Prologue

"Azkadeia. A land like ours, with one major difference: there are no humans. There are witches, vampires, werewolves, fairies, ogres, giants, and so many more, yet there are no humans, save for one. Jack Morgan, the Peacekeeper. When he came to their world, it was in turmoil. Race fought race, tribe fought tribe, brother fought brother. Death and blood hung in the air, a foul swath that wouldn't be removed. He had only Miorn, an old centaur, and Ealdric, a young magician, to fight at his side. An old Norn prophecy told of a human coming to their land and uniting it to face a greater threat. And so he did.

"He fought in the great Battle of the Styx, at the side of the vampires, forcing the enemy witches into a peace. He rallied the pacifistic elves into a strong army to depose the tyrannical Ursula, an exiled sylph queen who had taken control of their forests. Time and again, he forged the country, battle by battle, earning loyal comrades along the way. But there were those who wanted war and bloodshed, who saw this man – this new, unknown creature – as a threat that had to be eliminated. The three leaders of this faction were called the Triumvirate, and were composed of Koldar, a boy-child with more power than any witch or magician in the land; Serafi, a mermaid with dominion over the seas; and Hrothgar, a crusty old dwarf who knew the secrets of the earth itself. But try as these three might, Jack Morgan always managed to defeat them."

"Good triumphed over evil!" the little girl exclaimed, drawing the man out of his story. She gazed up at him from his lap, wonder in her guileless grey eyes. The man smiled, affectionately tugging on one of her pigtails.

"No, Cressida," he said softly, gazing at the fire that crackled in the hearth. "Peace triumphed over war. There is no good or evil; only people. Remember that."

Cressida nodded her head eagerly. "Okay, Uncle Jack. But tell me more! I want to hear everything about Azkadeia."

Jack chuckled, glancing up as his niece's mother, Sheila, entered the den, bringing with her the scent of chocolate. She smiled at the sight of Jack sitting in the rocking chair, Cressida upon his lap. She had a steel bowl in her hands, a whisk leaning against the side.

"I'm making brownies, Cress," she said to the little girl, her face full of warmth and love. "If you help, you can lick the bowls."

"Okay!" Cressida leapt off Jack's lap, the story forgotten as she ran off into the kitchen. Sheila laughed, rolling her eyes. She glanced at the clock, sighing.

"You'd better go," she told Jack, some of the laugher leaving her face. "Hank will be home soon. He won't be happy to find you here."

Jack sighed, shoving off the rocking chair. His eyes strayed to the pictures upon the mantle above the fire, all of Cressida, important moments that he would forever miss. Was it worth it? Was his pain worth the girl's happiness? The selfish bastard in him told him he should forget Hank, tell Cressida the truth. But he couldn't stand to hurt his brother that way, or Cressida and Sheila.

"Thank you for allowing me this," he said, nodding at Sheila.

She ran a hand through her thick ebony hair, and he watched as it ran like a river down her back. In jeans and a T-shirt, she was still as stunning as the day he had met her. "It's her birthday, Jack. No matter what Hank says, I couldn't keep you from her on her birthday, just like I couldn't keep you out during her birth."

He smiled softly, avoiding her dark, knowing gaze. He knew what people saw when they looked at him. A ruffian, tall and blond and wiry – much like his twin brother. Yet there were differences between the two brothers. Jack's hair was grown out, and his eyes were the color of steel instead of the blue Hank possessed. He could meet others' gazes, but not Sheila. What Sheila saw when she looked at him was a failure. An immoral, uncaring failure who couldn't commit. A failure who had ripped apart a family, and now they were barely clinging to the frayed edges. But she still allowed him in when Hank would've beaten him senseless on the road. It showed what a good woman she was, what a fool he was for his actions.

"Can I give her a birthday present before I go?" he asked.

Sheila nodded. "But be quick about it."

Jack brushed past her, smiling as he saw Cressida standing on her tiptoes, her arm straining for the chocolate brownie batter. Bits of it were now clinging to strands of her obsidian hair, and her pink dress was covered in dirt. In the cramped kitchen, the walls a warm color of honey, he felt more than ever that he didn't belong. He didn't belong in Cressida's safe little world, and he hoped with all his might that she never became a part of his.

