Age of War (The Legends of the First Empire #3)



Persephone knew she had to be either dead or dreaming. As she didn’t have any experience with being dead, she chalked it up as a dream. Her first clue was that Reglan was sitting next to her. They were on the raised stage in Dahl Rhen’s lodge, but in the wrong chairs. He was in the Second, while she was in the First.

“Bad times coming, Seph,” her dead husband said. He looked thoughtful. She could tell by how he sat leaning forward, his hands clasped together the way he always did—had—when something terrible happened. “Very bad times. You need to be ready, girl.”



She spotted the silver ring on his hand. “Are you mad at me?”

He looked down at the metal band, smirked, and shook his head. “Surprised you wore it that long.”

Persephone heard a roar and turned.

“Don’t look at it!” Reglan shouted.

“What is it?”

“You know what it is.”

She didn’t, but she thought she should. There was something familiar in that sound, and the feelings it generated were both powerful and contradictory: tremendous hope and unmeasurable sadness. “I don’t know. Tell me.”

“I can’t,” Reglan said. “I’m surprised I can talk to you at all. Usually, it’s only one way—I watch; I listen; I talk, but you don’t hear. You must be very close to death. The walls between the worlds can get thin then. Still, I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” He rocked back in the Second Chair and rubbed his old hands up and down on his arms. “I don’t think I ever actually sat in this chair.”

The roar again. Persephone shivered at the sound but didn’t look.

“You’re running out of time, my love. It’s coming.”

“What is?”

Reglan only smiled. “You always worked too hard. You put others before yourself. Never learned to be selfish. That’s your problem. Sometimes you have to. Sometimes if you don’t, bad things happen.”

“Like what?”

He pointed toward the sound of the roar.

“Reglan, tell me. What is that?”

“I told you, I don’t know. But you do. You don’t want to see it, but you will. And when you do, remember this: Truth lies in the eyes. The eyes are windows, and the view through those eyes will be the same.”



* * *





Persephone woke up feeling like her stomach was on fire—not so much a big bonfire as a bunch of little flames dancing all around, searing her skin. The dream had left her muddled, and it took a long moment to realize she was on her bed in Alon Rhist. Padera’s was the first face she saw, which meant Persephone had nearly died. Nothing short of that would have forced Padera to make the trip from the city to the fourth floor of the Kype.



“Welcome back, honey,” the old woman said with those familiar withered lips and squinting eyes.

“Ow,” Persephone whimpered.

“I bet.” The old woman nodded, her lips rolled up in a sort-of-smile.

“You’re awake!” Moya sounded as if Persephone had just performed a great feat. “Thank Mari, and Drome, and Ferrol!”

“Not leaving anyone out, are you?” Padera chuckled.

To her left, working at a small table that hadn’t been there before, an unfamiliar Fhrey was cleaning up bloody rags. His was the first gray hair she’d ever seen on a Fhrey. Brin was there too, scrubbing the floor near the window with a bucket and brush. They all smiled at her.

“She’s going to be fine now,” the old Fhrey said.

Persephone tried to sit up and failed. Sharp, stabbing pains ripped through her torso.

“Don’t move!” Padera scolded.

“We just got you stitched,” the Fhrey said in a far more sympathetic tone. “Don’t ruin our nice work.”

Persephone saw that the Fhrey’s hands, upper arms, and shirt were stained with blood in various stages of drying.

“How bad am I?” They had the covers pulled to her neck, and she was frightened to look down. “It cut me, didn’t it? I remember that.”

The old woman nodded. “Three deep slices opened up your belly. Muscle and skin mostly. You’re lucky.”

“Don’t feel lucky.”

“You passed out before the sewing. You were lucky.”

Persephone had never suffered any serious injury. Even as a child she’d never gotten more than a scrape or a bruise. The rest of her life had been that of a sheltered chieftain’s wife. Persephone liked to think she avoided harm because she was smarter than others, but she also had to wonder if perhaps she just hadn’t lived as fully. This was different. She was alone in her bedroom and something had come after her.



“What happened?” She looked at each of them, then found Brin. “That was your raow, wasn’t it?”

The girl nodded.

“How did it get up here?”

“We think it climbed.”

“Did it—did it get away? I don’t remember that part very well.”

“Tesh, Nyphron, and Sebek killed it. Meryl is still missing.”

Meryl? Persephone didn’t know what that meant, but let it go.

“Some good news,” Brin said with a bright if not entirely sincere smile and held up her hand. “I found Reglan’s ring. It was on the floor here.”

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