Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Girl Who Dreamed The World
    The Girl Who Dreamed The World
    The Girl Who Dreamed The World
    Ebook357 pages5 hours

    The Girl Who Dreamed The World

    By James Loscombe

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    If she wakes their world will end

    Nicholas and Chloe are best friends. When they discover a passageway that leads to another world they are initially thrilled. But their joy soon turns to despair when they meet Jack, a man who has been trapped in the other world since he was a child, who explains that they cannot leave the same way they arrived. Their only hope is to find The Girl Who Dreamed The World and beg her to return them.

    But they are not the only people searching for The Girl. When The Black King's men find her it becomes a race against time to rescue her before she reaches Shadowrock Island. If they fail not only will they be unable to return home but, when she is woken, her dream will end and the world will be gone forever.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJames Loscombe
    Release dateMar 3, 2019
    ISBN9781386733188
    The Girl Who Dreamed The World
    Author

    James Loscombe

    James Loscombe has been publishing under various pen names for the last five years. He lives in England with his wife Tamzin and their sons Jude and Oscar.

    Read more from James Loscombe

    Related to The Girl Who Dreamed The World

    Related ebooks

    YA Coming of Age For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      The Joke

      Sep 1, 2020

      Although best known for his 1953 novel Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury was also a prolific writer of short stories, having published his first while still a teenager. This previously unpublished story likely dates to 1950, the year The Martian Chronicle

      5 min read

    • Article

      Lies I Tell My Father

      Feb 10, 2024

      “How’s your job at the newspaper?” my father asks me. He is sitting on a couch, a plush throw blanket spread across his legs. “The newspaper’s fine,” I lie. I lie because it is simple. I lie because it is quick. I lie because it is easier than trying

      10 min read

    • Article

      Ice cream DREAMS

      Aug 4, 2021

      Ice cream DREAMS
      8 min read

    • Article

      The Hound and the Hidden Homework

      Feb 1, 2019

      The Hound and the Hidden Homework
      4 min read

    • Article

      Timespiral

      Feb 1, 2020

      Timespiral
      7 min read

    • Article

      We Have To Go!

      Dec 3, 2021

      We Have To Go!
      3 min read

    • Article

      Homes and HEARTS

      May 16, 2023

      Homes and HEARTS
      6 min read

    • Article

      A new CHAPTER

      Apr 24, 2024

      A new CHAPTER
      6 min read

    • Article

      Under Covers

      Mar 1, 2023

      Alejandro Puyana is a Venezuelan writer living in Austin, Texas. His work has appeared in Best American Short Stories 2020, New England Review, American Short Fiction, Tin House, The Idaho Review, and other publications. He is at work on a novel. My

      18 min read

    • Article

      Rediscover THIS DAY

      Apr 1, 2021

      Rediscover THIS DAY
      4 min read

    • Article

      Cricket League

      Jan 1, 2022

      It was an unusual birthday. Colorful banners blanketed the backyard. Kids chased each other through the grass. Adults talked. It all went downhill from there. My little sister was turning five. On her birthday cake, painted in frosting, was a fat, pi

      7 min read

    • Article

      Cyber-parents

      Sep 1, 2020

      Cyber-parents
      4 min read

    • Article

      Clarity

      Feb 1, 2019

      Clarity
      6 min read

    • Article

      Rediscover This Day

      Mar 22, 2022

      Rediscover This Day
      4 min read

    • Article

      After “The End”

      Oct 10, 2022

      I walked down the road with a hunched back and a wet cigarette in my mouth—the fire had died a while back. My hands were tucked into the pockets of my jacket, and my hair fell over my face, limiting my sight. But I wasn’t really seeing where I was go

      10 min read

    • Article

      The Stonemason’s Wife

      Sep 1, 2020

      JOLINA HAS been hearing voices of men she’s never met. Voices like water, clear and cold, eddying at the back of her mind. They’re not real. She knows this. As in, she’s not crazy. They’re only the voices she’s heard on the phone, voices of men who b

      6 min read

    • Article

      Best Of The Best

      Oct 29, 2022

      Best Of The Best
      8 min read

    • Article

      Death On The Limpopo

      Sep 16, 2019

      Death On The Limpopo
      5 min read

    • Article

      Shanda

      Jan 1, 2024

      Shanda
      13 min read

    • Article

      These Bad Things

      Dec 23, 2019

      These Bad Things
      9 min read

    • Article

      ROBIN Redbreast

      Dec 6, 2023

      He was working in the garden of his cottage when Nicola walked past. Handsome, craggy, probably in his late 50s, like her, he was shovelling snow off the path between white-coated shrubs. ‘Hello!’ she called. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’ He stopped, glanc

      3 min read

    • Article

      Counter Waves

      Oct 23, 2020

      Counter Waves
      8 min read

    • Article

      The Education of Mrs. R.

