Amara sucked in a breath as she emerged from the old gardener’s mind. Petur groaned and turned on his side, curling his legs up to his chest. Pale moonlight shone through the small window, leaving a square of light across the ground. She clenched her hand into a fist and punched her thigh. Why couldn’t she do it? Why couldn’t she change the dreamscape?
Her mother emerged moments later, and Amara could feel the heat of her anger. She stood to her feet and glared down at Amara. “Come, Amara. Morning is almost here.”
“Yes, Mother.” She stood and followed her mother outside of the small hovel and across the servants’ quarters. She clenched her hands again, so hard that her nails dug into her palms. What did Selene have that she did not? She worked harder and wanted this more—much more than Selene ever did. And yet her elder sister was the gifted one.
And then she threw it all away when she left with the grand lord of House Maris. Amara clenched her hand. Why?
Her mother led the way back into Rook Castle, moving along the corridors like an apparition. When they reached the west wing, she stopped.
“You will continue your physical training. And you will continue to dreamwalk every night. I expect to see a better performance than I saw tonight in two weeks from now. You will prove to me why you deserve to inherit the mantle of House Ravenwood. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother.” Amara carefully concealed her features, but inside she burned.
Her mother turned and left without a word, leaving Amara standing in the middle of the dark and silent hallway.
A lump filled her throat as her shoulders sagged. Was it like this with Selene? Mother pressuring her to achieve more and more with their gift? Amara snorted and headed for the secret training room below the castle. Probably not. Everything always came easily to Selene. She was able to dreamwalk the first time flawlessly, and she still had Mother’s respect, even after leaving in disgrace.
She slipped into the sitting room and headed for the fireplace. She placed her fingers in the three small indents beside the stone mantel, twisted her hand clockwise, and listened to the gears deep within the wall as the hidden door opened.
Like a cat, she slid into the narrow passageway and closed the door behind her. Pitch-black pervaded her senses, but she was used to it. With practiced hands, she lit the first torch, then used it to light the other torches along her way.
As she headed into the bowels of the castle, her mind churned with questions. With everything at her fingertips, why did Selene run away? Did she secretly love Lord Damien? Perhaps. She had seen the way her sister’s face had changed when she looked at him. But the cold, calculating sister she knew would not simply throw everything away for an infatuation. There had to be something more that had caused Selene to make such a drastic decision.
“And why do I care?” She seethed as she entered the training cavern. She finished lighting the room, then placed the torch in one of the brackets. Her sword sat on the table, next to an array of weapons. Noticeably empty on the table was the place where Selene’s twin blades used to lie.
Amara harrumphed as she grabbed her own sword and went for the dummy. Whatever the reason, Selene was now gone, allowing her to gain Mother’s favor.
I will become the heir to Ravenwood.
Whack.
I will learn to control my dreamwalking and become stronger.
Whack.
And I will take Selene’s place in Mother’s eyes.
Amara attacked the dummy with her single blade, dancing in and out, swinging her blade and slicing into the dummy until an hour later only straw, shreds of cloth, and the wooden skeleton was left.
She wiped her brow and let her sword hang down at her side. She would have to drag another dummy down here, but it was worth the effort. Already she felt much better. She walked over to the table and placed her sword down. She had enough time to quickly bathe in one of the hot springs and visit her little sister, Opheliana, before resting until later this evening and dreamwalking again.
That was another benefit to Selene’s absence: she had Opheliana all to herself.
Amara stepped into the nursery. She breathed in the scent of lilac and smiled, remembering her own childhood. Opheliana must have recently finished bathing.
“Opheliana,” Amara said quietly as she stepped into the room. She shut the door behind her and walked across the crimson rug that lay across the stone floor. A cozy fire burned in the fireplace, and a handful of wooden toys sat on the round table in the corner.
A voice hummed from the other room, out of tune, but comforting just the same. Amara peeked into the bedroom. Maura, the nursemaid, stood by the wardrobe to the right, her back to Amara, as she folded clothes and placed them inside. The two beds on either side were made, thick furs placed on top to ward off the coming winter chill.
The metal bath was still in the room, though no steamy wisps emerged from the opaque surface. The smell of lilac hung heavier in here.
Movement to her left caught her eye. Amara turned and spotted Opheliana standing on a stool next to the narrow window, her face pressed against the glass as she stared out across the rocky mountain expanse.
