The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for yourpersonal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available inany way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believethe copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’scopyright, please notify the publisher at:us.macmillanusa.com/piracy. For the boy who took a chance,For the man who made it last ContentsTitle pageCopyright NoticeDedicationMap of MorrighanExcerpt from The Last Testaments of GaudrelChapter 1Excerpt from Morrighan Book of Holy Text, vol. IIIChapter 2Chapter 3Excerpt from Song of VendaChapter 4Excerpt from Morrighan Book of Holy Text, vol. IVChapter 5Chapter 6Excerpt from Song of VendaChapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9 Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Excerpt from Song of VendaChapter 14Chapter 15Excerpt from Song of VendaChapter 16Chapter 17Excerpt from The Last Testaments of GaudrelChapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Excerpt from Morrighan Book of Holy Text, vol. IVChapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Excerpt from The Last Testaments of GaudrelChapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31 Chapter 32Excerpt from Song of VendaChapter 33Chapter 34Excerpt from Song of VendaChapter 35Chapter 36Chapter 37Chapter 38Chapter 39Excerpt from Song of VendaChapter 40Chapter 41Chapter 42Chapter 43Chapter 44Chapter 45Chapter 46Chapter 47Excerpt from The Last Testaments of GaudrelChapter 48Chapter 49Chapter 50Chapter 51Chapter 52Chapter 53Excerpt from The Last Testaments of Gaudrel Chapter 54Chapter 55Chapter 56Chapter 57Chapter 58Chapter 59Chapter 60Chapter 61Excerpt from The Last Testaments of GaudrelChapter 62Chapter 63Chapter 64Chapter 65Chapter 66Chapter 67Chapter 68Chapter 69Chapter 70Chapter 71Excerpt from Song of VendaChapter 72AcknowledgmentsAuthor bioCopyright Journey’s end. The promise. The hope.Tell me again, Ama. About the light.I search my memories. A dream. A story. A blurred remembrance.I was smaller than you, child.The line between truth and sustenance unravels. The need. The hope. Myown grandmother telling stories to fill me because there was nothing more.I look at this child, windlestraw, a full stomach not even visiting herdreams. Hopeful. Waiting. I pull her thin arms, gather the feather of fleshinto my lap.Once upon a time, my child, there was a princess no bigger than you.The world was at her fingertips. She commanded, and the light obeyed.The sun, moon, and stars knelt and rose at her touch. Once upon atime …Gone. Now there is only this golden-eyed child in my arms. That is whatmatters. And the journey’s end. The promise. The hope.Come, my child. It’s time to go.Before the scavengers come.The things that last. The things that remain. The things I dare not speak toher.I’ll tell you more as we walk. About before.Once upon a time …—The Last Testaments of Gaudrel CHAPTER ONEToday was the day a thousand dreams would die and a single dream wouldbe born.The wind knew. It was the first of June, but cold gusts bit at the hilltopcitadelle as fiercely as deepest winter, shaking the windows with curses andwinding through drafty halls with warning whispers. There was no escapingwhat was to come.For good or bad, the hours were closing in. I closed my eyes against thethought, knowing that soon the day would cleave in two, forever creatingthe before and after of my life, and it would happen in one swift act that Icould no more alter than the color of my eyes.I pushed away from the window, fogged with my own breath, and leftthe endless hills of Morrighan to their own worries. It was time for me tomeet my day.The prescribed liturgies passed as they were ordained, the rituals andrites as each had been precisely laid out, all a testament to the greatness ofMorrighan and the Remnant from which it was born. I didn’t protest. Bythis point, numbness had overtaken me, but then midday approached, andmy heart galloped again as I faced the last of the steps that kept here fromthere. I lay naked, facedown on a stone-hard table, my eyes focused on thefloor beneath me while strangers scraped my back with dull knives. Iremained perfectly still, even though I knew the knives brushing my skinwere held with cautious hands. The bearers were well aware that their livesdepended on their skill. Perfect stillness helped me hide the humiliation ofmy nakedness as strange hands touched me.Pauline sat nearby watching, probably with worried eyes. I couldn’t seeher, only the slate floor beneath me, my long dark hair tumbling downaround my face in a swirling black tunnel that blocked the world out—except for the rhythmic rasp of the blades.The last knife reached lower, scraping the tender hollow of my back justabove my buttocks, and I fought the instinct to pull away, but I finallyflinched. A collective gasp spread through the room.