Prologue
Kingston, England
1183
“Papa!” Elora ran to her father’s sideas he stood with his hands on his hips, legs stretched wide, watching the knights practice their jousting in the tilting yard. She didn’t notice his scowl as he focused on the men. At eight summers, all Elora knew was her older brother, Edward, received more attention from her father than she did. As the youngest child and only girl, this was unacceptable.
She held out a white flower to her father, happy and hopeful her offering would garner his interest. She had spent the morning searching the fields for just the right flower.
He didn’t look at her, instead concentrating on the knights in the field. His frown deepened in disapproval. “No!” he hollered, startling Elora. His voice boomed through the air like thunder.
Elora lowered the flower reluctantly.
“Try it again! Lucius, give him another lance.”
Elora looked at the field where her brother cantered on a beautiful black horse over to his trainer, Lucius. The dusty expanse was trodden with use. Long lances leaned against a fence at one end of the lists, where Lucius stood. Elora glowered. Once more, Edward was the only object of her father’s interest.
Stubbornly, she tugged on her father’s beige tunic. “Father, I picked this flower for you.”
He glanced down at her with a heavy sigh and took the flower. “Almost as beautiful as you are, Ellie.”
She beamed, lifting her chin and taking a deep breath as he patted her head. She said eagerly, “I know white is your favorite color. It took me all morning to –”
He nodded. “That’s nice, dear.” His gaze shifted back to Edward. “Go and find me another.” He gestured toward the fields and forest.
Thrilled, she spun with a wide grin and raced toward the field where she had found the flower. She turned back to tell him she would pick an entire bouquet of white flowers for him. As she opened her mouth to speak, she saw him carelessly toss the flower into the mud at his feet, his gaze never leaving the field and the knights.
Stunned, Elora couldn’t move. Her lower lip slowly puffed out, and tears brimmed in her eyes, blurring her vision. She would never have his attention. How could her white flower ever compare to a horse and a lance? How could a simple blossom compare to a shiny, sharp sword? Her lower lip quivered. She turned away and ran into the field, running as fast as she could. She darted past the field of white blossoms, kicking at them as she went. A shower of white petals rained down around her, increasing her anger. Stupid flowers! She raced into the darker shadows cast by the towering trees as she neared the edge of the forest.
Out of breath, she plopped down heavily beneath one of the tall trees and drew her knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around them and fought back the tears of hurt disappointment. Her father didn’t want a white flower even if it had taken her forever to find it.
She took a couple of hitched breaths, holding back the tears, puffing out her lower lip. Stupid flower. She rested her chin on her knees, looking across the field at the path of destroyed flowers she had created. Something shone in the long grass outside the woods, near where she sat. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand and stood. The tall grass hid the sparkle from her. She angled her head this way and that and stood on her toes to see through the blades of grass. Maybe it was a pixie or a fairy! She took a step out of the shadows and toward the grass.
Again, the splash of light hit her, blinding her for a moment. She parted the grass and moved toward the glimmer. As she approached the spot, she saw a boy sitting, crouched over, so intent on doing something that he was completely unaware of her approach. She watched him work for a moment. This boy was older than her, in a tan tunic with shoulder-length brown hair. Sunlight glinted off something in his hand, and even though she didn’t know who he was, her curiosity got the best of her.
She parted the grass like a curtain and stepped to his side, trying to see what he was holding. One of his hands moved back and forth while the other was still. “What are you doing?”
He swiveled his head to look at her, and strands of hair fell into his eyes. “Sharpening my knife.”
She cocked her head to regard him. Then her gaze shifted to the knife. It was old and overused. She grimaced. “It’s rusty,” she said with distaste.
He shrugged and went back to running a stone across the metal, which made grating noise. “Only the top part. I can get rid of the rust.” He jerked his head toward the forest. “I found it over by the stream. Must have been left in the water too long. If I clean it and take care of it, it will be a good knife again.” He paused the sharpening and looked at her. “What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be by the castle?”
“My papa is in the fields.” She glanced at the men charging down the fenced enclosure on horses and crossed her arms. “He doesn’t care where I am.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” he said, tilting his head in disbelief.
“I gave him a flower, and he threw it in the mud.”
The boy shrugged again and continued grinding the stone across his knife. “Knights are not interested in flowers. You should find something he is interested in.”
Her frown deepened. “Swords? Jousts? Wars? I don’t know anything about them. And I don’t want to.”
Soft laughter rumbled from his throat. He lifted his blade, turning it to inspect it in the sunlight, sending rays of reflected sun dancing over the grass. “How about daggers?”
She frowned. “I don’t know anything about daggers.”
“You could learn. And then you could talk to your father about them. Do you have a blacksmith in the village?”
