounding me, and for the first time since leaving my home, the world suddenly felt vast and uninviting. Over the past nineteen years, I’d never traveled farther than the nearest village. I knew nothing of the outside world, and the events that had already transpired frightened me. I had fulfilled my promise to my mother by staying in Navarre until my father bestowed his blessing, but it never came. Upon his death, I packed my meager belongings and set out with nowhere to go and no one to trust. All I had left to hold onto was the hope of finding a trace of my mother’s family.

Guilt from the indifference toward my father’s death rose within me.

Your father was murdered.

Vladimir’s words echoed in my head, twisting around my heart and trying to take root. As much as I tried to harden my heart, the matter vexed me like an itch that wouldn’t go away. I might not care for my father, but that didn’t mean I was comfortable with allowing him to die without justice. Remorse eroded at my stubbornness, fighting for the upper hand. I placed my hand on Stryder’s shoulder to steady myself as my head began pounding harder.

“What happened to my father?” I asked, turning back to Vladimir.

I didn’t want to know, but I knew that I needed to.

Vladimir crossed his arms. “Six weeks ago, Michael came to me and said he had stumbled upon information that could be crippling for our country.”

“What kind of information?”

“Michael wouldn’t tell me, but whatever he’d discovered, it scared him. Three days later, he left the capital and refused to tell me where he was going. My instructions were to meet up with him at Hythe in five days, and that if he didn’t show, to go looking for him.”

“He never came.”

Vladimir shook his head. “Something was wrong. I waited a full day in Hythe before setting off in search of him. The first thing I discovered was a dead Gharridan soldier, thrown off the path with an arrow in his chest. Farther into the woods, I found Michael’s frozen body lying in the snow—pierced by his own sword with his throat slit.”

I felt the tears at the edges of my vision but held them back. The highest disgrace a Gharridan could suffer was to be taken out of this world by his own weapon.

“There were seven other bodies in that clearing, all burned beyond recognition with no weapons, no identification. Nothing.”

I leaned against Stryder’s shoulder for support. What had my father done to deserve a death like that?

“Did he send you all this way just to tell me this?”

Vladimir hesitated, his pale eyes determining how best to answer me. “After your father’s funeral, I received a missive from a man named Gavil saying he had information about your father’s death.”

“And what did he say?”

“That he would only give the information to Taryn Gallows.”

I frowned. “Why would he insist on giving it to me?”

“Who else besides your father knows of your existence?”

I remained quiet. When I was growing up, there was always a man who brought us money every few months. He never seemed to care about our identity, but carried on as if he was simply following orders. The secretiveness my parents had always enforced led me to believe that no one knew of my existence, but now I wondered if I was wrong.

“Michael insured the information wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands by requesting it be passed only to his daughter.”

I shook my head in confusion. “How did my father discover this? Did he work for you?”

Something about what I said deeply disturbed Vladimir, and he tilted his head, choosing his next words carefully. “Your father didn’t work for me, Taryn. I worked for your father. He led the Kavari before me.”

Unease clawed at my stomach, ripping through my gut until I could no longer contain it. I quickly moved away from Vladimir, my head spinning at the implication of his words.

My father had been the most powerful man in Gharridan.