Traveling into the foothills of the Mountains of the North gave Linara a new appreciation for being alone. Truly, wonderfully alone, lost in the thick brush, under the leaves of towering trees. For the past four years, she’d lived with or nearby Stasio and his believers. Every building of every town housed men and women, soldiers and demon daughters; people on top of people. Sometimes literally. Their numbers had grown steadily as they’d moved from place to place. Linara’s only time to herself had been too-short, stolen moments when she’d stepped outside, hiding in the night shadows. In the past year, those moments had been spent waiting for the dragon to appear. Before leaving home, Sophie and Kane and at least a handful of their other children and grandchildren had been close by. Even then Linara’s moments of solitude had been rare and cherished.

Now here she was entirely on her own, as she had been for the past three days. There was not a soul for many miles; she knew it to the pit of her soul. Not a demon or a shapeshifter. Certainly not a human, though humans had walked this trail in the past, as she walked it now. On occasion she reached out tendrils of energy, searching for the essence, the electricity of life. There was none here, none but her own.

Columbyana and the lands beyond were in a state of chaos. As a daughter of the Isen Demon, and the first and – they said – most powerful of those children, she should delight in chaos. In truth, she delighted in nothing. She found no joy in war.

Until she could manage to leave the teachings and influence of her childhood behind, she could not become who she needed to be. Killer. Demon. Leader of a dark army.

In the days since she’d begun her trek, she’d not yet sensed a gnawing hunger, the need to take the life of a human to sustain her own. That hunger would come, though, and when it did she would track down what she needed. Her first feeding would come from a shapeshifting Anwyn or Caradon, she supposed, since she was in their territory. She was glad of that, that her first kill would come from someone able to fight. It should not be easy to take a life.

She’d walked day and night, with only short stops for rest. Sleep was nice, and she claimed it on occasion, but it was not a necessity. Like so many ordinary things in life, dreams were a luxury. She carried in her sack three small knives, a thin blanket, and a bit of food that would not ease her demon hunger when it came. She would chew upon that food, in any case, out of habit. A wineskin filled with water and yet another knife hung from her belt.

Her traveling outfit was made for comfort and durability. The blue gown was long and loose, belted loosely at the waist, and it had two large pockets. Pockets were so wonderfully handy; it annoyed her that more frocks weren’t made with two, or three, or even four. She wore sturdy boots which had, so far, served her well.

Linara had not yet seen or heard or sensed a shapeshifter of any kind. The Anwyn and Caradon only shifted during the full moon, but she didn’t fool herself into thinking they might be any less dangerous in human form. She’d make a tempting target for any human or shifter intent on assault or robbery. A small and seemingly helpless woman traveling alone, carrying a pack that might contain valuables, would appear to be an easy mark.

Would it be easier to take the life of one who meant her harm? She would think so. Time would tell, she supposed.

As dawn approached and Linara left the thickest part of the forest and stepped onto a path of stone, she finally sensed a presence she could not identify. It was strong, powerful, like nothing she had ever experienced. And then, as it grew closer, she knew who — what — shared the mountain with her on this chilly morning. The commanding presence took her breath away.

The dragon dropped from the sky, wings spread wide, mouth open to reveal many large, sharp teeth and a long red tongue. Its eyes were red and black, fiery in the night. The massive wings, iridescent blue and green, were unexpectedly jewel-like in the starlight. The tail, long and powerful and armed with sharp ridges, whipped behind and around it. The colors of the beast were beautiful, a vibrant blend of blues and greens with touches of orange and black. She had never imagined such colors existed, in nature or in imagination. Such beauty.

As its bird-like talons hit the ground on the ridge before her, the mountain shook. Rocks loosened and fell, skittering down the mountainside. Linara did not spare the falling rocks so much as a glance. She was far too entranced by the creature before her.

If the dragon spit fire in her direction she would be dead in an instant. The trees behind her would burst into flame, and together they would burn. It would be foolish to run, to attempt to hide. The creature was massive, strong, powerful. The fire he emitted was dangerous, she knew. She’d not be able to escape it. Even without fire, one bite, one swipe of sharp talons could separate her head from her body, and she’d be gone.

The dragon moved toward her, shifting its weight, craning its long, lean neck, leaning in and taking a long, deep breath. Of her.

In the past year a small number of demons had left the village and traveled into these mountains, for reasons of their own. They had been bored or afraid, or perhaps both. Stasio had known when they’d left, and he’d realized it when they’d died. He’d been certain the shifters had killed them, but what if it had been him?

Yes, him. This close, she soaked in his energy. It was as if he had slipped into the edges of her mind and she had slipped into his. She could not understand his thoughts. It was like trying to comprehend a foreign language, trying to make sense of words she had never heard before.

She had been sent to kill the dragon, and Stasio had assured her that it was possible, that she was destined to do so. Looking at him now, hypnotized by his beauty and strength – and oh, those fine colors – she wondered how such a creature might die.

Magnificent, rare — perhaps even the last of his kind — and seemingly impossible to kill.

Stasio pushed into her mind, and instantly her tenuous connection with the dragon ended. The creature backed away, snorting steam that swirled around them both. Did he sense the anger, the ill intent, of the party who had joined them? Linara held her breath. Was fire coming?

The dark wizard’s words spoke to her in a clear and precise way the dragon’s had not. You will find a way. It is fate. It is your destiny.

