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Chapters (61)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. Ashyn: One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Eight
  11. Moria: Nine
  12. Ten
  13. Eleven
  14. Twelve
  15. Thirteen
  16. Ashyn: Fourteen
  17. Fifteen
  18. Sixteen
  19. Moria: Seventeen
  20. Eighteen
  21. Nineteen
  22. Twenty
  23. Twenty-one
  24. Twenty-two
  25. Ashyn: Twenty-three
  26. Twenty-four
  27. Twenty-five
  28. Twenty-six
  29. Twenty-seven
  30. Twenty-eight
  31. Twenty-nine
  32. Thirty
  33. Moria: Thirty-one
  34. Thirty-two
  35. Thirty-three
  36. Thirty-four
  37. Thirty-five
  38. Thirty-six
  39. Thirty-seven
  40. Ashyn: Thirty-eight
  41. Thirty-nine
  42. Forty
  43. Forty-one
  44. Forty-two
  45. Forty-three
  46. Forty-four
  47. Forty-five
  48. Forty-six
  49. Forty-seven
  50. Forty-eight
  51. Forty-nine
  52. Moria: Fifty
  53. Fifty-one
  54. Fifty-two
  55. Fifty-three
  56. Fifty-four
  57. Fifty-five
  58. About the Author
  59. Back Ad
  60. Credits
  61. About the Publisher

“I meant what I said in the cave, Moria. I don’t know anything that could have helped.”

“I know.”

More silence. He was right behind her now. She swore she could hear him breathing.

“You were right. I don’t need to tell you that, but . . . yes, my family . . . ” He trailed off. “I only know simple things, though, like how to start a fire or close a wound.”

She nodded and then glanced over. He was frozen there, braced for a reaction, for questions.

“I’ll tell no one,” she said, and then she turned back to the bird.

She plucked out three feathers—smaller ones from the chest and one large one from the wing plumage.

“Trophies?” Gavril asked.

She gave him a look. “That would be dishonorable. A warrior—or a Keeper—is not supposed to take pride in the kill. It’s proof. Otherwise, no one will believe we met a thunder hawk.”

He nodded. “Here, I’ll carry the large one. My pack is bigger.”

He reached out. His fingers were trembling slightly. He gave a soft, nervous laugh. “As you see, you weren’t the only one frightened by that thing.”

“I thought a warrior wasn’t supposed to admit fear.”

He met her gaze. “I know you’ll protect my secrets, Keeper.”

“I will.” She pushed to her feet. “Now, let’s see if we can find dry wood somewhere to build a fire. Rain was perhaps the last thing we needed.”

“At least your face is clean now.”

“Perhaps, but it did absolutely nothing for this.” She lifted a handful of her knotted, soaked hair.

“We’ll get that fixed. Come on, then. Gather your pack and we’ll go.”

Thirty-six

Thirty-six

Moria had argued most strenuously for the obvious solution to her hair issues: chop it off. Gavril refused to permit it. Ashyn would be upset, and Moria would have to answer to the court Keeper and Seeker, perhaps even the emperor. Clearly, the emperor had far too little to do if he’d concern himself with a Keeper’s hair, but she ceded Gavril’s point. Or she did when he offered to help come up with an alternate solution.

The basic methods—a single braid or tie—were perfectly acceptable for daily life, but did not control her locks when battling anything of substance. Additional braids would help, but took time, and would likely give her welts when they whipped about in battle.

“I fail to see how you’d think I’d be an expert in this matter,” he said as she finished brushing out the snarls.

“You’ve been to court. You’ve seen the women’s styles.”

He snorted. “I’m not sure which is more amusing, Keeper: to think you believe I spent much time in court, or to think you believe I’d waste any time there looking at women’s hair.”