      Sep 6, 2022

      An adolescent shriek woke her. Cockerels, she thought, cockerels, with a wry twist to the word. She lay in the dark listening. There was no use in covering her head; the screaming still came through. The soloist was suddenly submerged in the chorus.

      13 min read

    • Article

      The GRANDFATHER CLOCK

      Feb 10, 2021

      The GRANDFATHER CLOCK
      6 min read

    • Article

      THE WALLS Have Eyes

      Aug 6, 2019

      THE WALLS Have Eyes
      4 min read

    • Article

      Homes And Hearts

      May 25, 2021

      Homes And Hearts
      6 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Girl Who Dreamed The World

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      The Girl Who Dreamed The World - James Loscombe

      Chapter 1

      Nicholas sat in the chair by the window with his legs hanging over one arm and his back against the other. He had a book open on his lap. The faint glow of light through the thin curtains had faded to nothing and his mum had switched on lamps around the room.

      The television was on but the volume had been turned down when Doctor Who had finished Nicholas glanced at it now and saw some so-called celebrities competing for money by dancing. He turned back to his book and tried to concentrate but the words were swimming around and mixing with his parents conversation.

      His mum and dad were sitting next to each other on the beige sofa on the opposite side of the room. His mum had a glass of white wine in her hand while his dad was listlessly flicking through a catalogue that had been delivered earlier that day.

      Nicholas gave up on his book and stared at the quiet television. He let the images wash over him while he tuned in to his parents conversation.

      ...they parked that dirty old van of their’s right in front of the house, his mum said.

      They’ve got no respect, his dad said. What if you’d needed to go out?

      Well I wouldn’t have been able to, would I!

      Complaining about their neighbours was his parents favourite thing to do.

      You should have gone over there and said something, his dad said. I would have.

      Nicholas knew that his dad wouldn’t have done that but neither he, nor his mum, said so.

      What, and have one of their brat children shouting at me again? I don’t think so. She paused for long enough to take a swig from her wine glass. The yellow liquid sloshed over the sides when she moved her arm too quickly. Honestly, I don’t know where they learn the language.

      It must be the parents, his dad said.

      Or the schools, his mum said.

      They fell silent. Nicholas wondered if he should say something. He felt bad listening to them speak about Chloe’s family like that but it was better than listening to them argue.

      Do you know they’re having a party on Saturday? his dad said.

      Another one? his mum said. They only just had a party.

      The Reynold’s hadn’t had a party since May. It had been an unplanned event because the weather happened to be nice. It was now the middle of August and the warmth of the summer was starting to pass. Nicholas and his parents had been invited to both parties but they wouldn’t attended either.

      It’s probably another one of those damn kids having a birthday, his mum said.

      How many have they got now? his dad said.

      I don’t know, his mum said. She tried to take another mouthful of wine and spilled half of the glass down her jumper. Damn it, she said. She put the glass on the coffee table beside her, took a tissue out of the box and started dabbing at the stain. Seems like there’s a dozen of them.

      The Reynolds actually had five children and the two eldest girls no longer lived at the house. Chloe was the youngest by eight years. Nicholas considered telling his parents this but decided not to.

      I don’t know what’s happened to this area, his dad said. If people like that are moving in.

      Housing benefits, his mum said. She was holding her jumper out from her body to examine the wine stain under the lamp. It must be.

      Chloe’s dad was a nurse and her mum worked at Tesco. As far as Nicholas knew they had never claimed benefits. He thought about telling his parents this but he didn’t want to be the reason they started arguing. If they were moaning about other people then they weren’t moaning about each other.

      Do you want me to get you a towel? Nicholas said.

      His mum looked up and seemed surprised to see him there. Nicholas was used to people forgetting he was in a room but he thought his own parents would try a bit harder to remember him.

      It’s getting late, his mum said. I think it’s time for bed, don’t you?

