PART ONE

ONE

Facing the freestanding mirror in her bedroom, Jillian used Craft to secure the pendant that held her Purple Dusk Jewel to her green tunic so that it wouldn’t swing when she moved or flew. Then she spread her dark, membranous wings to their full length before closing them in a relaxed position.

Was she plain? Was she pretty? Until that brief touch of Tamnar’s lips against hers, Jillian hadn’t considered the question at all, let alone wondered whether such a thing was important. She was Eyrien, one of the long-lived races, and she was strong. That had been important to her for a very long time. Now being strong didn’t give her the same satisfaction, and she wasn’t sure why.

She turned to the side and studied her shape in the mirror. Her breasts had been developing for the past few years, and she had noticeable breasts now and had to wear undergarments that kept the bounce to a minimum, especially when she was training with Eyrien weapons. But . . . Did this tunic make her look fat? Was it the wrong color green for someone who had brown skin and gold eyes? Nurian had said that shade of green was a good color on her, but her elder sister, who was an excellent Healer, wasn’t necessarily the best judge of clothing. There had been too many years before they had come to live in Ebon Rih when any clothing that covered the body and wasn’t worn to rags was good, regardless of color or style.

Then again, there weren’t that many styles that suited a winged race.

Combing out her long, straight black hair, Jillian swiftly worked the hair into a multistranded braid that began high on the back of her head and ended at the base of her neck, leaving the rest of the hair to flow down her back in a loose tail. After securing the braided hair with a decorative clasp, she studied herself in the mirror again and wondered whether a man would find the hairstyle attractive.

Since there was a man spending time in their home again, maybe she didn’t want to look attractive. Not that Lord Rothvar had said or done anything inappropriate, but Prince Falonar had seemed like a good man until he became Nurian’s lover. It wasn’t long after that the Eyriens who were loyal to Prince Yaslana found out Falonar wasn’t a good man at all.

She needed to stop fretting. She didn’t have time for it, not if she wanted to do a morning warm-up with her sparring stick before flying over to the Yaslana eyrie and helping Marian with some of the early chores before escorting Yaslana’s two elder children to the Eyrien school.

She crept out of her bedroom, listening for any sound that would tell her whether Rothvar was still in her sister’s bedroom. Once she passed Nurian’s door, she fled to the kitchen and started the coffee for Nurian and the . . . guest.

There were a vegetable casserole and some muffins left over from yesterday. Enough for two people.

A glance at the kitchen clock told her there wasn’t time to cook anything else.

Looks like I’m skipping breakfast.

“You’re up early.”

Jillian gasped and almost dropped the casserole dish. Seeing only Nurian standing in the kitchen archway, she offered a wobbly smile. “The day starts early in Prince Yaslana’s household.” She put the casserole in the oven. “There’s plenty here, and there are some muffins. Coffee will be ready in a few minutes. Yours always tastes like rubbish, so I—”

“Rothvar didn’t stay over.” Nurian studied her. “He’s not here, Jillian.”

But his psychic scent and physical scent still lingered in their home, reminding her that he’d been spending enough time there for wood and stone to absorb his presence.

Jillian rubbed sweaty hands on her tunic. “I have to get going. Don’t forget to take the casserole out of the oven once it’s warmed up.”

“Jillian . . .”

“I have to go.”

Sadness filled Nurian’s eyes, but she sounded brisk when she said, “I made more tonic for Marian. Can you take it to her?”

“Of course.” Jillian walked over to the archway, then hesitated. “She had the baby months ago. Shouldn’t she be well by now?”

“It was a hard birthing.” Nurian sounded like each word could start a fatal avalanche. “Sometimes it takes an Eyrien woman a long time to recover.”

And some never recover. That was the thing no one said and everyone who lived in and around the valley feared—that Marian Yaslana, wife of the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih, would be one of those women robbed of vitality by childbirth and would fade away, despite Nurian’s best efforts to heal her.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” Jillian asked.

Nurian shook her head. “I’ll get the tonic.” She went to her workroom and returned a minute later, handing the shielded bottle to Jillian.

Using Craft, Jillian vanished the bottle, then hugged her sister. “It will be all right.”

“Will it?”

Were they talking about Marian’s health or Rothvar’s presence in Nurian’s—and Jillian’s—life?

“Don’t forget to take the casserole out of the oven,” Jillian said again as she stepped back. Nurian’s focus and attention when it came to the precise timing required to make tonics and healing brews didn’t extend to the kitchen.

Stepping out of their eyrie, Jillian studied the Eyrien men who were already flying over the valley. Was one of them Rothvar? Was he watching her? Or was he at the communal eyrie, sparring to keep his fighting skills sharp?

She would do a brief warm-up when she reached Yaslana’s home. There should be enough time for that.

She spread her wings and launched herself skyward. As she flew, she wished she’d put on the belted cape that Eyriens used in colder weather. Autumn mornings were crisp, but today the air held a sharp reminder that winter would be there soon.

Landing on the flagstone courtyard in front of the eyrie, she walked up to the front door and put her left hand on a stone inset next to the door. Eyries were built from the stone of the mountains or were built into the mountains themselves, but this stone didn’t come from this particular mountain and had a specific purpose. The Yaslana eyrie was shielded inside and out—inside so that frisky children couldn’t scamper off before their parents were awake, and outside so that no one who wasn’t keyed into the spells placed in that stone could enter when the doors were locked and the shields were up.

There had been enemies. They were gone now, destroyed years ago, but Lucivar Yaslana didn’t take chances with his family’s safety.

Jillian set her hand on the stone and waited until she felt the shields part around the door. She opened the door and slipped inside. Moments later, the shields were back in place.

Using Craft, she called in the bottle of tonic and left it on the kitchen counter where Marian would see it. Since no one seemed to be up yet—was she really that early?—she left the kitchen, crossed the large front room that held nothing but a coat-tree near the door, and opened the glass doors that led to the yard where the children played. Fortunately the shields that protected the eyrie extended around the yard, so she wouldn’t be stuck out there if she finished her warm-up before the household woke up.