Free The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two by Gail Z. Martin Page A

“Do you know Elya? She’s one of the air mages, the pretty one with the red hair? I see her when I go up to get our meals sometimes and we talk.” He looked flustered, and Tris guessed that infatuation had helped to drive Coalan’s frequent visits to the mess area, as well as the young man’s appetite. “Anyhow, she taught me some runes for peaceful sleep, and I thought it might help. Are you angry?”
    Tris smiled. “No. That was kind of you. But you know that both Fallon and I have put our own wardings in place?”
    Coalan looked embarrassed. “I know. And believe me, I know nothing I scratch in the dirt could compete with the kind of magic the two of you have. But sometimes, when you can do big things, little things get overlooked,you know? Like you can have a guard at the tent flap and still get mice under the sides? I’m just keeping out the mice, so to speak.”
    Coalan was one of the few people who remembered how life had been before the coup, who knew him as Tris instead of as king. He and Soterius and Coalan had gone on many a hunt with their late fathers, and they shared memories of a life now forever gone. Tris recognized the friendship behind Coalan’s effort, and it was the only bright spot in an otherwise gloomy day.
    “Thank you,” Tris said. “If you can keep out those damned ‘mice,’ I’ll be very grateful.”
    Coalan rallied, grinning widely. “I’ll add ‘royal mouse catcher’ to my ever-expanding title.”
    By the time Tris finished his brandy and changed into his nightshirt, he was feeling very ready for sleep. So it was irritation, more than curiosity, that he felt when he heard voices at the tent flap as a would-be visitor met resistance from the king’s guards. Coalan jumped up to see what visitor dared bother the king so late into the night and spoke briefly with the guards and the newcomer. He returned in a few moments, visibly concerned, with Sister Beyral behind him.
    Beyral gave a nominal bow. “I wouldn’t have come at this time if it weren’t urgent, m’lord. But I’ve read both the runes and the portents and cast over and over. Always I receive the same reply. I didn’t want to believe the bones, but then I looked up and saw a ring around the moon. Tonight, a king has died.”
    Tris caught his breath, and he motioned for Beyral to enter the tent and sit down. “Do you know which kingdom?”
    “I saw the ring when the moon was in the northwest sky.”
    “Isencroft. Donelan. Sweet Mother and Childe,” Tris murmured, sinking into his chair.
    “I’m sorry, Tris,” Beyral said quietly.
    Tris looked up at her. “We have to be sure. Isencroft is too far away for me to call to Donelan’s spirit. Can you scry for me?”
    Beyral nodded and brought a wide-rimmed, shallow bowl out of the bag she carried. “I’ll need to fill it with water,” she said, and Coalan ran to fetch a bucket. Tris stood back as Beyral set the scrying bowl on the table and filled it. When the water in the bowl had stilled, Beyral gathered her magic and stretched her hands out above the water’s surface, palms down and fingers spread. Beyral closed her eyes with concentration, and Tris stood, leaning closer to watch as mist began to swirl in the still water. An image formed in the mist.
    Tris caught his breath as the image grew clearer. He saw Donelan lying in his bedchamber, covered in blood. His eyes were open and staring. The mist swirled, and the image faded.
    Tris swallowed hard, grappling with the loss. “It’s not just that I thought well of Donelan. He was a fine king. But with Donelan dead, the crown of Isencroft passes to Kiara.” He met Beyral’s eyes. “She’ll have no choice but to return to Isencroft.”
    “That thought crossed my mind. I cast the runes a second time, holding Kiara’s image in my mind. The runes seemed heavy in my hand, as if they did not want to speak. And when they did, their omen was dark. The runes spoke of chaos, and of war in the places of the