Amaranthine

By Brenda Robertson

Set in 1885 London, and the forests of Denmark, Amaranthine is a Gothic love story.


Astral has lived in near seclusion with Davn for six years: ever since he found her lying half dead on the road. She is happy, and safe, and she's nearly forgotten the horrible things she did that last night in her father's house.

But now Davn is sending her away, to London, to live with strangers.

And the questions will begin.

Caught between protecting her secret past and living her new life in the opulent city, it's her memories of Davn that keep her awake at night.

But Davn has his own demons; and now they're coming for her.

In the end, it won't be the horrible things she did, that will threaten her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483549446

Book preview

9781483549446

Prologue

SARAID

Southern Wales

146 BC

Hurry up Magda! Saraid paused with impatience and watched her acolyte stumble in the dark. Do you expect the gods to wait for you?

No, mistress. Unlike Saraid, who strode unhindered through the forest like a Queen through her subjects, Magda stumbled and fell, tripping over fallen logs and scrubbing her face on rain soaked leaves.

Despite the rain and frosty air, the night was charged with the energy of Samhain. The festival could barely be seen or heard in glimpses through the thick trees but Saraid's skin tingled none-the-less. Hundreds gathered, dancing and reveling, around bonfires in thanksgiving for the harvest, but Saraid and her acolyte stole quickly through the trees, heading farther and farther from the festivities.

Saraid had her own meeting with the gods planned for this evening. She'd planned carefully, choosing Samhain as the most powerful holy day of the year. The one night when the gods drew nearest, and the veil between the dead and the living thinned to a mere gossamer barrier.

She had spent the day in heavy prayer, and cleansed her body with chamomile and honeysuckle. She had meditated and chanted and shed her blood in worship.

She would have her most coveted desire tonight, she was sure. All was ready.

She turned and waited for the girl yet again, her scowl of annoyance hidden in the dark but still evident in her voice. Do you need me to hold your hand? Hurry up!

Magda hid her sullen expression behind her cowl. Her friends were throwing wreaths into the fire and feasting on roasted calf and harvest berries and singing with the boys to be heard above the roar of the central fires. She was cold and wet and hungry and the forest frightened her almost as much as the woman she followed, but she hurried through the dense trees to catch up, more cautious of the other woman's temper than the sharp branches that clawed at her skin.

They emerged into a circular clearing. The grass was clipped short and the ground was clear and groomed around the low stone structure in the center. Saraid approached the carved stone slab and knelt with reverence, murmuring age-old prayers.

Magda hung back and waited, stiff and unsure. She watched in shivering misery as rain trickled down her scalp and soaked her shoulders.

As a priestess, Saraid was feared nearly as much as she was revered, and to be chosen by her was a great honor so when Saraid stood and held out her hand, Magda went to her without question.

You are a very special girl Magda, Saraid said as she grasped the girl's hand and stroked the back of it tenderly. You are the daughter of our King, and beautiful. But above any of that you were born on this very night, thirteen years ago. Saraid's face was lost in the blackness but her voice was comforting and gentle.

The girl quivered in excitement, suddenly aware that she was about to be initiated into something great. She had been told her whole life how special she was. Those born on the eve of Samhain as she was, were gifted with foretelling. She had been given to Saraid to train because she also had been born on the eve of Samhain and she had foretold many things.

Saraid pulled her forward to the table and pushed her gently to kneel at the edge. Are you ready to meet your destiny?

The girl nodded in the dark, suddenly nervous. What would she see tonight? Would the great gods Arawn and Cerridwen speak to her? Would she finally be given the insight she had been decreed at birth?

Ready yourself, and pray with me. Saraid raised her face to catch the soft rain. She raised her hands to the sky letting her cloak sleeves slide down to her elbows, revealing the bloody gashes across both her wrists.

Cernunnus, Great Horned God of Life, I call you up from the Underworld. Her voice was strong and commanding.

Magda shivered and darted a look around her when a cold wind howled through the clearing and chilled her wet skin.

Morrigan, Great Raven Goddess of Prophecy and Death, I call you down from the heavens.

There was a bone chilling shriek and Magda was sure she saw a dark shape swoop through the rain above her head. She dropped her chin and squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly fearful. These were not the gods she would have chosen to converse with. These gods brought strife. Morrigan, monstrous queen of death and terror; Cernunnus, ensured life through sacrifice and blood.

