The Viking's Chosen by Quinn Loftis (2)

As a princess, the oldest of three sisters, and future queen of England, I, of course, did the mature thing when my parents told me I was to marry the King of Tara—I ran. Allete Auvray, noble-born heiress of the Britannia Empire, ran. Now, I did not run away. There would be no point in that. My father would have sent guards searching for me like crazed hounds to drag me back before I even made it to the borders of our land. I ran only as far as my familiar old oak tree—the ancient tree that had become a sanctuary to me and my cousin, Thomas, when we were children—our place of refuge. Disregarding the fact that I was clothed in one of my finer dresses, I hoisted myself up on to the lowest branch. Then, I continued, up and up, until I was sitting high enough that I could see the whole of my father’s lands spreading out before me like a giant green picnic blanket. Ours was a beautiful and bountiful kingdom for most, but it was but a gilded cage for me. The day I had dreaded had finally come, even though I had always known I would be married off to a nobleman. As the oldest, it was my duty to either marry a nobleman worthy of becoming king of England or marry another king in order to secure an alliance beneficial to our empire. Every decision for my family was about power—how to gain it and how to keep it. Throughout all the kingdoms, the ruler who held the most land and possessed the largest army was feared. As princess, what I personally wanted was nullified. It didn’t matter that I would wed someone I did not love. Nothing mattered except what my father, the king, wanted.

“Do you not think it is time you stop climbing trees to run away from your problems, cousin?” A voiced hailed me from the ground below.

I rolled my eyes. I should have known Thomas would not let me sulk in peace. We’d always been close, like siblings, but that didn’t mean he didn’t drive me to wanting to club him with a tree branch every now and then.

“I do not believe I asked for your counsel on the matter,” I yelled down at him.

“It is a good thing, then, that I do not sit idly by and leave you to your own devices. What sort of cousin would I be if I were to let you pursue your own destructive whims? Instead, like the selfless and loving relation I am, I concern myself with what is best for you. Come down, Allete. Let us talk about this like mature adults.”

“I don’t want to be a mature adult. I’d rather be a petulant child and stomp my foot until someone says, okay dear Allete, you don’t have to marry that brute of a king.”

Thomas chuckled. “How do you know he is a brute? Perhaps he is a paragon of charm and wit, not to mention dashingly handsome.”

I scoffed. “No king is dashingly handsome. They are old, bossy, and uncaring of what their wife thinks.”

“Oh really? Does King Albric treat your mother like he doesn’t care what she thinks?” he asked, challenging my retort.

Why, oh why, did he have to talk reasonably? I hated it when he used his calm, appeasing voice, and I hated it even more when he made sense. People who thought rationally when you wanted to marinate in your misery should be automatically stomped on by a large herd of boar. “No, he doesn’t most of the time,” I admitted. “But you know other kings are often that way.”

My father was somewhat of a forward thinker when it came to women and their intellect. He was wise enough to know that his own wife had such intelligence in abundance and that he would be a fool not to take advantage of it. Not to say he was completely reformed of his antiquated way of thinking, which was proven by his quest to marry me off to our most powerful ally without even batting an eye. Yet he did seem a tad distraught when telling me that, in a month’s time, I would be leaving the only home I’d ever known, travel to a land I’d never seen, and marry a man I’d never met. However, being upset by something and standing against hundreds of years of tradition to make your daughter happy are two different things.

“Besides,” Thomas yelled from below, “you should be more worried whether this brute of a king will even have you. If you showed up on my doorstep looking for holy matrimony, you’d be on the first skiff back to England. I would think your noble father must be playing some kind of joke on me. Surely, King Cathal can find plenty of grubby, tree-climbing children in his own country to marry. Do you really think he wants you?”

I growled at him. “Thomas, you shut your mouth.”

“Happily,” he said as he beamed up at me, “as soon as you come down.”

I shook my head, and then, thinking he might not be able to see me very well, I spoke up. “I will come down when my father decides not to pass his oldest daughter off like she is the prized cow.”

“You would actually be a heifer, dear Allete, since you are, I hope, still a maiden.”

“I…you…how dare you? Thomas, if you do not hold your tongue, I am going to sew your lips shut.” It was a mean thing to say—I knew it—but I could not keep the words from spilling out. I just wanted to be alone to wallow in my pity and disappointment. Was that too much to ask?

He must have read my mind, because he finally relented.

“Fine, I will leave you be—for now—but if you do not come down from there in the next hour, I will send Clay after you.”

