The poets of old spoke of Seers gifted with waking dreams,

of Sentinels who could take the form of the beasts of the air, forest, or sea

and who watched over the sacred lands.

Then the age of gifts came to an end.

Over the next hundred of years, Seers and Sentinels became as legends,

stories told to wide-eyed children at night.

Chapter One

Analisia grabbed her skirts and ran for the palace wall. Her veil whipped about her, threatening to fly free of the slim gold halio holding it in place. At the wall, she kicked off her new heeled dancing slippers and climbed hand-over-hand up the smooth bronze rings embedded in the towering stone. After so many years, she didn’t even have to look at the rings. She’d scrambled up this same way ever since she was a little girl, though she knew very well she wasn’t supposed to.

There was no way she could walk serenely to the royal carriage waiting for her.

She’d tried to. She’d dressed the part. She’d put on the stupid dancing slippers that pinched her toes. And then as she approached the palace courtyard, her feet had decided on a very different course. Escape.

As Analisia stood panting at the top, she couldn’t even see the view for several moments. She could only feel. Her heart beat a little faster than usual from her climb. Her breaths filled lungs that ached. Her face hurt from trying not to cry.

Slowly her vision cleared and she could breathe more easily.

She looked around at the city of Isalla stretched out before her, from the shores of the sea, up the slopes of the surrounding hillsides. Many of her city’s houses were so tightly pressed together that you couldn’t wedge a page of parchment between them. At a distance, they all flowed into one rolling carpet of red and gold. The red was thousands of red-tiled rooftops and the gold was bits of sandstone brick showing through here and there. Beyond the winding white shoreline, the sea was the deepest shade of turquoise and sparkled with light, like brilliant golden gems, as it cast up the last rays of the setting sun. It was a familiar sight and one that usually gave Analisia a feeling of home, but this evening, she only felt torn.

Some distant voice inside her told her she should be worried that the pale cream silk of her gown might get dirty.  Or that her transparent veil, the one she’d embroidered herself with strands of gold, might catch on a ragged edge and tear. She ignored the voice and simply walked. Though there was a good four-story drop off either side of the palace wall, the flattened walkway beneath Analisia’s feet was wide enough for two guardsmen to stand shoulder to shoulder without falling off—but there was also nothing to keep her from pitching off on either side if she tripped, so she stayed true to the middle.

At the sound of a shrill cry in the distance, she looked up to see if Olera, her falcon, was circling above. She saw only blue sky over the sea and the mellowing tones of burnt red and orange where the sky met the tops of the hills.

Looking up at the sky reminded Analisia of more peaceful days as a small girl, lying on the top of this wall and staring up as her father’s falcon soared high above her. She’d imagined the bird was Il Sentiro. Legends said he was a sentinel, a man who could take the form of a falcon and fly. He had scouted for his king, or so the poets said. And whenever he returned to give his report, he’d changed back into a man, as impossible as that seemed—even for one with a gift as unique as hers.

Analisia stretched her arms out at her sides, wanting more than anything to be able to fly.

It would certainly be a handy skill at this moment.

She could simply fly away.

There’d be no more duty, only sky.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

A great whooshing sound startled Analisia and caused her to catch her toe on the hem of her gown. She wheeled her arms, desperately trying to catch her balance. As she stumbled sideways a step, much too close to the edge, time seemed to slow and stretch out around her. In an instant, she could almost see her body on the pavers below, her limbs twisted at odd angles, lying between the bubbling fountain and the statue of her grandmother. Then, miraculously it seemed, her bare feet gripped the roughened stone, checking her fall. She backed up a pace and righted herself.

She stood shaking, simply breathing in and out. There was little time to think about falling though, for Olera was nearly upon her, approaching on powerful wings. Analisia raised her fist instinctively and the falcon flew to her. Far below her on the palace grounds, Ilan, the falconer’s apprentice, appeared. He raced along the palace wall, with the hem of his simple sand-colored tunic flapping against the back of his knees.

At the sight of her friend, Analisia immediately straightened to the more proper posture of a princesa. As she did so, the tensed muscles in her neck relaxed, making her realize how much she’d tightened up.

“What’s this?” she called down to Ilan with a wry smile. She scratched at the feathers behind Olera’s neck and the falcon preened at her touch.

Ilan bowed, then craned his neck to look up at Analisia. “She must have seen you standing there, princesa, for she burst from my hold. It was all I could do to stay with her as long as I did.” He blew a dark curl off his forehead, though he didn’t even seem winded from his run.

Not fooled by Ilan’s dramatics, Analisia held back a smile and said, “You’ve shown great fortitude, my friend.”

“I am, as always, glad to be of service.” Ilan’s eyes glowed with appreciation. Since his first day of service at the age of seven, he’d followed Analisia around like a faithful houndling. Now at sixteen, a year younger than she, he’d become a handsome youth. Soon he’d turn his attention to one of the palace’s many servant girls. And Analisia would hardly be able to complain about it, because, after tonight, she’d likely never have time to practice archery with her friend anymore. She’d have other things to concern her. Dry and discouraging things like alliances and duty.

And honoring her grandmother’s wishes.

And becoming betrothed to a man she didn’t love.

The sinking sensation Analisia had felt growing inside her for the past several weeks returned, twisting her stomach into a knot the size of a fist. She felt a frown creasing her brow and was grateful Ilan’s attention was fixed on Olera.

“Come now, hungry one,” Ilan crooned as he reached upwards with one gloved fist. “Your princesa has no food for you, but I’m sure the master has a morsel or two waiting.”

With a great shake of her wings, Olera flew down and arranged herself on Ilan’s fist. She waited with an air of great forbearance as he tied the thin leather jesses to her leg.

Ilan finished and glanced up at Analisia. “May I be of assistance, princesa? The royal carriage even now awaits your arrival ...” He looked pointedly toward the palace courtyard. In the opposite direction. “I’ve heard there’s a banquet tonight in Boroth, or have you perhaps...forgotten?”

Despite her troubled thoughts, Analisia’s lips twitched. “I haven’t forgotten, Ilan, as you well know.” I’ve only been delaying the unpleasant.

“The queen wouldn’t be happy to see you up there.” He paused to raise one dark brow. “Again.”

“I know,” Analisia said, grateful that her friend hadn’t witnessed her near fall. “You may go with my gratitude.” She gave him a royal wave, a flourishing motion, dismissing him.

“It’s merely my duty and pleasure to serve, princesa.” Ilan bowed low, raising Olera high on one fist as he did so—very dramatically, of course—and took his leave.

As Analisia watched her friend walk away with the sure stride of someone with a clear purpose and direction, she realized she couldn’t stay on top of her wall forever. She was no longer the little girl who’d once believed she could escape her troubles. She was a young woman, and it was time to start acting like one.

After very deliberately lifting up the hem of her gown, Analisia padded along the top of the palace wall in her bare feet. Again, she climbed down the bronze rings of the watchman’s ladder with the ease of practice. At the bottom, she slid her feet back into her new dancing slippers, the ones that perfectly matched the gold strands in her veil, but also pinched her toes.

With that done, she straightened up tall and lifted her chin.

For that was what one did to prepare for battle.

Even if that battle was with oneself.