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  She curtsied and lowered her gaze in a show of respect, even as Edgar gave her a hard stare. He shook his head in disapproval.

  “Sorry, uncle,” she mouthed.

  Myah stepped forward to take her seat to his left with her mother. Before she even reached her seat, the debate had begun again. She sighed.

  “You cannot possibly be entertaining the idea of letting those murderers into Nordlin,” Lord Franc Lamar said, his voice rising above the others who had sought to begin the volley of words. He rose from his seat, stretching his tall frame to its full height as he moved to the center of the hall. His chin lifted just enough that his brown eyes could gaze right down his aquiline nose. “Elysia Ashen destroys everything she sets her sights on in her quest for vengeance. She will wheedle her way into Nordlin, and burn this city while we sleep.” Franc folded his hands behind his back.

  “And what would you have me do?” Edgar asked. “Would you have me flat-out refuse to meet with her emissary?” The high lord paced. “We all knew it was only a matter of time before she turned her attention to the north.”

  “The Ashens don’t want peace,” Franc said. “It’s a ruse to lull you into a sense of security. She’s using the supplies to get you to lower your defenses.”

  Myah knitted her brow and leaned toward her mother. “What are they talking about?” she whispered. Her uncle and Franc continued to volley.

  “Had you been on time, you’d know,” Caitlyn said softly.

  Myah fought the urge to growl. “Mother,” she said.

  Caitlyn peered at her out of the corner of her eye. “Your uncle has received correspondence from Ost. Queen Elysia wishes to send an emissary to discuss a peace treaty.”

  “To what end?”

  “To open trade. She’s offered the supplies we need for the winter. I believe she also wishes to discuss the resistance factions that keep raiding her supply convoys and attacking her troops in the dead of night.”

  “Raids?” A sense of unease crested with her words, causing her voice to crack. Myah shot a look at Skye, who caught her gaze. He shook his head minutely before returning his attention back to the debate.

  “Really, My,” her mother chastised. Caitlyn gave her a disapproving look. “The queen claims there have been three attacks on Osten supply convoys in the last few weeks, eight in the last month.” She brushed at her dress. “No doubt the Ashens think we should be stopping them or are involved somehow, but it’s her fault the world is in disarray. The lords are understandably apprehensive. Now, please, pay attention, darling.”

  “Elysia is a viper. She has done nothing but terrorize the kingdoms for eight years,” Franc continued, drawing Myah’s attention back to the debate. “You cannot trust her intentions. She’s as slippery as the rest of the Ashens.”

  Turning slowly, Edgar eyed each of the lords in the hall before pointedly glaring at Lord Lamar. “I know exactly who she is, Franc. A murderer, a woman who takes what doesn’t belong to her. Every day that she sits on my brother-in-law’s throne, I remember.” He paused, and the intensity radiating from him made Myah sit up straighter, along with every other lord in the room. “However, my duty is to the people here. From the Nordlin lords, to the visiting houses, to the commoners who live under my protection. Being willing to listen to her proposals does not mean that I will kowtow to her every whim.”

  “Carefully chosen words for an equally cautious ruler.” Edgar turned to face the newest voice. The newcomer was young, handsome in a way that could almost be considered otherworldly and regal in his attire, but something about his eyes were off-putting. Myah didn’t recognize him.

  Even as he continued to speak, Myah leaned over to whisper to Lady Caitlyn. “Who is he?” she asked.

  Caitlyn leaned closer, turning her head so that her mouth was near Myah’s ear. “Lord Xander Ardent of Morgensol. He came through with the refugees from Namir.”

  “Oh,” Myah responded, “so that is him.”

  She had not yet been introduced to Lord Ardent, but she had been purposefully avoiding the common areas so that she wouldn’t have that misfortune. He was not much older than she was, but she couldn’t imagine they had much in common.

