Prologue

Two people, sundered by fate. Two countries, torn apart by a war they didn’t want; split by hatred, wracked by destiny. Two kings, deploying armies like chess pieces on a board; each trying to outsmart the other, each willing to fight to the death. Now there will be no turning back, and no compromise.

The first kingdom, Fellath, is already showing the scars of war, with villages on the outskirts deserted or abandoned as enemy forces plunder at random. The young prince, resentment building up against his father who forbade him ride to battle, is left playing politics in the throne-room. With his inexperience exploited by the court, he is ever conscious that his moves could decide the fate of the kingdom. Oft he wishes his father were here, but the king is riding over many mountains, leading his men to battle. The king trusts no one to lead the army in his stead; he executed his general for treason not two weeks ago, and lost his oldest son in battle. Treachery and mistrust run deep among their ranks, and the king keeps his bodyguards close beside him.

Cherbor, the second kingdom, is wracked by civil uprisings. A rebellious faction has captured the minds and hearts of the people, while pirates raid the shores indiscriminately. The king rarely leaves his chambers, and relies heavily on his network of spies, of which many are Fellathian nobles. Tired of long and fruitless wars, the people have turned against their king and embraced a new leader. The king of Cherbor has one son, but high in his favour is some ‘foreign woman’, the people murmur in discontent. The king maintains a strong façade, but knows if the people were to revolt, he would not have the forces to resist their onslaught.

Prince Tyellher of Fellath lounged impatiently in the throne room, pretending to listen as his Minister of Fortification outlined his plans for the defence of the citadel. Just then, a herald interrupted them.

“An envoy from the King of Cherbor begs leave to see you, Majesty,” he announced grandly.

Prince Tyellher sat up straight in alarm. An envoy? Should I call a council to advise me? Composing his face resolutely, he asked the herald to show the envoy into the throne room. “Advise him, also, that since he has not followed the proper procedures of giving notice, then we will also not be likely to follow the propriety of giving any of his demands consideration,” the Prince remarked sternly to conceal his nervousness. He was glad of the twenty or so guards that stood imposingly behind his chair, but if he had known who the envoy was, he would have made the meeting private.

A step on the threshold indicated the entrance of the Cherborian envoy. At that sound, Prince Tyellher and the rest of the court turned their heads to see the person that they least expected enter the room.

Aline. The Prince repressed an involuntary start and motioned for the court to remain silent. Such was their surprise at Aline’s arrival that they actually obeyed him, but Prince Tyellher was too preoccupied with other thoughts to remark on their obedience.

Thoughts of the past ran rapidly through his mind as he watched the slight, red-headed woman walk steadily towards the dais. She has not changed much since I last saw her. But how bold to come back after what has passed. Other memories rose, unbidden, to his mind: auburn hair between his fingers, dresses and corsets sliding to the floor unheeded, the warmth of the fire on bare skin. Pushing these images from his mind with an effort, the Prince made his voice deliberately cold as he addressed Aline.

“You are lucky, Aline, that we are a civilised nation and receive envoys with courtesy. Normally traitors would be executed first and questions asked later,” he said, watching with regret (or was it pleasure?) as Aline flinched like she had been struck. He doubted that she would have expected him to be so blunt about the circumstances of their last meeting, but she recovered quickly.

“Prince Tyellher.” She gave him a frosty nod. “I wonder if your greeting is a demonstration of the Fellathian courtesy which you speak of with such pride?”

Saucy wench. I see that she has not lost her sharp tongue. She knows I cannot have her arrested without destroying Fellath’s treaty to grant envoys from all nations safe passage, but I have no duty to be civil to her.

“I doubt, Aline, that your coming here at all is considered a mark of courtesy, but perhaps you do things differently in Cherbor. Perhaps oaths of loyalty are meaningless there, and promises made to be broken.” Prince Tyellher doubted that he had managed to keep all traces of bitterness out of his voice.

Aline’s face did not change expression, but he knew that his shaft had hit home. “The people of Fellath are not known either for being true to their word,” she replied, looking Prince Tyellher in the eyes for the first time.

