Fable: Edge of the World is a work of fiction.

 

Acknowledgments

 

 

I would like to thank my tireless and encouraging editor, Frank Parisi, and the good Lionhead folks Ted Timmins, Ben Brooks, and Gareth Sutcliffe for their enthusiastic support. You all helped make my first venture into Albion a great deal of fun.

 

Contents

 

 

Cover

 

Title Page

 

Copyright

 

Acknowledgments

 

Prologue

 

Chapter One

 

Chapter Two

 

Chapter Three

 

Chapter Four

 

Chapter Five

 

Chapter Six

 

Chapter Seven

 

Chapter Eight

 

Chapter Nine

 

Chapter Ten

 

Chapter Eleven

 

Chapter Twelve

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

Chapter Sixteen

 

Chapter Seventeen

 

Chapter Eighteen

 

Chapter Nineteen

 

Chapter Twenty

 

Chapter Twenty-one

 

Chapter Twenty-two

 

Chapter Twenty-three

 

Epilogue

 

Dedication

 

Other Books by This Author

 

About the Author

 

Prologue

 

 

The sun was setting, and Gabriel was comfortably tired. He made sure that his horse and friend Seren, who had pulled his caravan for many a year, was well tended before heading off to share supper with his fellow Dwellers.

 

It was, as most such gatherings were, lively and full of laughter and conversation. Yet Gabriel, a youth in his late teens whose arms and legs seemed a bit long for his body, did not join in. His thoughts were full of things other than weather, horses, customers, and the practicalities that occupied the minds of most other Dwellers.

 

Gabriel’s thoughts, as they often did, concerned Heroes.

 

A tiny hand squeezed his knee as he sat a little ways away from the firelight and music. He looked down into the small faces of Peter and Anna, twins who were about six years old. They gave him conspiratorial grins.

 

“Gabriel,” Peter said, “can you tell us more about Heroes?”

 

“Oh, please, please!” begged Anna, jumping up and down a little bit. “I want to hear about the old king and his beautiful queen!”

 

“Well,” Gabriel said, “if you’re very quiet, then yes.”

 

“Hooray!” said Peter, who then covered his mouth at Gabriel’s glare.

 

“That wasn’t quiet.”

 

“I know,” whispered Peter.

 

Gabriel looked over to see if his friend and mentor Katlan had noticed. The outgoing youth was talking and laughing with some of the other tribe members.

 

“Well,” said Gabriel, “do you remember what I told you about Heroes last time?”

 

“I do!” said Anna. “Heroes are special people in Albion. They have three kinds of abilities—Strength, Skill, and Will.”

 

“Strength and Skill are pretty obvious, right?” The two children nodded. “Tell me about Will.”

 

“The first Hero we know about was William Black,” said Peter. “He saved Albion a long time ago by using magical abilities, which we call the Powers of Will.”

 

“Very good. You’ve both been paying attention.” Gabriel smiled as he saw three more children creeping up to listen. “And of course, it’s very common for a Hero to master all three of these things.”

 

“No it isn’t, silly,” piped up Gerald. “Only a couple of Heroes can do that!”

 

“And what makes them so rare?” Gabriel prompted. Gerald’s brow furrowed as he seriously pondered the question. Anna stuck her hand up, but Gabriel waved her to silence. “Oh! Because they belong to the Archon’s bloodline. Only true descendants of the bloodline can master all three things.”

 

“Very good,” said Gabriel, though he felt a pang. He was hardly a descendant of the Archon. He knew he could never be a Hero. Still … it was fun to dream.

 

“Penny,” he said to one of the girls in back, “all Heroes are always good and helpful, aren’t they?” Penny shyly shook her dark head but offered nothing more.

 

“No, of course not!” know-it-all Anna scoffed. “Our old king was a true Hero, and he was very, very good. But Mr. Reaver was the Hero of Skill, and he’s very, very bad!”

 

“Gabriel!”

 

Gabriel started guiltily as he looked over at Katlan, who stood glaring at him, arms crossed. “Little ones,” he said, gentling his tone, “go back to the firelight with your families. There will be singing soon.”

 

The children cast sidelong glances at Gabriel, then did as they were told. Katlan sighed and sat next to Gabriel. The two were old friends, but recently, Katlan had been named leader of the Dweller tribe to which they both belonged. With that responsibility had come Katlan’s increasing concern over what he called “Gabriel’s daydreaming.”

 

“You shouldn’t be talking about such things.”

 

“Our king was a Hero, Katlan,” Gabriel said in a low voice.

 

“That’s all well and good, but that was a long time ago. Talking about Reaver like that could get us in trouble if it gets back to him. He’s a very powerful man.”

 

“Because he was a H—”

 

“Because he has money and a lot of political clout!” Katlan interrupted sharply. “Look. I don’t know who was a Hero and who wasn’t. And it doesn’t matter, not these days. What matters is that you’re never going to be a Hero, nor are those children. So stop filling their heads with nonsense. And stop filling your own with it too, eh?” He grinned and squeezed his friend’s shoulder, then rose and went back to the ring of firelight.

 

Gabriel watched him go. He would stay silent to the children. But he would never stop daydreaming about Heroes.

 

Forty years ago, in the Land of Albion, a king ruled wisely and well.…

 

The sound of shrieks issuing from unnatural voices filled the icy wind. Snow assaulted bodies as the cacophony assaulted ears. Most of the refugees were dead by now, victims of avalanche, exposure, or things far, far worse. Only a handful remained: a handful of the two dozen who had fled Samarkand—was it only three days ago?

 

Shan blinked eyelashes long since frozen and encrusted with ice, trying to clear his vision as he climbed hand over hand. His father had died early, at the hands—claws?—of the things that followed them. Shan shuddered and blotted out the memory. His little sister had been too weak to go on, and they were forced to leave her behind. Both his mother and infant brother had died even before they left the city of Zahadar. Shan and his older sister, Lin, were all that remained of his family.

 

The thick furs wrapped about body, feet, hands, and heads weren’t enough to keep out the snow that attacked like bullets of frozen water. Most of the rations they had all so carefully packed had been abandoned early on, the extra weight proving too great. What remained wasn’t enough to sustain them. The picks and tools weren’t enough to carry them forward. The guns and other weapons they had brought weren’t enough to protect them. Nothing would have been enough for anything, not over the Sakur Pass. There was a reason that the pass had never been crossed in living memory, even in the bright warmth of summer. To do so now, in midwinter, was to die.

