Because while there *is* a preview at the storefront, it's shy of being the whole first chapter, and so, here is the whole first chapter. It's mine, all mine, mine mine mine. :)

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Chapter One

She walked as far away from the jousting yard as she dared, spread her cloak over the ground and sat. Around her grew young trees, blocking out some of the hot sun and offered enough shade to make the spot a desirable one. From her seat on the ground, Meghan could still see the swarms of people, dressed in their finery and cheering on the King’s Champion.

He was everyone’s favorite, after all.

Meghan supposed she should be among that crowd, lending her support to him as well, but there were just too many people and he would never notice her missing. Besides, he didn’t need her support. His success in this tournament was assured. He was the best.

A blade of grass found its way into her hand and Meghan picked at it mindlessly. Sweat dampened her hair, her face, and made her skin under her dress unbearably itchy. Not for the first time she longed to be back at home. She didn’t enjoy coming to court any longer, not without her mother, and her mother would never be coming to court again. It was duty and obligation that brought her, the need to continue with her old roles and to put on a good face for Michael. It all meant so very much to him, but something vital had been lost for Meghan when their mother had died.

She had made it so fun, Meghan thought as she tossed aside the shredded piece of grass and plucked another. Now every smile seemed false and every word rang hollow. Meghan didn’t care about the latest court trend or the lives of the royal family or her brother being King’s Champion or who was betrothed to whom.

It’s this place, she knew. She had more memories of her mother here at court than she had of her at home. There was a time when this had been home, more than any little structure of wood ever was. Now, though, it haunted her. Every corner hosted a small part of her mother’s ghost, and wherever she brought her eyes Meghan found something to sadden her.

Her friends had noticed, and at first they had tried to be patient and sympathetic. Now they mostly just left her alone. That didn’t bother her. She liked being alone with her thoughts and not having to make any effort to be sociable.

A loud roar went up in the yard, pulling Meghan’s attention to it. Still too close, she thought, and picked her cloak up. She headed deeper into the King’s Forest, into the deep shadows of the dense pine trees. The scent of pitch was overwhelmingly strong, but Meghan didn’t mind. She walked until her legs got tired, following a small trail, and then settled down on the dried needles and green ferns that blanketed the ground. Just for a while, she told herself as she stretched out. She’d go back soon.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but when she started awake she realize that she must have. Meghan blinked away her drowsiness and looked around, wondering what had woken her. Something changed while she floated in that small place between wakefulness and sleep. She couldn’t figure out what that change was, couldn’t even begin to guess, but something had pulled her senses alert. Her heart pounded in her throat and sticky sweat clung to her as she sat listening.

Just as she began to think she was imagining things it came again: a scream that was unlike any she had ever heard.

It wasn’t a human’s scream. Some game, perhaps, brought down by a hunter? Would anyone dare to hunt in the King’s Forest? Was she still even in the King’s Forest? Meghan shivered. No deer made a sound like that.

Meghan got to her feet, studying the area with wide eyes, looking for anything out of place. It had been further away, she decided. Over that next hill.

Even as she had the thought her feet were moving, carrying her off in the general direction. She had to know what made that sound. Maybe it was human, and maybe it wasn’t. Whatever it was, it was full of pain. What if someone needed help?

The hill was steeper than it looked and Meghan’s slippers had little grip to them. She scrabbled up the hill on hands and feet, holding the skirt of her dress in her mouth so she wouldn’t trip on it. When she reached the crest she dropped onto the ground and peered over cautiously. She wanted to help, but if it was an injured animal she could be putting herself in danger. No one could ever say she wasn’t cautious.

At first she didn’t see anything, just underbrush and sunlight-deprived birch trees in between old hemlocks, spruces, and pines. She studied harder, holding her breath, willing herself to see something. When she was satisfied that there was nothing there, she stood up.

That brought motion from among the trees. He appeared suddenly, rising from the ground, and Meghan wondered how she had missed him in the first place. His royal purple vest didn’t exactly blend in with the surroundings. She didn’t wonder too long, as relief flooded away most of her tension, and her mouth broke into a smile.

