Page 41 of The Warrior Priest (After the Rift #1)

ABOUT: THE PALACE OF LOST MEMORIES

The king's magnificent palace was built in a matter of weeks.

No one saw the builders, no villagers are allowed beyond the gilded gate, and only one servant has ever left.

The haunted look in her eyes as she was recaptured by the palace guards is something Josie, daughter of the village healer, has never forgotten.

For Josie, the palace is a mystery that grows more intriguing after she meets the captain of the guards, a man known only as Hammer, as mysterious and captivating as the palace itself.

Whispers of magic fuel Josie's desire to uncover the truth, but an ordinary girl like her can only dream of ever being invited inside.

When the king decides to take a wife from among the eligible daughters of the noble families, the palace gates are finally thrown open and the kingdom's elite pour in.

In a court where old rivalries and new jealousies collide, the king's favorite is poisoned, and the healer is summoned.

As her father's assistant, Josie finally sees inside the lavish walls, but she soon learns the palace won't surrender its secrets easily, for not a single resident, from the lowest servant to the king himself, has a memory from before the palace existed.

In her quest to help the servants, Josie becomes embroiled in courtly intrigues alongside the enigmatic captain. As their feelings for each other grow, the hopelessness of their situation becomes apparent. How can she love a man who doesn’t know his own past?

To make matters worse, they discover that ending the enchantment will shake the very foundations of the kingdom, and destroy everything Josie holds dear.

CHAPTER 1

Whispers of sorcery began when the palace's foundations appeared overnight.

One frost-bitten day, the broad plain five miles from Mull contained nothing but grass and muddy puddles; the next, solid walls took shape as if they'd sprouted from the ground like daffodils at the first hint of spring.

Looking at the completed building now, surrounded by mature formal gardens, I could see why those whispers had grown louder.

Despite the distance between the palace and the clearing on Lookout Hill, where I stood, I could tell it was enormous.

It must be four times as long as the street on which I lived, and it was certainly higher than the temple in the center of Mull.

According to my father, it was even bigger than the main temple in Tilting, Glancia's capital city, where the last king had ruled from a crumbling old castle.

That structure had taken three years to build.

The palace had taken less than three months.

Three months in which not a single builder had been seen coming or going.

No locals had been tasked with the labor, and according to the travelers and traders who now filled Mull's taverns to bursting, they hadn't come from elsewhere in Glancia or any of the neighboring kingdoms, either.

It was as if they'd been conjured from the air and returned there after the palace's completion.

Magic.

Even I, a practical woman who believed in what she could see, hear and touch, couldn't explain the sudden appearance of the palace.

It wasn't simply the speed of its erection but also the secrecy that shrouded it.

Only a handful of delivery carts from the village and nearby farms had been to the palace to supply its kitchens, and guards hadn't allowed them beyond the gate.

Palace servants unloaded the goods and retreated inside.

They did not engage in conversation, they did not make eye contact, and they certainly didn't come to the village on their days off.

Except for that one time a maid wandered into Mull early one morning, asking passersby if they knew her.

When no one could offer answers, she fell to her knees and sobbed until four palace guards collected her.

She went with them meekly enough, but her haunted eyes stayed with me. Not just hers but theirs, too.

With a last look at the dazzling building, glinting in the late spring sunshine like a jewel, I picked up my battered old pack, as well as the new one given to me by the patient I'd called on, and turned to go.

The thundering of hooves along the forest path warned me to remain in the clearing.

By the sound of it, more than one rider was heading my way and they were traveling fast. To move onto the path would be folly, so I waited until the reckless youths passed.

No doubt it was Lord Deerhorn's sons, come to see the palace for themselves.

Lookout Hill afforded the best view, after all.

Either that or they'd decided to hunt here.

They were supposed to keep to their own estate, but they were arrogant enough to shoot their arrows on common land whenever they pleased.

I'd learned a long time ago to stay away from the Deerhorn lordlings, but I didn't want them to think I was an animal worth hunting.

I made myself visible in the middle of the clearing, facing the area of dense forest where the path briefly emerged before disappearing again on the other side.