"Cress, I've gotta go, but I've got a present for you first," he said.

Cressida dashed to him, jumping up and down excitedly. "Ooh, what is it? Is it a doll? Can I have it now?"

He laughed. "Yes, you can have it now." Digging into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a chain with a large red gem hanging from it. The chain had two strands, one gold and one silver, twining together, with a bronze frame for the gem.

Cressida's eyes widened as she reached out for it, caressing the gem with reverence one would think impossible for a seven-year-old. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's from Azkadeia," he whispered, holding it out in his palm so she could see. "Whenever you need me, rub the stone and say these words: How many steps to Azkadeia? Two score steps forward, and back ten. Can I get there by stone-light? Yes, and back again. If my heels are nimble and light, I may get there by stone-light. Now, repeat those back to me."

She frowned, struggling to remember the words. "How many steps to Azkadeia? Two score steps forward, and back ten. Can I get there by stone-light? Yes, and back again. If my heels are nimble and light, I may get there by stone-light."

"Good girl. Remember that, and do as the words command, and you will find me." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Goodbye, birthday girl. Dream a sweet dream for me, will you?"

"Can't you dream for yourself?" she wondered.

He shook his head. "I haven't been able to dream in a very long time, my dear." He took the chain and hung it around her neck, the stone falling just above her bellybutton. "Never take this off, not even when you shower. And don't tell anyone about it, especially your parents. This is our secret, okay?"

"Okay." She threw her tiny arms around him. "Goodbye, Uncle Jack."

He clutched her closer, breathing in her strawberry shampoo. "Goodbye, Cressida. I love you."

In a few moments, he was gone, exiting out into the chilly night air. His car was waiting for him behind the bushes, where Hank wouldn't see him if he came home early. Sliding in, he gunned the engine and sped off down the road, not giving the house a last glance. He could only hope that, if the time ever arose, Cressida would remember those words, and find him.

But fate was never that kind to him. And he had never told her the cost of his many conquests. For peace to be achieved, something had to be sacrificed. He knew that better than anyone. It was his greatest desire that Cressida would never have to know it.

#

Nine years later.

The screaming wouldn't stop. No matter how many pillows I pulled over my head, no matter how many blankets I buried myself under, I could still hear the words my parents were screaming at each other. As the thunderstorm raged on outside my bedroom window, bolts of lightning brightening my dark room briefly, an even greater tempest raged below.

"How can you do this?" Mom shrieked. "How can you do this to Cress and me?"

"How can I do this? How can I?" Dad retorted. "If anyone caused this, it was you, Sheila, not me. You just can't get over him, can you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Mom denied.

There was the sound of something made of glass shattering on the floor, and I flinched. Oh God, they'd thrown something? Had Dad done it?

"It's always been him! You've never loved me, Sheila, and I'm sick of this pretending. The only reason you married me was because I look like him!"

"That's not true!" Something else was thrown and broken, and I cringed, tears falling down my cheeks. Did they even know I was in the house? That I could hear them? I doubted it; I'd told both of them I was sleeping over at Ellie's house, but she'd fallen sick at the last minute. So after my shift at the local diner, I'd returned home to sleep, only to be awoken when my parents had started arguing.

"And the only reason I fell for your lies was because of Cressida!" Dad yelled. "The only reason this whole mess started was because of her!"

They were fighting because of me? My heart stopped beating even as the tears, once mere trickles, were now tsunamis. I was the cause of their pain? The cause of their impending divorce? I couldn't take it anymore. I threw off the blankets, pulling on a sweatshirt over my jeans and T-shirt. I shoved open the window, shutting my eyes against the burst of rain that threatened to topple me. I persevered, jumping out my first-floor window and landing on the damp grass. I ran to the nearby woods, taking cover beneath a tree as the wind tried to throw me about. Clutching a low branch of an oak tree, I gripped the Azkadeia stone that had hung around my neck ever since I was seven years old.

Uncle Jack had told me what to do if I ever needed him. But that stuff was just a story – Azkadeia didn't really exist. I squinted through the rain at my parents' stiff forms, still hurling insults and objects at one another. My stomach clenched as if having been shot. My leaving would stop this. They'd be happy again. I owed it to them to try. Staring down at the crimson gemstone that, even in darkness, still shined, I began to rub my cold, wet hand over its smooth surface.