Saraid marched around the table, repeating her command and calling down the gods with every turn. She marveled in the electricity that charged her as her named gods answered her call. Her voice grew harsher and wilder. As she passed behind Magda for the third time she bent and whispered in the petrified girl's ear, I can't hear you Magda, pray with me. Show them your fealty.

The girl trembled and started to speak, but not to pray as she was told. Mistress Saraid, this is forbidden. If we anger these gods-- Saraid shushed her gently with a finger to her lips and started to chant, her voice low and husky. She placed her hands on either side of Magda's head, pushing her face down till her forehead rested on the cold smooth surface.

The girl whimpered, caught between her panicked desire to flee and her inability to defy her father's priestess. The wind continued to howl around her, it buffeted her body from every side, pulling at her cloak and chilling her to the bone. The shrieking filled her head and split her skull.

Don't be frightened. I have foretold the future and seen magnificent things.

With a silent flourish Saraid reached beneath her cloak and pulled out a slim knife. The handle was elaborately worked oak, the blade curved and sharp. From her pouch she withdrew a handful of herbs. She held the knife to the sky in one hand and the green leafy flowers above Magda's head with the other. When she spoke her voice was husky and calm.

I have seen my destiny! She brought the knife down and cut the herbs in her hands, slicing her fingers along with the thin stems. Clumps fell to the table around Magda's head and droplets of blood spattered on her hair.

I offer up my blood!

Magda's shoulders rose and fell with her short breaths, her sobbing drowned out by the raging goddess' answer.

The wind swirled, a cyclone that gripped their hair and twisted their cloaks, tugging and prying like fingers. I offer a life!

Saraid watched the sky, reveling in the physical manifestation she had commanded. An electric charge ran through her from head to toe and she shivered in anticipation.

Lightning started to arch across the sky. Thin branches of light flickered in the deep black night. The rain pelted her, the wind wailed.

Magda raised her head and saw the clumps of leaves scattered around her on the table top. She barely made out the outline of Mistletoe in each flash of white light and her eyes widened with cold terror, finally seeing what her priestess wanted from her.

Mistletoe, was a rare and sacred plant, used only in sacrifices.

She lurched, her feet tangled under her and wrapped in her sodden cloak. She threw herself from the table, but Saraid was ready. She gripped the girl's hair, pulling her back to expose her throat. It was long and white with a twisted gold torc decorating her collar bones.

Saraid wrestled Magda back to the table. The girl was shrieking and clawing but Saraid was stronger and forced her back to the cold, stone slab.

I ask for immortality, and strength, and power. Saraid's voice lost its calmness and became shrill with lunacy. Her heart pounded from the struggle but she forged ahead. Exhilaration made her hand tremble, the whites of her eyes flashed in each flicker of lightning. I offer blood, and ask for life!

Magda screamed long and loud, but no one from the village could hear. Lightning flashed and she saw the knife glint above her, even as a dark shadow swirled around their thrashing bodies. She could feel how much these gods wanted her blood. The blood of kings.

Morrigan! A life I give for a life you gift! With a hard thrust the druid sliced the girls neck, letting a jet of hot blood to spray across the sacrificial table. Magda's scream ended in a gurgle as her heart pumped her life out onto the wet stone. Saraid panted as she watched, an eager grin across her lips and heart pounding with euphoria. Her fist was wrapped in the girl's hair as her body grew limp in death.

The wind screeched in triumph while a streak of lightning forked down from the sky. It struck the ground several times around Saraid leaving black scorches in the dirt before a thin white branch arced down and struck her, illuminating her body in the clearing. She screamed in pain as the lightning burned through her body. Her spine arched and twisted as electricity burned out her veins and triggered her muscles. Smoke rose from her and she vaguely smelled burned flesh before dropping to the ground unconscious.

* * * *

It was pain that woke her. Small at first but growing. She tried to ignore it and fall back into the comfort and peace of sleep, but it pulled her into consciousness where she remembered, slowly, the events of the night before.

The rain had ended, leaving only a white mist hovering atop the ground. The coming dawn lit the clearing enough to see the aftermath of her gruesome bargain. Magda's body was there, slumped over the table, her brown hair matted with blood and sticking to the smooth surface. The earth was scorched with dozens of black burns.

The pain continued to grow and Saraid didn't know how to make it stop. Her body burned hot and dry and she felt as though any second she would light up like a torch. Every inch of exposed skin burned and turned black. Before her eyes she watched as her own flesh turned to ash and flaked away.

