“The Gray Wolf queens live on as wolves,” Han said, desperately hoping this wouldn’t turn out to be a disaster. “I’m told that only the descendants of Hanalea can see them, but I created a sending so that Dancer could, too. The queens carry wizard blood from before the Breaking, and so I thought maybe…”

But Crow didn’t seem to be listening. “Hana?” he whispered, his face a landscape of grief, hope, and longing.

She smiled, and it was like unshuttering a lamp. She took a step forward, extending her arms. “Alger,” she said, her voice low and musical. “I did not believe them when they said you still lived.” She swallowed hard, tears streaming down her cheeks. “There is so much I have to say to you.”

Crow walked toward her, arms outstretched like a man in a dream, which he was, in a way.

Sometimes a dream is enough.

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

Thank you to all my early readers who don’t complain (in my presence) when they critique something and then I throw it away—Marsha McGregor, Pam Daum, Jim Robinson, Dawn Fitzgerald, Jeff Harr, Don Gallo, Julanne Montville, and Leonard Spacek. To those who are in for the long road—YAckers Jody Feldman, Debby Garfinkle, Mary Beth Miller, Martha Peaslee Levine, and Kate Tuthill; to Eric, who never lets me get away with anything—but every now and then I fool even you! And Keith, my left brain/right brain creative.

To the wonderful team at Hyperion—my editor, Abby Ranger, who is always the adult in the room, but still encourages the steamy bits; to Laura Schreiber for her wonderful insights and sharp eyes; the marketing and publicity team: Ann Dye, Dina Sherman, Jennifer Corcoran, Hallie Patterson, and Nellie Kurtzman; book designer Tyler Nevins, and illustrator Larry Rostant—your covers make such beautiful visual promises.

To my extraordinary agent, Christopher Schelling, and my foreign rights rep, Chris Lotts—here’s hoping next year is less interesting than this year.

And, always, to Rod—for the love, technical support, and benefits of all kinds.

And don’t miss The Heir Chronicles, also from Cinda Williams Chima! Keep reading for a preview of book one, The Warrior Heir!

PROLOGUE
OLD STORIES

COALTON COUNTY, OHIO

June, 1870

The scent of wood smoke and roses always took him back there, to the boy he was and would never be again.

The Roses came for them during his tenth summer. In those days, Lee was slight of build, though his father always said his big hands and feet predicted height and broad shoulders when he was grown. He was the youngest, a little spoiled, the only one of four children to display the telltale signs of a wizard’s stone. His parents complained that it took him two days to do a day’s worth of work. Not lazy, exactly, but largely inefficient.