“Arrick,” she said as she started toward him, brushing her skirt off as she went. “Did you hear that noise?”

“Aye, I did,” he answered, wiping his hands on his clothing. “It is what got my attention.” He gave her a guilty grin. “I was taking a short nap. I have not seen anything, though, and Rodric said he was going hunting today. Perhaps he caught something.”

Yes, Meghan agreed silently. Out loud she said, “That must be it.”

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but what brings you this deep into the King’s Forest?”

“The need for some quiet,” she told him. They shared a smile and then Meghan said, “I suppose we should get back before we are missed.”

Arrick read her like a book. He said, “We really should,” but his eyes were sympathetic. He knew she didn’t want to return.

In a few large strides the lithe man closed the gap between the two of them and offered an arm. Meghan accepted it, allowing him to take her back. He chattered away with small talk and court gossip as they walked, and Meghan answered where she was supposed to, holding her silence otherwise. Arrick didn’t expect any more than that, and seemed perfectly content to carry the conversation on his own. As they reached the edge of the forest he paused, moving to take both her hands in his. Meghan looked up to meet his gaze and was trapped by the amount of understanding she found there.

“It is hard,” he said softly, “carrying on when you don’t want to. She would want you here, you know. With friends. Her absence is felt by many, and her death mourned by all. Your mother was a wonderful woman.”

Tears came to her eyes. Meghan nodded, unable to speak.

“You need time to mourn, and time alone. I understand. But, Meghan? Please, don’t push everyone away.”

Her lower lip trembled as she nodded. She blinked away her tears. If Michael saw that she’d been crying…. “I won’t,” she told Arrick.

“Good.” He dropped her hands, and the seriousness left his face. “Let us go find this brother of yours, shall we?”

Find him they did, surrounded by a throng of his peers in a small room just off the yard designated for the Royal Guard. Meghan followed Arrick with her eyes downcast – she wasn’t supposed to be there, but the other guards tolerated her presence now and again.

Sweat had slicked Michael’s hair back from his face. His eyes danced with the light of his victory as he spotted his younger sister. “Meghan!” came his joyous cry. “Did you see it? What a fight! Kensdale didn’t stand a chance!”

“Not a chance, is it?” Kensdale spoke up from behind Meghan. “I suppose you wish us to believe that you meant to fall from your mount a moment after you unhorsed me?”

A raucous laughter went up in the room and Michael joining in. “That is how you remember it, sir,” he said, smiling. “Never mind, Meghan. He is jealous. Give me fifteen minutes and I shall be ready.”

“We’ll be on the King’s Road,” Arrick told Michael, and then led Meghan back out.

The crowd had dispersed quickly after the joust, and now only a few lesser nobles stood around in small clusters. They stopped once to purchase some drinks before starting the walk to the only road leading away from the King’s grounds and market.

They passed a dozen or more people as they headed down the King’s Road. Meghan didn’t recognize most of them, though they knew her. Bows and curtsies were given. Arrick and Meghan both nodded as respect was paid, Arrick gracefully, Meghan wearily. She wanted to go home and be away from this place.

They slowed their pace as the sounds from the market faded. Now and again Meghan could hear the ringing from the smith’s forge, but the sound of songbirds calling and crunch of the dirt road under their feet helped to drown it out.

“You couldn’t wait?” Michael was breathing hard as he fell into step with them. Gone were his uniform and good manners. His sword belt was on his hip, his rapier hanging on his left side.

“We walked slowly,” she defended herself. “Besides, oh grand Champion, surely a small jaunt will not tire you!”

He grinned at her. “I just worry I will tire you, sister mine.”

He lengthened his strides, and Meghan and Arrick had to jog to keep up. Meghan held her skirt out of the way and walked on, unwilling to beg him to slow. It was Arrick who finally clutched a hand to his chest theatrically and said, “Mercy, mercy, young man! Take pity on this old knight, winded and unable to keep pace!”