In a panic she crawled across the clearing, trying to escape the place and the evil she had brought there. She crawled painfully across the ground, her fingers digging into the soft dirt as she pulled herself out of the light and into the dense trees. She immediately felt relief as she entered the dark underbrush. Sobbing in pain she pulled branches over her and clawed dirt over herself. She pulled her cloak over her head and, in agony and confusion, allowed herself to be drawn again into the nothingness of sleep.

Astral

Denmark

1879

Astral woke hours after dark to the sound of cupboard doors slamming and heavy, uneven footsteps on the wooden floors. She sat up from where she lay huddled on the floor in front of the hearth, the only warm spot in the tiny farmhouse, and watched as her father staggered to the small corner pantry.

Sabie quacked softly at the disturbance. He had been sleeping under her chin as he did every night, against her chest and under her long hair, and now he fluffed his silky brown feathers and moved closer to the waning fire.

Where's the bread I brought home girl? Her father was drunk again. Astral rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stood to get more wood.

There isn't any papa, not unless you brought some home with you.

Her own belly ached with hunger, a pain she lived with every day. She couldn't remember the last decent meal she'd had, or what it was like to feel full. When her mother was alive she'd never known hunger or gone without, but when Sasha died almost two years ago everything had changed. Her father, in grief and weakness, had fallen into a beer barrel and never really resurfaced and Astral had learned that tending a household alone and with no money was frighteningly impossible.

The chickens and pig didn't last long, and the goat, although stringy, kept hunger away for a few more weeks but in mere months she was hungry more often than not, and subsisting on chestnuts, berries, mushrooms and the occasional truffle; anything she could forage up from the woods around their small farmhouse. Unfortunately her efforts were not richly rewarded, she was painfully thin, her face gaunt, elbows bony and ribs jutting. At fifteen she looked more like she was eleven, and a sickly eleven at that.

Right now, her father seemed oblivious to her dire state.

It's gone? You ate all of it? He sounded incredulous, and Astral sighed, resigned to have this same conversation again. But I brought two loaves and a pound of bacon the other day. How could you have eaten it all already? His voice rose in pitch as he became outraged at her perceived gluttony.

It was over a week ago, papa. You haven't been home in days. She shuffled to the wood box, careful to avoid stepping on a sliver in her bare feet and lifted out a small branch she had collected earlier. A pound of bacon doesn't last that long.

She fed the fire and stirred the coals with a poker, blowing it back to life so she could settle back down to sleep. She was tired. She spent all day foraging for whatever she could find either to burn or eat and at night, hungry and cold, she didn't have energy for anything else.

She knew from experience that her father would pass out soon, his heavy blacksmith body sprawled across his bed or slumped over the table. In the morning, when he was sober, he would apologize for his failures. His lack of care. He would promise to return that night with a ham and maybe some apples, and it would be a few more days before he returned home, empty handed and angry.

But this time it was different.

Instead of grumbling and taking himself off to bed he slammed his fist down on the table and glared at her. I work all day at the fire and when I come home I expect supper.

Her shoulders slumped. There just isn't any food, papa.

He glared at her, and let out a long breath before growling, aye, there is.

She didn't understand; she knew there was nothing. She hadn't eaten more than a few pine cones and winter mushrooms in days, but his unfocused eyes had drifted from his daughter to where Sabie sat, beak tucked under his wing, next to the fire where Astral had just been sleeping. Confusion wrapped her brain so that when her father lunged across the room towards her, she still failed to register any fear until his big hand gripped the duck's brown neck.

I always knew I let you keep this mangy pest around for a reason and this is it. It's dinner time girlie, set the table we're having roast duck tonight.

Sabie flapped his wings in a rapid staccato as he dangled from the blacksmith's grasp. Downy feathers sputtered about the room as the panicked bird fought to relieve the pressure on his neck.

She watched in shock for two heartbeats and then she exploded in a flurry of frantic panic. The poker she still held clattered to the floor and she grabbed instead at his arm, dragged at his hips and pried at his fingers, screaming in protest. No! Stop it!

Casually, and with almost no sign of drunkenness, Astral's father walked outside, uncaring that his daughter gripped his elbow ferociously and begged him to release her pet. The small house, and then the quiet yard, filled with her terrified shrieks and Sabie's muffled but petrified squawks.

Her father trudged to the old stump that had been used to butcher chickens and wrenched the rusty hatchet from its surface even as she pulled on his arm, futilely trying to hold him back.

