Second Stone by Kelly Walker Page A

on your way.” His tired, almost pleasant voice didn’t match his rough stance.
    Taking in the man’s appearance, Torian didn’t think there was any way he could possibly not recognize Emariya as his own blood. The man’s eyes were not the only shared feature. Though his hair had gone gray, likely many years past, it curled in that same unruly way.
    “I can pay,” Torian offered, his voice cracking. “Anything—just please help her.”
    “Didn’t you hear what I said? Go on, get out of here!” The man crossed his arms and waited.
    “But she’s your—”
    Torian was cut off by a woman rushing out of the little house, brushing past the man to clasp Torian’s hand in her own. “He knows who she is and so do I. You’ve brought my granddaughter.” Tears pooled in the woman’s hazel eyes. Tossing back her waist-length hair, the woman flashed the man a look that would have motivated The Three themselves. “Quit standing there and get her inside.”
    With a resigned sigh, the man stepped forward and took the reins as Torian dismounted. Torian heard the man’s breath hitch as he got his first good look at Emariya. The blood drained from his face.
    “Oh…” The woman swallowed. “It is almost as if my Valencia’s come home again.” She held out her arms. “May I?”
    Torian was loath to let go of Emariya, afraid he might never hold her again. She had seemed for several hours now as if any breath might be her last. But this was why he’d come here. He had no time to waste by not trusting these people. They would help her or no one would.
    Nodding ever so slightly, he placed Emariya in her grandmother’s arms. He tried not to dwell on the fact that she’d grown so frail that an old woman could carry her without much trouble. Though, Lady Roth looked like her solid frame was accustomed to hard work. The years had not been kind to the Roths, but they’d still aged well, and a regal bearing remained evident under calloused hands, weathered wrinkles, and wise eyes.
    The man watched his wife carry Emariya into the house before he spoke. “We’ve a tiny stable out back.”
    Gratefully, Torian followed the man behind the house.
    The old man ran a hand across his wide brow. “You’ll have to forgive me. My wife, Alara, she gets herself real wound up sometimes over missing the children. She feels like we failed. I just wanted to spare her.”
    “I understand.” Torian smiled encouragingly. “I’d do the same for Riya. I’d give anything to protect her, but this…this… I just don’t know how to help her.”
    The man nodded sympathetically. “I suppose I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Kahl Roth. And you are?”
    “Torian Ahlen.”
    Kahl raised an eyebrow. “Ahlen, as in the royal Ahlens of Thalmas?”
    “I’m afraid so,” Torian said, instantly alert. He had no idea how the Roths would feel about binding the lines and the Stones. They might let Emariya die just to keep them apart. All he did know was that she would die without their help. What choice did he have?
    After they’d settled the horse in the tiny stable, they headed for the house. Torian wasn’t sure what to expect when he stepped into their little home. Being a prince, he’d spent most of his life in relative luxury. The Roth’s entire home could have fit inside Torian’s personal quarters. How the mighty had fallen.
    Torian had never been to Sheas Harbor, but he could imagine it was extravagant. It must have been quite the change to try and accustom themselves to their exile.
    The home was but one room, with wooden walls that looked as if one good gust might topple it over. The simple plank floor was swept immaculately clean. A rough clay fireplace dominated the center of the room spreading its warmth and pungent smell throughout. A meager table was pushed against the only window in the room, surrounded by four sturdy wooden chairs. On the opposite side of the room from the table, Emariya lay upon the pallet bed. Her cheeks