Allysian didn't even bother to change her dusty gown. With her hair hanging in bedraggled tangles about her ears, and her dainty satin slippers ruined by the sharp stones of the road, she ran into the castle, her skirts hiked to her knees. Pelting through the broad corridors, she barely registered the fine tapestries covering the stone walls, or the smudged chalk footprints she left on the thick carpeting, as she rushed straight to her father's throneroom.
"Good heavens, girl," King Vasileios chided, with an indulgent laugh as she curtseyed before the dais supporting his gilt throne, "you look like something the cat has been playing with. Go and clean yourself up."
Fighting to catch her breath, she gasped out, "This can't wait, Father. You must intercede with Master Cormeyer. He has sent Mordigan Bryre away!"
The king frowned. "Really? That is strange. I thought the boy was his pride and joy. What on earth did the lad do now?"
"He was late for my lesson, and he had charge of the master's lute-but that was hardly enough to merit dismissal, Father!" She hurried up the steps to place an earnest hand on the padded velvet arm of his throne. "You have to do something."
"It is Master Cormeyer's decision to make, daughter," King Vasileios replied, giving her hand a gentle pat. "Now, go and change. You look like a ragamuffin."
"But, Father!"
"I will hear no more about it, Allysian." The king's brow knit once more into a frown, and the gray of his eyes darkened to steel. She could see that he was in no mood to listen to her pleas.
Allysian gave up. It was obvious that she would get no help in this matter. If she wanted to get Mordigan back in her life, she would have to accomplish it herself. "Yes, Father," she answered, her eyes downcast, and her tone meek. "I'll go and change now."
Turning on her heel, Allysian hastened through the castle to her own chambers. The broad corridors continued, lit by filigree lamps hung from golden sconces. Fine wooden tables, polished like satin, held large bowls of fragrant blossoms that were renewed daily by the garden staff. She plucked a blossom from a bowl in passing, holding it to her nose and breathing in its perfume with absent pleasure as her thoughts raced ahead of her flying feet.
She remembered a thousand fragments: memories of Mordigan that bloomed inside her head with more brilliance than the flowers lining the hallways. Like the day that she was seven and tripped over the bottom step of the throneroom dais, cutting her chin on the edge of the marble. Digan had held one sleeve to the wound to staunch the blood and wiped away her tears with the other, whispering silly doggerel until she laughed aloud. Or the time when she was nine and her kitten had climbed too high in the elm tree beside the palace gate. His face had been pale as her governess' sheets with worry as he went up the tree, but Digan had climbed right up after it and brought it safely down tucked inside his shirt. She had seen the claw marks that he tried to conceal from her. Every time she had needed protection or comfort, Digan had been there while she was a child. Well, she was no longer a child, and it was time for her to return the favor.Now that she had made her decision, she felt a tingle of excitement that brought nervous giggles bubbling to her lips. She would put things right. She would bring Mordigan home. And she would do it by herself!
Allysian is a loving girl of fifteen with a schoolgirl's crush on her childhood protector, Digan Bryre.
She sees through rose-colored glasses in the beginning of the tale, but she learns to see the reality of his faults and love the man he becomes. Headstrong and impulsive, Allysian finds herself in dire straits when she follows her heart, but love will prevail....