“Don’t you dare.” I growled. Clay was the captain of the guard and the bane of my existence. Most of my life, he’d been assigned to protect me and he took his job very seriously. Not only did he prevail in his duty, but he sucked the fun out of everything until life was simply a shriveled-up husk. Thomas knew if anything would get me out of the tree, it would be the captain.

He began to whistle as he walked toward the castle, and I wanted to throw a rock at him. He knew how much I hated when he whistled— it was his way of signifying that he’d won some battle between us. This time, unfortunately, he had. I knew I would eventually have to come down to face my sentencing. Okay, so it was a marriage, not a sentencing, but it felt as though they were one in the same—like I would be walking to the gallows and the wedding was the noose to be wrapped around my neck. Perhaps I was being a tad dramatic, but better to be dramatic in private and then poised and mature in public. I wouldn’t lose my dignity over this, but I knew it was going to break something inside of me. The part of me that longed to be wild and free, to roam new lands and meet new people, would be snuffed out, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was stuck, a product of my circumstances, with no way to change my lot in life.

Later that evening, after I had finally decided to put on my big-girl bloomers, I sat in the warm water of the bathtub in my chambers. The scents of freesia and bath oils wafted on the steam around me, causing me to relax and my eyelids to droop. I didn’t want to think about what changes would come in a month’s time. I didn’t want to think about my duties or the expectations placed upon me. I just wanted to sit in peaceful silence.

“I can’t believe they’re making you marry that old king.” My youngest sister, Dayna, came storming in to my room.

“Why do the gods hate me so,” I grumbled as I reached for a towel. Usually, I would have Lidia, my handmaiden attend to me, but I’d sent her to bed, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes.

“What are you going on about?” I asked Dayna as I climbed out of the warm tub. Water dripped down my body and the air hit my wet skin, causing me to shiver. My youngest sister, who happened to be the tallest of the four of us and the most inquisitive, snatched up the towel from my hands and began drying me off. For many, the action would have been awkward, but Dayna was the type of person who always needed to be doing something. She couldn’t talk unless her hands or feet were also moving, so I moved obediently as she motioned for me to step out of the tub and then lifted my arms. Her movements were quick and efficient, and all the while she barely took a breath.

“Father is expecting you to marry the king of Tara! I mean, he’s ghastly, old, and he’s already been married three times. I mean…bloody hell,”

“Language,” I said, interrupting. Dayna waved me off, as if my pending nuptials were much more important than a loose tongue.

“Everyone says his wives died of natural causes, but how can we be sure? For all we know, he’s been strangling them in their sleep.”

“That’s a pleasant thought,” I muttered as she wrapped the towel around me and then grabbed another to begin working on my hair.

“Perhaps he’s poisoned them so their deaths appeared to be natural,” Dayna continued, as if I hadn’t said a word. “There’s something not right about it. A man, a king no less, should not have so many wives just die like that.”

“Now you are the expert on the lifespan of queens?” I teased.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why are you taking this so easily? Why aren’t you pitching a fit?”

“I didn’t take it easily.” I admitted. “Honestly, I’m a right mess, but there’s nothing I can do to change it, love. Father said I am to marry the king of Tara, so I will be marrying the king of Tara.”

Dayna groaned as she took my hand and tugged me over to the chair that sat in front of the vanity. She motioned for me to sit and then grabbed the hair brush from the counter, her fingers nimble and quick as she worked through the tangles. I’d always loved to have my hair brushed and braided. It was relaxing and could easily lull me to sleep.

After I’d endured her seemingly endless theories on how the first three wives of the king of Tara had died, Dayna let out a breath, finally resigned. “There’s no hope, is there?”

I looked at her through the mirror as she finished tying off the plait into which she’d woven my hair. “I assure you, little sister, if there were anything I could do to get out of such an arrangement, I would do it in a heartbeat. I don’t want to marry someone I do not love, but I am the oldest. Such is my lot in life.”

“Your lot in life is about as pleasant as a mouthful of chicken shite.”

I laughed. “Where do you hear such things? Mother would have fit.”

She grinned back at me. “The cook’s daughters have wicked tongues.”

I longed for the day when I, too, could run about unfettered, playing with the other children who lived in the castle, most of whom belonged to the staff. Dayna was sixteen, still young enough that Mother and Father ignored her flightiness, but at twenty, I was expected to behave in a more mature manner. I showed just how mature I could be when I hoisted myself, dress and all, up into that tree today. I grinned, wondering how my future husband would handle finding me up in a tree after our first little argument.