 

But to have stayed would have been worse.

 

The howling still filled the air, but it had changed, subtly, and Lin, climbing steadfastly beside him, whimpered.

 

“The sha—” she began.

 

“Be quiet!” Shan snapped, his voice raw with exhaustion and terror. He didn’t even care how he sounded. The things in pursuit of them—and she who directed them—were all that mattered.

 

He breathed in air that was frigid even through the wrapping that covered all of his face but his eyes. His muscles quivered as he continued to slog forward, using the ice pick for better purchase. There was no energy to spare for comforting his sister, not if either of them was to survive.

 

Six others climbed in grim, terrified silence and agonizing slowness alongside Shan and Lin. No one helped anyone else, not anymore. Now, no one had strength to spare for anything but his own survival. At least it was still daylight. Before, they had been fortunate enough at night to find shelter of some sort, be it a cluster of pines, a cave, or even a sheer rock face that prevented attacks from at least one direction. More precious than food or even furs was the oil that kept the darkness—both natural and unnatural—at bay for those soul-racking hours.

 

Shan’s numb fingers managed to find a ledge. He tried to pull himself up. He couldn’t. His muscles were too cold, too weak, too starved, and all they did was quiver uselessly. A second effort, a third, and this time panic flooded him and with a growl of sheer will he hauled himself over the edge and lay there, shaking and gasping.

 

“Shan!” cried Lin. He forced himself to roll over and reach out to his sister’s grasping hand, bracing his feet against a rock outcropping. His fingers were so numb, he couldn’t really even feel her hand clutching his.

 

“Come on, Lin, you can do this! There are footholds that can help you! Try to find them!”

 

She turned up a face wrapped in protective furs. The only thing Shan could see were her soft brown eyes huge with fear.

 

“I can’t feel anything with my feet!” she cried. “Shan, please! Help me!”

 

Tears stung his eyes only to freeze as they tried to slip down his face. He braced himself more securely, willed his legs to stay firm, and pulled with all his might.

 

Her mittens came loose. He heard her shriek even over the howling wind, over the cries of the things that were hunting them, and heard his own scream of horror as he watched her tumble back down.

 

I have to get her. I have to climb down and get her. She’s all I have left. Lin …!

 

He managed to roll over onto his side before unconsciousness claimed him.

 

Shan awoke to the comforting warmth and, almost more important, the orange light of the torches. Someone had propped his head up and was trying to feed him some thin broth. Disoriented, Shan sipped hungrily for a moment, then memory returned like a thunderclap.

 

“L-Lin!”

 

“Easy, Shan,” said Kuvar. “It’s too late for Lin. She died hours ago. Don’t follow her.”

 

Shan closed his eyes in pain. He had been too weak to go back for his sister, and no one else had done so. He couldn’t blame them. He had had to suspend judgment about others’ choices days ago. It was a marvel that he himself hadn’t been tossed over the edge, much less be offered food and shelter. He would be on his own on the morrow, though; that much he knew.

 

“How?” was all he could manage.

 

“The cold,” Kuvar replied. Shan nodded, relieved. Better to freeze to death than to be injured and die in pain, or attacked by—

 

The Shadows rose up, just beyond the ring of firelight. Shan stumbled to his feet, forcing his fumbling hands to grasp the pistol, which he fired into the lurching, dancing shapes. Numb fingers struggled to reload while others charged forward, their katanas flashing in the torchlight. The black shapes with gleaming red eyes pressed in from all sides, even from above; the firelight, and the weapons wielded by the refugees, were all that was keeping the fiends from utterly wiping out the party. The Shadows moaned and cackled, and occasionally, gratifyingly, screamed in what sounded like annoyance as they died.

 

They had never before pressed their attack at night. Always, they had terrorized from a safe distance, an arm or a wing occasionally venturing into the light in a threatening manner before being quickly withdrawn. But now—now they fell upon the refugees as if done with toying with them and intent upon ending the game.

 

A scream to his right. Kuvar dropped his katana, his hands reaching up to clasp at the black, translucent tentacles that were wrapping around his throat. They squeezed, and Shan stared, frozen not with cold, not this time, but with horror as he watched Kuvar’s tongue bulge and his eyes pop.

 

He felt a sudden iciness that had nothing to do with the natural elements brush against his face. He whirled, screaming incoherently, and fired.

 

Click. Click.

 

The Shadow laughed.

 

Using energy he didn’t know he had, Shan dove for Kuvar’s abandoned katana. He rolled as he hit the stone ledge and slashed out with the elegant sword; the Shadow that was reaching for him howled in pain. Heartened, Shan got to his feet, wielding the weapon not with any kind of expertise but with the sheer desperation of survival. All around him the sounds of battle raged. He swung the sword wildly, sometimes cutting air, sometimes cutting something else, too crazed to even realize what he was doing.

 

And then he became aware of the silence. His own heartbeat a drumbeat in his ears, his panting ragged and loud. He looked around, keeping his weapon in front of him, and realized that he was the last one standing.

 

Six bodies lay at his feet. They looked like discarded dolls, their limbs bent at odd angles, their faces bloated and locked in expressions of horror.

 

Shan looked up at the hovering Shadows. Suddenly anger filled him. “What are you waiting for?” he shouted.

 

The lassst one. It was barely audible, and for a moment Shan was convinced he had imagined it.

 

Yessss, another whisper agreed. We have a purposssse for thissss one.

 

Shan had thought he had tasted the depth of terror. But now he dropped to his knees. Any “purpose” they had in store for him had to be the most—

 

He suddenly turned the katana around, placing its point at his midsection. But before he could plunge the elegant blade home to prevent their doing whatever they had in mind for him, a black tendril snatched the sword from his hands.

 

Be at eassse, one of them said in a mocking tone. You shall live, Shan of Ssssamarkand.

 

“Wh-what do you want?” Shan said. He was mortified that he was sobbing but could not control it.

 

You will ssscale the mountains, if you are sssstrong enough. We will not hinder you. If you ssssurvive, then we have a messsssage to give to Ssssabine of the Dwellerssss.

 

“What?”

 

Tell him … and they began to laugh.

 

“What!” screamed Shan, feeling insanity hovering at the edges of his mind.

 

We are coming.

 

Chapter One

 

 

“My lord, if I may?”

