Determined to take control of their fates, Arjen and Arien escape Derolina Castle at the age of sixteen after their cruel mother dies. They adopt new names and find a home in the city of Aramore, while the Emperor of Yuriana searches for his missing...
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Rurahel stood before him in the murky darkness. Her grin stretched to show rows of white teeth against crimson lips. She seemed a caricature of herself as she loomed over him, her red eyes growing larger and her mouth widening like a shark's. She reached out for his neck with long nails and cackled.
"You're just trash!" she said. "You're nothing but a bastard child!"
Arjen froze with fear as her cold fingers wrapped around his throat. He clutched something in his right hand and glanced down to find a sword with a jeweled pommel. It emitted a faint glow and warmed his hand. A strange emotion rose up in his chest as he watched it, and the sword began to pulse in tandem with his heartbeat.
He slapped away Rurahel's hands, raised the sword, and brought it squarely down on her head. The blade sliced down through her abdomen, but despite the wound and the blood that poured over her dress, she continued to grin at him like a madwoman.
"Stupid boy!" she bellowed. "Did you really think you could do anything to me?" She began to laugh, blood gushing from the cut to pool at their feet, hot and sticky like tar. It rose up and oozed over Arjen's legs and up his waist until it clung to his shoulders and wrapped around his arms. As he tried to pull the sword from Rurahel's flesh, she laughed at him, her eyes mocking.
"I made you. Don't you ever forget that!"
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He opened his eyes and gasped for air. He ran a hand over his sweaty face while little waves of shock coursed through his body. Sitting up, he looked around the dim room and let his mind slowly clear. A candle burned low on the table beside him. Arien slept in the bed next to his, her chest rising and falling in deep sleep.
Just a dream. They were at an inn on their way to Aramore, not at Derolina. Rurahel was dead, and had been for three days. She could not hurt them from the grave. Or so he thought.
Arjen combed fingers through his hair and tried to gather his courage. His heart raced as he remembered the dream. She's dead but she'll haunt us forever. Will we ever truly be free? He could still feel the impression of the sword in his hand. There had been something familiar about it, but he didn't know why. He had never held a sword before. Did it mean something?
It was just a nightmare. Nothing more. Dreams don't mean anything.
Someone knocked at the door. He jumped, his heart slamming against his ribs. When the knock came again, he took the dagger from under his pillow and crept out of bed.
'Arien, wake up.' He used telepathy so the person outside wouldn't hear. When Arien didn't stir, he nudged her. 'Wake up!'