“Be still!” my aunt Cloris admonished.I felt my mother’s hand on my head, gently caressing my hair. “A fewmore lines, Arabella. That’s all.”Even though this was offered as comfort, I bristled at the formal namemy mother insisted on using, the hand-me-down name that had belonged toso many before me. I wished that at least on this last day in Morrighan,she’d cast formality aside and use the one I favored, the pet name mybrothers used, shortening one of my many names to its last three letters.Lia. A simple name that felt truer to who I was.The scraping ended. “It is finished,” the First Artisan declared. Theother artisans murmured their agreement.I heard the clatter of a tray being set on the table next to me and whiffedthe overpowering scent of rose oil. Feet shuffled around to form a circle—my aunts, mother, Pauline, others who’d been summoned to witness thetask—and mumbled prayers were sung. I watched the black robe of the priest brush past me, and his voice rose above the others as he drizzled thehot oil on my back. The artisans rubbed it in, their practiced fingers sealingin the countless traditions of the House of Morrighan, deepening thepromises written upon my back, heralding the commitments of today andensuring all their tomorrows.They can hope, I thought bitterly as my mind jumped out of turn, tryingto keep order to the tasks still before me, the ones written only on my heartand not a piece of paper. I barely heard the utterances of the priest, adroning chant that spoke to all of their needs and none of my own.I was only seventeen. Wasn’t I entitled to my own dreams for thefuture?“And for Arabella Celestine Idris Jezelia, First Daughter of the House ofMorrighan, the fruits of her sacrifice and the blessings of…”He prattled on and on, the endless required blessings and sacraments,his voice rising, filling the room, and then when I thought I could stand nomore, his very words pinching off my airways, he stopped, and for amerciful sweet moment, silence rang in my ears. I breathed again, and thenthe final benediction was given.“For the Kingdoms rose out of the ashes of men and are built on thebones of the lost, and thereunto we shall return if Heaven wills.” He liftedmy chin with one hand, and with the thumb of his other hand, he smudgedmy forehead with ashes.“So shall it be for this First Daughter of the House of Morrighan,” mymother finished, as was the tradition, and she wiped the ashes away with anoil-dipped cloth.I closed my eyes and lowered my head. First Daughter. Both blessingand curse. And if the truth be known, a sham. My mother laid her hand on me again, her palm resting on my shoulder.My skin stung at her touch. Her comfort came too late. The priest offeredone last prayer in my mother’s native tongue, a prayer of safekeeping that,oddly, wasn’t tradition, and then she drew her hand away.More oil was poured, and a low, haunting singsong of prayers echoedthrough the cold stone chamber, the rose scent heavy on the air and in mylungs. I breathed deeply. In spite of myself, I relished this part, the hot oilsand warm hands kneading compliance into knots that had been growinginside me for weeks. The velvet warmth soothed the sting of acid from thelemon mixed with dye, and the flowery fragrance momentarily swept meaway to a hidden summer garden where no one could find me. If only itwere that easy.Again, this step was declared finished, and the artisans stepped backfrom their handiwork. There was an audible gathering of breath as the finalresults on my back were viewed.I heard someone shuffle closer. “I daresay he won’t be looking longupon her back with the rest of that view at his disposal.” A titter ran throughthe room. Aunt Bernette was never one to restrain her words, even with apriest in the room and protocol at stake. My father claimed I got myimpulsive tongue from her, though today I’d been warned to control it.Pauline took my arm and helped me to rise. “Your