So many things that he wanted to say rose to his lips, most of them inappropriate with an audience present. He thought wistfully of Derren, his older brother. Derren always knew exactly how to act and the people loved him. Is it any wonder that they resent me so much, since I am the one who has taken his place? I wish he was here now.

Aline rode away from the Fellathian court, dissatisfied because Prince Tyellher had refused her demands, but also strangely troubled by their conversation. She realised now just how much Prince Tyellher had changed, and this only served to strengthen her previous resolve.

“I thought Tyellher would have escaped the corruption that seems to permeate Fellath,” she murmured, urging her horse into a gallop and overtaking her escorts. Now was the time to put her plan into effect, the plan that was known by her alone. Without a word of explanation, Aline suddenly spurred her horse on in a completely different direction, glad that her favour with the King of Cherbor forestalled any questions her escorts might otherwise have asked. Instead of continuing home with the others, Aline was now headed toward the mountains where Fellath’s army was camped.

King Terinor of Cherbor slammed his fist onto the table in alarm. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. He had overlooked the one thing that could mean the downfall of all his plans. Calling his spies to him, he ordered them to ride as fast as possible toward the Fellathian border.

Aline rode for as long as she could without stopping. A light snow was beginning to fall and she only had a vague idea of where she was headed. Checking that her long, keen knife was still safely fastened at her side, Aline slowed her tired horse and surveyed the vaguely familiar surroundings. What she saw was not encouraging. Tall, jagged peaks rose up against the harsh grey sky like fangs protruding from a troll’s mouth, and the valleys were filled with forbidding black shadows. For the first time, Aline doubted herself and the wisdom of her plan, but she knew that she had gone too far to back out now. Wrapping her cloak tightly around her to keep out the icy breeze, Aline continued along the path until she was hidden by the gathering dusk.

Prince Pelaren of Cherbor surveyed his men with pride. Every shield shone bright in the sun, and the war-horses chafed at their bits with impatient vigour. “All accounted for?” he asked his general. “Are we ready to proceed?”

The general looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Sire, a messenger from your father has just arrived, and it seems something has gone amiss.”

“What?” Pelaren was troubled, since his father was a brilliant tactician. Their plans never went wrong, and they had spies in every corner of the world. What could possibly have escaped Terinor’s notice? He opened the piece of paper and read the few lines that were scrawled upon it, then looked up and locked eyes with the general.

“All is lost.”

Aline reached the camp more quickly than she had expected, glad that her memory of Fellath had not led her astray. She tethered her horse at a distance and stealthily approached the camp on foot, her unsheathed knife gleaming faintly in the moonlight. “I always told Tyellher his guards were fools,” she smirked to herself. “I wonder someone hasn’t tried this before now.” Familiar with the layout of the camp, she entered with a boldness that surprised even herself.

It feels like coming home, she realised with a start. It seems like only yesterday I was astride King Leopold’s swiftest mare, cavorting around the solemn ranks of soldiers. But how quickly that changed.

Aline halted, trying to stop the flood of memories, but they came anyway.

A little girl stands in a corner, half-hidden by shadow, fingers over her eyes to try and block out what is happening in front of her. But she knows all too well from the sounds.

Fire and death, fire and death. The child runs for her life, more afraid of the shadow behind her than of the flames.

“Running away. That’s what you always do,” Aline told herself bitterly.

A short, sharp screech broke into her thoughts, and Aline watched the owl as it winged its way across the darkened sky, silhouetted by the moon. Glad for the interruption, Aline walked softly onward, hoping that the memories she feared would not return.

Pelaren rode through the day and on into the night, heading for the Fellathian camp. He was the only one that could do anything to stop Aline, since no one else knew how deep their plans went, or even how many Fellathian guards were in Cherbor’s pay. My father trusts very few people, which has been his greatest strength until now. I only hope I get there in time.