"How many steps to Azkadeia? Two score forward, and back ten. Can I get there by stone-light? Yes, and back again. If my heels are nimble and light, I may get there by stone-light." Even knowing it wouldn't work, the rhyme calmed me. I looked around, wondering if Uncle Jack would suddenly appear. But there was nothing but the woods and the storm; I laughed, wondering what had possessed me to do something so foolish.

Do what the words say, a voice whispered, hissing into my ear.

I whipped my head around wildly, looking for the owner of the voice. No one was here. But I was certain I'd heard the voice.

Do what the words say, Cressida.

There it was again. Brushing my wet hair away from my eyes, I futilely searched the shadows for any sign of life. Shaking myself, I knew I must've imagined it. But . . . what had it been saying? Do what the words say. What did it mean by that?

"Remember that, and do as the words command, and you will find me."

That was what Uncle Jack had told me. I must've just been remembering him saying that, although the voice hadn't sounded anything like his deep, gravelly one.

But what did the words say? How many steps to Azkadeia? Two score forward and back ten. Was it telling me to step forward two score and then backtrack ten? A score was twenty, and two times twenty was forty, so that meant taking forty steps forward.

Wait, was I really considering this? It was all nonsense, just a tale my uncle had made up to entertain me as a little girl. But as I stared into the forest again, I watched in awe as the trees slithered back, clearing a path for me. I didn't imagine that. I couldn't imagine that. My heart began to pound, the tears drying up in that moment even as rain continued to pelt me.

Slowly, I stepped forward once. Then twice. Then thrice. Again and again, I moved, counting each step I took while watching the trees warily. They didn't move again, keeping the path for me. The stone started to glow, a bright red light that allowed me to watch for any stray rocks in my path. Upon reaching my fortieth step, I nearly walked right into a gaggle of trees. They hadn't moved at all, this part of the forest having been untouched.

"Alright, now I take ten steps back," I muttered to no one in particular, stepping back carefully ten times. With each step, the stone began to glow brighter until it nearly blinded me. Lowering my foot to take the tenth step, I found nothing but air. Letting out a scream, I fell back, blackness rushing past me as I continued to plummet. I could see only the stone, glowing as brightly as ever, but there was nothing around for me to see with its light. I tried to clutch it, only to yank my hands back as I was burned by heat radiating from it. The chain itself heated, warmth threading through me until the rainwater on my body had evaporated into nothingness.

And then the blackness died. I now stared up at a dark blue sky, two white orbs burning side-by-side with stars. My heart was beating so fast that it felt as if it wasn't beating. I screamed anew, knowing that I was about to die. I shut my eyes, hunching into a ball as I braced myself for the inevitably painful impact.

They say when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. That wasn't true for me. I could only think of the coming pain, not only for me but for my parents. And I kept thinking back to Uncle Jack's story on my seventh birthday, the first of many about Azkadeia and how he was its peacekeeper. Maybe this was some awful dream and I'd wake up any moment now, safe in my bed while my parents shouted outside my door.

Arms wrapped around me, my back and legs aching where they gripped me. My catcher squatted briefly, absorbing the impact of my fall, before straightening. Still gasping, I looked up to see a boy around my age, maybe a bit older. He had luminous blue hair and bronzed skin covering corded muscles. He had a strong jaw and aquiline nose, and he glared down at me with stormy gold eyes.

"Gods above, girl, how did you do that?" he demanded in an oddly accented voice; it sounded faintly British – possibly Welsh.

"Who . . . who are you?" I demanded in return, struggling to get out of his arms. "Put me down!"

He released me instantly and I tumbled to the ground, landing face-first in grass. Groaning, I shoved myself up, glaring at him. I looked around for some kind of weapon – hell, even a stick would do – but found myself becoming awed by my surroundings. The tallest evergreen trees I had ever seen stood proudly in front of me, with a meadow leading to a lake behind me. The boy had drawn a sword from the scabbard belted around his waist and he held it out toward me, suspicion plain on his face. I noticed now that he wore nothing other than a pair of brown pants made of an unknown cloth – maybe linen or something. And numerous oddly colored rings adorned his fingers.