 

Jasper’s voice was slightly high-pitched and filled with suffering so long tolerated that it was no longer even felt. In other words, he sounded completely normal.

 

The monarch looked into the mirror as he fiddled with his crown. The cursed thing never seemed to fit correctly on his head. His eyes met Jasper’s in the mirror and he nodded.

 

“Please. And if you can do anything that makes this ermine stole feel less as if it’s made of armor, I’d be grateful for that too.”

 

“Alas,” said Jasper as he stepped beside the young king he had tended since the monarch’s birth, “while it is indeed in actuality merely the weight of two stuffed minklike creatures, I can sympathize with the symbolic weight it places on Your Majesty’s shoulders.”

 

“It’s the crown, not the wedding outfit, that has the symbolic weight,” the king shot back good-naturedly. “I can’t wait for the ceremony.”

 

“Then may I say that Your Majesty is among the very, very fortunate few,” noted Jasper.

 

The king chuckled. “It’s nice to have you back, Jasper.”

 

Jasper, once the king’s butler, had spent the last few years serving in a different capacity. He was now the steward of a magical, and quite secret, Sanctuary. Established by the late king, the Sanctuary was the present king’s birthright as he was both the son of a Hero of Albion and a Hero himself. When the then-prince, sickened by his older brother Logan’s cruelty to his own people, had chosen to lead a rebellion to take the crown, the loyal if acerbic Jasper had fled with the future king and Sir Walter Beck. Together, the three had found the Sanctuary, which had served as a sort of headquarters for the rebellion. Once Logan had been overthrown, Jasper had remained there, continuing to probe the mysteries of the place.

 

But for this occasion—a royal wedding—he had been recalled to his old duties. And while he attempted to appear much put-upon, the monarch knew Jasper well enough to realize that the old butler was secretly quite pleased.

 

So, for that matter, was the king himself—and, he dared believe, his entire kingdom. Nine years had passed since the monarch had stood against both his brother and the darkness that had threatened to wipe out all of Albion. The king had not been quoting a cliché when he spoke of the symbolic weight of the crown. His days gathering followers and fighting hobbes, balverines, and the occasional gap-toothed bandit seemed like a stroll in the garden compared to the very gray duties of ruling a kingdom. He had made choices he was proud of, and some he was not, and not one of them had been clear or simple. More lives had been lost than he would have wanted, but in the end, his people were now safe, happy, and well on their way to regaining prosperity without having to make deals with the devil.

 

Speaking of devils …

 

“No whispers of Reaver returning?” he asked of Jasper, who seemed to know everything about everyone. “It’d be just like him to try to spoil today.”

 

“I can honestly say that I have not heard a breath of Mr. Reaver’s whereabouts, and I am buoyant with delight at the fact.”

 

“Ben Finn’s just gotten back from wandering about, and Page’s network hasn’t heard anything either,” the king said. “We may just have gotten lucky.”

 

“I would touch wood when you say that, Your Majesty. Repeatedly.”

 

The king grinned. He glanced down at the other “old friend” who sat patiently at his feet, as he had done for over a decade. His border collie, Rex, had been a faithful ally on the long road to rule. Now that he was growing old, he slept more than he played, but was still alert and healthy. Rex’s eyes were fixed on his master, and he barked happily as he saw the king smile.

 

“Good dog,” said the king. “The best dog ever.”

 

Rex pranced a little at the praise, then sat down attentively. The king surveyed his reflection in the mirror and liked what he saw. Like Rex, he too was older, and time had begun to make its presence noticed in the crinkles around his brown eyes and the occasional thread of silver in his hair. His face was still strong and, if the blushing and giggling ladies of the court were to be believed, handsome. But he didn’t care what they thought. There was only one woman whose opinion mattered, and today, she would become his queen and his life’s companion.

 

“You do look happy, Your Majesty,” said Jasper, and there was an unusual hint of warmth and pride in his voice.

 

The monarch turned from the mirror. “I am, Jasper. My kingdom is content and growing, we are at peace, trade with Aurora is good, and I am about to be wed to the most wonderful girl in the world. And,” he added, whispering conspiratorially, “I’ll be happier still tonight.”

 

“One should hope so, Your Majesty.”

 

Chuckling slightly, the monarch clapped his old friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go. Can’t keep the love of my life waiting.”

 

Rex trotted after them, tail waving, as the king and his butler left the room.

 

The throne room was exquisite testimony to the majesty of the castle’s design. Stairs covered with rich blue carpeting led up to a raised dais, upon which the throne itself was seated. The walls were lined with portraits of former royalty, and the whole was illumined by colorful light filtered through three stained-glass windows. The room’s formality had been gentled through the use of flowers adorning the walls and fixtures, and a white canopy that draped from the ceiling. The throne was still present but had been moved back slightly to make room for a small table presided over by an elderly robed woman. All the guests had arrived and were chatting quietly among themselves. Over to the right, a quartet played.

 

A slender blond man stood by the door, peering into the room and fidgeting as the king and Jasper approached. The king grinned as the young man tugged on a collar that was apparently too tight. Even from behind, Benjamin Finn looked quite out of his element. As indeed he was. Finn, who had been one of many who had helped the monarch claim the throne, came from common roots and had spent most of his life as either a soldier or a mercenary. Nonetheless, the king knew the man’s worth. Finn was brave if a little reckless, and a master sharpshooter, and the king appreciated his wit and rather tall tales. Despite his devil-may-care attitude, Ben Finn had a great heart.

 

“You look so anxious, one might think you were the one to be married today,” the king said casually. Ben started, then glared at him.

 

“Crikey, don’t do that. I’m likely to drop the rings, and it’d be all your fault.”

 

“No, no, my best man would never do that, not if he doesn’t want to start posing for ‘Wanted’ posters again.”

 

“Too right,” Ben muttered, but the king noticed nonetheless that the soldier put his hand in his pocket with an overly casual movement, making sure the rings were still there. As he did so, he glanced up at his friend and liege.

 

“Thank you again for the honor. I know that there would have been someone else you’d have picked if you’d had the chance though—and I would have cheered it.”

 

The king sobered. Ben was right. One very important man was missing on this special day—his friend and weapons tutor, Sir Walter Beck. It had been Walter who had guided the then-prince on his quest, from that night when he, Beck, and Jasper had fled the castle, up until Walter’s tragic demise. While Captain Jack Timmins had taken over Walter’s role in things martial, no one had ever been as loyal as the knight, and the king knew he would never have quite that same kind of bond with anyone again.