Highness,” she saidas she handed me a soft sheet to wrap around myself, sparing what littledignity I had left. We exchanged a quick knowing glance, which bolsteredme, and then she guided me to the full-length mirror, giving me a smallsilver hand mirror, that I might view the results too. I swept my long hairaside and let the sheet fall enough to expose my lower back.The others waited in silence for my response. I resisted drawing in abreath. I wouldn’t give my mother that satisfaction, but I couldn’t deny that my wedding kavah was exquisite. It did indeed leave me in awe. The uglycrest of the Kingdom of Dalbreck had been made startlingly beautiful, thesnarling lion tamed on my back, the intricate designs gracefully hemming inhis claws, the swirling vines of Morrighan weaving in and out with nimbleelegance, spilling in a V down my back until the last delicate tendrils clungand swirled in the gentle hollow of my lower spine. The lion was honoredand yet cleverly subdued.My throat tightened, and my eyes stung. It was a kavah I might haveloved … might have been proud to wear. I swallowed and imagined theprince when the vows were complete and the wedding cloak lowered,gaping with awe. The lecherous toad. But I gave the artisans their due.“It is perfection. I thank you, and I’ve no doubt the Kingdom ofDalbreck will from this day forward hold the artisans of Morrighan inhighest esteem.” My mother smiled at my effort, knowing that these fewwords from me were hard-won.And with that, everyone was ushered away, the remaining preparationsto be shared only with my parents, and Pauline, who would assist me. Mymother brought the white silk underdress from the wardrobe, a mere wisp offabric so thin and fluid it melted across her arms. To me it was a uselessformality, for it covered very little, being as transparent and helpful as theendless layers of tradition. The gown came next, the back plunging in thesame V so as to frame the kavah honoring the prince’s kingdom anddisplaying his bride’s new allegiance.My mother tightened the laces in the hidden structure of the dress,pulling it snug so the bodice appeared to effortlessly cling to my waist evenwithout fabric stretching across my back. It was an engineering feat asremarkable as the great bridge of Golgata, maybe more so, and I wonderedif the seamstresses had cast a bit of magic into the fabric and threads. It was better to think on these details than what the short hour would bring. Mymother turned me ceremoniously to face the mirror.Despite my resentment, I was hypnotized. It was truly the most beautifulgown I had ever seen. Stunningly elegant, the dense Quiassé lace of locallace makers was the only adornment around the dipping neckline.Simplicity. The lace flowed in a V down the bodice to mirror the cut of theback of the dress. I looked like someone else in it, someone older and wiser.Someone with a pure heart that held no secrets. Someone … not like me.I walked away without comment and stared out the window, mymother’s soft sigh following on my heels. In the far distance, I saw the lonered spire of Golgata, its single crumbling ruin all that remained of the oncemassive bridge that spanned the vast inlet. Soon, it too would be gone,swallowed up like the rest of the great bridge. Even the mysteriousengineering magic of the Ancients couldn’t defy the inevitable. Why shouldI try?My stomach lurched, and I shifted my gaze closer to the bottom of thehill, where wagons lumbered on the road far below the citadelle, headingtoward the town square, perhaps laden with fruit, or flowers, or kegs ofwine from the Morrighan vineyards. Fine carriages pulled by matchingribboned steeds dotted the lane as well.Maybe in one of those carriages, my oldest brother, Walther, and hisyoung bride, Greta, sat with fingers entwined on their way to my wedding,scarcely able to break their gazes from each other. And maybe my otherbrothers were already at the square, flashing their smiles at young girls whodrew their fancy. I remembered seeing Regan, dreamy-eyed and whisperingto the coachman’s daughter just a few days ago in a dark hallway, and Bryndallied with a new girl each week, unable to settle on just one. Three olderbrothers I adored, all free to fall in love and marry anyone they chose. The girls free to choose as well. Everyone free, including Pauline, who had abeau who would return to her at month’s end.