      Nicholas closed his book and stood up. It wasn’t even nine o’clock and he was almost thirteen. He should have been able to stay up until ten if he wanted. But why would he want to stay up if it meant listening to his parents moan about the neighbours? Maybe in his bedroom he would be able to concentrate enough to read.

      He told his parents good night and went through the kitchen to get a drink of water. After he’d cleaned his teeth and put on his pyjamas he got into bed and opened his book again.

      The house was quiet enough that he could hear the wooden beams creaking as they settled. His window was open and his blue curtains billowed in the gentle breeze. Nicholas pulled the bed covers up to his chin and started to read.

      Nicholas was half-asleep with the light still on when he heard his mum shouting. She was still downstairs so he couldn’t hear what she said but a moment later his dad started shouting as well. He listened to their voices as the volume rose and fell, as they overlapped one another and cut each other off. He didn’t need to be able to hear what they were saying to know what it was about. It was about the same thing they always argued about.

      Nicholas turned back to his book and forced himself to concentrate. He wouldn’t be able to sleep while they were going at it but at least he could read. Given enough time their argument would become an indistinct blur of white noise.

      He turned the page and realised that he had no idea what had just happened in the story and that after just a few minutes he was hopelessly lost and confused.

      He turned back the page and tried again but the vague sense of familiarity made it even more difficult to concentrate. He sighed and pushed himself up. He reached for his phone on the nightstand and scrolled through his games looking for something that would distract him.

      Nicholas was just getting into a game of Tiny Wings when he heard footsteps on the stairs and realised that the raised voices had fallen quiet. There was a gentle tap on his door and he looked up from his game.

      The door opened a crack and his mum’s face appeared in the gap.  It was dark in the hall behind her. It’s time to go to sleep, she said. Her voice was slow and slurred.

      Yes mum, Nicholas said.

      He switched off the game and put his phone back on the bedside table. He climbed underneath his covers and waited for her to leave.

      She stood there and watched him without saying a word.

      Nicholas felt tired and, now that the argument had ended, he would be able to sleep. Goodnight mum, he said.

      She smiled but even from the other side of the room he could see that her eyes were glazed and unfocused. Night Nick, she said. She disappeared from the gap and closed the door.

      Nicholas reached over and switched off his bedside lamp. The room was dark except for the thin moonlight that came through when the wind blew his curtains just so. He closed his eyes and felt sleep stealing over him.

      He was woken suddenly by a loud bang. Nicholas opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure whether he had been asleep for five minutes of five hours.

      ‘...I am not making it up!" his dad shouted. His voice was muffled slightly by the walls but Nicholas could hear every word and movement coming from his parents bedroom next door.

      Then why haven’t you found something else? his mum said. Her voice was still slurred and she stumbled over words.

      Because it isn’t that easy, is it? his dad said.

      Nicholas closed his eyes and tried to force himself back to sleep but he already knew that he wouldn’t be able to. They could go on like this for hours. He wished they would go back to slagging off the neighbours. At least then he might get some sleep.

      Are you even looking for another job? his mum said.

      What? his dad scoffed. You think I’m going out every day and sitting in a coffee shop or something?

      Are you?

      No! Of course I’m not. It isn’t that easy you know. You know what the economy is like.

      So you say.

      So everyone says. You’ve seen the news.

      His mum made a noise but she didn’t say anything. Nicholas wondered if she’d lost the ability to make snide comments but he knew that he wasn’t that fortunate.

      Look, I’m trying, his dad said. He sounded apologetic, as if he was as sick of this argument as Nicholas was. You know I’m trying right?

      Nicholas held his breath and hoped that his mum would take the hint.

      You can’t be trying that hard, she said. Otherwise you would have found something.

      Nicholas couldn’t hear his dad sigh but he inferred it. Whatever Hannah, he said. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

      Oh what? That’s it? You don’t want to talk about it anymore so we’re supposed to pretend as if it isn’t happening? Am I not allowed to be worried? Is that it?

      Nicholas didn’t hear his dad’s reply above a mumble.

      What was that? his mum said.

      I said, if you’re that worried about it you could go and find a job yourself. Or would that interfere with your social life too much?

      Nicholas reached for his phone. He unlocked it and went to the messages app. He typed in a few words and climbed out of bed. He could still hear his parents shouting at one another as he walked across the room and pulled his old jeans over his pyjamas. The argument was barely comprehensible to him as he walked back towards his bed and opened the window enough to climb out.

