Dawn

In time, it would be called the Empire’s Longest Night. The king was slain by one of his own guard, a treachery unfathomable. His passing was swift, before he could name a proper heir. The claim fell to his twin sons. Before the moon set, Ergor had spilt his brother’s blood and so seized the right to ascension. The once-prince ordered the traitor captured and impaled for her crime, but the killer was cunning. Not only had she learned the ways of court and command, she was practiced in those dark arts known only to warlocks. As the night waned, Ergor vowed to find this heretic, this kingkiller, this snake underfoot. He vowed to stick her head on a pike before his twelfth birthday.

Stumbling from the sewers and into the new-born day, Sarreh cared little for the political turmoil she had wrought. Blood soaked her jerkin, mud clouded her vision. A numbed arm hung at her side, bumping against her with every limp. Her skin seethed with echoes of forbidden magic. She tore off each piece of armor with her one good hand and tossed the steel into the filth. The king’s brand burned with the fires of morning, but even this was of no consequence.

She was free. No matter what was to come, what horrors lurked in the shadows of tomorrow, this one statement scoured the fear and guilt from her soul.

She was free.