They shared a laugh, the three of them, and finished the walk in good spirits. The King’s Road ended abruptly, the well-worn dirt road giving way to the hot blacktop of the parking lot. Stepping from one to the other was like stepping from one time to another. Both men kept walking, but Meghan hung back for a minute, watching the summers’ heat dance above the ground and cars. As much as she wanted to go home, she hated crossing this threshold. Back when she was little her mother had made a game of it. With their eyes pressed closed they would hold onto one another, square their shoulders bravely, and cross. It was such a silly game, one that had been abandoned as Meghan grew older, and yet now it held Meghan back. Tears stung her eyes as she forced herself forward.

Arrick was waiting for her a few feet away. “You’ll be back tomorrow?”

Of course, she thought. She said, “Yes.”

Arrick swirled his cup for a minute before taking a swallow. “Have you thought about not coming? The only break you took was those two weeks after . . . .” He shrugged his shoulder. “Maybe you could use another break.”

Meghan remembered. The week following her mother’s death had been filled with activity. Michael was a good boy but grief had rendered him all but useless, and the responsibilities had been shifted onto Meghan’s young shoulders. There had been calls to make, flowers to be ordered, a funeral to arrange. After that came the funeral itself and by the time it was over Meghan had been exhausted. For three days she stayed in bed, sleeping and grieving and sleeping some more. Michael had been beside himself with worry. He pestered her constantly until Meghan pulled herself out of bed and went back to court with him.

“Michael would worry,” she told Arrick, “if I didn’t come.”

“An excuse,” Arrick declared. “Not that we don’t enjoy your company, but you seem tired.”

“I am tired,” she agreed. “It’s been nearly two years. Don’t you think I should be over this by now?”

A look of such forlorn sadness crossed his features then that Meghan regretted her question. Before she could retract it Arrick said, “I don’t think we ever get over something like this. We get used to it, but we never get over it. Just think about it, Meghan. All right?” He squeezed her shoulder when she nodded, and then headed for his car.

When she rejoined Michael the car was running, the windows were down, and the radio was up loud. With aching feet Meghan let herself into the car and threw her head back onto the headrest. It would be so good to get out of these clothes, she thought as Michael pulled out of the lot.

The drive home went by quickly. Michael tuned into his songs and Meghan was grateful that he didn’t start a conversation. She feared that if he did he would discover than she hadn’t answered his question and that she hadn’t, in fact, seen the joust. They knew each other well, though, and he was content to let her sit in her silence.

The house was cool and dark when they let themselves in. Meghan pulled all the shades and had kept all the windows closed when they left and so the worst of the day’s heat was kept outside. Michael headed down it his room in the basement, presumably to work out, and Meghan headed for the bathroom. She turned the shower on to cool, running her hand under the stream of water to enjoy its’ coldness. One glance in the mirror over the sink showed a young woman shiny with sweat.

Ugh, she thought, and started to undress. With well-practiced hands she unlaced her sleeves and the front of her bodice. The dark blue material slipped off her shoulders and fell to the tiled floor in a heap, the attached skirt going with it. Her chemise came off just as quickly, pulled over her head and discarded. It was wet from her sweat where it had been pressed between the bodice and her skin.

What had she been thinking, getting dressed that morning? The Fiona style dress was her favorite, but the material was far too heavy for this hot weather.

Meghan stepped into the shower and slid the door closed. Cold water hit her flesh, working to strip the warmth from her. She put her head under the showerhead and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation as water ran down her body. After granting herself a few more minutes of leisure, Meghan hurriedly washed herself, rinsed off, and left the shower. With a towel wrapped around her wet body she dashed from the bathroom to her bedroom.

Loud metal music came from downstairs, telling her that Michael was still in his room. Most likely he was practicing sword forms. He was always practicing sword forms, but she couldn’t blame him. His position at the Faire was the most coveted and he had to work hard if he wanted to keep it.

He’s just lucky it’s a year-long job, Meghan thought as she shut her bedroom door behind her. Most Faires were seasonal, opening well into summer and closing in mid-autumn. If King Charles shut his down for the off-season, Michael would have been forced to get a normal job, most likely even two, to keep up with few expenses they had with the house. King Charles’ love of period histories had driven him to transform his private estate into the Faire grounds nearly twenty years ago, and his success enabled him to keep the place running year long. Over the years different means of income had been added. Aside from running the stores on-site, he had a healthy mail-order business going, and his crafters made high quality merchandise. Still, it was the Faire itself that brought in the crowd, twelve months a year. He offered what many Faires could not: festive delights, both historical and fantastical, for various holidays year round.