Not him, please. Leave him be. Her terror turned into anguish as he neared the stump and she knew the horrific end to her pet was near. As much as she tried, she didn't have a quarter of the strength needed to slow his pace even a moment.

She sobbed and pleaded, but it had no effect, and with slow precision he gripped the back of her neck and hurled her away. She crashed into the side of the small shed that housed a few gardening tools and watched as he settled the still flapping duck across the flat, blood soaked surface of the stump.

Sabie had appeared out of the blue one day shortly after her mother died, and had quickly filled the void left by her absent parents. The duck was as regular as any duck she assumed but he followed her around day and night, slept tucked under her chin and preened her hair right along with his own glossy feathers. As unorthodox as it was, Sabie was the only real family she had anymore ,and now she stared with huge eyes as the hatchet rose above her father's shoulders, ready to kill the only thing she had left in this world.

Her mouth moved but words no longer escaped the tightness in her throat. Her mother was dead, and her father, broken from grief, was not the same man he once was, but she still had Sabie. She felt bile rise up in her throat from fear and a black haze of hysteria clouded her vision.

The wooden handle of a shovel leaned against the shed next to her and she gripped it. Her hands were numb with cold, and it felt like someone else holding the smooth wood. With more strength than she knew she possessed under normal circumstances she lunged at her father's back swinging the shovel's metal blade up and over her head in a long arc that ended with a sickening thud on the back of his head.

Her father's body crumpled forward onto the butcher block. His hand opened and the duck flapped free.

The shovel dropped from her hands and she raised them to her mouth, covering the sobs that blubbered from her lips. Realization of what she had just done turned her blood cold. She watched his body intently for several long seconds hoping for some small sign of life. Papa?

He didn't move; didn't make a sound.

She could hear the blood in her ears, and her scalp tingled with shock. Her shaky exhalations misted in the cold air as she willed her father to get up or make some small sound. But he didn't.

What have I done?She asked herself in a shaky whisper. She stumbled backwards and looked around her in terror, expecting some mighty retribution to cut her down where she stood. Like a startled rabbit, she darted in one direction and then another, unsure what to do and terrified of her murdered father's body.

Sabie's still frantic fluttering caught her attention and without a clear thought in her head she scooped him into her arms and fled. She sprinted across the uneven field that surrounded the farmhouse and dashed into the dark woods, cutting her feet and scraping her face and arms on the sharp, cold foliage.

In the dark she was quickly disoriented, but she continued forward, farther than she had ever been before, away from her father, and the terrible thing she'd just done. She feared what she would find if she ever went back more than she feared being alone in the woods.

She stumbled into a long overgrown road. The moon shone through a break in the canopy and reflected off the snow covered ground, creating enough light to see that the road wound around in a long curve from North to South and had a gradual uphill slope. The smooth surface of snow had been churned up beneath the hooves of some large animal. She had never come across this road before and she had no idea where it led to in either direction. She stood ankle deep in snow for several minutes crippled by indecision. Sabie struggled to free himself and she let him flutter to the ground where he tossed snow around with his bill and quacked softly.

Astral shivered as she contemplated which direction to follow. Her skin burned in alternating waves of frostbite and raw scrapes. Her brain felt foggy and weak and her stomach roiled around in her belly. Her body, malnourished and thin, worked in vain to keep warm even as her lungs burned.

She watched Sabie as he nestled himself into the snow and tucked his beak under his wing. His feathers fluffed up in an attempt to conserve warmth. Astral watched her precious duck lie in the cold and let her misery bubble to the surface.

Fat, hot tears rose up her throat and leaked down her frozen cheeks. The full weight of her predicament stole the last of her energy and she fell to her side in the snow, curling up with her knees tucked to her chin to try and stay warm. Her mind was vacant and numb as she realized she would die here, cold and alone. She lay in the road, trembling, inhaling the frigid air in short shivering breaths. Her teeth clenched till her jaw ached, and she shivered uncontrollably. Her eyes closed and she drowsed, vaguely aware of Sabie snuggling up close to her knees. In a fog she pulled her skirt out to cover him, and tried to keep her teeth from chattering.

Her mind wandered to sporadic memories and she thought of her father, the image of his thick body lying awkwardly across the butcher block, a few spots of scarlet blood in the snow under his head. That was pushed aside by the last memory she had of her mother, her thin body covered by heavy blankets, her face sunken and ashen. A racking cough drained her life and bloodied the kerchief Astral held to her lips. It was the last thought she had before falling into peaceful unconsciousness.