“How did you do it, Mother?” I asked, still staring at the passingcarriages below. “How did you travel all the way from Gastineux to marry atoad you didn’t love?”“Your father is not a toad,” my mother said sternly.I whirled to face her. “A king maybe, but a toad nonetheless. Do youmean to tell me that when you married a stranger twice your age, you didn’tthink him a toad?”My mother’s gray eyes rested calmly on me. “No, I did not. It was mydestiny and my duty.”A weary sigh broke from my chest. “Because you were a FirstDaughter.”The subject of First Daughter was one my mother always cleverlysteered away from. Today, with only the two of us present and no otherdistractions, she couldn’t turn away. I watched her stiffen, her chin rising ingood royal form. “It’s an honor, Arabella.”“But I don’t have the gift of First Daughter. I’m not a Siarrah. Dalbreckwill soon discover I’m not the asset they suppose me to be. This wedding isa sham.”“The gift may come in time,” she answered weakly.I didn’t argue this point. It was known that most First Daughters cameinto their gift by womanhood, and I had been a woman for four years now.I’d shown no signs of any gift. My mother clung to false hopes. I turnedaway, looking out the window again.“Even if it doesn’t come,” my mother continued, “the wedding is nosham. This union is about far more than just one asset. The honor and privilege of a First Daughter in a royal bloodline is a gift in itself. It carrieshistory and tradition with it. That’s all that matters.”“Why First Daughter? Can you be sure the gift isn’t passed to a son? Ora Second Daughter?”“It’s happened, but … not to be expected. And not tradition.”And is it tradition to lose your gift too? Those unsaid words hung razorsharp between us, but even I couldn’t wound my mother with them. Myfather hadn’t consulted with her on matters of state since early in theirmarriage, but I had heard the stories of before, when her gift was strong andwhat she said mattered. That is, if any of it was even true. I wasn’t sureanymore.I had little patience for such gibberish. I liked my words and reasoningsimple and straightforward. And I was so tired of hearing about traditionthat I was certain if the word were spoken aloud one more time, my headwould explode. My mother was from another time.I heard her approach and felt her warm arms circle about me. My throatswelled. “My precious daughter,” she whispered against my ear, “whetherthe gift comes or doesn’t come is of little matter. Don’t worry yourself so.It’s your wedding day.”To a toad. I had caught a glimpse of the King of Dalbreck when he cameto draw up the agreement—as if I were a horse given in trade to his son.The king was as decrepit and crooked as an old crone’s arthritic toe—oldenough to be my own father’s father. Hunched and slow, he neededassistance up the steps to the Grand Hall. Even if the prince was a fractionof his age, he’d still be a withered, toothless fop. The thought of himtouching me, much less—I shivered at the thought of bony old hands caressing my cheek orshriveled sour lips meeting mine. I kept my gaze fixed out the window, but saw nothing beyond the glass. “Why could I not have at least inspected himfirst?”My mother’s arms dropped from around me. “Inspect a prince? Ourrelationship with Dalbreck is already tenuous at best. You’d have us insulttheir kingdom with such a request when Morrighan is hoping to create acrucial alliance?”“I’m not a soldier in Father’s army.”My mother drew closer, brushing my cheek, and whispered, “Yes, mydear. You are.”A chill danced down my spine.She gave me a last squeeze and stepped back. “It’s time. I’ll go retrievethe wedding cloak from the vault,” she said, and left.I crossed the room to my wardrobe and flung open the doors, sliding outthe bottom drawer and lifting a green velvet pouch that held a slim jeweleddagger. It had been a gift on my sixteenth birthday from my brothers, a giftI was never allowed to use—at least openly—but the back of my dressingchamber door bore the gouged marks of my secret practice. I snatched afew more belongings, wrapping them in a chemise, and tied it all withribbon to secure it.Pauline returned from dressing herself, and I handed her the smallbundle.“I’ll take care of it,” she said, a jumble of nerves at the last-minutepreparations. She left the chamber just as my mother returned with thecloak.“Take care of what?” my mother asked.“I gave her a few more things I want to take with me.”