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In fact, Nymuë knew her uncle had never been happy about his responsibility toward her. After her mother had been killed, it had fallen on him to look after her. But he was afraid of her, the same way other people were, as if she’d inherited her mother’s witchcraft. Mechanian doubtless was eager to be rid of her before she brought more mishap upon his family. Well, she was eager to be gone, too. Her mother hadn’t been a witch, and he knew it as well as she did. She hated him for never standing up for his sister, for letting her die, for letting people mistreat her and her mother. They stopped to water the horses, and Nymuë's escorts were ready to leave before the horses even touched their noses to the river. They shifted and checked the trees often, grown men who twitched at the rustle of leaves. Their trepidation made the horses stamp their feet. Nymuë shook her head, unable to understand their fear. To her, a shadow was just a shadow. She dismounted and drank from the cool stream with her hands. The water was fresh and crisp. A guard scoffed under his breath at her impropriety. “We’re leaving,” Lord Mechanian announced, pretending not to notice her. She told herself she didn’t care what he thought, or anyone else. She was on the road to a better chance, a place to start over, where superstitions about red hair meant nothing. Stars! It was good to leave, to get away from all the scrutiny. Though, she didn’t understand all the fuss over marriage. What did she care if some king wanted to marry her? She’d rather sit out here alone, nestled on a mossy root-throne, with a book and river song to lull her to sleep. Just then, her sharp ears picked up a new sound, an easy melody cutting through the air. She craned her neck, searching for the source. There—a slight, young woman, barefoot and skipping. Her voice was bird flight through the trees, its tune weaving around the gurgle of steam water and the brush of leaves. Nymuë's breath caught; indeed, the entire party held its breath. It was the reaction of those beholding an otherworldly sight. “Oh,” the strange woman said, pausing her song at the height of a phrase. She eyed the party and stilled her gait, motionless save for a pair of small, leather shoes just swaying in her hand. Her toes were buried deep in the grass. A patch of sunlight illuminated her golden hair. She spotted Nymuë, giving her a long glance. There it was again, the dreaded scrutiny. “Nymph!” Lord Mechanian exclaimed. “We seek passage to King Friedrich’s castle.” Her eyes laughed. “What business have you at my brother’s castle?” “Your…brother?” Silence filled the clearing. Nymuë took in the woman’s golden halo of clover-bedecked hair, her bare feet and travel dress, her light form and careless stance. Was this woman a princess? More like an unkempt
peasant, dirt-smudged and simple. What in the Seven Plains was she doing out here? Look at her messy, flower-filled braids—and were there actual bits of moss scattered in her hair? Lord Mechanian dropped to one knee. “My <strong>Lady</strong> Cleandra, please forgive the confusion. I didn’t expect—” “Please, it’s fine. Rise, and I’ll take you to the castle.” Inside the castle, a man paced the battlements, sighing, studying the treetops. He’d been there since morning, and now it was mid-afternoon. Where’s Cleandra? Is she safe? He’d ensure it. He must. Treetops wavered under gallops of wind. Their heads nodded to him, great, bobbing, sentinel flowers. Below was a returning scout, a little speck of a man growing nearer as his horse pounded along the road. Without pause, Friedrich bounded down the rampart stairs. The crowd in the courtyard was a company of anticipation. He almost beat the scout to the castle gate, so great was his desire for good news, or any news… “They crossed the border not half an hour hence,” the man reported, scarce of breath. “It won’t be long now.” “And my sister?” “Your Majesty…forgive me. She doesn’t want to be found.” Friedrich nodded. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. Did Cleandra know what she did to people, what it felt like to think of her out there, alone in the very wilderness that had killed their parents? Oh, he still burned inside to think of it—their bodies mangled, unrecognizable. Whatever killed them had taken more than their lives. It had taken the very image of who they were, had taken their peace and love, had even taken a bit of his sanity. He knew it was wildly ridiculous to send scouts into the woods in search of the smallest dangers. His hunters eliminated predators and petty vagrants alike until they were all but extinct. Yes, he was half mad with obsession. He knew this, as he knew in his soul that life wasn't done with him, that one day this nearmadness might save them all. Such actions went against everything Cleandra believed in. “Any idiot can kill a creature,” she told him once, “but it takes great strength to nurture life.”
Page 3: Green Lady Jennifer Julander
Page 7: Acknowledgements To my Mom, thank y
Page 11: Chapter One A white wolf stalked a
Page 15 and 16: Wulfram had never learned how to do
Page 17 and 18: Wulfram glanced at Cleandra, wonder
Page 19: Chapter Two In the morning, the gre

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