Chapter 1

Astral rummaged through the top drawer of Davn's desk as quietly as she could. He had never strictly forbidden her from going in his desk, but she was still tense and kept her ears pealed for any sound that he might be coming downstairs.

The windows were shuttered against the late afternoon sun, just as Davn liked her to keep them, and she searched by the light of two lamps. Their meager glow helped little as her hands rifled through papers and pots of ink.

The room was large and made entirely of gray stone, just as the rest of the house, and she had already searched every other nook and cranny she could think of. The furniture was over-sized and had been elegant once, but was now ancient and scarred. A fireplace big enough for her to stand in housed a small fire, and besides the desk, a few armchairs, and a small loveseat, the only other furniture was a spindly legged piano. She hadn't found anything in any of those places either.

It's not here Sabie, she mumbled as she flipped through the pages of a heavy bound ledger. She abandoned the top drawer with a huff and opened the smaller side drawer. She was momentarily encouraged when she lifted out two small pouches made of brown leather, but they were filled with coins. The clink and weight of them was not what she was looking for.

Looking for something? His voice, that she knew so well, was tinged with amusement.

She dropped the pouches as though burned and slammed the drawer closed. She straightened hastily to face him with her mouth set in a moue of guilty chagrin, but the first thing she saw was not the tall, slim man standing in the door where the darkness from the hall and the dim light from the lamps cast him in shadow, but her pet, where he stood on the hearth and happily tore pages from one of her books with his beak.

Sabie, no! Bad duck! Astral scolded her pet before dodging around the desk to rescue the last few pages from being torn from their binding. Look what you've done! I wasn't finished reading that!

The duck, small, brown and fat, fluttered out of reach of her shooing hands and squawked with indignation.

Don't talk to me like that! She retorted in outrage. You've ruined another of my books you little beast! She knelt on the stone floor and gathered the shredded pages, trying to shuffle them back into order. She knew better than to leave anything destructible anywhere the duck could reach it but she had been so excited and distracted all day she had set this one down on the hearth and forgotten about it.

She scowled across the room at him and jammed the pages between the hard cover, feeling like one of her most precious possessions had just been desiccated.

You spend so much time with your nose buried in one I think he does it out of spite. Davn said behind her as he stepped into the room.

Astral looked over her shoulder and scowled. Dav! She stood and waved the book in front of her for him to see. Look what he's done now. I only set it down for an hour and now look. It's ruined.

He seemed relaxed, with his hands in the pockets of his dark trousers and his shirt open at the collar. Then he caught the title of the book she was waving at him and his voice betrayed his distaste. Beowulf. At least he destroyed one of the bad ones this time.

She tossed the loosely gathered pages onto the threadbare couch that sat in front of the fireplace and planted her hands on her hips with a scoff. It's a fine book, and he can't eat all my books even if you do happen to hate them. Soon I won't have any left and then what will I do?

His eyebrows shot up his forehead and he tilted his head towards the left wall, where hundreds of books filled the shelves.

She glanced at the books herself and rolled her eyes in exasperation. "He still can't eat all my books, you can't buy them as fast as he can destroy them.

She whirled and faced where the duck was hiding beneath the ancient, yellow keyed piano. It was warped and out of tune and painted in a faded green lacquer. It must have been a grand instrument when it was new two hundred years ago but now it was sad looking and rickety. It didn't stop her from playing it every day.

You hear that Sabie? You can't eat all my books! She fell to her hands and knees and crawled between the piano's legs, reaching out to grab the evasive duck, but he only squawked again and hopped out of her reach. Come here you little scamp! She laughed as he waggled his tail at her cheekily and escaped out the open door, waddling as quickly as he could into the foyer and leaving her smiling, trapped, and tangled between her long skirts and the piano legs.

She crawled out awkwardly and climbed to her feet with a cheerful grin on her lips and faced Davn again, where he stood and watched her. What? She asked.

Look at you. Are you ever clean?

She looked down at her dress and hands and sighed. Her skirt was dark rose and embellished with ruffles and pearls along the waist and had been pretty, but now it was smudged with dirt, and mud caked the hemline. Her palms were gray with dust and her flower print blouse was wrinkled and partially untucked. I was clean. I had a bath this morning. But then I went riding, and weeded my garden, and made supper.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Are you sure you're twenty-one? Sometimes I think you are still that girl of five and ten I found all those years ago.

