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From Chapter One

A FIRST KISS was supposed to be special. Memorable. As Tomas pulled away from Amalia, her eyes opened with confusion.

Is that it?

Her silver-gray eyes filled with disappointment.

Was that what she'd been waiting for all of her life?

The taste of onion was on his tongue, and the coarse feel of chapped lips didn't help the experience.

He gave her a grin—a gap-toothed one she had hoped she'd grow to appreciate, maybe even love one day.

Amalia couldn't afford to be picky. Though Tomas wasn't the most handsome, or even the smartest lad in the village, he had proclaimed his love for her. He knew a trade and was kind.

She licked her lips and forced a tight smile.

He'd have to do.

It was a fact that not many would even consider marrying a Mage. Especially one like Amalia—one marked by the gods. Not when Mages were being hunted down by Wolves, or even worse, the Brotherhood.

Skal was neutral territory. But, invisible borders meant nothing when the people within them held the same prejudice as those outside.

“So,” he said, his cheeks reddening. “What do you think?

“It was lovely,” she lied, blinking.

The look of relief on his face was reassuring. Within a month's time, Amalia would be fifteen and of age. She'd be Tomas' wife.

“Good,” he said. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for this moment. Seems like all of my life. For as long as I could remember. At night, all I can think of are the way your eyes remind me of the night sky, and how I’d give anything to look into your eyes every day until the day I die.”

Her smile turned genuine. She should set aside her selfish vanity and desire for a handsome boy, one who would make her heart sing. The time for silly childish ideas about what life would hold was coming to an end. It was time for her to accept her fate and prepare for a simple life with a simple man.

“I had no idea,” she said, reaching out for his hand.

“Of course, you didn’t. You barely looked at me until our parents made the arrangement.”

She ran her fingers through the tangles of her hair. Somehow the long, black strands always seemed to knot around one another. “That’s not true. You are a very nice young man. Any girl would be happy to have you.”

“That’s nice of you to say. But, I know I’m not a knight or a raider or anything special like that.”

“It is the truth. I can’t think of anyone kinder than you in the village,” she said and glanced at the paling sky. The smell of rain was faint in the air, but the clouds were darkening by the minute. “Perhaps we should return to the village. It looks like a storm is coming this way.”

He followed her gaze, combing his long dark hair from his mahogany-colored eyes. “I think you're right.” He reached for her hand. She accepted and he pulled her to her feet.

She brushed grass from her faded blue gown and gray smock and stretched her arms above her head. By the bubbling brook at the foot of the Weeping Mountain, they had feasted on ripe mango and warm honey bread her mother had prepared for their first excursion alone as intended mates.

Tonight, there would be a feast. Their families would dine together and their fathers would discuss matters of joining their resources.

It was the way of the Skal.

A way Amalia wished she could forever be free of.

Together, they gathered their blanket and basket, and the scent of burning wood wafted their way.

Her brows furrowed as she stood to her full height—almost as tall as Tomas.

“What’s wrong?”

She sniffed the air. “Do you smell something?”

“I do, actually,” he said, frowning. “What is that? Is something burning?”

The air smelled of charcoal and sulfur. Realization washed over Amalia and her face drained of color. She knew that smell.

Her heart sank and she dropped the basket and turned to run toward the village. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a bad dream.

“What is it?” Tomas asked as he ran after her.

“Dragons!”