  Upon his arrival, he had spoken to her uncle about marrying Myah without so much as a hello to her, and then dropped the idea when Edgar explained that, as his heir, her children would belong to the house of Leicht, not Ardent, based on the ancient laws of succession in cases when females were the sole heir. They insured that the house line continued. However, most men didn’t want to give up their patrilineal titles.

  The only reason she knew any of this was because Cal had overheard his lamentations to his servant, and promptly informed her and Skye when they had visited the tavern after burying Allen. After she had survived the shock, she had found the entire thing laughable. Who did that sort of thing?

  During her brief exchange with Caitlyn, Xander Ardent had managed to set the entire room ablaze by pointedly insulting Lord Edgar. Myah shook her head in disgust. The lords in the room were many things, but they all loved the high lord.

  “Enough,” Edgar shouted, silencing the room. “I have heard your concerns, and you know I agree with them, but I will not turn away a possible means to stabilize this kingdom.”

  “Lord Edgar.” Skye stood. “Perhaps a few extra security measures, then.”

  “Agreed,” his father echoed. “If you insist on letting the snake into your bed, it might do to make sure it isn’t poisonous beforehand.”

  “Point taken,” Edgar agreed, although he frowned.

  Her uncle would never get into bed with Elysia Ashen. Even if she hadn’t heard stories from Skye of the atrocities committed in Namir, deep in her bones Myah knew that the queen was a monster, the ilk of something abominable and damned.

  “I’ll make arrangements with the master of the guard this afternoon.” Silence hung in the air like acrid smoke. The tension reeked like sulfur fumes. “Now, if we have no more business to discuss, then I think that is all for today.”

  Slowly, the lords rose and disbanded, the chatter rising from indecipherable murmurs into a roar that reverberated off the arched ceiling. Her mother headed straight for her uncle and placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it, before she released him. The look that passed between Caitlyn and Edgar spoke volumes to Myah. She had seen them share the look so many times over the years. Silent support.

  Myah descended the dais. She paused on the last step, using the additional inches to give her a better view over the crowd. Skye spoke off to one side with his father in a hushed fashion. Their heads were close together, and whatever Lord Lamar was saying must have been pointed, because he kept jabbing his finger at his eldest son. Skye said something back, and his father’s eyes narrowed. Lord Lamar retreated. His eyes opened wide, and a fleeting look of shock passed over his features before he schooled his expression. He shook his head and walked away from his son.

  It was then that Myah took the last step and weaved through the gaggle of lords. As she approached, Skye’s chest heaved; his nostrils flared in an unbecoming fashion, and his cheeks had flushed.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, coming to stop to the right of his pacing form.

  “Nothing,” he snapped.

  “Sorry I asked.” She gathered the light blue fabric of her dress in her hands and spun to walk away.

  “Wait!” he called. She paused, stealing a look over her shoulder. He waved for her to come back. “Please, My. I’m sorry. It’s … family business.”

  Her eyebrows shot straight up. Family business? She had seen Lord Lamar animated during council meetings, but she had never seen him openly scold Skye. In fact, their family always appeared to support each other.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  He shook his head and tugged at his emerald green tunic, straightening it around his midriff. The gold stitching in the fabric caught the light. “No. It’s—” He paused, finally looking at her. “It’s really nothing, but
thank you for asking.”

  She smiled.

  “Since I missed most of the meeting,” she continued in a different vein, “care to tell me what is going on? My mother seemed more focused on scolding me than telling me much.”

  “Exactly how it sounded. A messenger arrived before the meeting with a letter from the queen. She is sending an emissary to speak to your uncle about improving relations between the kingdoms.”

  “That’s all it said?”

  Skye tossed up his hands. “I’m not exactly in your uncle’s confidence, but yes, as far as I know, that is what it said. Most of the arguments were for ways to improve trade, reopen commerce, and cease hostilities so that we can all get on with our lives.”

  “Your father disagrees.”

  “After what the Osten army, what the Ashens did to Namir, I can’t really blame my father. I don’t even like the idea of anyone from Ost being admitted to Nordlin.” He sighed. “But we were overruled, and that’s fine … I guess. It’s the price of ruling, I suppose—making sure that all avenues are explored to do what’s best for the people.”

