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Freya looked around at the thin, dirty faces staring up at her and forced a smile through the despair that churned in her belly. Only six children left to care for in the orphanage—the world was a harsh place, and tonight it felt even darker.

There was no meat for the two older children’s thin broth tonight. She’d given the last of it to the four young ones who were still growing and needed it most. Essie and Logan would go to bed with empty bellies.

Again.

Essie’s dark eyes seemed over-large in her wan face.

Logan looked more like his father every day—bless his taken soul.

The only thing Freya could do was distract them for a time, perhaps even give them something to hope for.

She shifted her weight in the old rocking chair, running her hands over her swollen knuckles. But was it fair to give them that hope?

“Tomorrow we’ll go scrounge the heaps,” Logan said with a weary sigh. “Get to the market early, look for scraps.”

Essie’s long dark lashes fluttered against her cheeks. “Maybe we will find a few apple cores. Bless us let it be.”

Apple cores. That was the most they could wish for?

Freya stopped her rocking. If a different kind of hope was all she could give them, so be it. She would do all she could to fill them up with it.

“Logan, Essie, get closer to the fire, you two and keep warm while I tell you a story I’ve been waiting a very long time to share with you, hmm?”

They nodded, huddling closer as they hung on her words. Logan draped an arm over his sister’s shoulders.

Treason was not a thing to commit lightly. And yet this story…hovered on the edges of it. Freya lowered her voice until it was barely above a whisper.

“Once upon a time, before Almira the witch became our ruler, C’an Saas was different.

A place filled with sunshine, and joy. The tree branches were heavy with fruit in the early spring of the year, the fields teemed with pigs, cows, and sheep.

Families worked hard to tend the land, and the land provided.

We were blessed with a good king.” She lowered her voice further, a shiver running through her as she spoke the forbidden name.

“Alistair MacInnes. He lived in the palace with his true love, Queen Marin, and the two of them ruled with kindness for decades. But they had no heir. They waited, year after year, with no news of a child. Their people laid blessings at the gods’ shrines on their behalf all those years.

And, after decades of trying, a baby daughter was finally born.

They named her Harmony. Fitting, as she did indeed bring music to the land.

The people rejoiced, feasted, danced, and sang in her honor.

For four years after she was born, C’an Saas continued to flourish.

Until one day, a childhood friend-turned enemy of King Alistair’s returned from the darkness.

Her name was Almira, and she came for revenge… ”

Logan and Essie’s eyes were locked on hers, and Freya dove headlong into a story that held all the hope of the land within it, and all the fear that the hope would never come to fruition.

Twenty-five years before…

Alistair MacInnes, King of C’an Saas, closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. The screams grew closer now, even as the acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils. It was utter carnage beyond the walls of the keep. Entire villages were razed by the tornado she rode in on.

Almira had returned with a literal vengeance.

The blood of soldiers flowing like the mighty River Claren. People— his people— incinerated in their homes.

And despite being the most powerful man in all his kingdom, there wasn’t a blessed thing he could do about it but hope that his outmatched forces somehow managed to prevail.

Such were the ways of magic. A fickle bit of chaos that could be as miraculous as it was terrible, depending on who was wielding it.

The woman who wielded it at this very moment?

Was hellbent on destruction.

He forced his eyes open and shot a glance at the arched doorway just over his shoulder before turning his attention to the hourglass clutched in his hand on the armrest beside him.

The granules of sand seemed to have been moving in slow motion since he’d last checked, and his stomach sank like a stone.

If he failed, all would be lost.

The sound of boots on stone caught his attention and he looked up to find General John Wallace striding into the room, his armor catching the sun’s rays.

“Your Majesty, they’re cutting through our forces like soft cheese. The witch’s consorts are scaling the walls. I fear we only have moments until she breaches the gates.”

Alistair nodded, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “She’s a formidable enemy to be sure.”

There was no fear in the eyes of the trusted General as he continued across the floor of the great hall, moving to stand directly before his king.

“I’m sorry for this, John. If I could go back and do it differently, I would. Keeping Harmony close was selfish beyond measure.”