They couldn't mistake me for a fox or rabbit.

Then again, they were as thick as the tree foliage in this part of the forest and fond of loosing their arrows.

The dull thud thud of the hooves came closer then the first rider burst into the clearing. His head jerked toward me and I caught a glimpse of a short dark beard but little else, thanks to the hooded cloak he wore. He disappeared into the forest again, his horse's stride not even slowing.

A few moments later, the forest spat out another rider, this one wearing black leather with gold trim at the shoulder of his doublet, and long black boots.

He sat tall in the saddle, looking comfortable despite his horse's ferocious pace.

I got a good look at his face as he slowed to study me in return.

Short dark hair framed hard planes and a cleanly shaven jaw.

It was his eyes that commanded attention, however.

They were the blue of the shallows in Half Moon Cove on a sunny day.

Those eyes made a quick assessment of me before focusing forward again.

"Question her!" he barked before urging his horse into the forest ahead.

He'd hardly disappeared when another rider emerged. He wore a crimson doublet with gold braiding. Crimson and gold—palace uniforms.

I clutched my bag to my chest.

The rider stopped and swore. He looked at me, swore again, and stared into the forest after the other riders.

He swore a third time as his horse circled.

Clearly good manners weren't a requirement for palace servants.

Good looks, however, must be. This rider was dark like the one who preceded him, but with brown eyes and a bow mouth that turned down severely as he scowled at me.

"You there," he hailed me.

Branches and brush rustled and a fourth rider emerged into the clearing.

This one also wore a palace uniform but he was younger than his companion.

My theory about handsome servants was dashed by the newcomer.

Though he was also dark, he had a nose like a horse and a spotty forehead and chin.

His narrow chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing. He couldn't be more than eighteen.

"Who're you?" he asked me, as bold as could be.

I bristled but forced my spine to relax. I would usually treat such rudeness with silent disdain, but these were the king's men and must be obeyed. Besides, if I was nice, I might find out something about the palace and King Leon.

"Joselyn Cully," I said, still holding my pack in front of me. The new, empty one, remained slung over my shoulder. "Everyone calls me Josie. Are you from the palace?" I indicated the view behind me.

The lad sat higher in the saddle. "Huh. It looks tiny from up here, Max. Come take a look."

The man addressed as Max did not move. "Did you see him?" he demanded of me.

"Who?" I said.

"The rider in the hood."

"A little. The other man followed him." I pointed to the gap in the trees where the path led.

"The captain," the young man told me. "Captain Hammer."

Hammer? I managed to contain my snort of derision before it escaped.

"What did he look like?" Max asked. "The man in the hood?"

I shrugged. "I didn't see much. He had a short, dark brown beard."

"What shade of brown?" asked the younger man, leaning forward on the pommel. "Chestnut? Mud? Dung?"

Was he making fun of me? He didn't laugh. Not even a hint of a smile touched his lips. "Medium brown," I said.

"Anything else?" Max pressed, glancing toward the path again. Unlike the younger man, he seemed restless and eager to follow the two riders. The younger man still looked like he hadn't quite caught his breath.

"No," I said. "It was very?—"

Thwack.

Max grunted and lost his balance, half falling, half staggering off his horse. An arrow protruded from his arm. Merdu, be merciful.

"Get down!" Max shouted as he fell to his knees. "Find cover!"

I dashed behind a row of shrubs on the opposite side of the clearing from where the arrow had been shot. I was safe but the men were not.

I swallowed hard and dared to peek through a gap in the bushes.

The two men were still alone with their horses in the clearing.

Max lay flat on the ground. Blood seeped through his clothes, darkening the crimson fabric.

He must have pulled the arrow out, the fool.

The younger man knelt beside him, his body over Max's, protecting him and making a target of himself in the process.

"Get off me, you little prick," Max snapped, easily shoving off the skinnier lad. "Do you want to get shot in the arse?"

The youth glanced behind him in the direction of the forest then angled himself behind a horse for protection. "Max," he hissed. "Take cover."