The sun rose over the golden spires of Queen Alia’s castle—but its warmth did not reach the dungeons below.
Down in the lowest chamber, behind silver-etched runes and protective seals, River Nightshade screamed again.
Her body jerked violently off the cold stone floor, limbs thrashing in arcs of raw, ancient power. Light—pale, eerie and dangerous—spilled from her eyes, her fingertips, even the lines of her skin, as though her veins were made of moonfire.
Each convulsion sent out a psychic wave that echoed across the castle. The guards posted outside the chamber flinched with every pulse. Some dropped to their knees. Others bit through their lips to keep from running in blind panic. These were seasoned warriors, many had served on the front lines. But what radiated from that sealed room?