 

“Walter would have been very happy today, wouldn’t he?” the king said quietly.

 

“Your Majesty—wherever he is, I suspect he is happy.”

 

The king nodded and took a breath. Ben was right. Walter was the last person who would have wished to cast any pall over his king’s wedding day, and so, the king would not let that happen.

 

“Ready, sir?” asked Ben.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’re sure? Because you know, you’re the king; if you don’t want to go through with it, if you’re getting cold feet or anything like that—there’s no one who’s going to force you to do it, now, is there?”

 

“You’re babbling, Ben.”

 

“Oh. I am, aren’t I?”

 

“Come on. Let’s go.”

 

As they walked in, Rex trotting behind his master, they saw many familiar faces. Sitting in the area reserved for special guests of the kingdom were two others who looked as out of place as Ben clearly felt. One was an extraordinarily large and powerfully built man with a long, curling black mustache. He wore a thick-brimmed hat and his wide leather belt was adorned with a skull and crossbones. To look at him, no one would guess that he had a soft spot a mile wide for animals. This was Boulder, the taciturn bodyguard of King Sabine of the Mistpeak Dwellers.

 

Sabine was as different from Boulder as could be imagined. Little more than half the big man’s size, he could best be described with words like “knobby” and “spry.” His beard was as pointed as his hat and his strange, upturned shoes. Propped up beside him as he sat was a staff that his gnarled hands gripped tightly. Affixed to the top of the staff was a purple bottle that served Sabine as a pipe. Smoke usually rose from its opening as Sabine puffed away on a long stem, but for the occasion, the Dweller leader had grudgingly agreed not to smoke.

 

The Dwellers had been the king’s first allies and had remained loyal friends. It was quite a trek from Mistpeak to Bowerstone, and the monarch was pleased to see that the cranky old man had made the journey.

 

Another who had made an even longer journey was the exotic Auroran leader, Kalin. Her only concession to the cold climate of Albion in winter was a cloak currently folded in her lap. Otherwise, her body and garb proclaimed her origins proudly, from her shaved and tattooed head and arms to her green, gold, and red robes. She was here not only as a true ally but as a countrywoman of the bride-to-be. Indeed, Kalin had been the one to introduce the couple. Kalin caught the king’s eye and gave him a sweet, fond smile. He returned it, then turned his attention to the front of the room as he and Ben walked up the stairs and stood on the priestess’s left. As it had been important to his fiancée to have the wedding performed in the traditional manner of her people, the elderly and wise Priestess Mara had accompanied Kalin across the ocean to officiate.

 

The music changed. All eyes now turned from the present king to Albion’s future queen. The king’s breath caught, as it did every time he saw her.

 

Laylah.

 

Tall and slender, delicate of feature with wide, doelike eyes, her lips curved in a smile that made his heart leap. The dusky golden brown of her skin and her ebony tresses contrasted with the creamy white of the formal gown. In her hands, she held a bouquet of native, riotously colorful Auroran blossoms.

 

Walking behind her as her maid of honor was the only true Bowerstone native besides the king himself—Page. She resembled Laylah slightly although her skin was much darker, her features fuller, and her long hair tightly braided in rows. The leader of the Bowerstone Resistance during Logan’s reign, Page had taken a great deal of convincing before she had come to believe that the current ruler could be trusted. And he supposed he couldn’t blame her.

 

He was delighted that Page and Laylah, though from completely different backgrounds, had become such fast friends. Laylah could not be called a true innocent. She and her people had suffered, terribly and terrifyingly, from the dark horror known to them as the Nightcrawler. It was this darkness the king himself had helped to defeat, first in Aurora and later in Albion proper. But even though she had endured much, Laylah had a certain naïveté about her.

 

This could not be said about Page. She was as hard as Laylah was soft. A shrewd observer of people, Page knew how to motivate and inspire her friends and stand up to her enemies. Her “organization” was still largely intact though now she offered what she knew—at least most of what she knew; the king suspected that she still kept a few things close to her vest—and had proven to be an invaluable resource. Page was that admirable though often oxymoronic thing, the pragmatic optimist. He was glad that Laylah had found not only a friend but one who could help her understand Bowerstone and its populace, both good and bad.

 

But all that, important though it was, could wait. All he saw now was the brave but gentle girl who had won his heart. Her cheeks turned a dark rose as she ascended the steps to stand beside him, and her eyes were bright with joy.

 

Most of the wedding ceremony was a blur to the king. He uttered his name when needed to, happily vowed to love, protect, and be true to Laylah, and had a moment of panic when he heard Ben swearing as he fumbled for the rings. Laylah extended her slender hand, and the king slipped the simple gold ring on the fourth finger.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bearded Dweller standing outside the throne room, arguing with a guard. The guard was shaking his head, but Jasper quietly intervened and led the messenger as discreetly as possible to where King Sabine was seated. He heard Sabine’s distinctive yapping for an instant, then both he and the messenger hastened out.

 

The king’s heart sank. Something bad had obviously happened, and he was selfish enough, at this moment at least, to hope it was something Sabine could handle by himself.

 

He had a feeling it wasn’t.

 

Oh well, he thought as Laylah slipped a ring on his own left hand, such is the life of a king.

 

Even, it would seem, on his wedding day.

 

He clasped Laylah’s hand and turned to face the applauding crowd as Priestess Mara presented them as King and Queen of Albion. Laylah’s arm was slipped through his, the new royal couple nodded, smiling, to the well-wishers. But the instant they stepped through the doors, the king felt the strong grip of Sabine’s clawlike hand.

 

“Your Majesty! We must speak right away!”

 

“Unfortunately, I fear King Sabine is correct,” said Jasper. “This matter is indeed demanding of your attention. I suggest you, Mr. Finn, Captain Timmins, Miss Page, and the lady Kalin take a few moments now to converse. I shall take our lovely new queen to the reception and—”

 

“No, Jasper,” said Laylah. Her musical voice was soft, as always, but firm. “I am, as you say, the queen now. My husband has said he wished me to share in the duties as well as the pleasures of ruling. If this matter is so urgent, I should like to hear of it.” She turned to the king. “If His Majesty agrees?”

 

He sighed. “I had hoped you would get to enjoy more of the pleasures of being queen before you were forced to share its duties, my love. But yes—come with us. I would have you all know that Queen Laylah is my true partner, as well as my wife.”

