Coreene Callahan - Knight Avenged

Surprise, surprise, the warrior didn’t listen any better than her gift. Despite the fact he’d yet to speak inside the vision, H-whatever-his-name didn’t seem the obedient type. Riding roughshod over people seemed more his style. Was it unfair to make the assumption based on appearance alone? Cosmina huffed. Probably, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was for him to go away and leave her in peace. But even as she prayed for him to fade, she wondered what envisioning him meant.

Was he friend or foe? Would he hurt or help her?

Damn good questions. Ones that highlighted an ever-persistent problem. As much as she wished otherwise, her visions never came with a road map. Or any kind of explanation. Instead of a complete picture, she ended up with bits and pieces. Visual snippets and broken whispers. Quick flashes that left her scrambling to fit the puzzle pieces together. Never the whole story. Always a jumbled mess inside her head.

Incredibly frustrating. Dangerous too, considering the warrior was still planted on the forefront of her brain. He was too strong. Far too capable. She could tell by the way he held himself inside the vision and knew—without a shadow of doubt—H represented a threat of disastrous proportions if he proved to be an enemy of the Order of Orm.

Too bad her mission couldn’t be forestalled, never mind ignored. Turning tail and returning home would be easier. Safer too, but she’d never been a quitter. Duty called. The goddess had been clear. So instead of backtracking to the nearest exit, Cosmina lifted her head and squared her shoulders. Her boot heels pressed against her bottom, she drew a deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity, and started to count. One . . . the horror of her stupid gift. Two . . . ridiculous quest. Three . . . just kill her now and call it a night. Four . . .

She released the air on a shaky exhale, then nodded. Better. Much, much better. The handsome hazel-eyed warrior was fading along with the excruciating pain. As he disappeared, draining from her mind like grains of sand through open fingertips, her focus returned. Her gaze narrowed on her target: the towering wall beyond the golden altar at the front of the rotunda.

Almost there. A hop, skip, and a jump away. A mere stone’s throw from the secret entrance into the Chamber of Whispers.

Adjusting her heavy satchel, Cosmina secured the strap against her shoulder and pushed to her feet. As her weight settled back on her frame, she shifted onto the balls of her feet. Strength infused her muscles. With a burst of speed, she charted a course and sprinted past the next column. Her gaze skipped around the space, landing on the dome rising above the rotunda. Moonlight shone through the stained-glass windows ringing the base of the cupola. Color exploded across the floor, painting the pale marble with strange patterns, revealing the hour. Almost midnight. It wouldn’t be long now. Within minutes, the winter solstice would commence and her duties would begin.

Which meant she must hurry. Before she lost all possibility of redemption.

A second chance. The opportunity to belong once more. Cosmina’s heart throbbed a little harder. ’Twas a gift, one presented to her by the Goddess of All Things mere days ago. Even while on the run, the dreamscape visit still haunted her, hanging on edge of conscious thought, urging her toward what the goddess wanted. The deity worked that way, invading dreams to convey a message. Or present one of her subjects with a new path.

Sprinting past another column, the exchange expanded between her temples, making her recall the unexpected conversation.

“Cosmina . . .”

The warm whisper drifted on a stream of power a moment before an image formed in her mind’s eye. Glorious to behold, the goddess reached across time and space, enfolding her in majesty. And as the soft web of welcome embraced her, Cosmina knew she’d come home. That all the years of struggle had been worth it. That the powerful being who held her close needed her help and could not be denied.

Aware but still lost to sleep, Cosmina bowed her head and sank to her knees inside the dream. “Majesty . . . you honor me with your presence. Thank you for your protection and grace through dark days and lost years.”

“Naught has been lost, child,” the goddess murmured, a smile in her voice. “You have thrived outside the Order of Orm, and I am proud to call you mine own.”

The praise tightened Cosmina’s throat. “How may I serve you, Majesty?”

The goddess laughed, the tinkling sound one of delight. “You always were keen of mind, Cosmina. Quick to comprehend.”

“I had a good teacher in my mother.”

“Indeed.” Sorrow in her eyes, the goddess’ expression turned solemn. “I am sorry for her loss and your hurt.”

“All things happen for a reason,” Cosmina whispered with lingering sadness. The goddess’ concern—and obvious grief—did naught to soothe her. Five years had come and gone since her mother’s murder, and yet the pain persisted. Now Cosmina missed her more than ever. Wished for so many things, but most of all, to have her back. A foolish longing. Naught could bring her mother back. She knew that. Accepting the facts, however, didn’t help. Her heart still ached, and the loss still hurt. “Is that not what you teach?”

“It is, child . . . although some things are more difficult to understand than others.”

Didn’t she know it. Years spent in exile had taught her well. Evil abounded in hearts and minds, tempting fate. A harsh reality, one in which destiny wove a crooked trail, refusing to spare the innocent.

Leveling her chin, Cosmina met the deity’s gaze. “What would you have me do, Majesty?”

Brilliant green eyes returned her regard. “Return, Cosmina. Journey to White Temple. Perform the ancient rite and recall the Blessed to the holy city. Evil rises to the west. The Order of Orm must be strong and the sacred rituals observed if we are to withstand it.”

As Cosmina pushed to her feet in the dreamscape, the image of the goddess faded. Woven in magic, her final command arrived on a smoky whisper . . .

“Rise and return, child. The future rests with you.”

End of conversation. And the last she’d heard from the Goddess of All Things.

Yet, Cosmina knew the deity watched from afar. She felt her gaze, the heft and weave of a cosmic wind as the goddess tracked her progress, cheering her on, moving obstacles until her path opened and the way became clear.

Staying low, Cosmina raced past another pillar. Using each base for cover, she rounded the outskirts of the room. Gaze on the wall beyond the High Altar, the irony of her actions struck home, dragging an unwanted memory to the forefront of her mind. Her throat went tight. How many times had she been in this chamber? Hundreds? Thousands? Too many times to count? As she headed around the last corner, her eyes on the staircase in front of the altar, an image flashed in her mind’s eye . . .

Four, mayhap five, years old, she was playing hopscotch on the marble tiles, beneath the golden dome, while other members of the Blessed looked on.

Such a pretty portrait. One filled with good memories despite how wrong it had gone in the end. Her banishment at the hands of Ylenia, the former High Priestess, might have separated her from the Order, but the holy city remained her home. And the goddess her one true purpose.

Some had called her exile a death sentence.

Cosmina knew better. Regardless of the fear and uncertainty, her expulsion had been her salvation. Instead of death that dark day, she’d gained her freedom. From servitude inside the temple and a High Priestess that craved her gift, but cared naught for her. From the realization that no matter how much she believed—or how hard she tried—she would never measure up to Ylenia’s twisted standards.