weight shoving at hers, she lost her
seat, falling with a loud crash to the
unyielding mud. He was instantly
upon her, but Jaisyn rolled quickly,
holding tight to the impressionable
leather hilt of her sword. The
blacksmith had said it would give her
a firmer grip.
Once standing, she realized this man
was bigger than the rest. He topped
her by at least two arms’ lengths, and
wielded a sword as long as her leg.
An awful roar split the air as he
charged her. Jaisyn danced aside,
pivoting to confront him.
“Ye lot and yer fancy footwork,”
the warrior snarled, and lunged again.
This time when Jaisyn feinted, he was
ready and with a ringing crash, his
sword came down on her left arm.
For the span of two breaths,
numbness grabbed hold of her
shoulder and quickly spread through
her arm. Within moments, pain as
she’d never felt before shot through
her shoulder and she squealed,
attempting to move her arm. It hung
limply. Broken. So shocked was she
by the pain, Jaisyn released her grip
on her sword to reach across for her
injured shoulder, as though by touch
she could send the pain away.
A shadow stepped into her path.
Jaisyn lifted her head. The giant
loomed over her, his sword half-
raised.
She was going to die.
Although she feared it, Jaisyn
accepted that truth. At least her
brother had gotten away. Her father
would be heartbroken but she had two
sisters. It would take time, but
Wilhelm would eventually get over her
death.
“Is that how ye Lytherian bastards
holler? Like girls?” the soldier taunted
and advanced more. Jaisyn held her
ground. Never would she show this
cur fear; never would she cower.
“Why don’t ye squeal for me some
more, eh, girly?”
He lifted his blade and behind the
helmet, Jaisyn closed her eyes,
prepared to meet her Goddess.
Instead, she heard a familiar scream
before the soldier released a string of
curses that were decidedly foreign.
She opened her eyes. The scene
briefly stunned her. Stephen had his
arms wrapped around the soldier’s
neck as he attempted to wrestle him
for the broadsword. Jaisyn blinked in
confusion. One moment she was
preparing to meet her creator, and the
next, this. The soldier had managed to
throw Stephen from him and was now
advancing on the scuttling boy.
“No!” Somehow the sword was
back in her unwounded hand as she
screamed and ran forward. The
soldier turned and delivered a solid
kick to her middle, sending her flying
backward and onto her already
throbbing left arm.
Bright lights flashed before her eyes,
reminding her of the jagged lines
she’d witnessed splitting the dark sky
earlier, and Jaisyn screamed When
her eyes focused once more, it was to
find the soldier looking down at her.
Before she could react, he was
tugging her helmet away.
“A girl?” he snorted and as if not
believing his eyes, removed his own
helmet and leaned down to get a
better look. Jaisyn knew what he’d
see: unblemished, if dirty, bronzed
skin, curly golden hair tightly pinned
to her head, and eyes so gold, they
sometimes appeared yellow. All were
traits of her ancestors, her people.
He was an older soldier with a hard
face, hard eyes and a nasty scar that
ran from ear to lip, curling it forever in
a snarl. And the way he was staring at
her was making her skin crawl. There
was something brutal in his eyes,
something she’d never seen before.
Intuition told her it wasn’t good.
“Just ye wait there, girly. I’ll be
done with this one then I’ll teach ye
yer true place,” he leered.
Fear clutched her. He was going to
kill her brother. As soon as he turned
his back, she placed her weight on her
broken hand, biting into her lip to
keep from crying out, before finding a
good enough position to push herself
up with her right hand. She tracked
the soldier on silent feet, waiting until
she was certain she had a great shot at
his neck. When she stood behind him,
she gripped her sword as tightly as she
could and swung with whatever power
she had left. Blood sprayed her armor
in a fine mist as the soldier’s head fell
with a dull thud to the side of his
body. He remained standing for the
span of two heartbeats before falling
forward.
She heard a scream and it took her
brain a while to register that it was
Stephen. Immediately, her body
moved into action.
What was it? Was there another
soldier? She looked around frantically
and seeing no one, finally looked
down. The headless soldier was lying
atop her brother. Jaisyn could have
sighed at that. Her brother had always
been squeamish about blood. She
dropped her sword and used her right
hand to push him from Stephen.
Jaisyn froze. The weight of the
soldier, coupled with the angle, had
pushed the sword into an unprotected
portion of her brother’s thigh.
Stephen’s
breath
was
coming
harshly and from the pushed-up visor
of his helmet, she could see his pallor.
.
“Jassy,” he whispered, his lips
trembling with fear and pain. “Jassy,
help me.”
Shaking her head, Jaisyn forced her
body back into action. She leaned
over the wound and knowing she had
no choice, grabbed hold of the sword
and with a fierce pull, tugged it from
his leg.
Stephen screamed his pain and
began to sob. Blood gushed from the
wound, running over the burnished
metal thigh plate and onto the
muddied ground. It ran like water
from a broken dam. There was so
much.
Oh Goddess, oh Goddess, oh
Goddess
.