  She processed his words. Was that what her uncle had meant about making the hard decisions? Given the bad blood between the house of Leicht and the house of Ashen, she would have thought her uncle would keep the borders closed.

  “Do we know who the emissary is?” she wondered aloud. Maybe the reason her uncle was allowing it was because it was someone from another house.

  “Eh.” The sound of disgust caught Myah by surprise. “Lord Phillip Ashen, nephew of Queen Elysia. He’ll arrive in a week.”

  Although the name sounded familiar, that was the extent of her memory. “I don’t know who he is.”

  “Technically, his family hails from Morgensol. His mother, I think, was Einar Ashen’s sister. He’s the heir for the house of Ashen, but I think he was born a Rainecourt. The things I’ve heard about him …” Skye’s face contorted in disgust. “Just make sure you keep a dagger on you, My.”

  “I don’t know how to use a dagger.”

  He smirked. “My offer still stands to teach you.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she countered, taking a moment to make sure there wasn’t anyone close enough to overhear her. “Skye, you don’t think they are planning anything, do you? I mean, first the supplies in the mountains—” She dropped her voice lower. “—then the ambush …”

  “I think … we should be cautious.” He pointed to the door. “I really should go smooth things over with my father. Meet me in the gardens later?”

  “All right.”

  “Bye, My.” After a quick bow, he left her side, gently brushing the back of his fingers against her hand in a discreet display of affection. Although her uncle had cooled regarding Skye and Cal, her mother hadn’t budged and she probably wouldn’t budge unless Myah gathered the courage to tell her the truth.

  She had been hunted by an Osten.

  Her stomach knotted. She felt as if she were going to throw up. Ostens in Nordlin?

  Was this because of her?

  He had seen her face; he had hunted her for hours. He—

  She shook her head, trying to cast the thoughts away. She needed to clear her mind, and there was only one way to do it—bow practice. Her mother would just have to miss her at tea.

  PART II:

  The Wolf

  of the East

  ~SIXTEEN~

  From the castle walls, Myah surveyed the city and the surrounding country. A series of wagons and guards emerged from the forest road, flanked by a regiment of Nordlin soldiers, heading for the city’s main gate. They were small on the horizon, but the Osten flags, bared by two riders leading the envoy, whipped in the wind. A Whispering Ash tree, the emblem of the house of Ashen, was embroidered on the blood red square, but at this distance, it was only a blotch upon the crimson, which stood out in the gray, diffused light of day.

  “They are here, then,” her mother stated. She came up behind Myah, placing her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Meeting with her emissary, Edgar … We should not have opened the wards for them.”

  Her uncle stopped on the other side of Myah. “The decision makes me uneasy as well, Caitlyn, but Elysia did follow through with supplies.”

  Myah stole a glance at her uncle out of the corner of her eye. His lips were pressed into a deep-set frown. His brow was creased, and the two combined gave him the appearance of age beyond his years. Worry always aged him, made him look haggard, but never weak. His face was as stern as a weapons master preparing for battle.

  “Any word from Frost Bay and the supplies from the Stone Isles?”

  “It may be some time before we hear anything. They’ve had back-to-back storms.”

  Which meant humoring the Ostens until they could be certain Nordlin was safe.

  “Myah.” She started from her thoughts.

  “Yes, uncle.” She leaned toward her mother as Caitlyn tightened her hold, and pulled her closer to her side. The older woman pressed her lips to Myah’s temple and smoothed the flyaway strands of Myah’s hair.

  “Be on guard while they are here. Do not wander, and unless it can’t be helped, don’t be alone with any of them.”

  If she had her way, she would stay in her rooms until they left. “I will.”

  “And don’t do anything that could cause offense.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And—”

  “Uncle Edgar,” she cut him off. “I promise. I won’t cause a scandal.” She winked.

