The storm burst like a cry through the blackness of night, tearing clouds with splintered streaks of lightning. The rain lashed the stone walls of the castle, and thunder roared so loudly that even the torches which lit the halls trembled and faded to a yellowish color.

Melucia reclined in the sanctum's high-backed chair, her fingers curled around a goblet of chilled darkroot wine. The firelight danced over her in changing gold and blood-orange light, but this night there was no warmth in her ...