The poets of old spoke of Seers gifted with waking dreams,

of Sentinels who could take the form of the beasts of the air, forest, or sea

and who watched over the sacred lands.

Then the age of gifts came to an end.

Over a hundred years, Seers and Sentinels became as legends,

stories told to wide-eyed children at night.   

 

Chapter One

 

Analisia grabbed her skirts and ran for the palace wall. Her veil whipped about her, threatening to fly free of the slim gold halio holding it in place. At the wall, she kicked off her dancing slippers and climbed hand-over-hand up the smooth bronze rings embedded in the towering stone. After so many years, she didn’t have to look at the rings. She’d scrambled up this way since she was a little girl, though she knew she wasn’t supposed to.

She couldn’t walk serenely to the royal carriage waiting for her.

She’d tried. She’d dressed the part. She’d put on the stupid dancing slippers that pinched her toes. Then as she approached the palace courtyard, her feet had decided on a different course. Escape.

As Analisia stood panting at the top, she couldn’t see the view for several moments. She could only feel: her heart beating faster, her lungs aching, her face hurting from trying not to cry.

Slowly her vision cleared and she saw Isalla stretched before her, from the shores of the sea, up the slopes of the surrounding hillside. Her city’s houses were so tightly pressed together you couldn’t wedge a page of parchment between them—so many red-tiled rooftops, so many sandstone bricks, flowing into a carpet of red and gold. Beyond the winding white shoreline, the sea sparkled, a turquoise gem, casting up the last bright rays of the setting sun. The familiar sight usually gave Analisia a feeling of home, but not this evening.

Some distant voice told her she should worry her gown of cream silk might get dirty. Or her transparent veil, embroidered with strands of gold, might tear on a ragged edge. She ignored the warnings and simply walked. Though there was a good four-story drop, the flattened walkway beneath Analisia’s feet was wide enough for two guardsmen to stand shoulder to shoulder without falling off—but there was also nothing to keep her from pitching off the side if she tripped, so she stayed true to the middle.

At the sound of a shrill cry, she looked up to see if Olera, her falcon, was circling above. She saw only blue sky over the sea and mellowing burnt reds where the sky met the hilltops.

The sky reminded Analisia of more peaceful days as a small girl, lying here and staring at her father’s falcon soaring high above. She’d dreamt of Il Sentiro, whom legends said could take the form of a falcon. He’d scouted for his king and whenever he returned with his report, he’d change back into a man, as impossible as that seemed—even for one with a gift as unique as hers.

Analisia stretched her arms out, yearning to simply fly away.

There’d be no more duty, only sky.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

A great whooshing sound startled Analisia and caused her to catch her toe on the hem of her gown. She wheeled her arms, trying to catch her balance. As she stumbled sideways, much too close to the edge, time slowed and stretched out. In an instant, she could see her body on the pavers below, her limbs twisted at odd angles, between the bubbling fountain and the statue of her grandmother. Then her bare feet gripped the roughened stone, checking her fall. She backed up a pace and righted herself.

She stood shaking, simply breathing. There was little time to think of falling, for Olera was upon her, approaching on powerful wings. Analisia raised her fist and the falcon flew to her. Far below on the palace grounds, Ilan, the falconer’s apprentice, appeared. He raced along the palace wall, with the hem of his simple sand-colored tunic flapping against the back of his knees.

At the sight of her friend, Analisia straightened to the more proper posture of a princesa. As she did so, the muscles in her neck relaxed, making her realize how much she’d tensed up.

“What’s this?” she called down with a wry smile. She scratched Olera’s feathers and the falcon preened at her touch.

Ilan bowed, then craned his neck to look up at Analisia. “She must have seen you standing there, princesa, for she burst from my hold. It was all I could do to stay with her as long as I did.” He blew a dark curl off his forehead, though he didn’t even seem winded from his run.

Not fooled by Ilan’s dramatics, Analisia held back a smile. “You’ve shown great fortitude, my friend.”

“I am, as always, glad to be of service.” Ilan’s eyes glowed with appreciation. Since his first day of service at the age of seven, he’d followed Analisia around like a faithful houndling. Now at sixteen, a year younger than she, he’d become a handsome youth. Soon he’d turn his attention to some pretty servant girl. Analisia would hardly be able to complain, for, after tonight, she’d likely never have time to practice archery with her friend again. She’d have other things to concern her. Dry, discouraging things like alliances and duty.

And honoring her grandmother’s wishes.

And becoming betrothed to a man she didn’t love.

The sinking sensation Analisia had felt the past several weeks returned, twisting her stomach into a knot. She felt a frown crease her brow and was grateful Ilan’s attention was on Olera.

“Come, hungry one,” Ilan crooned as he reached upwards with one gloved fist. “Your princesa has no food, but I’m sure the master has a morsel waiting.” With a great shake of her wings, Olera flew down and arranged herself on Ilan’s fist. She waited with an air of great forbearance as he tied the thin leather jesses to her leg. When Ilan finished, he glanced up at Analisia. “May I be of assistance, princesa? The royal carriage awaits your arrival ...” He looked pointedly toward the palace courtyard. In the opposite direction. “I’ve heard there’s a banquet tonight in Boroth, or have you...forgotten?”

Despite her troubled thoughts, Analisia’s lips twitched. “I haven’t forgotten, Ilan, as you well know.” I’ve only been delaying the unpleasant.

“The queen wouldn’t be happy to see you up there.” He raised one dark brow. “Again.”

“I know,” Analisia said, grateful her friend hadn’t witnessed her near fall. “You may go with my gratitude.” She gave a flourishing royal wave, dismissing him.

“It’s my duty and pleasure to serve, princesa.” Ilan bowed low, raising Olera high on one fist as he did so—dramatically, of course—and took his leave.

As Analisia watched him walk away with the sure stride of someone with a clear purpose, she realized she couldn’t stay on top of her wall forever. She was no longer the little girl who’d once believed she could escape her troubles. She was a young woman, and it was time to start acting like one.

Lifting the hem of her gown, Analisia padded along the top of the palace wall in her bare feet. Again, she climbed down the bronze rings of the watchman’s ladder with the ease of practice. At the bottom, she slid her feet into her new dancing slippers, the ones that perfectly matched the gold strands in her veil, but also pinched her toes. With that done, she straightened and lifted her chin.

For that was what one did to prepare for battle.

Even if that battle was with oneself.