“What are you grinning about?” Dayna asked.

I turned to look at her. She was sitting cross-legged on my bed, the brush disregarded to the side as she picked at the lace on her night gown.

“I have a feeling Father didn’t give the dear old king of Tara an accurate picture of his future bride’s true personality. If he had, I can assure you he would not have offered such a high-bride token.”

Dayna smiled. “Very true. You might want to learn to sleep with one eye open, Sister. If his other wives did indeed die of natural causes, you might be his first murder victim.”

“Promise to avenge me if I turn up dead,” I said with a wink as I stood and stretched my arms above my head. My muscles were still tight, filled with tension from the day. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would put things into perspective and tomorrow my circumstances wouldn’t seem so awful. Perhaps, but probably not.

“I’m tired, runt,” I told her as I shooed her off the bed.

“Runt?” She scoffed. “I’m six inches taller than you.”

“Yes, but you are the baby, and, therefore, the runt. Now, off to bed with you. You are going to need your energy tomorrow if you are to nag Father to death for selling off your oldest sister for a bit of power.”

Dayna took much delight in tormenting our father, maybe a tad too much. She hugged me. “I love you,” she told me before hurrying out of the room.

Dayna had the softest heart of the four of us. She wore her emotions on her sleeve for all to see. I worried that one day her heart would be injured beyond repair because she bore it so openly.

I climbed into bed, relishing the feel of the cool sheets against my skin. As I pulled the drapes closed around the bed, blocking out the light from the lamps I allowed to remain lit, I pushed away the worries that plagued me. Laying back in the bed and sinking down into the soft, goose-feather mattress, I closed my eyes and thought of the many adventures I longed to embark on. I wanted to travel—to see far away parts of the world—past the borders of England, Tara, and Caledonia. I didn’t want to be cooped up behind some great wall, expected to wear stiff dresses and entertain at court forever. Rather, I wanted to breathe fresh air and meet new people. And so, as I drifted off to sleep, I let my mind create a world in which I wasn’t the princess of a powerful kingdom and I wasn’t expected to marry a man twice my age. I built a world where anything was possible—where I could do and be anything I wanted.

The next few weeks passed in a flurry of busyness. The entire household was in an uproar as they prepared for the massive number of guests they would be receiving. Mother was in a tizzy, ensuring there was enough food, drinks, and beds. The castle had no shortage of rooms—with three stories, four wings jutting out like the four points of the compass, and well over forty rooms, including a library, study, ball room, dining hall, three sitting rooms, male and female bathing suites, and staff quarters, there was plenty of space. I personally thought our castle was a bit much. I’d always gotten lost in it when I was exploring as a little girl, and still did from time to time.

Myself, Dayna, and my other sister, Lizzy, took quiet pleasure in watching our mum flit about, looking as though she were doing some bizarre dance and the staff around her were her unwitting ensemble. We often found ourselves sitting in the center-most chamber, which housed doors on all sides, so we could watch from the best vantage point when we weren’t being pressed into service ourselves. Father had the infuriating captain follow me around like a faithful mutt, making sure I couldn’t run off again. At one point, I had Lidia distract him just so I could have use the ladies’ privy in privacy. Perhaps he thought I’d figure out some way to climb out a window and scale down the side of the castle wall. But, if I got desperate enough, I might figure out a way to do just that.

“How many times do you think Mother will tell the cook that the king of Tara cannot eat potatoes because they do not agree with him?”

“At least another dozen.” Lizzy chuckled. “The better question is how many more times will the cook listen before she makes an entire menu based on potatoes just to irritate Mother?”

Silvia, or Cook, as they called her, was not known for her patience, but she was the best cook in the kingdom and, therefore, got away with quite a bit. Father and Mother, and everyone else for that matter, knew better than to annoy her or they’d be eating boiled cabbage stew for a month.

“I wonder what happens when King Cathal eats potatoes?” I inquired.

“Maybe his face swells up like a huge squash and he cannot breathe,” Lizzy, who tended to be the bloodthirsty one of the group, offered.

“Does everything have to end in death with you?” Dayna asked her.

Lizzy shrugged. “Like any of us would be sad if the old king kicked the bucket. It would make for an entertaining evening, and we would get our sister back.”

I stifled my laugh. We may have been the ladies of the court and kingdom, but ladylike we were not.

“I do not want the poor man to die because of some potato mishap,” I quickly said, knowing I would feel dreadful if Lizzy’s words came to pass. “I do not want to marry him, but nor do I want him dead. I just wish he and Father could find another way to make an alliance.”

