Page 25

Dreams were not usually so vibrant, they were misty and fleeting. As much as I wanted to believe it, the deeper I went the less likely it was that this place was fashioned by my own mind. Smells of damp mud, of moss on thick stones, the language like a soft song, all of it pounded in my skull like a wretched case of déjà vu.

The rider escorted me through the din and crowd of what I took as a sort of market until we stood at the base of dark, stone steps.

At the top stood a man. A blue tunic covered his strong shoulders, and the sleeves were trimmed in silver stars. His hair was the color of honey and tied loosely behind his neck, leaving a few wild waves over his brow.

Sharp features, an evenly trimmed beard, he reminded me of what a hunter might look like in old school fairy tales without the bow strapped to his back. Handsome, even down to his hooked nose that suited his rugged features.

Atop his head was a circlet of iron etched in green gems.

He looked every bit the sort of prince charming who’d star in a fairy tale of my own making. Not a guy who’d sing sonnets with chirping birds, but the sort of man who’d roar overbattle fields.

“Hugo, who do we have here?”

My friendly widower stepped forward. “A lost Soturi taken over by highway thieves, Prince Destin.”

“Lost? Strange for a battle mage.” It was then I realized this Destin had similar tattoos on his fingers, hands, and throat. When he scratched the side of his neck, shifting the neckline of his tunic, I caught more than one inked on his collarbone, probably down his chest.

“I would take note of the bands on her hands, My Prince,” Hugo said, voice rough.

Destin cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowed like he wanted to peel back my skin and see what I kept hidden. His gaze studied the tattoos for a moment. Next, he schooled his gaze on my throat, the scar gnarled over the center.

Hugo grinned. “You see it?”

The prince’s lips parted. “By the goddess. The Blood Sacrifice . . . at long last, she’s returned.”

The world seemed to halt. It went still, and every damn gaze was aimed nowhere else but me.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if we’re using the words likebloodandsacrifice, I think I’ll?—”

“What would you prefer we call you, My Lady?” Destin took a slow step down the staircase.

Definitely notMy Lady.

“Adira,” I said, voice low, suspicious.

“Adira.” A slow grin split over his lips as the prince rolled the name on his tongue. “Of House Ravenwood?”

“That’s what you people keep saying, and that’s my last name, but I don’t understand why you keep using it like that.”

“So it is your house name?” He pressed his hand to his chest. “It’s how we describe our lineage. I am Destin from House Wilder.”

As a girl, my social workers never had record of my last name, only my first. They’d given me something generic—Smith—but I’d named myself when the first dream came—the glen with dark trees draped in ravens. No one honored the name until I aged out and gave them no other option.

“Yes, my name is Adira Ravenwood,” I said, firmer than before.

“AdiraRavenwood.” The prince stepped closer, an arm’s length away. I took a step back, only to slam into Hugo. He avoided my gaze, but steadied me by taking hold of my arms.

“There were some tales that she would return to us lost,” Destin said. He crowded me, but did not touch. Merely studied my face. His eyes were the most unusual blue—chipped sapphire laced in gold and green. Almost soothing. “You don’t know who you are, do you? You don’t remember us.”

“I don’t, sorry.” My voice was rough, like sand lined my airway. “But I really don’t want any trouble.”

“Lady Adira.” Destin leaned in. So real. From the scent of his skin—smoked wood and citrus—to the chill in my toes from standing in damp mud so long. “Do you know what these marks on your skin mean?”

“Hugo said they were marital bands. But I’ve never been married.”

“They can be,” he agreed. “But they are also your story. Your feats and history. This rune here”—Destin pointed to a symbol over the center of each hand—“it is the crest of the first house of mages—Ravenwood.” With a tug to the neckline of his tunic the prince revealed an intricate swirl of black ink. “These are mine, and I hope they continue to grow now that you are here.”

“How would I make them grow?”