A Newsletter Exclusive...Solstice Shadows, set in the world of Goddess's Vision. The first book of Goddess's Vision, Vision of Alliance, will be out in late February. Happy Solstice and enjoy!

You will pay for what you caused to have done to me, sister. You will pay.

Betsona jolted upright in bed, gasping for breath, unable to banish the lingering remembrances of that nightmare, again, ending in Chatain’s disembodied head laughing evilly at her as he pronounced his death curse. For a moment she was disoriented—what was she doing in the Royal Suite in Daraelen? This wasn’t her usual suite in the royal residence, and she hadn’t been allowed in Daraelen for ages—wait.

Things had changed. Again. She wasn’t the Emperor Chatain’s scorned half-Darani sister anymore, she was the Princess of Adalane and the Heir to Daran, currently Regent.

She forced herself to control her breath. In for five counts. Out for ten. In. Out. In. Out.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

Nonetheless, it had been happening regularly ever since Witmara, Empress of Daran, Chatain’s successor, had disappeared, leaving Betsona to serve as Regent in Witmara’s name. Neither Betsona nor Witmara’s bondmate Toran wanted to pronounce the Empress as dead just yet. There was no body to be found. Only Toran’s blurred memory before collapsing from his injuries caused by the attacking lizardriders. He claimed that Witmara’s magic-gifted horse, Daro, had transformed into one of the great lizards that haunted the rugged peaks of the Darldinnei, and Witmara had changed into the form of a lizardrider.

Had it been anyone other than Witmara, Betsona would have considered that memory to be delusional and the Empress as dead. But her young cousin was magically powerful and, as Heinmyets had said when he heard Toran’s account, Witmara’s father Metkyi had possessed the ability to shapeshift. It was remotely possible that Toran had seen true—but if so, why hadn’t Witmara reappeared? Especially given her pregnancy. Shapeshifting—any magical working—in pregnancy was a challenge.

Six months ago. Six months of worry. Six months of serving as Regent of Daran as well as Princess of Adalane.

Six months.

Betsona buried her head in her good left hand, the crippled right arm not wanting to move this morning.

Then a soft nose brushed against her shoulder, followed by a shove that pushed her sideways. She had to drop her hand to keep from falling over.

“Nameless! How did you get in here—oh gods, Peronna will have a fit when she learns you’re in the house!”

Her own magic-gifted horse, called daranval by their Varenese breeders, snorted at her, an impish expression in his blue eyes. Blue and silver ribbons, tokens of the Goddess Dovré, Betsona’s patron, adorned his neatly-braided, bushy cream and silver forelock and mane.

A laugh came from behind Nameless as her left-hand bondmate, Heinmyets, joined them, bearing a bedtray that he set down on the nearby table. “I brought him in after braiding his mane and tail. Peronna has already gone through multiple fits. I’ve told her that daranvelii have their own ways and that Nameless is not only housebroken, but will let himself outside when needed.”

He sat on their bed and gave her a mug filled with steaming liquid, steadying it until she had the mug settled in her good hand.

Betsona inhaled deeply, savoring the sharp sweet flowery scent of the herbs and spices flavoring her morning tea—it had been years since anyone brought her solstice tea. Did the Residence headwoman Peronna know this blend? It was something her mother had brought from Ternar. Perhaps Peronna had learned about it from one of Chatain’s Ternarese concubines.

“Thank you. I haven’t had solstice tea since my mother died. Did Peronna make it?” If so, she’d have to test it before tasting. She didn’t trust the headwoman, since she was a legacy from Chatain. Not until they had stayed longer and she had gotten to know the woman better.

“I made it,” Heinmyets said. “It’s a blend that Katerin used to make for Alicira. Katerin sent it as a solstice gift.”

Safe, then, though probably not the same as she was used to drinking. Betsona sipped it. No, not the same at all—but equally as nice.

“I didn’t know your people had a tradition of solstice tea.”

“Alicira brought it to the Two Nations.” Heinmyets’s expression briefly clouded at the second mention of one of his late bondmates. “And Inharise liked it as well.”

Inharise. Heinmyets’s other bondmate. The three of them had ruled the lands of Keldara and Clenda in Varen, over the ocean from Daran. But after the deaths of Alicira and Inharise, Heinmyets had given the title over to his grandson, choosing to follow Witmara’s request to bring daranvelii to Daran.

And now…he was her bondmate. Of a sort.

Nameless snorted, extending his nose toward the mug.

Heinmyets tapped his muzzle. “Not for you, young man! Go back to the stable—Abeyets will have your solstice treats ready by now. Rest and get ready for this evening’s ceremonies.”

Nameless snorted again, tossing his head and stomping a forefoot. He whirled on his hind legs and stomped his way to the door, switching his tail. He pushed down on the handle to open the door, then marched out, closing it with a kick to announce his mood.

Heinmyets laughed. “At least he’s not sending images of us covered with buffalo dung, like Katerin’s old daranval Mira used to do when she was upset about something.”

Betsona stared into her cup, not joining his laughter like she usually would at Nameless’s antics. “I’m not looking forward to the Solstice celebration this evening.”

“Oh?” Heinmyets adjusted her pillows, then took her mug with one hand and offered his other arm as support, so that it was easier for her to slide back against the headboard and sit upright. He handed the mug back once she was settled.

“My memories of Solstice are not the best.”

“Tell me.” He went to the table near their bed, gathering up the wooden bedtray, then settled it across her lap before sitting on the bed and picking up the other mug on the tray.

She shivered and set her mug down, rolling a piece of thinly-sliced meat in her fingers. “Solstice was when the accident happened.”

“I see. That would—definitely shape your feelings.” He eased the meat slice out of her fingers, holding it up to her lips. “Stop playing with your food. Eat. You need it. A long day lies ahead of us.”