“Do not hold your breath, dear Sister,” Lizzy said with a sigh. “Kings are not known for their creative thinking.”

Per our mother’s insistence, each of my sisters and I were working on various projects that apparently were important for a well-rounded young woman to know. I was doing needle work, Lizzy was reading, and Dayna was penning a letter to an aunt we hadn’t seen in ages, but to whom Mother felt it important to keep in touch. We were sitting in the main lounge where we typically accepted guests. It had the best vantage point for watching the general chaos that had become our home. Growing bored with the needlework I’d been meticulously pouring over for the past month, I set it down and stood to stretch. The captain, who’d been standing in the far-right corner of the room, pushed away from the wall, ever alert. I ground my teeth together as I attempted to keep the sharp remark growing in my mind to myself. It wouldn’t do to have the eldest princess telling the captain of the guard to take his nose and put it somewhere that never saw the light of day. “I need fresh air,” I told my sisters. “With all the staff hustling about, it is beginning to feel stuffy in here.”

Dayna set down her pen, pushed the letter to the side, and put the paperweight on top, no doubt to keep it from getting blown off in all the hustle. She stood up eagerly, her eyes dancing with mischief. She was so much like me, always ready for an adventure. Lizzy shook her head. She’d always preferred being indoors, claiming she and dirt did not coexist well and it would not be wise to test the strains of the relationship. Yes, she really did say that.

“I don’t want to have to wash up again after smelling like dirt,” Lizzy huffed. “And I’m tired. I have not been sleeping well.” She looked up at me, and I could see the pity in her eyes.

“Don’t lose sleep over me, love,” I told her as I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I will be all right. It will all work out.”

“How can you be so bloody positive?” Lizzy yelled. I did not correct her foul language. It would not have helped, anyway.

Normally one to react first and think later, I’d flown into a tizzy when Father had dropped the news on me. But once I’d had time to ponder the issue, I came to terms with it, though it was a very tenuous peace. “Believe me, I was not so positive yesterday,” I replied. “But, a nice hot soak, sleep, and the realization that there is nothing I can do to change my circumstances, has put things in perspective. I can either make the best of it, or I can grumble and be miserable, and I do not want to live a life of grumbling.”

Leaving Lizzie behind, Dayna followed me through the castle corridors, my ever-present shadow, Clay, was close behind her. The tall stone walls loomed over us as though they were passing judgment on all that was taking place. The castle had always seemed cold to me. I had spent my entire life there, yet it had felt less like a home and more like a temporary holding cell—I was simply passing through until I found my true place in life.

We dodged bustling maids and sidestepped Mother, who did not seem to notice us, as we made our way to the back exit through the kitchen. Cook was muttering into a large pot as we passed and, judging by the red flush on her face and the unnatural way she was whipping her spoon around, it was evident she was in no mood to talk. We kept our heads down, held our breath, and slipped through the kitchen as quickly as we could. Once outside, I stopped and closed my eyes, tilting my face toward the sun and letting its warmth seep into my skin. Autumn was fast approaching, pushing away the heat of summer away. I loved the fall—the cooler temperatures, the changing colors of the foliage, and the warm hearths being lit in the castle. It was a time of preparation for the winter, and I always felt as though the earth was holding its breath, waiting to see what force winter would bring.

“Want to go to the stable?” Dayna asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Mother said she was the same way in the womb, constantly kicking and moving, which drove her crazy. I did not think much had changed.

“Fresh air sounds delightful. I remember the stable boy saying a foal was to be born soon. We can see if it has made an appearance yet.”

We walked on in silence, both lost in our own thoughts, even though I tried to leave my thoughts behind and just live in the moment. The castle yard, though busy, did not echo the hustle and bustle going on inside the castle walls. Banners were being hung from the ramparts. Mother had been sure to have some specially made in honor of the king of Tara to mix in with our standard adornments, but the colors clashed horribly. Ours were a deep hunter green and black while Tara’s were canary yellow and white. Our crest held a lion in its center while Tara’s showcased a bird. I wondered if the inharmonious hues were symbolic of the union that was to come. Would our marriage clash like the crests of our kingdoms? Would the lion devour the bird or would the bird peck out the lion’s eyes? The ridiculous thought had me snorting out a laugh.

“What?” Dayna asked.

I shook my head. “My odd sense of humor is running wild with my imagination.”

“It is a good thing you have a sense of humor; it may be your only saving grace.”

