Page 43 of Highland Lords of War & Thunder: The Prequel

War that conquers.

Thunder that roars.

The final strike when kingdoms fall.

Three legendary warriors summoned to protect Morra Mist in its time of need, if they truly existed.

Eudora pressed her hand against the cool stone surrounding the window, hearing her grandmother’s voice as if she were there with her.

They will hear you, Eudora. But once you summon them, breathe not a word of what you have done. Not to your council. Not to your commander. Not even to the person you trust above all others. Some secrets survive only because they are kept.

At twelve years old, Eudora hadn't understood why her grandmother's warning had been so severe.

She understood now… someone wanted her throne.

Of that Eudora had no doubt.

Her council knew of the whispers spreading through Morra Mist, the questions being raised about her right to rule and the growing unrest among some of her people.

What they didn't know was that Eudora had learned far more than she'd shared with them.

Agnes had seen to that.

The healer had been a trusted friend of her grandmother's for many years and traveled extensively throughout Morra Mist and occasionally beyond its shores. Eudora had known her since she was young and shared Agnes's fascination with healing plants, often eager to hear of some new use she'd discovered or an unfamiliar plant she'd encountered in her travels.

So, no one thought it unusual when Agnes visited the castle from time to time. She and Eudora would spend hours discussing plants, remedies and whatever Agnes had learned since they'd last seen each other.

But healing wasn't all Agnes learned in her travels. People talked freely around a healer. They spoke of their troubles, their fears and the things they'd heard from others. Agnes listened.

Queen Eleanor had taught Eudora long ago that Agnes sometimes returned with information far more valuable to a queen than any healing plant she carried in her satchel.

A queen who hears only what her council tells her hears only what others wish her to know.

Eudora understood the wisdom of those words even more after taking the throne.

Agnes's most recent visit had troubled her.

There were names now. People whose existence could threaten Eudora's hold on the crown and perhaps Morra Mist itself.

She had told no one, not Wilford, not the commander of her warriors, and not a single member of her council.

Until she knew who she could trust, Agnes and everything she'd learned from her would remain Eudora's secret. Just like the three men she'd summoned.

Still, she had expected the three Lords to have arrived by now.

Her gaze traveled over the rooftops of Dunsire and to the road that disappeared beyond the town.

What if they had heard her and chosen not to answer? What if centuries of tales had become little more than tales passed down through generations. Or worse, what if she'd done something wrong when she summoned them?

“You’ve kept the council waiting long enough.”

Eudora turned from the window.

Wilford, her advisor, stood beside the table, several parchments tucked beneath one arm. He was a lean man, his neatly trimmed brown hair showing gray at the temples, his blue eyes sharp and attentive. His dark wool tunic was finely made but simply cut, suitable for a man who had spent many years in service to the crown.

“I was not aware I asked your opinion.”

“You rarely do, but it has never stopped me from giving it.”