“The belongings you need were sent off in trunks yesterday,” she said asshe crossed the room toward my bed. “There were a few we forgot.”She shook her head, reminding me there was precious little room in thecarriage and that the journey to Dalbreck was a long one.“I’ll manage,” I answered.She carefully laid the cloak across my bed. It had been steamed andhung in the vault so no fold or wrinkle would tarnish its beauty. I ran myhand along the short velvet nap. The blue was as dark as midnight, and therubies, tourmalines, and sapphires circling the edges were its stars. Thejewels would prove useful. It was tradition that the cloak should be placedon the bride’s shoulders by both her parents, and yet my mother hadreturned alone.“Where is—” I started to ask, but then I heard an army of footstepsechoing in the hallway. My heart sank lower than it already was. He wasn’tcoming alone, even for this. My father entered the chamber flanked by theLord Viceregent on one side, the Chancellor and the Royal Scholar on theother, and various minions of his cabinet parading on their heels. I knew theViceregent was only doing his job—he had pulled me aside shortly after thedocuments were signed and told me that he alone had argued against themarriage—but he was ultimately a rigid man of duty like the rest of them. Iespecially disliked the Scholar and Chancellor, as they were well aware, butI felt little guilt about it, since I knew the feeling was mutual. My skincrawled whenever I neared them, as though I had just walked through afield of blood-sucking vermin. They, more than anyone, were probably gladto be rid of me.My father approached, kissed both of my cheeks, and stepped back tolook at me, finally breathing a hearty sigh. “As beautiful as your mother onour wedding day.” I wondered if the unusual display of emotion was for the benefit ofthose who looked on. I rarely saw a moment of affection pass between mymother and father, but then in a brief second I watched his eyes shift fromme to her and linger there. My mother stared back at him, and I wonderedwhat passed between them. Love? Or regret at love lost and what mighthave been? The uncertainty alone filled a strange hollow within me, and ahundred questions sprang to my lips, but with the Chancellor and Scholarand the impatient entourage looking on, I was reluctant to ask any of them.Maybe that was my father’s intent.The Timekeeper, a pudgy man with bulging eyes, pulled out his ever-present pocket watch. He and the others ushered my father around as if theywere the ones who ruled the kingdom instead of the other way around.“We’re pressed for time, Your Majesty,” he reminded my father.The Viceregent gave me a sympathetic glance but nodded agreement.“We don’t want to keep the royal family of Dalbreck waiting on thismomentous occasion. As you well know, Your Majesty, it wouldn’t be wellreceived.”The spell and gaze were broken. My mother and father lifted the cloakand set it about my shoulders, securing the clasp at my neck, and then myfather alone raised the hood over my head and again kissed each cheek, butthis time with much more reserve, only fulfilling protocol. “You serve theKingdom of Morrighan well on this day, Arabella.”Lia.He hated the name Jezelia because it had no precedent in the royallineage, no precedent anywhere, he had argued, but my mother had insistedupon it without explanation. On this point she had remained unyielding. Itwas probably the last time my father conceded anything to her wishes. Inever would have known as much if not for Aunt Bernette, and even she treaded carefully around the subject, still a prickly thorn between myparents.I searched his face. The fleeting tenderness of just a moment past wasgone, his thoughts already moving on to matters of state, but I held his gaze,hoping for more. There was nothing. I lifted my chin, standing taller. “Yes, Ido serve the kingdom well, as I should, Your Majesty. I am, after all, asoldier in your army.”He frowned and looked quizzically to my mother. Her head shooksoftly, silently dismissing the matter. My father, always the king first andfather second, was satisfied with ignoring my remark, because as always,other matters did press. He turned and walked away with his entourage,saying he’d meet me at the abbey, his duty to me now fulfilled. Duty. Thatwas a word I hated as much as tradition.