Free Blood Seed: Coin of Rulve Book One by Veronica Dale Page A

was engulfed in red and yellow flames, and was surrounded by short, boar-men with bows and arrows. Above this were blue wavy lines meant to be a river, and then big wooden gates of a fortress built into a cliff. Dark green ivy climbed all over the walls, but on top of the cliff grew rows and rows of strange plants that bristled with prickly leaves and stems. Their flowers were evil-looking—purple and hairy and far too big—and spiders crouched among them. At the top of the page stood a crowned man, and people knelt before him. Sheft looked closely at the man’s face, and a chill ran down his arms.
    He had no eyes.
    A shadow fell over the book. Sheft looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway.
    “Uh,” Etane said quickly, “ he took the book down. I never touched it!”
    “But first I wiped my hands!”
    His mother sat down across from them and, to his relief, Sheft saw she was his real mother, and not angry. “Some of these stories are not for children to read,” she said. “They’re written in Widjar and tell about another place and a tragic time.”
    Etane told her about the magic words that Surilla obeyed, and they turned out to be Widjar too. Seeing his mother’s good mood, Sheft asked her to read them a story, and she agreed.  Etane grinned, his eyes shining with expectancy, and the two boys gathered close around Riah.
    And so he heard the story of Remeld of the Dark Hand, and it filled his head and heart. The tale was laid out before him, about a knight with golden hair, brother to the king. The king’s new wife had been abducted by Dol the Sorcerer and imprisoned in his tunnels, and Remeld rode to her aid. After many hardships, he led her out, leaving behind in trade his own right hand.
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    Now, years later and on his way to Moro’s house with Mariat’s carved bee under his arm, he found it strange that the memory of a story heard so long ago could still stir something in his spirikai. 
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    Sheft had been gone for some time before Riah managed to gather up the energy to start dinner. They rarely had guests for dinner, so different from how it had been when she was growing up. She missed eating in the community dining room, the passionate conversations, the feeling of unity that arose when people endured hardships together. They’d all been immersed in a cause that gave their lives meaning, and she’d never felt alone. Except for that one terrible time when… She shook her head to rid herself of the memory.
    Adding a small handful of salt, she stirred the pot. The pink pieces of rabbit meat were just starting to turn grey and bits of thyme and chopped onions swirled around the wooden spoon. The water came to a boil and she pushed the iron cook-arm to the edge of the fire to reduce it to a simmer.
    “Riah! Come forth.”
    She froze. The words resounded in her head as clearly as if they had been spoken aloud: Kyra, the thought-language of the falconforms. Tossing the spoon onto the table, she ran into the vegetable garden. The giant creature landed in a whirlwind of feathers and wings. It towered over her, and the tip of its dagger-sharp beak, with a frown built into its base, hovered an arm’s length above her head.
    Breathless, she tilted her head back and met the fierce, golden gaze. “Where is Drapak?” she cried. “And who are you?”
    “I am Yarahe, son of king Drapak.”
    “For twelve years I’ve looked for him! How could your people abandon me?”
    “Enmity sprung up between our people and yours. I would have come, but my father forbade me to leave Shunder. Now one of our eyries has been grievously attacked, and an alliance has been made between us against the Spider-king.”
    “What of my son?” she cried. “What of my mother?”
    The wind ruffled the white feathers above the falconform’s hooded, far-seeing eyes. “Se Mena grieves for you, and for both her grandsons.”
    “‘Both?’” A lump formed in her chest. “What do you mean? Teller