She dutifully nibbled at the meat strip, then leaned her head against the padded headboard, sighing.

Heinmyets helped himself to a slice of sweetfruit—easier to get here than in Adalane. Betsona stared at the delicate plate holding their breakfast. None of it really looked good this morning, and yet—she sighed again and picked up an old favorite, one of Mayte’s yam paste buns. He was right. She needed to eat, despite the memories surrounding this occasion that diminished her appetite.

“I just wish….” She let her voice trail off, pressing her lips together tightly, swallowing hard. “It happened here. In Daraelen. I was six and Chatain nine.”

“Mmhm.” An encouraging tone, meant to keep her talking. By now she knew his little communication tricks, honed over years of leadership.

“We were supposed to create an illusion for the evening’s ceremonies, using a magitech generator that Chatain carved from angrywood. He created the generator, I was supposed to provide the spell.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better if he had made it from goodwood, not angrywood?” Heinmyets asked. “I’d hesitate to make anything magical from angrywood. Not with the way it burns to the touch and seems to twist the user’s intent.”

“Generators don’t work with goodwood. At least not when you’re creating illusions like this.”

“I see.”

She took a deep breath, staring past Heinmyets. Gods, it was hard to tell this tale. Even to him.

But it was time he knew how she had ended up like—this, with a weakened body that was insufficient to support the power of her magic—at least alone. The magic skills that the Empire required in order to function smoothly would have drained her by now, without her bonds to Heinmyets and Nameless.

Which is what our foes were counting on when they did—whatever it was that happened to Witmara.

They hadn’t anticipated Nameless—or her left-hand bond with Heinmyets.

“What happened?” he asked softly. “Or is it something you just can’t share?”

“No. I want to—I need to tell you. Maybe that will banish the shadows that haunt me.”

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Would it help if I held you?”

“Yes.” Selfish of her, perhaps, but she had grown fond of being in his arms. Nothing more than that—even with contraceptive powders, she didn’t want to risk the likelihood of a pregnancy that would kill her, which was why they had a left-hand bond instead of a full lifetime bond.

Heinmyets moved the tray back to the table, then held her. Betsona buried her head in his chest for a moment, gathering up strength for this story.

Then she began. “I was too young to know better when Chatain asked me to help him.”

#

She had been thrilled when her older brother, the Heir, finally acknowledged that her magical strength equaled his, unlike their other half-sibs. Especially since he was asking her to help with the Winter Solstice Illumination at their father’s Winter Renewal. Surely this meant that their father intended to recognize her as Heir after Chatain. Surely.

“She’s young for this task,” her mother Vespla had said when Chatain formally requested Betsona’s help during Family Audience. But she had yielded to Betsona’s pleas, privately insisting that Betsona wear a protective bracelet when it was time to work the spell.

She left the bracelet in her room, of course. Only babies wore those bracelets, and she didn’t want Chatain to think she was a baby! It was important that he—and their father—see her as an equal. Didn’t Mother understand that?

Nerves jangled through her as Darlrema helped her robe for the ceremony. Then it was time to carry the generator along with Chatain, trying hard to ignore the sharp, painful prickles against her hands from the seething power inside the angrywood. Oh, this was going to be the best illumination ever!

They set it down in the middle of the Large Audience Room. Chatain smirked as the Court backed to the farthest edges of the room. They bowed to their father, then waited as he intoned the ritual words while the shamans for the gods Karnoi and Cirdel, whose month it was, waved metal incense burners to sanctify the Illumination.

Then it was time. Chatain’s smirk widened as he signaled for her to bring up the illumination they had created. Betsona focused upon the spell. She had decided to create an image of Princess Minekka of Adalane and Lord Elendor of Daraelen, who forged the two provinces into the foundation of the Darani Empire. Minekka was hers to manipulate while Elendor was Chatain’s.

Elendor came first, then Minekka—and she was thrilling to the splendor of Minekka’s manifestation when, suddenly, Elendor turned on Minekka, growing larger, larger, looming over them as he laughed maniacally. Something slammed her in the head, then the gut, followed by burning, burning, burning as Minekka’s figure faded. Then she went flying, slamming hard into the nearest wall.

The last thing she remembered was Chatain’s triumphant, private whisper to her.

I will never, ever, share power with you, half-breed! Never! Learn your proper role, daughter of dirt!

#

“And yet you want us to recreate that illusion for tonight’s ceremony,” Heinmyets said when she was finished. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“I trust you and Nameless. We’re not using a generator but our powers.” She took a deep breath. “And if I am to do what is needed as Regent here in Daraelen, then—this is a necessary first step.”

“I hope to prove worthy of your trust,” he said.

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles in response.

What she didn’t mention was her own doubts about her strength to face her past.

But it had to be done.

#

Overcoming the fear was the hardest part of working the Illumination that evening. Between Heinmyets and Nameless, however, they made it happen.

Oh, she saw the misgivings in the Court’s expressions as the three of them began to work the spell. Enough nobles from that disastrous Winter Solstice remained that they would remember what had happened then.

Heinmyets raised Elendor, and she and Nameless raised Minekka. Nameless added his own touch, stepping lightly into the illusion and kneeling to Minekka. The Princess climbed onto his back and he half-reared, holding the pose gracefully for a few moments before touching down.

Then it was done. She leaned heavily on her canes afterward, until Heinmyets guided her to her wheelchair and took over the final rites. It took every bit of strength she could summon to remain alert and aware as the Court came forward, one-by-one, to place their hands between hers and swear allegiance for the coming year.

But there was a respect in their bearings that had not been present before now. Except from Detri en Eotrien and, well—the new year would bring his comeuppance.

She had sworn six months ago that he would learn what it meant to cross a ruling Ralsem.

His lessons were about to begin.