 

She beamed, and again he wished that this “urgent matter” could have waited until tomorrow, at the very least. He kissed her hand. “Jasper, I trust that you will keep the crowd entertained until we rejoin you. Tell the others to meet me …” He hesitated for a moment, then acknowledged the seriousness of the matter. “To meet me in the War Room.”

 

Chapter Two

 

 

The king and his new wife arrived first. Rex followed obediently, heading straight for his favorite corner, where he turned nose to tail and promptly fell asleep. The others trickled in as Jasper was able to find them. First to arrive was Ben, already undoing his collar and shrugging out of the formal coat, flinging it casually on a chair. “Jasper said something’s up with Sabine.”

 

“Your guess is as good as ours,” said the king. “I saw someone come in to speak to him and Jasper said we should all convene.”

 

Ben bowed to the new queen. “You had him all to yourself for about two minutes, Your Majesty.”

 

Laylah leaned in toward her husband, who slipped an arm about her waist. “More than I expected to have, truly. Do not worry, Mr. Finn. I understood the import of my choice in who I loved.”

 

“Ben, please. I’m glad to hear you understand. But if you’ll pardon the language, it still stinks.”

 

Laylah smiled. “So it does.”

 

Page hurried in. Kalin followed her, her brow furrowed in worry. Laylah embraced Page tightly and smiled at her countrywoman, who, the king noticed, did not return the expression. Page drew back, smiling sadly. “I did warn you,” she said.

 

“Everyone did,” Laylah said. “I am more concerned with whatever is going on with Sabine than in having the day interrupted. We are married, and to me, that is all that matters.”

 

“Spoken like a true Auroran,” said Kalin. “I pray this is all not as dire as it seems.”

 

“Hate to interrupt the romance, my lord,” came the gruff but warm voice of Jack Timmins, the captain of the guard. “Sabine’s right behind me, and from the way he and Jasper are behaving, we’ll soon have a situation here right enough.” Timmins had been made head of the Bowerstone Guards shortly after the devastating attack of the Nightcrawler upon Albion. With his brusque but professional, thoughtful manner he had won a place in the king’s affections as well as his esteem. He wasn’t Sir Walter Beck. No one could be. Walter was irreplaceable. But Timmins was turning into a true and loyal friend as well as a shrewd military advisor.

 

The monarch barely had time to acknowledge Timmins when Sabine came trundling through the door, looking as furious as the king had ever seen him. With him was of course Boulder, and a young man—though not the Dweller messenger who had called Sabine away from the ceremony. This boy, who couldn’t be much older than twenty, if that, appeared different from anyone the king had ever seen. He was clad in Dweller clothes, but they were ill fitting and clearly not his own. His skin was the same shade as Laylah’s, but his brown eyes had a slight slant.

 

Those eyes looked almost vacant, and the boy seemed to be sleepwalking. The king winced in sympathy. He knew the look of one who had borne witness to horrors no one should ever see.

 

“This young fellow managed to survive crossing the Blade Mountains chain in the dead of winter,” Sabine began.

 

“From Samarkand?” The king looked with renewed interest at the boy. No wonder he looked exotic. The monarch had never personally met anyone from Samarkand before, though of course he had heard stories of the place. The king’s father, a Hero himself, had traveled with a Samarkandian known as Garth as well as the disliked Reaver. The king recalled his father’s speaking of Garth as one of the most powerful Will users he had ever heard of.

 

“No, from Brightwall,” said Sabine, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, of course from Samarkand. Now, go on, boy. Tell these good people what you told me. It’s all right.”

 

The youth lifted his haunted eyes to the king and said simply, “They are coming.”

 

“Who is—” began Kalin, then fell silent. Laylah locked eyes with her, both of them clearly fearing the worst. Everyone else stared at the floor. No one wanted to speak, to give a concrete reality to what was now simply a horrible fear.

 

Sabine nodded miserably, reading their expressions. “It’s as bad as you think. It took those who found him several days to get that much out of the poor lad. It seems that portentous statement is a direct quote. They spared him so we would know.”

 

“Why?” asked Timmins. “Why warn us?”

 

“To make us fear, Timmins,” the king said quietly.

 

“They came from nowhere.” All eyes turned to the Samarkandian. He spoke in a hollow, empty voice. “We don’t know what happened. The roads were blocked against the attack, and all the gates in the wall around Zahadar were lowered. It was like—like …”

 

“Being locked in a prison in your own city,” Laylah said quietly. The boy’s gaze jerked to her, and he stared at her raptly. “Under siege by shadows and whispers. Not a darkness like that of the sky at night, filled with comforting stars. An absence of everything—and a presence of hate and fear and a delight in torment.” She strode over to the boy. He permitted her to take his hands though they remained limp in hers. “They told you things as they took all you loved. No rest, no respite.”

 

He nodded slowly. His throat worked for a moment, then he continued. “No one ever got inside Zahadar. Anyone who attempted it would have been slaughtered.”

 

“The ships we sent last year,” Kalin said to the king and Laylah. The king nodded, pressing his lips together. Samarkand and Aurora had traded with one another sporadically through the years. With the defeat of the darkness—at least they had all believed it to be defeated, he thought bitterly—and the new prosperity the alliance with Albion had brought to that desert land, the Auroran fleet had once again opened trade routes. No fewer than eight fully loaded ships had been sent to Samarkand and were never heard from again. It had been ill luck indeed, and a sore blow to the economy of Aurora, but no one had thought it more than that. It seemed they had been dreadfully wrong.

 

“Some of us could bear it no longer.” The boy was speaking as if a dam had burst inside him, and his hands closed so tightly on Laylah’s that she winced slightly but did not let go. “We fled. Over forty of us started out. We even had protectors. Those were the ones they picked off first. We kept them at bay at night. They called the beasts in from the wilds to attack us during the day, and the winds—the winds …” His voice trailed off.

 

“That’s more than he’s ever said before,” Sabine said.

 

“He knows Aurorans,” said Kalin. “We are familiar to him in a way the rest of you are not.”

 

“Let him rest,” ordered the king. “Sabine, I imagine your messenger brought him as soon as he showed up in your encampment. I do not discount your hospitality, but I think some rest and food here in the castle will help him.”

 

“Agreed,” said Sabine. “He might tell us more afterward.”