She stuck her tongue out at him and then laughed. Twenty-one today, as you know very well and I do not act five and ten, you're just stodgy. She dusted her hands and tried to repair her clothes to no avail. You're up early. It's not even supper yet.

His smile, tiny as it was, faded. Well I know how much you've been waiting for your present. I'm sure you tore this old heap of stones apart trying to find it.

She shrugged innocently and examined her nails, which were dirty. Well maybe I was a little curious and impatient. She would never admit it, but she was so excited she had combed every inch of the ancient stone house in search of her present and had found nothing. Her gaze fell to his hands but even they were empty. Her shoulders drooped in disappointment. She wondered briefly if now she was too old for presents.

He crossed the room to his desk and withdrew a slim envelope from the top drawer.

Happy birthday Aster, it's hard to believe you're all grown up and yet another year older. He looked down at his hands for a brief moment and then sighed and handed her the envelope.

That's it? She asked. Well I saw that. I must have shoved that out of the way a dozen times! She snatched the white package from his outstretched hand.

I know it's small and plain. Not what you were looking for I'm sure.

Well I suppose it can't always be horses and dresses and jewellery.

I remember when a bowl of soup would have made you happy. A lot has changed since then.

Her smile dropped from her mouth. That was a long time ago.

It was. He agreed softly. Do you ever think about it?

She never thought of that night, except in her nightmares and even those were rare now. When she was awake and with Davn, there was no room for bad memories and fear. She shook her head. Not if I can help it. Do you?

He replied wryly with a small grin. How could I forget the night I almost lost my finger? His voice was low and cultured, and he spoke English with a slightly different accent than she did.

She scoffed and snatched the hand in question, pulling it forward to examine his fingers. They were large hands with long lean fingers and well groomed nails. She shook her head in denial. You keep saying that, but I just don't believe it. I've never seen a wound on you, and Sabie just wouldn't do such a thing.

He pulled his hand back and curled his fingers into a fist. You think he only eats books? I'm telling you he attacked me. He lunged at me, snapping that beak like a bear trap, and nearly took my finger off. Between him and that gray demon of a horse I had at the time, it's a wonder I got you off the road at all.

Astral smiled despite herself. She loved this story. Over the years she had romanticized it into a fairy tale. Davn, tall, dark stranger finds her nearly lifeless body in the woods and rescues her. Her faithful pet gallantly defends his mistress against an unknown foe.

Of course, she didn't remember any of it, or the days that followed. All she had were vague, inconsistent memories of waking up in a dark, cold room, with nothing but a small fire in the fireplace to light her surroundings.

She'd been frightened at first; waking up not knowing where she was, with nothing but her underclothes on and a dark eyed man tending to her. She'd been too sick and weak to complain or make anything more than a token resistance when he force fed her broth and bathed her burning face with cool water.

But she had been comforted knowing Sabie was there standing over her like a tiny sentinel and of course, she wasn't dead or hurt, and that alone had given her a semblance of security.

When her fever finally broke she'd woken in an old, dusty four-poster with Davn sitting in the chair next to her bed. It was another week before she realized that there was no one else.

It was fate. I was hungry and cold and you were living out here all alone in a crumbly old castle, miles away from any town in the middle of the woods. She looked up at him and grinned knowingly. You were lonely, admit it. Finding me was the best thing that ever happened to you.

He went to the window, pulling the drapes and opening the shutters to look out over the now dark grounds. Astral's vegetable garden was on this side of the castle. The stable and paddocks on the other side. The sun had sunk below the horizon and in the last remaining light of day the young plants looked shadowy and small.

I can admit that. He faced her again and looked at the envelope in her hands with something close to regret. I think you should open your present.

Astral turned the envelope over and with renewed excitement started to tear open the top. Davn gave the best presents. Her flashy bay gelding, Mynstral, was the first gift he had given her over the years, followed by dozens and dozens of books, new dresses, music boxes, ribbons and trinkets, a gold chain with a circular ruby pendant that she had never taken off, and of course her painting; the five foot oil portrait of her that hung above the fireplace in her room.

The painter had come all the way from Ebsjerg, a sweet, squinty eyed, balding man, and spent three days with his brush in hand trying to get Sabie out of her lap.

You are now immortalized in paint young lady. He had said as he unveiled the painting for her and Davn to see. It was all bright colors and light. A vivid blue sky swirled with white clouds and emerald green trees in the background. Astral's sapphire eyes and