“Captain,” I called out over my shoulder. “Do you think it a terrible omen that our crests are so different from Tara’s and the colors so ill matched?”

“My lady,” the Captain’s voice rumbled, “I do not believe in superstitions. We are represented by a lion and Tara a bird. Nothing more.

“That’s a rather boring outlook. But I shall not have you flogged for it,” I teased him, knowing he hated it.

“You’re a right snot.” Dayna laughed.

I shrugged. When it came to Clay, who often snuffed out my fun, then yes, I was a right snot. Was it too much to ask for my guard, who was nearly my constant companion, to have a bit more creative thinking? After all, the world was a drab enough place without his morose attitude.

We walked leisurely, as if we had not a care in the world, down to the stable on the far east of the castle grounds. The large, handsome structure housed over seventy-five horses. Above the stable were living quarters for the stable staff, which was comprised of twenty people who trained and cared for the herd. When we entered through the large sliding doors, I was surprised to find it empty of any employees. The horses were in place, but their caretakers were nowhere to be found, not even the stable master, Geoffrey.

“Where is everyone?” Dayna asked.

Before I could shrug, we heard voices coming from across the building and out the opposite sliding doors. I glanced at Dayna, who nodded as we both hiked up our skirts and took off at which we could easily fall flat on our faces. As we got closer to where the voices were coming from, we could see a crowd of people huddled around a figure on the ground. My first thought was that someone had gotten hurt while working or riding one of the horses, but that was not what we discovered.

It was not a worker who required attention, Instead, one of the large animals lay on its side. I froze mid-step, for it was not just any beast splayed on the ground. It was my father’s favorite horse. His breathing was labored, the horse’s abdomen rising and falling in rapid succession. Several of the trainers where kneeling over him and when one shifted I could see the royal animal healer, Tessa Benson. Although she wasn’t a healer in the traditional sense, she cared for our sick or injured. As if sensing my presence, she looked up, her gaze meeting mine. The tightness in Tessa’s face and her tightly drawn lips told me things did not look good.

It was then I felt it—the subtle stirring that rose in me when I was in the presence of the ill. Like a sixth sense, I could sense malady. Then, as always, I was drawn, irresistibly, as if by some unseen cord, toward the injured life-form.

It was my gift, and from what little I knew about it, the ability to heal was very rare and was seldom talked about. People feared things they couldn’t explain or control. My mother had told me to hide my gift, because, as she said, when people are scared, they do scary things. Only my mother, father, siblings, and a select few people on the castle grounds knew of my ability. Thankfully, Tessa was one of them.

She stood briskly and spoke with the authority that came from many years in a position of responsibility. “I need everyone to get back to work. Princess Allete and Princess Dayna are here, and they can assist me now so the other horses can be tended. Off with you. Captain, if you could please make sure everyone leaves the stables.” As she finished, she turned her back on the crowd and refocused her attention on the wounded animal.

The staff responded immediately and hurried back to their duties. When the path was clear, Dayna and I ran the rest of the way to Tessa and fell to our knees by the injured horse.

“He tripped.” Tessa began. “He was being ridden in an unfamiliar part of the forest, and stumbled in a hole. The rider returned with him on-foot, the horse limping the whole way back on what I am certain is a broken leg. I just hope the long walk back did not do permanent damage. Even if it heals correctly, he could still become lame, unlikely to bear a rider or saddle due to the weight.”

“Hellfire,” I swore under my breath. My father would be devastated. Horses were unique animals. They formed a deep bond with their owner—both fulfilling a need for the other. Somewhere along the way, my father and Poke formed a friendship. My father would be as mournful as if he’d lost a human friend if he lost Poke.

Tessa moved to the side just a bit but stayed next to me. Now shoulder-to-shoulder, she placed her hands on the injured animal, appearing to anyone who might pass that she was tending to the horse.

“Dayna, grab that roll of gauze so we can wrap his leg.” I barked to my sister. When she had done so, I pulled Dayna closer so that she hovered over Poke, further obscuring the view of the horse from anyone who happened to be in the area. Once everyone was in position, I placed my hands on the injured leg, bowed my head, and closed my eyes, as I began chanting.

I spoke as softly as I could but still said the words out loud. “I come to help not to intrude. Let my spirit heal; let it soothe. Relax your defenses, I take not your will. I only want to mend. Now, peace, be still.”

