It was nothing more than a dream. Her Purple Dusk Jewels didn’t give her enough power or status to keep her safe from stronger males if she were on her own. She didn’t have the temperament to cope with the cruelty and vicious games that were played in the courts and in aristo houses, so there was no point thinking she could work in one of them. If her mother turned her out, she’d end up working somewhere for room and board and little else. Or, worse, she could end up begging for a place in one of the large eyries that stabled the warriors who served in the Eyrien Queens’ courts. She’d seen some of the women who did the cooking and laundry in those eyries—and who were expected to take care of other needs as well. She wouldn’t survive long in one of those places. So it always came back to accepting that she would be her mother’s unpaid help.

But she still wished for something better.

Blinking back tears—and telling herself it was the wind that created them—she looked up . . . and saw the Black Mountain in the distance.

Ebon Askavi. The Keep. Rumors had been flying recently that there was a Queen there now—a powerful, terrible, Black-Jeweled Queen. But no one had actually seen her. No one could say for certain.

She paused, moving her wings to hover, unable to look away from that mountain. Unable to shake the feeling that something was aware of her, watching her. From that mountain.

Heart pounding, she shook her head to pull her gaze away from the Keep, folded her wings, and did a fast dive toward the woods in the valley. She was an unimportant hearth witch. There was no reason for anyone to look in her direction.

Unless it had something to do with the envelope her father wanted delivered to a messenger without the court he served in being aware of it.

Pulling out of the dive, she glided to the edge of the woods, then backwinged to land lightly on the path. She’d deliver the envelope and go home. Once she was safely back in her mother’s kitchen, she’d convince herself that the uneasiness growing in her was her own doing, that there wasn’t something in the woods that made her want to turn and run, that she wasn’t sensing ripples of dark power far, far, far below the strength of her Purple Dusk Jewel—ripples of power that were rising up from the abyss and coming toward her.

She kept to a fast walk, afraid to run because that would incite a predator’s instinct to hunt. And there were predators out there, somewhere. She was certain of it.