Beyond The Shadows Read Free Page A

woman’s hand.
    “My name’s Vi,” the note said, “I’m the wetboy who killed Jarl and kidnapped Uly. Kylar left you to save Logan and kill the
     Godking. The man you love saved Cenaria. I hope you’re proud of him. If you go to Cenaria, I’ve given Momma K access to my
     accounts for you. Take whatever you want. Otherwise, Uly will be at the Chantry, as will I, and I think Kylar will go there
     soon. There’s . . .  more, but I can’t bear to write it. I had to do something terrible so we could win. No words can erase
     what I’ve done to you. I’m so terribly sorry. I wish that I could make it right, but I can’t. When you come, you can exact
     whatever vengeance you wish, even to my life. Vi Sovari”
    The hairs on the back of Elene’s neck were standing up. What kind of a person would claim to be such an enemy and such a friend?
     Where were Elene’s wedding earrings? “There’s more”? What did that mean? Vi had done something terrible?
    The lead weight of intuition dropped into Elene’s stomach. That woman outside yesterday had been wearing an earring. It probably
     wasn’t—it surely wasn’t—
    “Oh my God,” Elene said. She ran for her horse.
    The dream was different every night. Logan stood on the platform, looking at pretty, petty Terah Graesin. She would walk over
     an army of corpses—or marry a man she despised—to seize her ambition. As it had that day, Logan’s heart failed him. His father
     had married a woman who poisoned all his happiness. Logan could not.
    As he had that day, Logan asked for her fealty, the round platform reminding him of the Hole where he’d rotted during the
     Khalidoran occupation. Terah refused. But instead of submitting himself so the armies wouldn’t be split on the eve of battle,
     in this dream Logan said, “Then I sentence you to death for treason.”
    His sword sang. Terah stumbled back, too slowly. The blade cut halfway through her neck.
    Logan caught her, and abruptly, it was another woman, another place. Jenine’s slashed throat gushed blood over her white nightgown
     and his bare chest. The Khalidorans who’d broken into their wedding chamber laughed.
    Logan thrashed and woke. He lay in darkness. It took him time to reorient himself. His Jenine was dead. Terah Graesin was
     queen. Logan had sworn fealty. Logan Gyre had given his troth, a word that meant not just his oath but his truth. So if his
     queen ordered him to stamp out the last few Khalidorans, he complied. He would always be glad to kill Khalidorans.
    Sitting up in the dark of the camp tent, Logan saw the captain of his bodyguards, Kaldrosa Wyn. During the occupation, Momma
     K’s brothels had become the safest places in the city for women. Momma K had accepted only the most beautiful and exotic.
     They had drawn the first Khalidoran blood of the war during a city-wide ambush that had come to be called the Nocta Hemata,
     the Night of Blood. Logan had honored them publicly and they had become his. Those who could fight had fought and died—and
     saved him. After the Battle of Pavvil’s Grove, Logan had dismissed the rest of the Order of the Garter except for Kaldrosa
     Wyn. Her husband was one of the ten wytch hunters, and they’d go nowhere without each other, so she’d said she might as well
     serve.
    Kaldrosa wore her garter on her left arm. Sewn from enchanted Khalidoran battle flags, it glimmered even in the darkness.
     She was, of course, pretty, with olive Sethi skin, a throaty laugh, and a hundred stories, some of which she claimed were
     even true. Her chain mail was ill-fitting, and she wore a tabard with his white gyrfalcon, its wingtips breaking a black circle.
     “It’s time,” she said.
    General Agon Brant poked his head in the tent, then entered. He still needed two canes to walk. “The scouts have returned.
     Our elite Khalidorans think they’re setting an ambush. If we come from the north, south, or west, we have to go through dense
     forest. The only way