Oh God, I had to run. I had to get away from the crazy guy with the sword – a freaking sword – pointed at me. But as I backed away, the ring on his left hand's middle finger began to glow green, and suddenly I couldn't move. It was as if my feet had been glued to the grass. I tugged on them, though had to stop when I nearly fell backward.

"I don't think you'll be going anywhere until you tell me who you are and how you did that," he said coolly, stepping closer. "We can start with your name."

I forced myself to not hyperventilate. "Cressida. Cressida Morgan."

He stiffened, eyes widening at my surname. But then he frowned again. "No. Impossible. You're trying to trick me by pretending to be the Peacekeeper's relative."

I shook my head wildly. "I'm not!" About to say something else, I paused. Peacekeeper. Uncle Jack had called himself that in his stories to me about Azkadeia. Was it possible he really was the Peacekeeper? "Jack's my uncle," I tried. "He gave me this." I lifted up the stone, no longer glowing, to show him.

He grabbed it, an incredulous expression covering his former one of anger. "It's not possible. A piece of the gate still exists?" His gaze snapped up to me and he grabbed my arms, pulling me close to him so that, if my feet hadn't been glued, I would be leaning on him. "How did you get this?"

"Uncle Jack gave it to me on my seventh birthday nine years ago," I snapped, attempting to push him off. It was like trying to move a brick wall. "He told me how to use it."

Coldly, he scrutinized me, as if looking for any sign of guilt. I couldn't help but notice he smelled of spices and herbs, a calming scent that had me relaxing slightly even as instinct screamed at me to punch him. But I didn't dare move. This boy had magic. And my gut told me he would kill me if I did punch him.

"Who are your parents?" he at last asked in the same sharp tone.

"Henry and Sheila Morgan."

He grimaced. "Dammit, you feel like a human. And no one can trick me for long." The ring glowed again, and I fell against him. He easily caught me, righting me before I shoved him away. He only glared and grabbed my arm in his right hand, holding his left over my wrist. The ring on his pinky glowed pink and I felt a cool weight wrap around my wrist. As he dragged his hand away, I saw a thin chain being formed. When it was about five feet long, the ring's light died and he gripped the silver chain in his hand.

I yanked on it, trying to move it from its place on my wrist, but it didn't give an inch; it was as if it had fused to my skin. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a magical chain," he replied. "I don't trust you, and until Jack himself can verify your identity, I'm not letting you out of my sight. And if you try anything, I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you to him." As he leaned in, malice in every contour of his face, I couldn't halt a shiver. "Trust me; you don't want me to have to do that. There's a very good chance you'll end up unconscious."

I glared at him. "Fine. Take me to my uncle."

He backed away, pulling on my chain. I muttered obscenities beneath my breath as I reluctantly followed me into the woods, trailing as far behind him as possible. He'd stop for sure, just to let me rest, and then I'd yank the chain away from him so I could escape.

Except he didn't. The asshole kept pulling me along, hauling me forward with a harsh tug before barking, "Keep up!" over his shoulder. I was forced to walk faster than normal in order to avoid having my arm dislocated from its socket. I felt like a dog on a leash, and I ground my jaw at the humiliation of being treated like an animal.

"Your manners suck!" I yelled at him angrily.

He ignored me, not even offering another of his glares I suspected were a common expression upon his face. Goddamn, what had Uncle Jack gotten me into? I thought the stone was supposed to lead me to him, not some magical boy with people issues.

"You can at least tell me your name, since I'm your prisoner and all." Maybe I could think of good insults with it.

He halted, whirling around, his sword at my neck in a flash. I gulped, gooseflesh rising where the cold blade touched my flesh. He leaned forward, glowering. "And what will you do if I give you my name?" he demanded.

"Use it."

"To do what?"

"To talk to you." I frowned in thought. "Nope, I'd probably use it to insult you. Being a prisoner's no fun if you can't insult your captor." I was actually pretty proud of myself for staying snarky in a situation like this.

He glared at me for another undeterminable moment before finally lowering his blade and stalking away. I stood there, frowning after him, until the chain forced me to move again. I stumbled a big, half jogging to catch up to him.

"So what's your name?" I demanded.

"Ealdric!" he snapped.

Wait a minute . . . I recognized that from somewhere. It was on the tip of my tongue, just barely out of reach. My mind hurtled back to my seventh birthday, the first time Uncle Jack had spoken of Azkadeia, and the words bubbled to the surface.