The beast rose into the air, strangely graceful for one so large and heavy. Fire did come, but it was not directed at her. Instead, a stream of flame shot high into the air, competing with the rising sun. A flap of shimmering wings sent a rush of warm air over Linara, but she did not move. Not even when the dragon turned, and its powerful tail whipped so close to her she might’ve reached out and touched it, had she been fast enough.

And Stasio’s intrusive voice came again. Find a way.

* * *

Though Val had enjoyed many vacations in the Turi village that was home to her grandparents, uncles, and a large number of cousins, Forbidden Mountain had always been, well, forbidden to her. Duh. Not that she’d ever desired to explore the barren and rocky landscape. It really wasn’t much to look at.

But since she’d learned that Kitty had been hidden here before her birth, she’d been dreaming of this moment.

Snowflake was left behind with a cousin sworn to secrecy. With her backpack filled with enough food for several days, a thin blanket, and three knives of varying length as well as one snuggly secured in a leather sheath at her waist, Val was as prepared as she could be. According to Granny, Bela Merin’s mother, the magical sword Kitty was lost in a cave that had been blocked by a landslide. Forever lost, no matter what prophecies might say. It was a warning to her granddaughter to stay away, to give up on what she’d been promised.

Val felt confident that she could lead an army with any sword available to her, but the idea of Kitty, the promise of her own magical sword…she had to retrieve it. She had to try.

In her mind, she could see herself leading an army with Kitty in her hand. Ariana Chamblyn had commanded an army, so it wasn’t like it was unthinkable for a woman to lead the fight. Ariana was a legend; she was revered. Val didn’t want to be a legend; she wanted to do the job for which she’d been destined.

Not that she would mind being a legend one day. If she earned it, of course. If it was meant to be. She was more than a thirteen-year-old girl. She was a warrior, born and bred.

One born…

She was so distracted that she almost missed the scuffle of loose rocks behind her. No one else should be on this trail! The Turis didn’t come here. They took the “forbidden” part of this mountain’s name seriously. Most of the time. No one lived here. There weren’t even animals on this cursed rock! Her mind immediately went to Uryen. Surely that demon daughter hadn’t been living on this mountain all these years, waiting for Val to show herself! It didn’t make sense.

Still, Val was nothing if not cautious. She placed herself behind a boulder where she was hidden but could peek around and have a good view of the trail. She would see whoever was following long before they saw her. Knife in hand, pack on the ground behind her, Val was ready to fight if need be.

She immediately recognized the pale head of hair as it came into view. She sighed and sheathed her knife.

“Cyrus Bannan!” she said sharply, in her best warrior-like voice.

His head snapped up, and the look in his pale blue eyes screamed Caught!

“What are you doing here?” she snapped. He should be working on his father’s farm, all muscles and sweat, with that long pale hair pulled back to keep the golden strands out of his pretty face. His hair was soft and straight and silky, everything her own hair was not. His eyes were a fantastic blue, like the sky on a clear autumn day.

Cyrus Bannan was fifteen years old, almost sixteen. He was friends with her cousins, even though he was older than they were by a couple or three years. She had admired him from afar since she’d visited her relatives the summer she’d turned eleven. As far as she could tell, he didn’t even know she was alive.

He carried a pack similar to hers, and he also had a knife at his waist. When he looked at her — oh, those eyes…

“Laco told me where you were heading. I didn’t like the idea of you traveling up here alone.”

Laco, her young, loudmouthed cousin, should have kept his mouth shut. So much for trusting family! “I don’t need a bodyguard,” Val said, staring at Cyrus’s nose, which was nicely shaped but not nearly as distracting as his eyes.

“I disagree.”

A warrior could not afford to be distracted. Certainly not by a boy.

Val was on the verge of losing her temper. Truth be told, it didn’t take much. She came by her temper naturally; neither of her parents was known for their patience. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“You barely know me! Why would you take it upon yourself to…to…to follow me like a wounded calf?”

Instead of being insulted, he smiled. “Everyone knows you, Val. You’re supposed to save the world.”

She wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to be invisible. To be an ordinary girl who might or might not have a crush on a boy she barely knew, just because he was pretty. “I can manage on my own.” With that, she turned, grabbed her pack, and started walking. She had hopes that he’d give up and go home. No such luck.

“I can be your page,” he said, a lilt in his voice. “I’ll take watch while you sleep.”

Like she wanted him to watch her sleep! Gah. “There’s no one else on this mountain. Why would I need anyone to keep watch?”

“I’m here. You never know who else might have the same idea.”

He had a point. “So you’re volunteering to be my lackey.” There was a hint of derision in her voice, as she tried to scare or insult him into going away.

“I said page, not lackey.” There was a pause, but she didn’t turn to look at him. “But I suppose you can call me whatever you’d like.”

“Serving boy,” she said beneath her breath, but of course he heard her.

“Assistant,” he countered.

“Leech,” Val said a bit louder.

There was a short pause, a grunt as he worked his way up and over a steep bit in the path, and then he said, the tone of his voice different than it had been before, “Friend.”

She could not respond to that with derision. Val had worked hard all her life to become a warrior. She had trained, and studied, and trained some more. That had not left much — no, not any — time for friends.

This time she did glance back. “You’d better be able to keep up. I won’t stop for you.”

He nodded, just once, and Val set her sights ahead and up.

Friend. Why did that word make her heart leap?