The land of Goran has been ruled for nearly a thousand years by the mighty Amenthis dynasty. However, a fatal fracturing has begun.
Beyond the capital, newlywed pearl diver Vinie kindles the spark of rebellion from the ashes of her life, while outca...
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A secret changed the world. It was nothing as grand as a covert political alliance, nor so insidious as a plot to commit murder. The nation of Goran had more than enough history behind its royal house to render such things mere footnotes in time. This was a family secret, conceived on a fresh spring night as the nightingales sang in the gardens of Vaelona.
Vaelona was, and still is, widely considered to be the crown jewel of culture in the west. Its pristine streets, ornate architecture, and affluent populace made it a haven for those of refined tastes. Here the nobility reigned supreme, second only to the might of the ruling Amenthis dynasty itself, far away in Amenthere, the capital of Goran. Most notable and influential among all the noble families were the Tremaris, Iralar, and Saurivic families. To bear the heraldry and name of one of Vaelona's premier three families was to have the world at your feet.
Some matters, however, give no consideration to wealth or class. Rosarin Saurivic was dying. All of the Saurivic family's wealth and status had proven useless to save the wife of its scion. Healer after healer had been sent for over the past several weeks. Not a one succeeded in stemming the pooling of fluid in Rosarin's lungs. Her gasping coughs filled every corner of the estate. Even the crickets in the hedges fell silent, overshadowed as sorrow descended upon the Saurivic estate.
Through a windowsill framed by flowering ivy, Jahaelis, Rosarin's husband and the eldest child of Lord Jalborn Saurivic, paced the sickroom in anxious circles. His usually well-groomed brown hair jutted up at odd angles where he had shoved his hands through it. Dark stubble shadowed his pointed chin and high cheekbones. The velvet waistcoat and vest Jahaelis wore were the same he had slept in the night before.
"Useless, they're all useless!" Jahaelis exclaimed, the panic ringing clear in his voice. "Father, I thought you said the last healer came recommended from Castle Armathain itself?"
"They did."
Jalborn Saurivic sat in a large green armchair, directly facing the bed where his daughter-in-law languished. Even as he aged, the head of the Saurivic family remained tall and hale. His clear brown eyes watched Jahaelis pace overtop of laced fingers, their sharp focus in defiance of his cloud-white hair and brows.
"Then what are we to do?" Jahaelis exploded, his cry ringing off of the gilded ceiling. "Father, I can't just stand here and watch her die. I won't!"
"What you won't do is help with all of your shouting," Tyene Saurivic said crossly from her place at the bedside.
All dark colors and sharp angles, like her brother, Tyene was usually the voice of practicality. The tight sleeves of her heavily embroidered gown were turned up to the elbows, badly crushing the delicate fabric and leaving red marks on Tyene's skin. Frowning, she dabbed at Rosarin's fevered brow for the thousandth time with a damp cloth. "She's still coughing up foam."
