Her father lay dying.

Rosalyn sat by his bed, watching him breathe. He had always been so strong. She remembered him leading the men of Valayn into battle, remembered him sitting upon his throne and rendering his judgments. Even after her mother had died, Duke Ambrose of Valayn had never wavered, never broken.

Now his skin had turned the color of his gray hair. Sweat glistened on his forehead and chest. His breath hissed and rasped, and his veins were turning black. His eyes trembled behind closed lids, and Rosalyn wondered what horrors haunted his dreams.

She should weep, she knew. But she could not. She felt no grief, no sorrow.

Only rage.

He must have been poisoned. There was no other explanation. One moment he had been strong as ever, making plans with her husband for the coming war. The Knight of Sorrows had slain the dark wizard Marushan, but six of the murderous sorcerer’s acolytes had survived. They had fled to the north and raised the black banners of the Shadow Order, gathering tribes of Malrags and Defiled Ones into a mighty host.

“War is coming,” her father had told her husband, “whether we will it or not. We must call a Great Council of all the princes and lords of the Silurian Isles, elect a Lord Captain to lead us against the Dark Acolytes. We must stand united against them, else they shall devour us…devour us one by one…”

And then he had groaned and toppled to the floor, his crimson cloak pooling about him like blood.

Rosalyn stared at her father’s trembling face. She had taken up the magical sword of the Knight of Sorrows, a secret she had kept from everyone, even her husband. The Knight’s mantle had given her the power to defeat Marushan, the power to destroy creatures of dark magic. The magic waited within her even now, lying upon her mind like a hot coal, waiting for her to summon it.

But the Knight’s magic had not given her the power to heal her father.

She swore that no matter how long it took, she would find whoever had poisoned him.

“My lady?”

Rosalyn looked up. One of her husband’s bondsmen stood in the doorway. “Prince Calwyn bids you to join him.”

“My father lies dying,” said Rosalyn. “Leave me.”

“My lady,” said the bondsman, “Diarmid has discerned the poison used on Duke Ambrose…”

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