Raven's Hand Read Free Page A

conscious. His
stare penetrated my very being. The room seemed to be getting
hotter, but I didn’t mind. It was as though lightning passed
between us across the room. Every step closer caused my heart to
race faster.
    Suddenly, he was upon me, taking my hands in
his to kiss each one delicately. A tingling raced along my skin. He
pulled me to him as a new dance began. The nearness of him, the
smell, the warmth of his touch—I felt faint one moment and more
alert than ever the next. Being with him felt like coming
alive.
    We had not said a single word. Yet, it was as
though words might spoil our moment. What could we say that would
make this more than what it already was? How could this feeling
have grown any stronger?
    The music played on, but the other dancers
paused to watch us together. They whispered and nodded to
themselves, approving of our match. They longed to know the desire
for one another that we experienced. But how could they ever attain
to it?
    Our bodies glided in perfect harmony,
accentuating each other’s every movement. We were complete
together, but nothing apart. The most heinous act would have been
to sever the ties that bound us at that moment.
    We lifted above the others now, as though
gravity no longer had dominion. Our dance continued, even though
the floor had fallen away beneath us. The stars illuminated us. The
wind carried us like feathers on a breeze.
    When I looked into his eyes, I knew I was
complete. I was his and he was mine. It could never be any other
way.
    Then a bell tolled.
    The heavens began to evaporate like steam in
the air. We came back to the world. The music became a dissonant
minor version of itself. As the bell tolled again, the ballroom
walls cracked. The structure crumbled around us.
    He was pulled away from me by the crowd of
people trying to escape the end of our dream world. He fought to
hang on to me, but we were powerless to stop the tide. I called to
him, knowing he would be taken from me as he had been so many times
before. I remembered Celia’s admonition.
    I had never done so before, but I cried out
to him. “What is your name?”
    I heard his voice. It was like honey in my
ears. He was not fearful of our separation, but confident because
he knew we would be together again in due time.
    The name hung between us, connecting us like
a chain even when the fantasy became dust on the wind. I woke in my
bedchamber still covered with the crimson duvet on my bed. I woke
on my own. Celia had not come yet.
    In a moment of muddled uncertainty, I checked
my surroundings, wanting to be sure Mistress Evelyn had not
returned to find me sleeping after her punishment. There was no one
else in the room. Only the fire burning in the grate made any sound
at all.
    I remembered my dream and smiled. I had done
what Celia bid me to do. For the first time, I had spoken to him. I
asked him his name and he gave it to me. I had no idea what to make
of the experience, but I would hold to that name like a treasure in
my heart.
    I closed my eyes and spoke it in a whisper.
“Killian.”
     
     
     

Farewell to Arms
     
    Using a burin with precision and care, the
bladesmith etched a final rune into the blade. He lifted the tool
from the steel, blowing away filaments of metal. He smiled. His
work on this weapon was now complete, although a final step
remained before it could be presented to His Highness, Lord
Rainier.
    The bladesmith was tall and broad-shouldered;
a strong man and middle-aged with a full head of dark hair showing
only a little gray. His fingers worked nimbly with the tools of his
trade. He laid the graver on his work table, feeling very satisfied
with the finished product.
    The king had commissioned this pattern-welded
blade six months ago, desiring that it be ready one week from now;
in time for his eldest son’s coronation. The high prince would
succeed his father, due to the king’s failing health. A strong
ruler was required to sit upon the throne; especially during