 

The king opened the door and beckoned the butler, Barrows, in. “Take this young fellow to one of the guest chambers. See that he has plenty of food and water on hand. And stay close—let me know if he awakens.”

 

The boy’s eyes suddenly widened, and he clutched Sabine. “It’s all right,” said Sabine. “Go along with this fellow, then. You’re safe here.”

 

The look in the youth’s eyes as he followed Barrows told the king that he didn’t feel safe anywhere. The monarch couldn’t blame him.

 

“We must hope he can indeed tell us more,” said Kalin. “Information is our greatest weapon.”

 

“Well then,” said Timmins, getting to the heart of the matter as was his wont, “where do we go from here? Literally and figuratively.”

 

“Samarkand,” said Ben. “Isn’t that right?” He looked as distressed of any of them, but on some level, the king knew, Ben was itching for action. He was not a man who accepted peace comfortably.

 

“Your Majesty,” said Kalin, “you have ever been honorable in your dealings with my people. You have kept your word at every turn. It is because of you that the darkness is no more in Aurora and that we have a fortress filled with soldiers experienced in fighting it. Our ships are many and powerful, and we have some familiarity with Samarkand, more than Your Majesty does at least.”

 

The king’s heart was sinking. Albion had known almost ten years of relative peace, and he supposed he should be grateful for it. But the darkness, again? Hadn’t they sacrificed enough to defeat it already? Melancholy settled on him. He wondered if the darkness was something that was eternal, if it would ever be defeated, and if his whole life and that of his descendants would be devoted to doing battle with it and keeping it on the edges of the world.

 

It was not exactly the most cheerful of thoughts. He felt a cool, moist nose nudging at his hand, and caressed Rex’s silky ears.

 

“One thing we have learned,” he said quietly, “is that delay only gives the darkness time to gather strength. But Kalin is right. We must learn everything we can and first make sure we are as safe here in Albion as possible. Sabine, do you feel your borders are safe?”

 

“Safe?” Sabine was practically jumping up and down. “With everything that lad has said, and more to come? Take the cotton out of your ears and listen! They let him live to brag about themselves! Surely things darker than a teenage boy can cross the mountains!”

 

The king nodded. “Agreed. Timmins, round up some of the veterans from the first war against the darkness and send them back to Mistpeak with Sabine. Sabine, you will be my eyes and ears here when we depart. Kalin, we’ll discuss the Auroran navy’s role in this and start reassembling an army here. Ben, you’ll come with me to Samarkand.”

 

“Not a chance I’d be anywhere else,” Ben replied.

 

“Page, I’ll need whatever information your network can supply.” She nodded.

 

“And what of me?”

 

The question was asked in a quiet voice, but it froze the king in place for a minute. He looked at his new wife and realized to his shame that he had completely left her out of the planning. What of Laylah, indeed?

 

“I can’t take you with me.” That much, at least, he knew.

 

Her raven brows lifted. “Why not? I am an Auroran. I know firsthand of the darkness.”

 

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” said Timmins, “everyone here does as well. And everyone else here has taken arms against it.”

 

Laylah colored. “Instead of sitting and cowering in our homes, you mean.”

 

It was Timmins’s turn to flush. “I didn’t mean that at all, my lady!”

 

“Timmins here can be a bit rough,” Ben said quickly, giving the mortified Timmins a sharp look. “But what’s true is that you are a civilian. We’re not. Besides, it’s obvious our good ruler is so smitten with his new queen he’d be too distracted worrying about you.”

 

“Do not be embarrassed,” Kalin said gently. “We Aurorans know more of the darkness than they, for we have known it longer and more intimately. But they are right. This is war, my child.”

 

“And Albion needs a leader,” the king said. “With me gone, you shall represent the crown. The people will feel safer with their queen here. Page will stay with you.” Page started to open her mouth to protest but closed it again. She nodded, seeing the wisdom in what he was doing although she did not much care for it.

 

“You—would trust me to lead the kingdom?”

 

“Well, who else?” said Ben. “Jasper’s a fine fellow, but if we left him in charge, and the darkness came here, we’d all be fighting it with the proper silverware.”

 

The unexpected joke broke the tension. First Laylah groaned, then they were all giggling. It was nervous laughter, but it felt good, and the king’s head was clearer when it died down.

 

“Then it’s settled. We’ll meet again for a detailed strategy-planning session. But until then”—and he extended his arm to Laylah—“I am a newly married man, and I have a reception to attend. As do all of you. Let’s not keep poor Jasper waiting.”

 

“Too bad horrors beyond the imagination had to ruin the king’s wedding parade,” Finn said as he tipped back a second ale.

 

“They look happy,” Page observed. The king and queen were dancing together, and Finn had to admit that yes, despite the dire news that had come on them so unexpectedly, the couple did indeed look disgustingly happy.

 

“For the moment,” he agreed. “Sorry you have to miss all the fun and babysit a new queen instead.”

 

He had expected her to fire back with a sharp remark, but instead she looked somber. “Have you really forgotten what it was like to fight those things? How they got into your head?” She shook her head. “I haven’t. And she’s not a child, she just needs to learn.”

 

Ben regarded Laylah. “She’s lovely, I’ll give her that, and she’s got a sharp brain in that head. But this is a pretty rotten time for on-the-job training.”

 

“And who better to teach her than I?” Page sipped her own ale, relaxing a little.

 

“You raise an excellent point, ma’am.” He clinked their glasses—glasses, not tankards—together. Right enough, here in the castle you didn’t sip ale from pewter like you might at some third-rate tavern.

 

“Page is right,” came Kalin’s voice behind them. Ben started and splashed the very excellent brew on the tablecloth. “Laylah is stronger than one might think.”

 

“Does everyone have to come sneaking up behind me today?” Ben muttered and dabbed at the spill with a napkin, belatedly realizing that all he’d done was dirty two linens that now needed to be washed. As he put the napkin down, he saw Jasper interrupt the dance. The king looked over the crowd, and his gaze landed on Ben. “And there’s our cue,” he said, fairly leaping up to follow as the king indicated.

 

They weaved through the crowd and were joined by Timmins. “The boy’s awoken,” the king said without preamble. “And Sabine says he is ready to tell us everything he knows.”

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Sabine sat on the boy’s bed. The youth was propped up on several pillows. A few hours of sleep had helped him. He no longer looked blank and stunned but merely frightened and exhausted. He was eating roasted chicken as if he hadn’t seen food in days. Maybe he hadn’t.

