Free Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series by E.M. Sinclair

fatal,
accidents soon after Mellia’s birth.
    Mellia’s father had
been an insipid but very wealthy banker, but he had not survived to
learn of his daughter’s birth. Kerris’s father was not known for
sure: Jemin told Shea bluntly there were half a dozen possible
candidates for that honour.
    ‘And me?’ Shea asked,
her voice as steady as she could make it.
    ‘Your father was a
member of a delegation sent by the wild clans to Kelshan for
parley. As far as is known, he still lives.’
    ‘What is his
name?’
    ‘His name is Cawlin and
he is of the Weasel Clan.’
    She had never heard of
the Weasel Clan. Indeed, she’d not known the clans had separate
names, but she determined instantly to discover all she could of
the northern people, those of the Weasel Clan in
particular.
    Parts of this she
related to Grent. He opened his mouth to say something but the
sound of the outer door stopped him. The Palace-Keeper appeared in
the sitting room.
    ‘I will take you to the
First Daughter’s chambers if you’re ready?’
    Gossamer joined them
and Jenniah led them along a corridor on the same floor as their
rooms for some distance. When they reached the foot of a broad
staircase she halted. She gestured up the first curving flight of
black steps to where a solitary guard waited.
    ‘On you go. Don’t
worry, the First Daughter is such a dear. You have no need to fear
her.’
    Gossamer said nothing.
A dear? The ruler of the Dark Realm a dear? She feared she was
beginning to miss Drengle List’s conversation. They climbed four
flights of the curving staircase, a single guard at each landing,
until they reached a huge, double-leafed door. Grent stared at it
as they approached. He was sure it was wood, a pearly grey such as
he’d never seen, but carved with an overlapping scale pattern. Two
guards stood in front of this door, their swords drawn, resting
point down between their boots. When Gossamer, Shea and Grent came
closer, the guards raised their swords, holding the blades upright
before their faces in salute.
    The doors were opened
from within and Corman stood to one side, gesturing them in. He
took them along a passage as wide and high as the great door, until
it opened into a large room. At the far end a hearth held a blazing
fire, they could feel the heat from where they stood. There were
several people in the room, some of whom they’d not yet met, but
Waxin Pule and Nenat were there with a woman in the brown robe of a
healer. The Librarian Chindar leaned over the back of a chair
talking to Seola. But the three new arrivals had seen the slender
figure of the woman in a great carved chair drawn close to the
fire. The woman was talking to Jemin and another man but now turned
to smile at Grent, Gossamer and Shea.
    ‘Come closer, my
friends,’ she called, and apologised for the heat as they drew
nearer. ‘I feel the cold quite dreadfully but if you sit across
from me, that screen will protect you from the worst.’
    They saw a bench
opposite the great throne, a screen shielding it from the ferocity
of the hearth fire. Once seated all three stared at the woman who
inspired such mystery and terror among the people of Kelshan. She
wore a black dress, a shawl around her shoulders, and rings on
every finger of each hand. Those hands, long and slim, rested on
the chair arms and the rings, each bearing a large stone of a
different colour, sparked and flashed in the firelight. Gossamer
studied the woman closely. She was incredibly old but unmistakeably
alive. And while Gossamer had the impression of an unbelievably
vast age the woman’s face and body suggested she was still healthy,
still fit.
    ‘I am Lerran, First
Daughter of Dark.’ Golden eyes, like Corman’s but far more
brilliant, studied her guests in turn.
    Lerran rose to her feet
and instinctively, Gossamer, Shea and Grent also rose in respect.
Lerran was tall and the dress she wore seemed to move around her
although no air stirred it. It was of a fine material, as