Even before Michael had been part of the Royal Guard, the Faire had supported them. Miranda started working there on its opening day, first as a seamstress before working her way up to one of the Queen’s maids. As soon as she was old enough, Meghan began assisting her mother. Just about every day of her life had seen her at the Faire: after school during the week, all day during weekends and vacations. They spent Christmas in the King’s own manse, feasting at the commoner table below the nobility, and finally joining the table for lesser nobility when Michael was granted knighthood. It was a life many at school had teased her for, and many others envied her for. In truth, Meghan couldn’t imagine life any other way. She knew she was lucky to have such a wonderful place to call home, a place where nearly everything went and freedom of expression was unchallenged.

Oh, enough, she scolded herself as she wrapped her damp her up into a knot and slipped into shorts and tee shirt. You’re just depressed today, that’s all. Never mind that.

She shuffled into the kitchen to find something for dinner. Meghan threw herself into the task of peeling potatoes, trying to still her dark thoughts. She scrubbed, peeled, and chopped until the five-pound bag was half empty. A pot was filled with water and set to boil. Once the water was hot enough Meghan dumped the potatoes in, lowered the heat a bit, and dug out the ground beef to cook.

An hour later, as Meghan was removing the casserole dish from the oven, Michael emerged from his room. His face was flushed form his vigorous workout, and he staggered tiredly to the table. “Shepherd’s Pie?” he asked.

Not until you shower first, she wanted to say, but she just nodded. Michael patted her on the head and helped himself to a good portion of the food. He sat down and dug in.

Meghan poured him a glass of ice water and sat down across from him. “Rough day, eh?”

He smiled around his food.

“Well, at least the tournaments are over for now, right?”

The look he gave her was a confused one.

“I know you like them, Mike. Everyone does. He pushes you too hard sometimes, though. All of you.”

It was an old argument. Michael swallowed his food, took a pull of his water, and said, “It’s his show. What kind of champion would I be if I didn’t give him my all?”

You wouldn’t be. Meghan looked away. “I just think it’s too hot for such an intense activity, that’s all. I don’t - ”

“Know anything about fighting,” he cut in harshly. He winced once the words were out. “Meghan, I’m fine. It’s not that bad, really. Hell, I like it.” Another mouthful of food silenced him long enough so that he could swallow it. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

She wanted to tell him everything then: how unhappy she was at the Faire; how she didn’t belong there any more; how she wanted a break. His green eyes were filled with concern as he waited for her answer.

I can’t, she finally decided.

“It’s the heat,” she said, waving her hand in a negating manner. “Besides, I think I’m coming down with something.” Which might explain the last few days, but no more. Thankfully, Michael didn’t pursue the issue.

“Maybe you should stay home tomorrow,” he offered her the out himself. “Stay in bed and read.”

“I was thinking about it,” she admitted with a smile.

His seriousness passed as a playful light entered his eyes. “Don’t think I’m fooled. You’re not sick, you just want to finish that book Arrick gave you.”

Meghan put her hands up. “Guilty,” she laughed. “In fact, I’m going to go do that right now. If you don’t see me again tonight, you’ll know why.”

Feeling better, Meghan retreated back to her room. The aforementioned book was waiting for her on her bed, and Meghan snatched it up, eager to forget herself in another world. She read until the days’ light faded to darkness, until she couldn’t make out any more of the words. She debated with herself for a while, wondering if she should get up and switch the light on or just go to sleep. As her eyes grew heavier her decision was made for her. She reached above her head to turn the window fan down to low, drew her shade down by the pull string, and then rolled onto her side. For all that she was tired, sleep came slowly. She let her thoughts tramp about her mind freely, paying them little attention, until finally sleep claimed her.


