CHAPTER 1

Tomasella Icassian looked upon her cousin Rhian's birthday almost as if it were a vacation day. His own mama, Queen Maevelene, had the care of him this once, relieving Tomasella of her nanny duties for the afternoon. Tomasella questioned if this excess of mothering was an altogether altruistic act of Maevelene's. She had a sneaking suspicion the queen was on the look-out for a consort now that a year had passed since King Jaynor's assassination and wanted to impress the candidates with her devotion to her son.

One had to give the queen credit though, Tomasella decided. At least her Aunt Maevelene was trying to find a consort who would get along well with Prince Rhian, king-to-be of the Inner Islands.

Tomasella stayed far enough away from the main party so she wouldn't get drafted into the social affairs of the mighty. She stood watching the crowd from the shade of a droopy, old willow tree while a hot September sun beat down on everyone else. Much to her amusement, the court ladies and the invited guests had decked themselves out in their finest clothing for the occasion. In most cases this meant heavy silken brocades, although one or two wore velvet surcoats and she even saw a shiny satin ball gown. The women twirled tiny parasols over their heads in the vain hope this would create a bit of breeze, while at the same time keep the sun from roasting their brains. Gentlemen walked about in formal black suits, sweating like horses.

All this posturing for a little boy's outdoor birthday party. The sight was enough to make Tomasella laugh out loud.

The queen seemed to be the only one present, other than herself, who was garbed in appropriate attire for the occasion. Maevelene wore a simple, lightweight summer gown made of cotton so finely spun the sheen resembled that of gold-colored silk. The hue went well with her golden hair.

Tomasella's own dress, although not as fine as Maevelene's, was also light in weight; her surcoat not much more than a whisper of turquoise-colored netting over the peacock blue undergown. Slits up the side allowed her to walk as fast as was proper for a lady. They also let a little air circulate around her legs.

In Tomasella's opinion this whole birthday affair was ludicrous, especially since the party was missing any children other than Rhian. There didn't appear to be the slightest indication that the guests, in particular the guest of honor, were having fun.

Queen Maevelene wasn't having any fun either, and Tomasella knew why. Lord Rickard, the queen's prime candidate for a consort, had yet to arrive. Maevelene was probably thinking she'd been stood up, while the guests were growing impatient waiting for their single piece of cake and cup of punch. Everyone milled about, sweating and restless.

A short time ago, Tomasella had tried to use her seer-sight to locate Lord Rickard, to see if he was on his way. She was afraid he might be lost, but for some reason, she couldn't see a thing in the beyond. Her seer-sight was as blank as a darkened mirror. Perhaps, she decided, dabbing at her moist temples with a dainty white hanky, it's too hot. She didn't let the failure worry her.

Meanwhile, aside from gulping down cup after cup of sugary punch when his mother wasn't looking, Rhian was being every inch the perfect young prince. A pyramid of brightly wrapped birthday gifts sat on the table next to him. The only real animation he showed was when someone added to the pile.

Poor tyke, Tomasella thought in commiseration. No one to play with and not a soul to talk to. How dull to be a prince, forever scrutinized and surrounded by sycophantic adults, not a one of whom understood that he was still a little boy, no matter what title they gave him.

She sighed, blew a lock of curly mahogany hair out of her eyes, and prepared to break cover. Rhian was looking desperate and miserable, and she could tell by the way he shifted constantly from one foot to the other that he must be bursting to empty his bladder. The little whelp had sneaked far too many cups of punch, and if she didn't come to his rescue, who would?

She stepped forward, and as though a cord attached her motion to a starter flag, all hell broke loose.

Without warning, just as if they appeared out of thin air, the raiders struck. The first casualty was one of the Imperial Palace Guard, caught by an arrow before he had a chance to yell. He dropped in front of Tomasella so that she tripped awkwardly over him, sprawling onto her hands and knees. The fall saved her from a second arrow, loosed just as she broke from the cover of the tree.

"Oomph," she grunted, all the air gushing from her lungs. She felt the heat of the guard's blood already soaking through her skirt onto her skin.

By now it was too late for her to cry havoc, even if she'd had the breath. What seemed to be at least a score of men poured through the gates onto the palace grounds, screaming fearsome battle cries as they rode. The surprise attack disposed of the guards' belated defense in no time. The invaders swept through the scattered resistance like a scythe through straw. Their destriers whirled, kicking and stamping with careless disregard for whatever or whomever lay in their path.

She hadn't seen them. The realization struck her dazed and disoriented mind. She'd just scanned the countryside and she hadn't seen them! Not with her seer-sight, and not with her own two eyes.

The first scream rent the hot afternoon. Terrified guests dodged for the closest cover they could find.

Copyright © 2003 by Carol Crigger