Another smile spread across Amara’s face, and the tension and frustration from last night ebbed away. “Opheli—”
She snapped her lips shut, and her eyes went wide. Opheliana stood on her tiptoes, her blue dress rising above her bare feet, exposing her ankles. Her sister must not have heard her because her back remained to Amara, allowing her full view of the mark just below the hem of her dress.
It can’t be.
Amara silently entered the room, her eyes pinned to the reddish mark above Opheliana’s ankle. Her heart raced, leaving her breathless. It can’t be, it can’t be!
But there was no denying the flaming birthmark on Opheliana’s ankle.
The mark of House Friere.
There was a gasp behind her. “Lady Amara, I didn’t hear you enter.”
Amara spun around, anger replacing the shock from moments before. “What is the meaning of this?” she shouted and pointed at Opheliana.
“What do you mean, your ladyship?” Maura slowly edged around the room, putting herself between Amara and Opheliana.
Opheliana turned around on the stool and stared at Amara with her head cocked to the side.
“That mark on my sister’s ankle!”
Maura’s face paled as she sidestepped over to Opheliana and used her body to shield the little girl, which only made Amara angrier. What did the nursemaid think she was going to do? Hurt her little sister? “Explain, Maura.”
The nursemaid’s lip began to tremble. “Please, my lady. No one was supposed to know—”
“Know what?”
Maura tugged on the apron around her waist. “If I tell you, she’ll kill me.”
Amara folded her arms and held tight to her elbows, her nostrils flaring. “Who, my mother?”
Maura nodded her head, her eyes so wide the whites showed.
“I won’t tell her. But I do want an answer. Why does my sister have the mark of House Friere?”
Maura looked down and let go of the apron, wringing her hands instead.
Amara clenched her teeth. “If you don’t tell me, then I will go to my mother.”
Maura’s hands worked faster. “Lady Opheliana is part of House Ravenwood . . . and House Friere.” Her last words were so quiet Amara barely caught them.
She let out her breath in one quick whoosh. “How is that possible?”
Maura shook her head, keeping her eyes down. Opheliana stepped down from the stool and came to stand beside Maura.
Amara narrowed her eyes as she stared at her little sister, taking in every feature. Opheliana had the same dark hair as her mother and Selene, with a red tint to the curls. But on closer look, her eyes resembled Lord Ivulf’s shape and amber color, and her lips were thin, like Lord Raoul’s.
Dart’an! How could her mother . . . ?
Amara spun around, still gripping her elbows. The longer she thought about it, the more it made sense. All the trips to Ironmond. The close relationship between Ravenwood and Friere, particularly between Mother and Lord Ivulf. The hints dropped by Lord Raoul.
All that talk of House Ravenwood and preserving their house purity, only to have the evidence otherwise on her sister’s ankle. A person could possess only one house gift, and apparently the mark of House Friere had been passed on to her sister. What did that mean for Opheliana? Was that why her mother kept her little sister cloistered away like an invalid?
A hand tugged on her dress. Amara looked over to find Opheliana standing behind her. For a heartbeat, she thought her sister would finally speak. But she never opened her lips. Instead, she gazed up, her eyebrows drawn together as she tugged on the fabric again.
In that one second, all the rage inside her fled at the look of innocence on her sister’s face.
Amara knelt down and gathered Opheliana into her arms. Her hair and clothing smelled like lilac. Like the purity of childhood. She pressed her face into the small crook of her sister’s neck. “No, Opheliana, I’m not angry with you. I could never be angry with you.” It was not her sister’s fault that she carried the mark of Friere on her body. And if Amara was honest with herself, she didn’t care. It didn’t change how she felt about Opheliana.
What hurt was knowing that if her mother’s indiscretion was found out, it would be Opheliana who would pay for it. Opheliana could never be an heir to House Ravenwood, not with that mark on her ankle. Would House Friere take Opheliana in if Lord Ivulf found it?
The thought made her sick. Amara had her own ambitions, but she was not stupid. She knew Lord Raoul was an unforgiving, cruel man. And Lord Ivulf was as cold as his power was scorching. That kind of influence would break her tender little sister. So would their mother’s.
Amara looked up and scowled, ignoring Maura. No, no one would find out. She would make sure of it. She would do as her mother wished. She would work hard, harder than any other Ravenwood woman had before her, and she would become heir to House Ravenwood and the grand lady of the mountain people. Then Opheliana could remain as she was, an innocent little girl, and live in Rook Castle forever.
Yes, she would protect her sister. At all costs.