The musty smell of the warm earth reached her senses first. Meghan stood in place and looked around, thoroughly confused. Where was she? It took a moment for recognition to come to her, and when it did her confusion only deepened. The King’s Forest? It had to be. She didn’t know any other forests and the place, though strange, seemed familiar. Night had fallen, and the night should have bathed the place in shadows. There was a pale light radiating from some unknown source that chased the shadows away and lent some measure of visibility. She strained her eyes and cocked her head, searching for a clue. How had she gotten here?

She didn’t remember, and it didn’t seem important. What mattered was the why. Why was she here? There had to be some reason. There was a reason, she could feel it throughout her body. A distinct, but vague, sense of urgency. She needed to do something, and soon. But what?

Answers didn’t come as she stood, holding her breath, and so at last she picked her feet up. She wasn’t sure where she was headed, and in the unnatural light of the dark wood it was hard to tell which way she was going. Her feet guided her on a relatively clear path, and she steered around the few trees that sprang up in her way. When she took the first step up the incline she still didn’t know where she was. On the second step realization caught up with her.

It was the same hill she had climbed earlier, after that horrible scream.

Meghan shuddered with fright. A deer, Arrick suggested, and in her need to name it, she had agreed. Even now she wanted to agree. There was little reason to argue with the man, yet doubt plagued her mind. He had the answer so read. And it had sounded so close….
Nonsense, she told herself even as she tried to stop her feet. They kept walking as if they belonged to someone else entirely. Fright gave way to fear, which, as she neared the top of the ill, yielded to full-blown dread. She didn’t want to reach the crest. There was no real reason why she saws so terribly certain, but she knew that reaching the top would change everything. Meghan fought the pull, locking her knees and digging her heels into the ground. The pull proved to be too strong and, stiff-legged, she took another step.

NO! Her mind screamed at her to stop. Meghan lunged to one side, her hands latching onto a young sapling. Rough bark scraped her skin and needles stuck to her. Still the pull tugged at her, making her arms ache from the force of keeping her by the tree. Meghan fought a cry of frustration as her hands slipped. Slowly, inch by inch, her hold was broken, until she was back on her feet and walking, faster now, to the top of the hill.

She couldn’t stop herself, and she did not want to reach the summit. Her heart thundered in her head the last few paces and then it went silent as Meghan stepped onto the top. Her eyes were wide as she searched for danger. It was so hard to see, and she couldn’t tell if anything was hiding in the thick trees or not. Her feet were still walking, but now her heart was calming down. There was nothing terribly monstrous over the summit. It would be okay. She was just unsettled over the deer screaming.

Movement caught her attention as she came to stand before a spruce tree. Finally her feet stopped and she looked around, wondering where the movement had come from. Meghan was almost convinced she had imagined it when it came again. It pulled her attention to the base of the tree, where a bundle of rags lay on the ground. Curiosity chased away fear. Meghan knelt. A hand went toward the blanket, moving in slow motion. It could be anything, and she didn’t enjoy being bitten. If she took her time, if she was cautious and quiet, maybe she wouldn’t spook it too greatly.

Her fingers touched the rag and pulled at the edge. It came away easily, revealing the creature that lay within it. At first Meghan thought it was a monkey, but that thought made no sense. There weren’t any monkeys loose in King Charles’ forest. That couldn’t be right.
Still being careful, she leaned in for a closer look. As she did the light in the forest seemed to grow brighter, helping to illuminate the face of the small creature. Disbelief and shock froze Meghan. She didn’t know how long she sat there, crouching and staring. It seemed like no time at all, and then something crunched behind her.

It echoed within her ears, impossibly loud for a sound so small. Meghan jumped and whirled, and in her haste she clutched up the bundle of rags to her chest. She didn’t see the person who stood a few feet away, but she knew he was there.

“Give it to me,” he said.

He sounded like nothing Meghan had heard before. His voice was light and musical, clashing with the menace that radiated from where he was standing. She felt herself starting to obey the command before she caught and checked herself. Who was this person? What did he want with this creature?

“This doesn’t concern you,” he told her, and Meghan felt that it concerned her more than anything else ever had. “Give it to me.”