  Her uncle smiled, took her hand, and squeezed her fingers. The warmth felt like the heat of a fire after a long walk in the cold. “I’m not worried about a scandal. I worry for you.”

  Myah withdrew from her mother. “I remember who we are dealing with,” she said to Edgar, and then leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I won’t do anything to make you want to lock me in the dungeon.”

  Edgar’s bellowing laughter rose above the hiss of the wind.

  It brought a smile to her face as she looked back at the city gates. The envoy was trudging through the streets, zigzagging through the byways since there was no direct road to the second wall. The sight was almost comical.

  “Come. Let’s get out of this wind,” her uncle said. “Our guests will be here shortly.”

  The idea sent a chill up Myah’s spine, like icy fingers stirring her awake in the dead of night. Her stomach rolled as she fell into step behind her mother and uncle. The levity from only moments ago was lost to the breeze.

  The fanfare sounded, dying abruptly with the wind. The Ostens were closer now; close enough that the heralds no doubt could see the whites of their eyes if they were not blowing so diligently upon their trumpets.

  Guardsmen opened the high doors to the great hall as they approached. They always timed it perfectly that her uncle never missed a step as he entered. The lords and ladies of the Nordlin houses and the visiting houses already lined the room. The cacophony of conversation deadened as Edgar entered. She could never command a room like him, entering to silence and reverence, surrounded by waves of respect. Maybe someday she would get there.

  They crossed the room to the dais. Her uncle stepped before his chair at the top of the tiered landing. Her mother stood before hers at his left, and Myah stood at Caitlyn’s left.

  Like an explosion, the voices of the court rose up all at once, as if a final wave of protesting would change Edgar’s mind and he would send the envoy back before it could pass the outer gates to the castle.

  Edgar threw up his hands, waving them into silence, and again the noise dropped off until only the rustling of fabric or a thud of a heel remained.

  It was then Myah sat, almost in unison, with her uncle and mother, awaiting the emissaries of Ost and the house of Ashen as if they awaited a plague to fall upon Nordlin.

  A servant came in. He bowed at the waist, and upon standing upright, he announced, “They are here, high lord.” With a sweep of his arm, he gestured to the open doors and backed
away.

  As Myah’s eyes left the servant and found the entrance, a man rounded from the hall and proceeded into the room with the same air she had seen her uncle enter. A group of guards flanked him. A single soldier stood on each side of the man and six protected the rear, each clad in Osten black and gray with the signet of Ost on the breast of their cloaks.

  Her uncle stood as they approached, and the group stopped near the foot of the dais.

  “Welcome,” Edgar said, “to Nordlin City.”

  The man’s hair was slicked back, smooth against his head, except for the pieces at his neck that curled out against the collar of his blue tunic. His skin appeared white against the black of his hair and the deep brown of his eyes. The contrast made him look sickly and old, but Myah suspected he was in his mid-twenties from the lack of fine lines around his eyes and mouth.

  “Thank you, High Lord Leicht. I am Lord Phillip of the house of Ashen.”

  A wave of dissension rippled through the room. Phillip seemed to enjoy the protests, because his lips twisted upward, the kind of smile that wasn’t friendly, but instead held a touch of poison behind a beautiful façade.

  Cold fingers slithered down Myah’s spine again, and she wondered if all the lords allied with the house of Ashen were equally repulsive.

  Her uncle did not acknowledge the dissent as he descended the steps to greet his guest. Phillip spun slowly, taking in the room and its faces. He stopped about halfway through his turn.

  “Lord Lamar,” Phillip said almost pleasantly, “what a pleasure to see you and your family again. How is your beautiful daughter?”

  Myah’s breath caught when Skye lurched forward, only to be held back by his father’s outstretched arm. His father gave him a pointed look before meeting Phillip’s gaze. “Dead,” he spat. “And the pleasure is yours, Lord Ashen.”

  The smile melted from Phillip’s face. He gave a half-shrug, before returning his attention to Edgar. “What interesting guests you have.”