“Respectfully, Your Majesty, that’s bollocks,” John shot back, his craggy face twisted into a scowl. “She’s a child. She’d have never made it this long if we hadn’t. And watching her grow up, even from a distance…even for a short while, was the greatest of gifts. I know my sister would agree.”

Alistair had done his best not to think of her in this moment, but Marin filled his thoughts most every day, and his efforts were in vain.

He spared a glance at her portrait, hung on the east wall.

Glorious, dark curls exploded in a riot around her shoulders.

An easy, mischievous smile perched on her lips, color in her cheeks, a bright light in her honey-colored eyes.

Damn it to hell, I’m so sorry it’s come to this, my love.

A loud crash followed by a fresh chorus of screams echoed through the great hall, and he tore his gaze from the portrait. He’d be seeing her soon enough. His only hope was that he could face her in the afterlife without shame.

Those thoughts were derailed by the wail of a battle horn, a final cry to charge the enemy.

“That’ll be Hamish, Your Majesty.”

Hamish.

The last remaining guard positioned at the entrance to the main keep itself. A living alarm, blaring the final warning. The end was near.

The steady note ended in a sharp squeal, followed by an eerie silence. No more screams. No more cries for mercy.

No more time.

Alistair lifted the still trickling hourglass before him and shook his head slowly, a wave of nausea rolling over him. He’d already asked so much of his men, this one—his brother by marriage and best friend—far more than most.

And yet…

He met the other man’s unflinching gaze. “John, Gayelette needs more time to complete the spell. For Harmony to be sent to safety. I?—”

“Say no more, brother. More time you shall have, then.”

John laid a gloved hand on the falcon crest etched over his heart as he stared at the hourglass, his face filled with steely resolve.

“So long as your sorceress does her part, know that I shall do mine. Whatever it takes to ensure the music lives on. That Harmony is safe.”

As fierce a warrior as John was, their enemy was tenfold in numbers and magic. Neither of them expected to survive this battle.

So long as the last grain of sand fell before they did.

Alistair rose from his throne for what he knew would be the last time and reached for the bear of a man before him, gripping one broad shoulder with his free hand. “We’ve had a good run, haven’t we?”

John nodded and let out a snort. “Better than most.”

“See you on the other side?”

“I pledge it. But mark me,” John replied, eyes narrowing as he stepped back and unsheathed his broadsword. “I’ll be taking a pound of the bitch’s flesh and as many of her consorts as I can with me on my way out.”

With that, he wheeled around and cut a swift path to the main doors, disappearing into the shadows beyond them.

Alistair waved a hand, his magic curling around the open doors and closing them.

He laid a simple locking spell across it.

His magic was not that of a sorceress, but every moment he could gain, he would take.

The next few minutes passed in a haze of memories, regrets and grief.

The sounds of a vicious fight just beyond the entrance of the great room reached Alistair’s ears, but he shut them out with a ruthlessness he’d rarely shown as king.

Attempting to help his friend now would do nothing but ensure that John and the others killed already had given their lives for naught.

“John,” he muttered under his breath. “Hold out a little longer, my friend. For Harmony.”

But when the halls again went dead silent, he could still hear it. That damnable sand, trickling to the bottom of the glass.

A maniacal laugh rang out a moment before the door flew off its hinges and into the wall just inches from where he stood. Darkness seemed to spill through the opening, like storm clouds gathering before the tempest unleashed.

“Alistair, you pathetic bastard. Is this where you’ve tucked yourself, then?

” a shrill voice called seconds before a slight female figure drifted into the room.

She wore not armor, but a trailing dress of deepest gray.

Flecks littered her skirts. Blood of his men.

John’s blood. Her smile was as wicked as ever.

“I’m disappointed. I was rather looking forward to a game of hide and seek, like when we were children. I do so miss those days.”

Those early days, with the four of them running wild along the moors like a pack of wolves were long gone, as was the girl Almira had been. Her reminiscing might help him stall though, so he indulged her.

“We were close, the four of us. Do not do this, for whatever love you once had for Marin.”

Her laughter was soft and low. “Love abandoned me when those I loved abandoned me . I am no longer the child you knew, come to take my dues as the queen I should always have been.”