Aline recognised King Leopold’s tent by its elaborate design. She hesitated outside, her heart beating so loud that she half-expected to be discovered where she stood, but no one stirred. Drawing her hood over her face and concealing her knife beneath her cloak, Aline slipped into the tent, knowing as she did so that this was the rashest thing she had ever done, but strangely enough she felt a queer kind of exhilaration.

King Leopold was sitting on a chair in the middle of the lamp-lit tent with a goblet of wine in his hand. Aline’s breath caught in her throat. He looked up and, catching sight of her, said calmly, “You are late. I have been expecting you for some days.”

Aline did not trust herself to speak. She stood there, on the edge of the tent, her will the only thing keeping her rooted to the spot.

“You are surprised?” King Leopold questioned, a faint smile appearing on his face. “But you always were so predictable. The Aline I knew wouldn’t have sent anyone in her place. She never could trust anyone, could she?”

“You know why I am here, Leopold,” Aline said flatly, throwing her hood back and stepping forward. “So don’t play these games with me.”

The king gave a slow smile. “I always knew you would return. But don’t you realise you have failed, Aline? Derren is dead, and Tyellher despises you.”

“Tyellher is a child whom you have corrupted,” Aline snapped. “You seem to make a habit of it.”

“You insult me, Aline. Have I not always done what is best for you? For Tyellher?” King Leopold’s face was all injured dignity.

Aline’s fist clenched involuntarily around her knife. “Best? Derren is dead, and it was your doing. He was too strong for you to control, so you couldn’t let him live. Tyellher was innocent, but without his brother to guide him he has become hard and bitter, and that grieves me.”

“And what about you? What have you become?” Leopold said mockingly. “A traitor. A hussy. You slept with Tyellher even before Derren died. Then you stabbed us all in the back and went to Cherbor. I assume you slept your way into their favour, too.” He carefully took a sip of wine from his goblet. “You disgust me. And now you have betrayed Cherbor, too, by coming back here. Once a traitor, always a traitor.”

“You destroyed me,” Aline exclaimed, pulling out her knife. “There is no good reason for what you did to me. I had to run away. I couldn’t stay here any longer.” She almost choked in her rage. “And now you dare call me a traitor and a hussy? You are the traitor, Leopold. Instead of betraying your country, you did something worse. You betrayed your family. You betrayed my trust.”

King Leopold’s face didn’t change. “You point a knife at me, the one who brought you up, and tell me I betrayed you?” He laughed, a slow, calculated laugh. “Guards!” he called, and about ten entered the tent. “You are outnumbered, Aline. Admit that you failed, like you always have, and always will.”

Aline smiled cruelly. Advancing closer to Leopold, she said, deliberately, “What you don’t know always kills you. I didn’t know what you really were, and it killed me. Now it is your turn.” The tent was silent; no one moved. “The guards won’t stop me. They are in Cherbor’s pay, you fool. They hate you more than I do, if that is possible.” She watched the fear register in his eyes, then, with one practised move, Aline drove the knife deep into his chest.

Suddenly Pelaren burst into the tent. “Aline, no!” he cried, but it was too late.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, turning around in alarm.

“I wanted to stop you. My father will be furious when you go back,” Pelaren replied breathlessly.

“I’m not going back,” Aline said. “Don’t you see? Your father’s plans depended on keeping Leopold alive and the country weak. Now that Tyellher is king, he will be a much stronger leader. Derren taught him well; the people will come to trust him. I have got my revenge, but lost the battle for you and for Cherbor.”

Pelaren sighed, knowing what she said was true. “You know I don’t want to lose you,” he said sadly.

Aline’s eyes softened as she looked at him. “I know, dear,” she said. “But we have discussed this before. Your people will never trust me because I will always be Fellathian to them. And I would make a dreadful queen,” she said wryly. “I prefer my freedom.”

“I understand,” Pelaren smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t make you stay with me. But promise me that you will come back one day, for the sake of old times. No matter how much time passes, I will not forget.”

Aline kissed him gently. “I promise,” she said. “I will not forget.”

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