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Prologue
Freya
We moved to Penley when I was just five years old. Situated on the very edges of Hydornia, the estate had once belonged to my grandparents, who had died six months earlier. The house was a large, rambling wooden construction with a round turret on the north corner accessed via a spiral staircase. I decided our new home was a special type of castle made by the forest sprites and loved it instantly.
Several fields were set aside for grape vines to the north of the property, on a slope that led to the forest edge. I wasn't allowed to enter the forest and was told that monsters lived there.
My father planned to expand the smallholding into a business once he retired. He was a soldier, away more often than he was home, stationed to the far north of Hydornia where he fought the orc hordes, known as the Blighten, pushing them back lest they rampage our lands. His work seemed impossibly brave, and I held my father in awe. Although I hated that he would leave again soon, I dreamed of that elusive time when the war would end, and he would live in our home with Mama and me.
I loved the house, playing in the turret, and pretending to be a princess. I loved to run across the sweeping fields at the back of our home where a small stream dissected the land, tumbling over rocks as it emerged from the forest, having come from the highest slopes of the mountains to the west.
It was a half-day carriage drive to the nearby city, where we owned a small but stately townhouse, and our time was divided between the two residences.
I loved Penley and the adventures that could be found in the princess tower—as it became known—and the many outbuildings, most of which were not in use and provided ample opportunity for an imaginative child to play out her daydreams. My mother, seeing me flourish, elected to spend our summers there and return to the city come the fall. We had servants, stablemen, and laborers who worked the land and vines, and there was always something going on to interest me.
I was nearing my seventh birthday when, encouraged that I had yet to see a single monster, I ventured into the forest.
ChapterOne
Freya
Spring, and the bounty of bluebells, lure me into the forest. My arms are laden, but the promise of more of the pretty blooms which I can spend the afternoon carefully pressing in my book keeps me moving deeper inside the shade of the great trees.
Convinced that my mother made up stories about monsters to keep the younger version of me safe, for I was a baby the last time we visited and now, at nearly seven, am virtually grown up, I pay no mind to the distance I travel until I see them.
“Aye, that’s a fancy dress,” the young boy says. He holds a small spear in his right hand. One end is braced against the ground, and the pointed tip is level with the top of his head. His eyes are hazel, his cheeks and nose are covered in freckles, and his hair has golden curls and is too long for a boy. That, however, is a minor break of decorum given that he wears only rough hide pants, sturdy boots, and nothing else.
His state of undress scandalizes me.
His companion, a young girl of similar height to me, wears a hide dress that leaves much of her tanned legs and arms exposed. She has the same hazel eyes, curly golden hair, and a smattering of freckles across her nose as the boy. They are undoubtedly related.
They are also barbarians.
A flush creeps up my cheeks when they make no move to leave. Civilized people should not be in this state of nakedness unless they are about to have a bath, which is private business. My eyes settle on the leather cord around the boy’s neck from which an amber stone hangs.
“I’m Dara,” the girl says boldly. “We hail from the Baxter clan. Aston says you have moved into Mrs Bramleigh’s old home.”
I’m shaken that they appear to know my grandmother, whom I had only met a few times. “I’m Freya. Mrs Bramleigh was my grandma, and she died last fall.”
“I told you,” the boy says, nudging the girl’s arm.
They are barbarians, yet they know my grandparents and speak the common language, which settles the flutters in my belly.
“This is Aston, my brother,” the girl says. “We saw you on your own and thought you might like to come and play with us.”
I glance back over my shoulder, realizing how far into the woods I have ventured. “I’m not supposed to be in the woods,” I admit. “Mama said there were monsters in here.”
I feel foolish for admitting this, more so when Aston chuckles. “She’s one of those fancy lasses as always do as they’re told. She won’t be any fun to play with.”
Dara thumps her brother’s arm. “You are such a meanie. I don’t even know why you wanted to come with me. If you taunt the lass, she won’t be my friend.” Turning to me, she says, “There are no monsters here. Our clan has a few shifters, and their scent keeps other beasts away.”
“I didn’t think that shifters were real.” I’m convinced they are teasing me… or maybe their shifters are the monsters my mother talked about.
“Of course shifters are real,” Aston scoffs like he is an authority on such things; as though I’m stupid for not knowing this… although if they really do have shifters living among them, I concede that he knows more than me.
Dara thumps her brother again. He smirks like he is pleased to have riled her.
“Would you like to come and have tea?” Dara asks.
