She searched for Radimar throughout the palace grounds to no avail. He might as well have been a ghost. Her father had also vanished, and Jahna didn’t find him until the torches had been lit and the crowds packed every nook and cranny of the palace and its grounds in preparation for the Firehound spectacle and the closing of the Delyalda festival.
Uhlfrida stood on one of the upper loggias among a gathering of other nobles. Jahna raced into the palace and up a flight of stairs to reach him, ignoring the gasps that followed her from visitors who hadn’t met or seen her before. Her father’s wide-eyed surprise when she yanked him around to face her might have been laughable if she wasn’t desperate.
“Jahna!” His hearty smile welcomed her, but there was a sadness in his eyes that made her stomach roil with dread. “Glad you’re here. You can watch the Firehound with me. Your brother is still in no shape to crawl out of his bed.”
“Where is Sir Radimar?” she said without preamble.
Her father’s voice adopted a more guarded tone. “Gone, Jahna. Back to Ilinfan. I thought he told you about the letter he received from the Brotherhood.”
Gone. The word repeated in her head, becoming a monosyllabic dirge that reached deep into her spirit to suffocate her. She stared at her father so long without replying that he frowned and pressed a hand to her arm.
“Jahna?”
“I knew about the letter and that he would be returning to Ilinfan,” she said, congratulating herself on the steadiness of her voice. “I just thought he’d wait until we all returned to Hollowfell before he left.”
He hadn’t told her goodbye. Not a word or a note or even a message delivered by another party. Nothing except the memory of his mouth on hers, his hands on her back, and the dismay in his voice when he beseeched the gods and left her in the darkness.
Uhlfrida gave her a puzzled look. “Why would he do that? He’d have to double back. Ilinfan is closer to the capital than to Hollowfell.”
Because I hoped he’d delay or change his mind. He’d done neither, and Jahna clenched her teeth to keep from sobbing.
“He didn’t tell you or Sodrin goodbye?”
“He came to me this morning and said he could wait no longer in his leavetaking if he was to have any chance of seeing the Brotherhood’s leader before he died. He asked that I deliver his farewells to you and Sodrin for him. It worked out for the best I think. The king was so impressed with Sodrin’s performance in the Exhibition yesterday that he has requested Sodrin join his royal guard.” Uhlfrida beamed, the expression dimming at Jahna’s weak smile. “Radimar also bid me to tell you he wishes you good fortune in your apprenticeship as a chronicler.”
That first sharp swell of pain had subsided, leaving behind a distant numbness. Jahna nodded. “Thank you for telling me, Father.”
Uhlfrida patted her shoulder. “Radimar was a good man and an unparalleled swordsman and teacher. Worth every coin I paid him and then some. I made sure he took with him a hefty bonus. I’m ready for home, especially since we’ll be back here in the spring to deliver Sodrin to the royal guard and you to the Archives.”
She left him to his socializing with the promise she’d be ready to leave the following day for Hollowfell. That night she watched the Firehound spectacle from the forgotten garden, alone among the brambles and scatter of silver-gilt roses.
The king’s sorcerers outdid themselves this year, fashioning spectacular creatures of smoke and flame to tell the story of how the Firehound chased the Darkness across the rim of the world, until it caught it by the hem of its cloak and tore away a remnant in its teeth. The rip exposed the sky and all the stars, the moon and the sun, which gave life to the once desolate earth.
While the Hound had defeated the Darkness, it hadn’t destroyed it completely, and every year its tenebrous power stretched over the land, attempting to enrobe the world in its cloak of cold and never-ending night. Its power reached its zenith on the last day of winter, when the day was shortest and night held its grip longest—the Darkest Midnight—before yielding to the Firehound’s triumph and the heralding of spring.
The crowds screamed their delight as the magicians told the story with dramatic flourishes of arcing fire in the shape of a colossal dog that lit the evening in a sunburst of sparks. The palace, its subordinate buildings, and the revelers stood under an invisible ward, protecting all from the danger of immolation.
When all the torches, lamps and candles were snuffed and the palace plunged into temporary darkness, the spectators went silent, the expectant hush a living, breathing thing as real as the Darkest Midnight itself. The silence stretched for a span of moments before the sky exploded in a blaze of light, with the monstrous Firehound at the center of numerous starbursts that mimicked the sun and celebrated the triumph of life over eternal night.
In the garden, Jahna watched it all and wept.
7
Eight years later
The Maiden undaunted, Year 3848
Jahna read the note a palace servant just delivered and leapt from her stool with a triumphant cry. Amaris, her friend and fellow chronicler jumped, splattering ink across the parchment she had been writing on for the past hour.
“For gods’ sake, Jahna, look what you made me do!”
Jahna winced. “I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Finish up that page with notes on the side, and I’ll make a clean copy for you tonight.” She waved the missive under Amaris’s nose. “Remember when I told you Dame Stalt said the margrave of High Salure would be here for Sodrin’s wedding and was willing to sit with a chronicler to recount the galla war?” Amaris nodded. “Well, he arrived about an hour ago and wants to meet.”
Jahna did a quick, celebratory jig before grabbing a satchel into which she dropped her supplies.
“I can’t believe he’s here,” she exclaimed. “It feels like I’ve been waiting for this meeting forever!”
Amaris laughed. “I think you’re more excited about it than you are about your brother’s wedding. Then again, this is the Beladine Stallion we’re talking about. His reputation precedes him. I hear he has looks, charm, and…stamina.”
The two women laughed and Amaris wished her good luck before extracting a promise from Jahna that she’d share all the details when she returned.
Jahna raced through the palace corridors and up two flights of stairs to the floor that housed King Rodan’s most important guests. As the king’s niece, Sodrin’s future bride occupied one of the suites here, and Jahna had trekked this hallway more times than she cared to number in the past fortnight. Dame Stalt’s patience with the constant disruption of Jahna’s work as a chronicler to appease the nervous bride had worn thin, and more than once she had voiced her eagerness for the wedding to come and go so they could all get back to work. Jahna couldn’t agree with her more.