Dying, it seemed, was a rather slow process. At least, that’s what he thought at the time. The dark-haired boy had plenty of time to think as he lay among the shattered remnants of the city once known as Cene. Plenty of time to sort through his memories. But some of the things he was remembering weren’t his own memories at all.

He could clearly remember – as he swam in and out of consciousness, the wound in his chest throbbing – his sister, being taken away while he lay injured and helpless. He could remember the fierce fighting that had gone on for endless hours, all so senseless now. And for what? What did he have to show for leading this foolish revolution?

Nothing.

His country was in ruins, his family was gone, and he was dying alone, possibly going insane. A confusion of images rushed through his mind, even though they didn’t belong there. His visions had never been so vivid. The things he saw now seemed solid. Objects, people, Angels, and buildings long dead and destroyed moved around him.

He coughed, and the strong, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Darkness danced eagerly at the edge of his field of vision, and still the images came, of a war more violent than this and far lost in the dim reaches of history. But why? Why didn’t he just die?

I don’t want to die alone, some part of his mind wailed. He would have wept then, had he any strength left for weeping.

Perhaps the wound wasn’t as bad as he had initially thought if he lived still. With great effort, he reached up to touch his chest. But the blood flowing steadily between his fingers and the soft flesh quivering with each faint beat of his heart dispelled that hopeful thought. The wound was mortal.

His other hand reached up to pull away the first that was now probing the wound with a morbid curiosity all its own. His fingers brushed lightly against the black stone set in his gauntlet and the visions flooded into his mind with renewed strength.

He pulled his hand away and coughed up more blood. Then he blinked and once again struggled for clarity, refusing to go into oblivion without his own mind.

And it happened. His jumbled vision stopped, replaced by just one image that stamped out everything.

Soft white wings unfurled above him; feathers cascaded down to brush gently across his face. A familiar face stared down at him with concern and he smiled, certain now that his mind was playing tricks on him and suddenly not caring if it were.

If this was the end, he would welcome it.

He reached up wonderingly and touched the angel’s cheek. She felt very solid, her skin smooth and warm against his palm. She turned her face into his hand and murmured something he could not understand. He smiled again, and then closed his eyes with a deep, contented sigh.

Chrysalis sat up in bed, breathing hard. Her thick black hair fell over her violet eyes. She looked around the dark bedchamber with sweat standing out on her forehead and tried to remember who and where she was.

A dream. It had been a dream, one that was slowly beginning to fade. She put a hand to her forehead and tried to slow her breathing.

She was sure it had been a dream...and yet...it had felt so much like a memory.

It was all so strange.

She sat there in silence for a long time, lost deep in thought, straining to hold on to the fragments of the illusion and trying to catch the remaining tatters. Then she stopped.

It had been a memory – but not her own. It had belonged to her brother, she was sure of it. She remembered that night as if it were yesterday. But in her dream, she had seen things as only he could have seen them – and that was impossible. Her brother had been dead for two hundred years. He had died that night, before they could even see each other again.

The Queen mustn’t know, she thought suddenly. She must never know about my dream, even if it doesn’t mean anything.

But that was a lie she told herself. She knew the dream had come to her for a reason. It wasn’t clear to her yet, but she knew she would eventually find out.

Kremnos was livid. He had been gone from Kalborne for only a week, and just when he returned, a problem immediately presented itself. He cut through the Priestesses’ confused chatter with a loud roar. “She is what?”

The five women standing before the tall blonde man jumped nervously. They were standing inside the Goddess Kellan’s main temple, deep in the forest of Kalborne, with their backs to the altar as they faced him and his men.

“My Lord, as we have already said,” one of the women began with a forced calm, “the High Priestess has disappeared.” She glanced anxiously at the small group of knights behind their agitated young leader. “Last night, she went to her chambers a bit earlier than usual and when she did not come out this morning at the time she usually does, I went in and...She just wasn’t there.”

He grit his teeth and barked at his knights. “Search the place. Find her!”

“Yes, my Lord,” his second-in-command said promptly before leading the others out.

Kremnos shook his head. “I can’t believe this! I thought we’d left this bad habit of hers behind us decades ago. She’s not a child anymore! What could she be thinking?”

“Lord Kremnos,” one of the priestesses said diffidently.

“What?”

“Are you not her High Priestess’ appointed guardian? Are you not bound to her?”

Kremnos shook his head in frustration. “I can’t feel her. Something’s getting in the way.”

An old priestess, her hair completely white and her once beautiful face wrinkled, frowned. “Another Binding Spell, perhaps?”

“Well, yes. It’s possible,” Kremnos reluctantly conceded. “But it’s highly unlikely. After all, whom else could she be bound to? And so strongly?”

The priestesses exchanged glances.

Kremnos’ frown deepened into a scowl. “What?” he asked again.

There was some whispering going on in the back of the cluster of women.

“What is it?” he asked exasperatedly.

A mousy-looking novice spoke up. “Perhaps...another man?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We found several muddy boot prints in her room, Lord Kremnos. One set was much too large to belong to a woman.”

“Abduction!” Kremnos thundered.

“Without any sign of struggle?” the old priestess countered. “And she even managed to pack some of her clothes and belongings.”

Kremnos stared at her, dumbfounded. “Caline! You can’t think she left willingly!”

“There’s no question about what she has done,” she sniffed. “I knew it. The last High Priestess made a mistake in appointing her as successor. Her behaviour is most disgraceful. Once she is found and her excuses judged insufficient, she will surely be expelled.”

Kremnos glared at her. “She must have had her reasons. Daimira is not that kind of person.”

“And you also think she is too loyal and faithful to betray you,” came the disdainful reply.

Kremnos ground his teeth together. “The old High Priestess appointed me as her protector. I will find her and bring her back. You have my word.”

“And in the meantime we must function as best we can without a leader? With Kalcene troops dangerously close to our borders and the Malcor's summoned beasts once again menacing the forest?”

“There are other priestesses and other knights.”

Caline stared pointedly at him. “You have a responsibility to this country, Lord Kremnos.”

“I also have a duty, one that only I can perform. When I find her, the Binding Spell will be made complete. This will not happen again.”

“Why waste time and effort locating her? The Guard is needed elsewhere, Kremnos. Daimira isn’t the only citizen of Kalborne,” she reminded him.

Kremnos’ eyes flashed. “She is still the High Priestess, Caline. But if she isn’t important enough– ” his mouth twisted sardonically “ –I’ll go look for her by myself. If you haven’t noticed, now is not exactly the time for traipsing across the countryside unprotected.”

Caline bowed wordlessly and everyone imitated her. “As you wish,” she said mildly. When they straightened, Kremnos and his retainers had departed. She sighed. “Ah, well, High Priestess. We tried. I’m sorry.”