"He had only Miorn, an old centaur, and Ealdric, a young magician, to fight at his side."

"You're a magician," I whispered. "You fought with Uncle Jack when he first came here."

"Everyone knows that," he scoffed.

"But you were a little boy! At least, you were when Uncle Jack described you."

"That was a decade ago. I grew up."

I scrunched my nose. "He never mentioned you were this rude."

"And what did Uncle Jack say about me?" he demanded sarcastically.

"That you and Miorn fought at his side when no one else would," I responded. "In his other stories about you, he said that the Triumvirate had left you orphaned; you took to stealing for other orphans in your village–"

"You can shut up now," he interrupted, tossing a glare over his shoulder. "I don't know how you know about my past, but Jack isn't the only one who could've told you that."

I hastily shut my mouth. I didn't want to push this guy's temper any more than I already had. I did have some brains, after all. But I knew that Ealdric wouldn't hurt me; it wasn't in his nature to hurt an unarmed person, especially a prisoner – Uncle Jack had made sure to mention this in the stories he told me. Then again, Uncle Jack had never told me of his temper, merely describing Ealdric as reserved and surly.

I stayed quiet as we continued to thread through the forest, thankful for the sneakers clothing my feet. My arm began to ache, but I ignored it – it wasn't like Ealdric would do a damn thing about it, other than getting angrier. My stomach, however, I couldn't ignore. I hadn't eaten much at lunch, and I'd fallen asleep at home before managing to get any dinner, so now it growled louder than a bear did.

"Would you stop that?" Ealdric finally snapped.

"I can't – I'm hungry, so my stomach growls."

He sighed, veering off the path and into a thicket of trees. I struggled to avoid getting hit by branches, almost tripping several times before we finally broke into a small clearing. Another of Ealdric's rings glowed, and some fallen branches floated into the center, igniting into a burning fire. Two boulders were pulled up alongside it, and two trout appeared, stuck on a twig that roasted them over the fire. I was mesmerized by the sight, unable to look away. This was magic? I'd expected spells or something, but maybe magicians didn't need them.

Ealdric tugged on the chain again. "C'mon. Let's eat and get moving."

I staggered forward, sitting on one of the boulders. A trout slid off the twig and landed onto my hands. Grimacing at the slimy feel, I nonetheless bit into it, swallowing the sustenance. It wasn't seasoned the way I was used to, but it was better than nothing. Ealdric had eaten his trout in two bites and now waited for me to finish my nibbling.

"Hurry up."

That was it. I'd had enough of his attitude and his orders. Finishing the last of the meat on my trout, I tossed it back into the fire and leapt to my feet, glaring at him. He was on his feet just as quickly, almost out of instinct. His face was a hard mask, the chain clutched tightly in one hand.

"Look, Ealdric, I've had it!" I snapped. "I've taken your suspicion, your anger, your threats, and your commands because you've got me chained like an animal and you can kill me with a snap of your fingers. But could you please, for one minute, not act like a complete and utter asshole? Is it really too much to ask to eat a meal in peace without you barking at me like a drill sergeant? I mean, come on, I haven't even tried to get away despite everything. So could you please just shut up!" I was panting by the time I was done, my hands clenched in fists.

My monologue didn't appear to affect him at all. He merely frowned at me. "Are you done?"

Rage boiled in me, threatening to burst, and for a moment I entertained the notion of kicking him in the nuts. Then reason returned, and I forced away my anger. I gave a sharp nod. "Yes, I'm done."

"Good. Now move."

The glare I gave him should've speared him on the spot, but he ignored me and hauled me forward by grabbing more of the chain. I had to walk even closer to him than before, almost a foot away, and I fought back a groan. He'd probably only take pride in it. As we went further into the woods – me trudging, him striding – I couldn't help but wonder again what the hell Uncle Jack had gotten me involved in. And was Ealdric really Uncle Jack's Ealdric, or someone else entirely? This could still be a dream, and I'd wake up to another day in an awkward household. But thinking of my father's words, I realized I didn't want to go back. I would take being Ealdric's prisoner over going back to a father who blamed me for his problems.

I just hoped it wouldn't kill me.