Page 1 of Heart of Defiance

Chapter One

Signy

Some people say that one person’s trash is another person’s treasure. I think that might be exaggerating the case a little. It’s more like, one person’s trash is someone else’s “might as well make the best of it.”

As the queen of making the best of it, I should know.

At the moment, I’m making the best of a tattered old fishing net someone discarded by the river. The rock I’m sitting on is hard against my ass, and the coarse strands of rope are rubbing my fingers raw, but the burble of the water and the light summer breeze are pleasant enough.

At least until the dukeling and his fawners show up.

I’m just knotting two of the frayed strands together, closing up a hole even the biggest trout could swim through, when their voices carry through the trees. It’s easy to recognize the dukeling’s. He’s the one who sounds like he figures he’s giving a momentous speech to the entire kingdom when his only audience is a handful of friends and the woodland creatures.

And, unwillingly, me.

The crunch of Rupert’s footsteps through the brush punctuates his words. “It truly is an incredible development. I can’t wait to see the reactions in our court. And naturally some benefits will trickle down to the nearest towns.”

His companions’ voices don’t carry as much, but I catch a “That’s fantastic!” and a “What a win for the duchy!” which is what they’d say even if he shat on a log.

I yank the jumble of intersecting rope into my arms, wrinkling my nose at the dank odor it gives off, but I don’t manage to gather it fast enough to avoid notice. As I shove to my feet, ducking my head instinctively so my long black hair shields my face, the dukeling and three other men around my age stride up to the edge of the river where it widens about twenty paces away. Prime fishing spot—their poles gleam under the afternoon sun.

Rupert sweeps his gaze imperiously over the bank. I know he’s spotted me when his lip curls with a sneer.

He flicks his blond hair away from his eyes. “Oh, look, it’s the waif of refuse. I can smell her from here.”

One of his lordly friends makes an obscene gesture in my direction. “Take a dunk in the river, filly, and let’s see how you clean up.”

The lordling next to him snorts. “It won’t be well. Even her own godlen didn’t want her, isn’t that right?”

The last comment stings right down to the outer edges of my feet—to the stumps of the two smallest toes on each that I offered in sacrifice during my dedication ceremony when I turned twelve.

We all dedicate ourselves to one of the nine lesser gods at that age. Many of us offer up a piece of ourselves in the hopes we’ll be blessed with a gift of magic in return.

Everyone else I know who offered the trade was rewarded for it.

But the gods rejected my sacrifice. Inganne, the godlen of creativity whose sigil is branded into my skin over my sternum, determined what I gave was unworthy of the magic I asked for.

So I can’t even say these pricks are entirely wrong. Gritting my teeth, I ignore their jeers and grab my pouch of tools.

The fourth man in the bunch makes a disgruntled sound and motions his companions’ attention back to the river. “Why bother with Signy when we’ve got fishing to do? That’ll be a lot more entertaining than she is.”

That’s Landric for you. Son of the richest merchants in town, probably worried my existence will reflect badly on him in the eyes of the nobles he’s sucking up to. With his striking coppery hair and well-built frame, he cuts an attractive enough figure for them to treat him as an almost-equal when they venture beyond the duke’s nearby estate, but he shouldn’t have any delusions that they see him as an actual friend.

Hard to believe we played together when we were little. Us and the other children around the same age clambered along this river and roamed through the woods beyond the town’s last streets, explored the many crevices and caves that weave through the rocky underbelly of this landscape.

I turn my back and hurry away, biting back all the caustic remarks I’d like to make. Insulting the town outcast gets you some laughs. Insulting the duke’s son and his companions gets you a dozen lashes with a whip.

I don’t need to learn that lesson twice. Better to show them that I don’t even care.

It’s a quick tramp through the woods to the abandoned cabin I’ve made my own, slumped in the shadow of one of the many rocky outcroppings that jut from the forest floor. The roof is smothered with lichen and I have to stick a stoneat the base of the door to hold it shut, but it’s some kind of shelter.

A crack in the jutting stone marks one of the shallowest of the caves around town, a space I’ve turned into a storage shed of sorts. I toss the net in there to finish mending later.

A quick glance over the garden shows no new weeds have invaded since this morning. I checked my snares right before I headed to the river.

Idon’treally care about the dukeling and his views on me, but the encounter has left my nerves on edge. The little plot of land I’ve claimed looks even more dreary than usual.

Is this really it? This is all my life is going to be, from here until the end?

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