Page 1 of Edge of the Wild

Prologue

The messenger falcon wheeled overhead, a black stamp against the pink sunset sky. It turned, and turned again, riding an updraft, angling its wings, flashing a pale, speckled belly, and the bars on its tail. Then it winged off toward Drake Hold, fading to a speck, swallowed up by the last blaze of gold along the horizon.

“It came from the North, my lady,” Malcolm said, to her left.

On her right, his father, Thomas, hummed in agreement. “From your sister, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Amelia agreed. She gathered her reins and touched Shadow with her heels. The stallion was tired, but not spent, and sprang into an easy canter in response. “We should hurry. We’re already late for supper.” She said it grudgingly, and Malcolm laughed as he – and the rest of her scouting party – fell into stride alongside her.

They’d been gone longer than she’d anticipated, and she knew a moment’s twinge of guilt before she tamped it down. This trek – and what they’d learned on it – was more important than social frivolities. Her mother wouldn’t classify supper as such, but Amelia could find no other word for dining with the lord of Hope Hall.

Their party emerged from the tree line, and a wide, flat stretch of winter-brown field opened up before them. Ahead lay the low walls of yellow brick, and the great winged ducal estate of the same material: the seat of the Drakes of Drakewell, duke-less for now. The horses were tired, but their ears pricked, and their strides lengthened now that home was in sight. The low sunlight glinted off the armor Shadow wore down the crest of his neck, and on the fastenings of his chest plate where they crossed at his withers. Taller than either Malcolm or Thomas’s mounts, the big stallion tugged at the reins, eager, outpacing them, and, with a grin, Amelia let him have his head. She leaned low, wind streaming tears back from her eyes, and he was in a full gallop by the time they reached the gates. The guards on duty snapped a quick salute, and she steered Shadow up the wide, curving drive that led back toward the stables, her men thundering along behind.

Shadow knew their routine: he slowed of his own volition as they reached their destination, pirouetting neatly to a halt before the stable doors; the grooms were already coming out to take everyone’s reins. All but Shadow’s. Amelia dismounted and pulled his reins over his head, led him into the barn herself. He’d bitten one of the new stable lads last week, and she wasn’t eager for a repeat.

The usual chaos of arrival ensued. Dismounting, handing over horses. Stripping off gloves, and hats, gladly accepting waterskins and wetting dry throats.

Amelia had always been glad of the routine of caring for her own horse. It gave her time to decompress and compose her thoughts after a ride; and it was important bonding time besides.

She led Shadow to his stall, stripped off his armor, untacked him, and rubbed him down with burlap; brushed the sweat stains from his coat, threaded a chain through his noseband and took him for a walk in one of the back paddocks. That was where a runner found her, a folded parchment envelope in one hand.

“Message for you, my lady.”

“Newly arrived?”

“Just before you returned. One addressed to you and one for your lady mother.”

“Thank you.” When she accepted it, he didn’t run off straight away, but hesitated, scuffing a toe through the dirt. “My mother is angry that I’m late for supper,” she guessed.

He winced. “She…wishes you to come inside. As soon as possible.”

Amelia grinned. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”

He nodded and ran off.

And Amelia let Shadow stretch down to crop at the half-dead grass while she broke the seal and unfolded her letter. Tessa’s elegant script greeted her:

Dearest Sister,

I write to you now with a heavy heart – because, in part, I know that I should have written to you before now, and because I feel that, after what I tell you, you’ll think I’m only using you as an outlet for fear and grief. King Erik’s younger nephew, Prince Rune, lies now in a sickbed, fighting for his very life. He was attacked the night of the Yuletide Feast, and has not awakened since. The perpetratorwas punishedwasexecutedby the king, but that will not heal Rune. I pray for his health and wellbeing, and hope that you and Mother might extend your prayers as well.

Prior to this tragedy, things were going quite well here in Aeretoll. We have settled in comfortably, and the royal family and their retainers have been most welcoming and kind. As for the king…I have told Mother this in the letter that I penned to her as well, though I fear she will not understand. (Don’t tell her I said this. I love her dearly, but you know how she is: duty above all else.) King Erik will not wed me, as Mother had hoped. I must admit that I felt slighted, at first, and feared that some part of me offered offense. But it isn’t like that at all. King Erik is in fact a very kind-hearted and fair-minded man, beneath his chilly exterior. I’ve had the privilege of seeing this firsthand, and, in fact, must tell you that I have watched with my own eyes as he fell quite madly in love with our dear cousin.

“No,” Amelia said, shocked,delighted– she could feel the smile stretching her face. “Ollie, youfox.”

She read on, leaning on the fence and letting out a bit of Shadow’s lead.

It appears that Erik is to take Oliver as his royal consort, and is taking him with him to the Wastes for the annual Midwinter Festival, so that he may be introduced to the Northern lords and clan leaders that live beyond Aeretoll’s borders. A dangerous trek to be sure, with natural and human obstacles that lie in wait. I’m worried for Oliver, but he wants to prove that Erik choosing him as consort is not a sign that Aeretoll is showing a favoritism toward the South over the North.

Which brings me to another problem: Northern politics are complex. From what Oliver tells me, Erik has been met with resistance from his own lords. There is suspicion of the South here, and an unwillingness to enter what they see as a foreign war. I wish I could offer better news, but all I can say now is that King Erik has offered me his nephew’s hand – that of Rune’s older brother Leif – and said that Leif shall marry me and become the Duke of Drakewell.

I know you won’t like hearing this, Lia,–

“No shit,” Amelia muttered.

–and I do agree that you should inherit as duchess outright. But I can promise that Leif is a kind, gentle, generous man, and that he feels a deep sense of responsibility. He will lead Drakewell honorably, I know.

“What’s that?” a familiar voice asked.

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