I did not know where the words came from or if they were even needed, but when I attempted to heal, it was like I had to coax their spirit—their soul—open to let me in. Usually, at first, the spirit perceived me as a threat and would refuse my healing power until I made it known I was only trying to help. Most curious to me, however, was that the words were never the same. With every healing, I always said something different, and I had to say it audibly. I learned this when I’d attempted to heal a bird just outside my open window one day. I did not want to speak for fear someone in the castle courtyard below would overhear me. I thought the words, but nothing happened. I did this several times before I finally, in frustration, said the words in a whisper. Suddenly, I healed the bird.

After that incident, I began researching my abilities, trying to determine why speaking the words was necessary. I was surprised to find several books suggested that there was an innate power in the spoken word, touting many examples of great leaders shaping the destinies of their people through only speech. I read that Moses spoke with authority to free his people and caused incredible plagues. It was also noted that the decrees of great kings and pharaohs were always read aloud because the spoken word penetrated deeper in the minds of the people. It was as if the words were floating in the air and the crowds reached out and plucked them from the air, storing them away. Yet even after gathering all this information, I knew nothing of my gift. I only did what came naturally to me.

Once I felt my power flow into the injured horse, I opened my eyes and lifted my hands from his leg. Poke immediately tried to get up, as sign he no longer felt any pain, but we quickly soothed him so Tessa could wrap the leg as if it were still injured.

“I will take this off in a couple days. As far as everyone else is concerned, Poke has a mild sprain,” Tessa said as we all stood up, coaxing Poke to rise slowly with us.

“Thank you,” I told her.

She shook her head. “You are the one with the gift, Princess. We should be thanking you, but instead we must hide your incredible ability because they are so afraid.” She sounded disgusted.

I knew she was talking about my parents. They loved me, of that I had no doubt, but they could not accept what I was able to do. It scared them, so I kept it to myself. My father had ordered me only to use my gift in the direst of situations, but I could not just leave someone, human or animal, in need if I could heal them.

I patted Tessa’s shoulder. “They cannot stop me, and for now that is enough.”

She started to lead Poke back into the barn but then turned to us, her eyes tilted down and her forehead wrinkled in worry. “I am sorry that you will be leaving us, especially under these circumstances. You should not be forced into this position.”

I did not have a reply, so I bowed my head once to show her I appreciated her words. After Tessa was out of sight, I turned to look at my sister. “Are you all right?”

Dayna nodded. “But I am dreading telling Father about this.” She motioned toward the castle.

I did not know if it was necessary for us to tell him what really happened. Word would get back to him, of course—the castle staff could gossip with the best of them—but he would hear it was a sprain. He need not know I was involved. “Let us leave it to the gossiping hierarchy to deliver the information to him. Poke is fine, so there is no reason to trouble Father when there are already so many other things going on.”

She nodded. “So, where to now?”

I looked toward the forest. It called to me, whispering of the adventures I’d once had in its tall trees and hidden depths. My tree was just on the edge of the forest, and though I spent a lot of time there, I also spent days wandering through the shaded woods, enjoying all the mysteries nature held. It had been a while since I had visited, and now I wanted nothing more than to run through the forest—just me, my sister, and the huge trees around us.

I glanced at Dayna from the corner of my eye and raised an eyebrow at her. Captain Clay was still distracted with making sure Poke was taken care of, which meant we had a short window to make a break for it.

She took a step back. “That look always means trouble, Allete.”

I chuckled. “What is life without a little trouble? Race you to the woods.” I took off before the words were completely out of my mouth. Hiking up my dress and stretching out my stride, I smiled as the wind whipped through my hair and the sound of Dayna’s screech caught up with me.

“You cheat!” she yelled. She was gaining on me.

“Finding a creative way to win is not cheating,” I yelled back.

We finally reached the tree line and burst into the forest, the shade immediately collecting us in its arms. It was as though we’d entered another realm.

I was breathing hard, as was Dayna once she had caught up to me. I looked at her and grinned. “You, my dear sister, are getting faster.”

She nudged me with her shoulder. “Maybe you are just getting slower. One of these days, I will leave you in my dust.”

“Well, until that day, you can continue to be in awe of my abilities.”

This made her laugh. “You’ve always got to have the last word.”

I started walking, knowing that she would follow. “I wish we were in another world,” I told her. “I wish we were able to step out of our dimension and into another—a world full of fantastic beings and unimaginable adventures.”

“Lizzy would say books held other worlds,” Dayna said pointedly.

I laughed. “Then I want to be sucked right into the pages of those books, the cover shut so tightly that I cannot escape.”