 

“His name is Shan,” Sabine said. “He’s got holes in his memory, he says, but he can tell us some things at least.”

 

Shan’s dark eyes flitted to the door. He relaxed a little as Kalin and Laylah entered the room.

 

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” the king said. “You’re a very brave young fellow, Shan.”

 

The boy’s dark gaze slid away. “I do not think so, Your Majesty.”

 

“Well, Sabine and I do, and so does everyone else in this room. And if two kings agree on it, it must be so, mustn’t it?”

 

“Ha!” cackled Sabine. “True, true, eh?”

 

Rex trotted in and went straight to the boy, plopping his forepaws on the bed. He panted cheerfully, then licked the youth’s cheek. The monarch was relieved to see a ghost of a smile curve Shan’s lips. Then it faded.

 

“You—you won’t send me back?” he asked.

 

“Sire,” said Timmins, “this boy’s a native of Samarkand. He knows its history, its geography, far better than we could hope to. He’s seen firsthand what we’ll be up against. His presence could mean the difference between success and failure.”

 

Laylah gave Timmins an unhappy look. Timmins shrugged. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty,” he said to the new queen, “but I speak the truth. Your husband knows it.”

 

The king looked at his friends, then back at Shan. “I will be honest with you, because courage deserves honesty. My friend Jack does speak the truth. I am planning on going to Samarkand, to fight this darkness of which you speak. Your help, indeed, would be invaluable. But I also know what you’ve seen. You’ve already endured more than most strong men could and survived to warn us. If you don’t wish to go, then no one will force you. You have my word as King of Albion.”

 

The boy’s eyes searched his, suspicious. The king had heard that Samarkand was a place of wonders, of magic, of beauty and peril. It would seem also that it was a place where trust did not come easily. But Shan was still petting Rex.

 

“I believe you,” he said at last, and relief relaxed his taut face. “I will tell you all I know, I swear.”

 

They listened raptly as Shan spoke of a realm in which knowledge and beauty and art were honored as well as wealth and power. A place with an old, old civilization, a reputation for birthing Heroes such as Garth, and a history that was as much myth as fact. He spoke of his own life, of an infant brother, two sisters, one older, one younger, of a mother and father. His parents served the Emperor as all did, not directly, but with their good citizenship, devotion, and skills. In return, few in Samarkand knew hardship. The Garden of Pleasures—a title which had Ben Finn sniggering and subsequently being elbowed by Page—was open to the public. Fruits and flowers were freely harvested. “No one took more than his share, so that others could enjoy all the pleasures of the Garden.”

 

Ben sounded like he might choke.

 

“I was little then, but I remember. It was a good life,” said Shan. “A happy life. There was a saying in my land: No honor is greater, no joy sweeter, than being a child of Samarkand.”

 

“So it sounds,” said Laylah. “Yet you seem to think otherwise.”

 

“That was before she came,” said Shan, his voice dropping so low they strained to hear.

 

“Who?” asked Kalin.

 

“The Empress,” he said, the word infused with such fear that the very air in the room suddenly felt cold. “Almost ten years ago, our Emperor, Zarak, went with one of our trading ships. To meet the king of a distant land, it was said. He returned after almost a year, with a wife. No one ever learned her name. It was said that her beauty was so great that all who looked upon her went mad with desire, so that she had to hide her face from the eyes of all but her husband.”

 

“So no one ever knew what she actually looked like,” said Timmins, rolling the words over as if he were sifting through them for information. “Interesting … and convenient.”

 

“She probably looked like a horse,” said Ben. Page elbowed him again. “What? I bet it’s the truth.”

 

“That, or she didn’t want her appearance to become common knowledge,” said Timmins. “Perhaps so she could pass unnoticed in the city … if she chose.”

 

“The Emperor was never the same,” said Shan. “He began to hide himself away. He started enacting laws that seemed cruel simply for the sake of it. All but a select few were barred from the Garden. He commissioned a wall to be built around Zahadar—Zahadar! The jewel of Samarkand! When he did appear to the people, those who beheld him whispered that there was nothing behind his eyes.” He fell silent for a long moment.

 

“You said ‘was never the same,’ ” prompted the king.

 

Shan started, then nodded. “He did not live long after bringing her home. And after he died, she became ruler in his stead. And the cruel laws that Emperor Zarak had enacted in his last year suddenly looked like acts of benevolence. The Empress ruled from behind the closed doors of the great palace. There was still trade with other countries, but it was limited.”

 

Kalin’s eyes went wide. “I do remember that—my father once lamented that trade had slowed down. He said nothing about an evil Empress.”

 

“You were his daughter,” Page pointed out. “It was likely he did not want to disparage women to you—especially if the Empress’s reputation was based on rumor.”

 

“It wasn’t,” said Shan, with a bitterness incongruent with his young age. “I do not know what your father knew, but it could not be worse than the truth.”

 

“Sounds like you were very young when she came to power,” Timmins observed. “And you certainly weren’t part of the inner circle. Even what you are telling us is hearsay.”

 

The king lifted a hand. Timmins had a sharp brain and a skeptical bent that had served the monarch well, but now was not the time for it. “While that might be true, what is not hearsay is what Shan underwent. We all know, firsthand, about the darkness.”

 

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

 

The king turned back to Shan. “When did the Shadows come?”

 

Shan cringed at the word, then took a deep breath. “About three years ago. Slowly, at first. Rumors of dark things lurking in the mountains, in the deserts, in the old ruins. At the edges of the world. Then—I remember my father speaking to my mother of something he had found on the outskirts of the city. The body of a jackal.”

 

“A jackal?” asked Ben.

 

“It is a sort of … dog of the desert. A scavenger.”

 

“I know what a jackal is, son,” Ben said kindly. “I’m just wondering why finding its body was worth mentioning.”

 

The boy fixed him with his brown eyes. “It was not a jackal any longer.”

 

Realization hit them all simultaneously. Ben let out a low whistle. “Balverine,” he said. At the boy’s look of puzzlement, he elaborated, “half wolf, which is our version of a jackal, and half man. And all nasty.”

 

“Yes!” the boy said. “That is it exactly! And things—things long forgotten, out of stories, out of nightmares—they started hunting anyone who went out at night. It is said that she calls them, when she is braiding her hair at night, singing a song and weaving a spell as she weaves the braid.”

