Page 2 of Blood Slumberm

When she ran headfirst into a warding spell, the impact stunned her. She leaned on her distaff for support, reeling. She had never felt such power. It repelled and comforted her.

Beautiful. Deceptive. Hesperine.

Tangling with Hespera was more dangerous than anything she had ever done.

She had known that when she came here. Was she a coward, or would she have her revenge?

She fumbled for her spindle and twisted it with a shaking hand. The whole night sky seemed to whirl around her. She stood firm against a wave of vertigo and let the eerie power flow across her arcane senses. Just when she thought she understood its nature, it transformed.

Finally, she reversed her spindle. She stood there for long moments, twirling and twirling widdershins. It seemed she would need to be immortal herself to have enough time for unraveling all the layers of spells the Hesperines had cast to guard their sleeping brother.

Then with a rustle, the roses parted, revealing the steps to the manor door. She took one cautious step forward.

And slipped through the ward, as if it welcomed her into the Hesperine’s domain.

Had she really unwoven the spell? Or had it let her in for reasons of its own?

“Do your worst, Hesperine.” Celandine marched up the steps and pushed open the front door.

She peered around the bright antechamber, testing the space with her senses. She could detect no magical traps, but also no Hesperine.

Did his slumber dampen his presence? She hoped that was the reason. If he had died before she could get any use out of him, she would be furious with him.

She padded forward. Spell lights shone from every sconce. Their brilliant glow looked more like stars than any working of mortal mages. More Hesperine magic.

She made her way across thick carpets and under high, rounded arches. With every step, she felt more alone.

No temple crones watching like hawks. No apprentices ferreting out transgressions for their own advancement. No dictates handed down from the men in the Order of Anthros, who ruled women even in their own halls of worship.

Celandine halted in her tracks and ripped off her veil. The warmth of summer reached her cheeks and dried the tears there.

Freeing her hair from its knot, she gave her head a shake and let the dark brown waves fall around her. Her distaff clattered on the floor as she tore out of her shroud and kicked off her hard, thin shoes. She stripped off every vestige of the temple until she wore nothing but her long tunica and underlinens.

She stood there panting and realized she had come to the great hall. Without her veil, she could appreciate every detail. The lavish table settings were a hundred years out of style, but this place had been a palace in its glory days. The platters were still heavy with a half-eaten feast, preserved under the wards. The chairs were pushed back, right where the guests must have left them the night of the fateful summer banquet when the curse had befallen this place.

Hurry, said the voice of revenge in her mind. But longing drew her toward the dais and the golden chair at the high table. She slid onto the throne and looked out over the grand room.

She had once ruled her own world from a seat like this.

A lute lay abandoned by the chair. Remembering when her life had been filled with dances instead of funerary rites, she ran her fingers over the strings.

Celandine winced. Long out of tune. She shook her head and left, picking up her distaff and spindle on the way to the door. Her old life was gone. She could never get it back.

But she would make sure that if she couldn’t have it, no one could. Least of all the men who had stolen it from her.

Wishing was for fools. Revenge was for survivors.

And her revenge required the Hesperine. She climbed a grand staircase to seek him in the upper levels of the manor. As she wandered along a gallery, princes of the Taurus family watched her from the portraits on the walls.

She looked into the eyes of the men who had feuded with her ancestors of the Pavo dynasty. She was fairly certain the one with the crooked nose had been disfigured by her great-great-great-grandfather’s fist. That one there with the smug expression had seduced her aunt by several greats and slaughtered the husband in a bloody duel.

Celandine might have lost her name and her title, but she was still a Pavo by blood. She made a vulgar gesture at her long-dead Taurus enemies.

At the end of the gallery, she pushed open a tall, carved door. Inside the luxurious chamber, soft spell lights shone on a massive canopy bed.

She had found him.

The reality hit her then. She had actually made it this far, and now she would face the greatest danger of all: the Hesperine himself.

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