“Are you ready?” my mother asked when the others had left the room.I nodded. “But I have to attend to a personal need before we leave. I’llmeet you in the lower hall.”“I can—”“Please, Mother—” My voice broke for the first time. “I just need a fewminutes.”My mother relented, and I listened to the lonely echo of her footsteps asshe retreated down the hallway.“Pauline?” I whispered, swiping at my cheeks.Pauline entered my room through the dressing chamber. We stared ateach other, no words necessary, clearly understanding what lay ahead of us,every detail of the day already wrestled with during a long, sleepless night.“There’s still time to change your mind. Are you sure?” Pauline asked,giving me a last chance to back out. Sure? My chest squeezed with pain, a pain so deep and real I wonderedif hearts really were capable of breaking. Or was it fear that pierced me? Ipressed my hand hard against my chest, trying to soothe the stab I felt there.Maybe this was the point of cleaving. “There’s no turning back. The choicewas made for me,” I answered. “From this moment on, this is the destinythat I’ll have to live with, for better or worse.”“I pray the better, my friend,” Pauline said, nodding her understanding.And with that, we hurried down the empty arched hallway toward the backof the citadelle and then down the dark servants’ stairway. We passed noone—everyone was either busy with preparations down at the abbey orwaiting at the front of the citadelle for the royal procession to the square.We emerged through a small wooden door with thick black hinges intoblinding sunlight, the wind whipping at our dresses and throwing back myhood. I spotted the back fortress gate only used for hunts and discreetdepartures, already open as ordered. Pauline led me across a muddypaddock to the shady hidden wall of the carriage house where a wide-eyedstable boy waited with two saddled horses. His eyes grew impossibly wideras I approached. “Your Highness, you’re to take a carriage already preparedfor you,” he said, choking on his words as they tumbled out. “It’s waitingby the steps at the front of the citadelle. If you—”“The plans have changed,” I said firmly, and I gathered my gown up ingreat bunches so I could get a foothold in the stirrup. The straw-hairedboy’s mouth fell open as he looked at my once pristine gown, the hemalready sloshed with mud, now smearing my sleeves and lace bodice and,worse, the Morrighan jeweled wedding cloak. “But—”“Hurry! A hand up!” I snapped, taking the reins from him.He obeyed, helping Pauline in similar fashion.“What shall I tell—” I didn’t hear what else he said, the galloping hooves stampeding out allarguments past and present. With Pauline at my side, in one swift act thatcould never be undone, an act that ended a thousand dreams but gave birthto one, I bolted for the cover of the forest and never looked back. Lest we repeat history,the stories shall be passedfrom father to son, from mother to daughter,for with but one generation,history and truth are lost forever.—Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. III CHAPTER TWOWe screamed. We yelled with all the power of our lungs, knowing the wind,hills, and distance plucked our nervous freedom from any ears that mightlisten. We screamed with giddy abandon and a primal need to believe in ourflight. If we didn’t believe, fear would overtake us. I already felt it nippingat my back as I pushed harder.We headed north, aware that the stable boy would watch us until wevanished into the forest. When we were well within its cover, we found thestreambed that I’d seen on hunts with my brothers and doubled backthrough the trickling waters, walking in the shallow stream until we found arocky embankment on the other side to use for our exit, leaving no prints ortrail behind us for others to follow.Once we hit firm level ground again, we dug in our heels and rode as ifa monster were chasing us. We rode and we rode, following a little-usedpath that hugged the dense pines, which would give us refuge if we neededto duck in quickly. Sometimes we were dizzy with laughter, sometimestears trickled backward across our cheeks, pushed by our speed, but most ofthe time we were silent, not quite believing we had actually done it.After an hour, I wasn’t sure what ached more, my thighs, my crampingcalves, or my bruised backside, all unaccustomed to anything more than astiff royal gait because these last few months my father would not allow