 

“Now that’s definitely got to be a story,” scoffed Timmins.

 

“How do you know?” asked Laylah, glaring at him. “Perhaps that is the way her magic works.”

 

“Madame,” said Timmins, with a hint of exasperation, “I do not think Shan is lying. I’ve no doubt that a cruel woman sits on the throne of Samarkand. She probably murdered her husband to get there. And clearly she’s in league with dark forces—things that all of us here are too wise to dismiss as fables. But if we’re to defeat her, we must separate fact from fiction!”

 

Shan’s eyes were drooping again.

 

“What we must do now is permit Shan to rest,” the king said. “Sabine, he will return to Mistpeak with you when he is well enough to travel, will he not?”

 

“Oh yes, we’ll gladly take care of the brave boy,” Sabine said.

 

“Until then, Shan, as you recover, I’d appreciate your telling us all you can.”

 

The boy nodded, almost asleep already. Quietly the adults rose and made their way out. The king didn’t notice that Rex lingered behind until the dog whined. Halting at the door, the king glanced back to see boy and dog curled up together. He smiled a little. Rex knew when someone needed cheering up, and frankly … well … the king would be just as glad to be completely alone with his bride tonight. He inhaled a breath to blow out the light.

 

“Your Majesty?”

 

“Yes, Shan?”

 

“… please … can you leave the candle burning?”

 

The king looked at the shadows in the corners of the room and understood. “Of course. Sleep well. You too, Rex.”

 

Rex whuffed.

 

The king closed the door behind him and faced his friends. “What do you think?” he asked bluntly. “Is this true, or is this child being used by the darkness?”

 

Ben looked uncomfortable. “If Sir Walter could be, so could Shan,” he said. It was an unhappy thought. Walter, the most loyal man in the world, had in the end become a tool of the darkness. He had been infected in Aurora and supposedly healed of its taint by the Auroran priestess, Mara, she who had joined the king and Laylah just this day. Walter had fooled them all for over a year. The king never knew if Walter had truly returned then, only to have the darkness overtake him later, or if the darkness had remained in Walter during the last several months of preparation for war. That uncertainty had haunted the king since Walter’s death—by the king’s own sword.

 

And now, they were considering believing someone he didn’t even know—someone who was not from Albion, and who had a strangely convenient story about—

 

“No,” said Kalin, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “This was how the darkness worked. Poisoning one’s mind to arouse fear and suspicion.”

 

“That’s true enough, but what happened with Walter is also true,” Ben said. “What if we go haring off after the darkness over in Samarkand, and it’s actually waiting to jump on Albion?”

 

“And what if the boy is right?” said Sabine, thumping his staff. “How nice of the darkness to let us know it had sent the poor lad as a messenger. It already told us it’s contacted him! It’s probably hoping we’ll get all afraid and kill the child!”

 

“I don’t like any of this, Majesty,” Timmins said. “It’s too suspicious. We could send a small scouting party to Samarkand to check out Shan’s story before committing resources.”

 

The king looked at his friends, then made his decision. “That would be wisdom, Jack, if I did not feel in my bones that time is truly of the essence. I agree with Sabine and Kalin. Turning us against one another—killing the messenger—is exactly what it would want. I’m not my brother. We have laws in Albion. Someone is innocent until proven guilty. If Shan betrays us, or if we find proof that there is darkness within him, rest assured that I will deal with him.”

 

Both Ben and Timmins looked unhappy but nodded. He was the king, after all.

 

“Sounds like we’ve got our work cut out for us, then,” Ben said.

 

“Indeed we do,” the king said. “But no more work tonight. I can hear that the celebration is still in full swing downstairs. My lovely bride and I, however, will be retiring.”

 

“Of course,” Ben said with a straight face. “Our rulers need their rest.”

 

“Absolutely,” said the king. “A great deal of rest. Very, er, restful rest. And lots of it.”

 

Laylah blushed, but she was smiling. Ben clapped his friend on the back, bowed to the new queen, and headed downstairs. The others followed, Page pausing to hug Laylah quickly before departing.

 

The king turned to his new queen. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

 

“For what? For immediately responding to a threat to innocent people? For doing what you need to do to protect your kingdom?” She shook her head. “No, beloved. It is clear where you need to be and what you need to be doing.”

 

He pulled her into his arms. “Later, yes. But for now, this is all I need to be doing.” He kissed her, sweetly but passionately. She slipped her arms around his neck, her lips soft and yielding. They were both breathing quickly when she pulled back.

 

“No,” she said. Surprised, he looked at her.

 

“No?”

 

“No,” she repeated, then added, her voice soft and low, “That is most definitely not all you need to be doing.”

 

For answer, he swept her up in his arms and went with all due haste to their bedchamber.

 

Chapter Four

 

 

“Love, wake up.”

 

Laylah blinked sleepily, for a moment uncertain where she was. Memory of the night before rushed back to her and she smiled, turning over to look up at her husband’s face.

 

“It is still dark outside,” she murmured, stroking his cheek. “There is plenty of time for more … rest.”

 

He kissed her hand. “Actually, it’s the middle of the night. We will have some more time to, er, rest later. But first … there’s something I need to show you. And it’s best done at this hour. Get dressed and follow me.”

 

Laylah was confused but obeyed, slipping into a simple dress and stepping into a pair of boots. He placed a cloak around her shoulders. “It’s cold outside,” he said.

 

“… Outside?”

 

“Outside. Come on!” Shaking her head in confusion, Laylah took her husband’s hand as he led her past the dying fire to the wide double doors at the far end of his chambers. She was glad of the cloak at once; the skies were clear, and moonlight shone on the snow-covered gardens. “It’s lovely in the summer though Jasper always said it was sinister out here at night. Of course,” he added, “he only saw it at night the one time, I believe.”

 

“When was that?” Laylah pulled the cloak more tightly around her. They walked past the area where King Logan’s statue once stood, and she didn’t think Jasper’s assessment was altogether wrong.

 

“The night he, Walter, and I escaped,” he said. “I’m going to take you where they took me. It’s a place I never knew about. Only a very few are aware of its existence even today, and only two of us know how to get there.” He smiled down at her. “Three, after tonight.”

 

“What a great mystery!” she teased, and his smile faded a little bit.

 

“Not so much a mystery—a secret. An important one.” They passed topiaries with snow for hats and headed toward a large, stone structure. It led down into the earth.

 

“Where are we going?”