Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles by David L. Craddock

ever was—even more so. Nichel had gone to great lengths to select just the right shade of blue for her gown, giggling over fabrics with her mother, who knew all the best colors and materials for every season. It had been fun to indulge in the Leastonian half of her blood, and to listen to her mother cooing over how much Aidan would fancy her in this or that color. Aidan. He was the Crown of the North, now. In just a few months, she would be his queen.
    “If you feel up to it, wolf daughter, I have reports to convey,” Jonathan said.
    “Very well,” Nichel said, and her roiling stomach permitted a sigh to escape her lips.
    Jonathan’s voice faded to a dull buzz as Nichel sank into her mother’s chair. Making sure to keep her gaze fixed on Jonathan, and to nod at all the right parts, she swept her eyes around the cavernous, brightly lit hall. Janleah Keep had been built eight hundred years ago and named in honor of her ancestor, Janleah of the Wolf. The Serpent King and his undead army had razed Leaston first before marching into the west and overwhelming several clans with their superior numbers and dark magic. Janleah had gathered the surviving clans and united them under his banner, making him the first war chief. He had gone on to forge an alliance with Torel, and it had taken their combined might to drive the Serpent King back into the south. Back into the kingdom that had become his grave.
    After the war, the clans disbanded, but they paid respect to Janleah for the courage he had displayed in battle and the wisdom he had shown in bringing them together by building a fortress worthy of the war chief, a title they would honor only in times of greatest need. The builders had cut and smoothed sandstone and marble using the Mother’s light, and raised Janleah’s Keep beside the largest oasis in the west.
    Pride filled her. She had been raised on the hot, dusty plains of Darinia, her dark hands calloused from wielding tools, hunting spears she’d sharpened herself, and from scaling her ancestral home. She was as hard as any Darinian, and she would bring that hardness and honor to her marriage. Her thoughts returned to her betrothed, and she blushed. She was also a girl—a woman at fifteen—and had as much right as any Torelian or Leastonian woman to fantasize about her wedding.
    Her gown. That was the problem. She’d wanted blue, but blue just wasn’t appropriate for a spring wedding. She would ask Mother to make her a new one. Still, Aidan did love blue. His parents made him wear white, but she wondered if maybe—
    “... should be in your chambers, wolf daughter.”
    She raised her head. “I’m sorry, Jonathan. I...” She blushed. “I’m still quite tired. I’m afraid I faded out.”
    He gave her a warm, sympathetic smile. It occurred to her that, if not for her betrothal to Aidan, she would let Jonathan court her.
    “Certainly,” he said. “Earlier this morning, a messenger arrived bearing a gift from your parents. No doubt they intended for it to reach you before they returned home.”
    A thrill of excitement swept through her. “Where is it?”
    “I requested it delivered to your chambers.”
    Nichel squealed with glee. Jonathan raised an eyebrow, and Nichel composed herself.
    “Thank you, Jonathan. You’ve been most helpful. I’ll make sure my father knows of your diligence.”
    She crossed the room in what began as a youthful stride but ended in careful lurches, and almost reached the entryway before Jonathan cleared his throat.
    “Was there something else?” Nichel asked.
    “Much more, I’m afraid.”
    Nichel sighed. “Follow me.”
    They walked through passages that twisted and turned. Nichel nodded where appropriate as Jonathan rambled on and on. Through an open window, she caught the scent of roasted meshia. To her surprise, her stomach growled instead of cowered. The hide of the horned beast was thick—she had broken enough spear points to know—but became deliciously tender