Meghan said, “No.” Her voice was unnaturally loud in her ears. She took a step away.

“Don’t get involved in this. It’s beyond you. Give it to me.”

Meghan shook her head, and took another step away. “Never,” she said.

The person hiding in the darkness started forward then. He moved with a smooth pace, but his motion startled Meghan into a run. She pivoted and took off between the trees.
She hadn’t gone far before something snagged her foot and sent her sprawling. Mindful of
the small creature in her arms, Meghan managed to throw her weight to one side, landing on her left side rather than flat on her stomach. Dirt and rock tore at her sleeve. Pain gripped her arm and head where they connected with the ground. Meghan didn’t pause to give them any attention. Instead she pulled herself into a sitting position. She used her free hand, the one she had landed on, to steady her while she got to her feet. Skin came down on something wet and sharp. A rock, her mind told her as she stood up, but then the burning began. It started as a mild discomfort but blossomed into a full-fledged burn so quickly Meghan didn’t have any time to make sense of it. Pain made her forget about her pursuer. She stood, wiping her hand on her skirt, trying to make the pain stop. By the time it became clear that no amount of wiping would ease the burning sensation it was too late to run.

“See? Do you really want to help something like that?” His voice was a whisper in her ear.

Meghan jolted but his hands came to grip her shoulders and hold her in place. The bundle in her arms seemed forgotten as he guided her to look where she had fallen. A figure was on the ground. It was easy to see in the pale light that the creature on the ground was dead, its body mauled and bloody. It didn’t have the shape of anything that made sense to Meghan, though its limbs were arranged like that of a human. She couldn’t see clearly, couldn’t make heads or tails of what her eyes were showing her.

No, she thought, unable to speak, though in truth she didn’t know if she was denying his demand or the scene before her. The pain was becoming intolerable. He wrenched her around to face him, and his hands closed on the bundle in her arms. She couldn’t fight him off. The fire on her hand weakened her. Despite her best efforts he managed to get the bundle from her. With a strong arm he shoved her aside, sending her sprawling to the ground. As she fell she was overwhelmed by a bone-deep sense of loss that she hadn’t felt since her mother died. Within her, her heart and soul cried out in denial until she felt like she was going to suffocate —

Meghan came awake suddenly. Pale morning light came through the gap between the top of the fan and the shade. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling while she caught her breath and tried to recall her dream. Already the images were fading from her consciousness. She remembered being afraid, remembered being in pain. She realized that her body was braced for the pain that she was sure would come. She recalled a sense of being needed, but the details eluded her.

They always did. She didn’t dream well.

The house around her was quiet, save for the sound of the fan in her window. It’s too early for Michael to be up, she decided, and I should go back to sleep. She lazed in bed with her eyes half closed for ten minutes, trying to recapture sleep, but it was useless. She wasn’t tired any more. Giving up, she sat up and looked around her room. Her closet door was half open, showing her collection of period garb.

She went to the closet and pulled the door open. A rayon chemise found its way into her hand. This, she knew, would be more comfortable in than the heavy cotton one she had worn yesterday. Maybe I’ll go for a few hours, she thought. It won’t be so bad. With the tournament over there would be fewer people to maneuver around.

When Michael came to check on her an hour later he found her nearly dressed and ready to go. “I thought you were staying home today.”

“Changed my mind,” she told him brightly as she fastened a belt around her waist. “Do you think the blue or the violet surcote?”

“Violet,” he said without hesitation. “Are you sure you want to come?”

Meghan nodded, and surprisingly, she meant it. “If I get tired I’ll come home,” she said.
“Hand me that veil.” She tucked her hair into the veil and held it in place with a copper circlet. When she was finished she turned to her brother. “Well?”

Michael captured her hand in his. “Pretty as a picture, sister mine. Shall we?”

She moved her hand from his to the crook of his elbow. “We shall,” she declared.

They moved through the house as one in a daily ritual, shutting windows, pulling blinds and shades down. The door was locked behind them and as Michael left the driveway, Meghan felt better than she had in a long while.

Today, she thought, was going to be different.