“Oh Lyria, please,” she prayed
softly. “Please, don’t let my brother
die.”
At her words, Stephen shook his
head, and his lips began to tremble.
“Ajax,”
she
called,
searching
through the pelting rain and clustered
trees for the outline of the stallion. She
whistled loudly, hoping that he or Lulu
would come.
When no shape moved, Jaisyn
stooped next to her brother and
placed her hand over the wound,
pressing against it. He screamed and
cursed, begging her to stop.
“It needs pressure, Stephen,” she
told him firmly, deciding that the only
way to get him to stop worrying and
crying was to be firm. “Place your
hand here.”
He did as she asked and Jaisyn
moved around him, using her right
arm to try and pull his cape from his
armor. When that didn’t work, she
stooped for her sword and began to
slash at the material. Finally, the fine
blue fabric separated and she dropped
her sword, and tugged at it. A long rip
penetrated Stephen’s whimpers and
she knelt before him, trying to wrap
the cloth around the wound.
Stephen groaned and closed his
eyes. “Stephen, you have to bind it as
tightly as you can.” When he didn’t
respond, Jaisyn screamed his name
until he blinked and nodded. She’d
seen tourniquets like these before, on
the soldiers who were injured during
practice or those involved in minor
skirmishes at their borders, and they
were usually held in place by strong
twigs until a proper surgeon could be
called. The pelting rain blinded her to
everything but muddy water.
With red-rimmed eyes and shallow
breath, Stephen tied the edges
together, crying as he did so.
“That’s it, Stephen. Now, put your
hand on top of the cloth and press
down. Good.”
Jaisyn looked around. The day was
overcast, and growing darker. There
was still no sign of the horses.
“Ajax! Lulu!” she called again,
adding a whistle. Moving next to her
brother, she placed her good hand
atop the trembling hand that covered
his wound. “Don’t worry. One of
them will come.”
Stephen nodded. His lips were
turning blue. She moved closer and
began to talk about everything and
nothing, prompting him for responses
to distract him from their situation.
After what seemed like hours, she
heard the sound of horse hooves and
looked up to see Ajax moving toward
them.
“Ajax is here, Stephen. Come on.
Stand up. You have to climb onto
Ajax,” Jaisyn stood and led Ajax
closer to her brother.
“Good boy,” she whispered to Ajax,
caressing the side of his face, before
turning to Stephen.
Her brother lay as he was. His hand
clutched the makeshift bandage of his
wound, as his eyes—now glassy—
stared up at her.
“I’ll help you up,” Jaisyn said
immediately, hating that look. She
grasped his arm and tried to lift him,
to no avail. “Come on, Stephen.
You’re a St. Ives—a future king! Fight
it.” Her voice began to tremble and
break so she halted and cleared her
throat. “Do it for Father. Think of
how proud he’d be. You saved me,
protected me. Stephen, open your
eyes.
Focus
on
me.
Stephen.
Stephen!”
Chapter 1
Lytheria,
Five years later…
“You don’t think Father’s going
to…
die
, do you, Jassy?”
The ominous question came from
one of the royals who sat upon the
large, canopied bed at the center of
the room. Mathilda St. Ives, the
youngest of the Lytherian princesses,
nicknamed the “Flower of the East”
for her innocent, yet captivating
beauty, stared up at her older sister
with wide golden eyes. Zenoba,
Queen of Lytheria, had died only a
few years after Mathilda’s birth, so
from the time she could speak, she
had looked to Jaisyn as a maternal
figure, despite Jaisyn being only five
years her senior. She’d had the best
governesses but still Mathilda came to
Jaisyn, as did Isolde. The older by two
years and by far the more dominant
personality,
Isolde
sat
next
to
Mathilda. Unlike her younger sister,
she wasn’t as naïve or clinging. Of the
siblings, Isolde favored their mother
most. Her skin was a milky hue and
instead of the golden hair and eyes
common to most Lytherians, Isolde
had loosely curled red hair that fell in
waves down her back, and vivid green
eyes flecked with a hint of gold.
Although she had no nickname,
Isolde’s beauty had lured many a
prince to Lytheria, only to be turned
away by Wilhelm, who refused to
marry his daughters before he deemed
them ready. Considering Jaisyn’s age
of twenty-one, there were those who
believed that day would never come.
“Not for a long time, Matty,” Jaisyn
replied, turning from the looking-glass
to face Mathilda. As she stared at her
sister’s concerned face, Jaisyn ran a
wide-toothed, wooden comb through
her hair. “Father is strong. He’ll stay
with us as long as Lyria permits.”
King Wilhelm was sick again. Two
years ago, he’d caught a raging fever
that had held him for months and
since then, he’d had relapses. With
each, he became weaker, but he
fought it. Jaisyn knew this time was
worse than the rest but wasn’t
prepared to tell her sisters that. Death
was nothing pleasant and knowing it
would happen beforehand didn’t
make it any easier. She knew that
from experience. As her lids closed, a