her need for sanctuary so easily! Should she?
She walked through the marketplace where men and women sold food, fabrics, weapons, and anything else a city dweller might need. If she’d had a skill beyond turning those who threatened her into glass, she might’ve set up a booth of her own. Instead she wandered alone, feeling foolish for leaving the tavern and for thinking she could have any sort of marriage with a man simply because he was patient and a more than decent kisser. She was confused, she was scared . . . she was lost.
There was no choice but to return to the tavern. It was while she scurried in that direction that she’d seen the two men following her.
They could not hurt her, she knew that. If they tried, her uncontrollable power would rise up and stop them. She did not want to kill again. What if they just happened to be on the same path she walked? What if it was coincidence that she’d seen them several times since leaving the tavern?
What if it was not?
In trying to lose the men who followed her, Morgana got turned around so she no longer knew where she was. The path from the tavern to the market had been an easy one, and she should’ve been able to find her way back without any trouble. But she’d made a couple of turns just to see if the men continued to follow. They had. And now she did not know which way to go.
Morgana heard footsteps far behind her, and she felt the ice at her center grow colder and stronger. In the weeks since Tomas’s death her curse had slept, but now it had been awakened and she did not know how to stop what had begun. She ran, and behind her the footsteps grew faster. If she turned and lashed out, she would once again take a life. She could feel it. The fear that had once before awakened her curse was fed by the unfamiliarity of this place and the helplessness of her situation.
At the corner she bravely looked back—and saw that it was an unfamiliar man who was walking behind her, not the heathens she had been so sure she’d spotted at the tavern. He did not look at all menacing.
Morgana leaned against the wall and relaxed, but for some reason the chill at her heart did not abate. She was lost, she was afraid . . . she was very possibly on the verge of losing control and killing everything and everyone in her path. If someone startled her, if she became more afraid than she already was, would the burst of cold blue death come again? Where was Jahn when she needed him so desperately?
Reaching for a calmness she very much needed, Morgana looked up at the palace rising at the western edge of the city. Suddenly she realized where she was. From the tavern she’d had a particular view of the palace, and she remembered well how close the plain building had been to the tallest, most magnificent edifice in the city.
Again she ran, this time with a destination in mind. Two turns, and she found herself on a street she remembered. The tavern was straight ahead. She lifted her skirt and increased her pace, longing for any sort of familiarity—longing, most of all, for Jahn Devlyn.
Morgana ran into the tavern and bolted for the stairs. The iciness in her heart grew. She was so afraid, so alone, so scared that it did not go away even now, when she knew she was not being followed. She was in no danger, and yet the curse continued to grow. What would happen when it burst? What if she did not find control and calm?
She glanced at the people in the tavern, roughly dressed men who watched her run but did not move from their tables. They were merely curious. Did they deserve to die for their curiosity? Of course not.
Morgana threw open the door to Jahn’s room, and found the sentinel lying across the bed in a casual pose. His expression revealed a touch of annoyance and concern, but not much. “Where have you been?” he asked. “I told you to stay here until I returned.”
Just looking at him made the chill start to fade, and she breathed deeply in relief. She remembered the
She walked through the marketplace where men and women sold food, fabrics, weapons, and anything else a city dweller might need. If she’d had a skill beyond turning those who threatened her into glass, she might’ve set up a booth of her own. Instead she wandered alone, feeling foolish for leaving the tavern and for thinking she could have any sort of marriage with a man simply because he was patient and a more than decent kisser. She was confused, she was scared . . . she was lost.
There was no choice but to return to the tavern. It was while she scurried in that direction that she’d seen the two men following her.
They could not hurt her, she knew that. If they tried, her uncontrollable power would rise up and stop them. She did not want to kill again. What if they just happened to be on the same path she walked? What if it was coincidence that she’d seen them several times since leaving the tavern?
What if it was not?
In trying to lose the men who followed her, Morgana got turned around so she no longer knew where she was. The path from the tavern to the market had been an easy one, and she should’ve been able to find her way back without any trouble. But she’d made a couple of turns just to see if the men continued to follow. They had. And now she did not know which way to go.
Morgana heard footsteps far behind her, and she felt the ice at her center grow colder and stronger. In the weeks since Tomas’s death her curse had slept, but now it had been awakened and she did not know how to stop what had begun. She ran, and behind her the footsteps grew faster. If she turned and lashed out, she would once again take a life. She could feel it. The fear that had once before awakened her curse was fed by the unfamiliarity of this place and the helplessness of her situation.
At the corner she bravely looked back—and saw that it was an unfamiliar man who was walking behind her, not the heathens she had been so sure she’d spotted at the tavern. He did not look at all menacing.
Morgana leaned against the wall and relaxed, but for some reason the chill at her heart did not abate. She was lost, she was afraid . . . she was very possibly on the verge of losing control and killing everything and everyone in her path. If someone startled her, if she became more afraid than she already was, would the burst of cold blue death come again? Where was Jahn when she needed him so desperately?
Reaching for a calmness she very much needed, Morgana looked up at the palace rising at the western edge of the city. Suddenly she realized where she was. From the tavern she’d had a particular view of the palace, and she remembered well how close the plain building had been to the tallest, most magnificent edifice in the city.
Again she ran, this time with a destination in mind. Two turns, and she found herself on a street she remembered. The tavern was straight ahead. She lifted her skirt and increased her pace, longing for any sort of familiarity—longing, most of all, for Jahn Devlyn.
Morgana ran into the tavern and bolted for the stairs. The iciness in her heart grew. She was so afraid, so alone, so scared that it did not go away even now, when she knew she was not being followed. She was in no danger, and yet the curse continued to grow. What would happen when it burst? What if she did not find control and calm?
She glanced at the people in the tavern, roughly dressed men who watched her run but did not move from their tables. They were merely curious. Did they deserve to die for their curiosity? Of course not.
Morgana threw open the door to Jahn’s room, and found the sentinel lying across the bed in a casual pose. His expression revealed a touch of annoyance and concern, but not much. “Where have you been?” he asked. “I told you to stay here until I returned.”
Just looking at him made the chill start to fade, and she breathed deeply in relief. She remembered the
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