close and to lose so much—first her husband, and then her child, her health, and any chance to change fate.
Under the sapphire sky of his prison, Tynan Tierney sat on a desert floor, his hands cupping the scarlet sand. Head bowed, he was intent on his task, mumbling the numbers to himself—counting, counting, counting. Suddenly, he stopped, raised his head, and smiled. Somewhere , a queen was weeping—and soon, all of Cai Terenmare would be his.
The queen sat by the reflecting pool for hours. She cradled her withered arm and sobbed, too devastated and overwhelmed to move. Eventually she fell silent and gazed with her remaining good eye into the black nothingness of the water. She stared at the reflection of her face, which had been twisted into the mask of something ancient and terrible. The moon set in the west and the night grew dark, too dark even to see her ruined reflection. She had no sense of time passing. She was numb from the cold, her mind drifting in a fog of hopelessness.
Somewhere in the stillness of the night, she heard a small, insignificant chirp. A little frog had crept to her side, unnoticed until it began croaking softly. The creature was miniscule, small as a coin, with velvety, smooth skin the rich emerald color of forest moss and wide black pupils set in circles of gold. How strange , thought Eulalia, that this creature would be here, resistant to winter’s sleep.
The tiny frog blinked intelligently at the queen, and then shuddered, as if from the cold. Its amphibian form fell from it, vanishing like fading ash, and standing in front of the queen was a small, green faery with webbed fingers and toes.
“I am Fergal the Valorous,” he croaked, bowing formally. “I hope Your Majesty will not be angry with me, but the knight Cael asked me to follow you, in case you might need my assistance. He was worried when you did not return, my queen.”
Eulalia had wept so much, she thought she had run out of tears, but somehow the presence of this brave sentry brought forth new tears. “My dear friend,” she said, “I am not at all angry with you.”
Fergal nodded, silent and waiting.
A chance for hope, however slight, was better than none at all. Composing herself, the queen wiped her face on the sleeve of her good arm. “You found the portal? You were able to make it through the tiny opening?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Fergal replied. “And I am prepared to return for help.”
“Thank you, loyal and courageous one. My fate now rests with you. You must tell Cael what has happened here. He must leave the kingdom in the hands of the council and make haste to the Northern Oracle to find the Sign of the Throne. When he finds it, you must bring it to me. Only then can the portal be restored. I will walk with him in his journey, if only in his dreams.”
Fergal nodded, and resumed his amphibian form. With the slightest of splashes, he vanished.
ORDINARY
Twenty-Two Years Later
T here was nothing remarkable about eighteen-year-old Abigail Brown’s life. She came from an average, middle-class household and lived in a modest three-bedroom home with her father, Frank, an accountant, her mother, Bethany, a middle-school teacher, and her ten-year-old brother, Matthew, who was a pain in the butt more often than not, but only because he looked up to his older sister and liked to mess with her things. Even her last name was ordinary. What kind of name is “Brown”? she thought. Average. Boring. That’s what kind.
Neither skinny nor heavy, Abby was simply a teenage girl of average height and average build, with light brown hair that fell in soft curls just past her shoulders. Her most striking feature was her bright blue eyes; they might have caught more attention had she not been such a wallflower.
It wasn’t that people didn’t like Abby, but she was introverted and had only a few friends she considered close. She could pass as pretty,