      He knew that they wouldn’t notice he was gone but years of ingrained instruction still made him feel bad about going out at night. It didn’t stop him though. He climbed out of the window and dropped clumsily onto the tree branch below.

      Chapter 2

      Nicholas crossed the moist lawn in his bare feet. There was already a dim glow of orange light in the fort which cast shadows of movement around it.

      The fort was what he had called it since he was a little kid. Back when he’d first discovered it it had seemed big and imposing but with each passing year it appeared less so. There was no roof and only a crudely cut window in the old tree trunks that had been stacked side by side and imbedded in the soil.

      Nicholas walked around the corner and through a low opening which was full splinters. Chloe was sitting on one of the orange plastic chairs that they’d taken from a skip the previous summer.

      Are you okay? she said.

      Nicholas nodded and took the chair opposite her. She was wearing a grey hoody with GAP written on it in pink. She brushed tangled dirty blond hair behind her ear and leaned towards him.

      Were they fighting again?

      Nicholas nodded. He hadn’t thought he would want to talk about it, not even to Chloe. He leaned back in his chair and she put a hand on his knee. He could see the the remains of black nail varnish that she was half way through picking off.

      What was it about this time? Chloe said.

      Nicholas sighed. The same thing as always.

      Your dad still hasn’t found a job?

      No, he said. Chloe seemed to know what he needed better than he did. Nicholas found, as usual, that he was willing to open up and tell her everything. It’s getting worse and my mum’s drinking again. It’s like the only time they aren’t fighting is when they’re moaning about other people.

      My parents? Chloe said.

      Nicholas nodded. He hadn’t needed or wanted to keep that from her.

      You know it’s alright to talk to me, she said.

      I know, he said.

      And you don’t have to be like your parents. You know that too, right?

      I wish my family was like yours, he said.

      Chloe didn’t say anything. Nicholas didn’t have her gift for saying the right thing at the right time.

      The floor of the fort was covered in dry leaves that had fallen from the palm tree that some unknown resident had planted long before Nicholas was born. Maybe the same person who had built the fort itself. Sometimes Nicholas wondered what the original purpose of it had been. He didn’t believe it had ever been meant as a place for children to play.

      Emma’s back, Chloe said. Emma was her sister.

      Has she broken up with her boyfriend again? Nicholas said, glad to have the conversation move away from him and his problems.

      She wants a baby but he doesn’t. They’ll probably be back together by the end of the week.

      Is she staying in your room?

      Chloe nodded.

      It was getting late. The sky was black and wispy clouds blocked out the stars. Nicholas shivered and wondered if his parents were still awake. He could never tell how long one of their arguments was going to take.

      They’re such a pain in the ass, Nicholas said.

      Your parents? Chloe said.

      It’s like they can’t understand that other people might be different from them. He thought about what he meant but that wasn’t really it. It was as if he could feel the problem but he couldn’t articulate it, even to Chloe. He tried again anyway. They think they’re perfect and that everyone else should be just like them. But they’re not perfect. He shook his head. The true meaning of how he felt alluded him.

      Everyone’s different, Chloe said.

      I know, Nicholas said. But they don’t seem to. He shook his head and tried to push down the heavy feeling in his chest.

      There’s nothing you can do to change them, Chloe said.

      I know, Nicholas said.

      You just need to get over it, Chloe said.

      I know, Nicholas said but he didn’t know how. He was just a kid. Legally he wouldn’t even be able to move out for another four years. What was he supposed to do until then?

      You’ll be alright, Chloe said.

      What about you? Nicholas said. Are you going to be alright?

      Chloe shrugged. It’s getting late, she said. We should go back.

      Nicholas nodded. It was also getting cold. Neither of them moved. They each had their own reasons for not wanting to go home. Sometimes Nicholas thought things would be simpler if they could just get rid of their parents.

      Come on, Chloe said. She stood up and pulled down her hoody. Nicholas reluctantly stood as well. Do you want to do something tomorrow?

      Like what? Nicholas said.

      Chloe ducked through the splintery door. She was a couple of inches taller than Nicholas. He followed her. I don’t know. Hang out?

      I guess, he said.

      They walked across his garden together. His parents room was at the front of the house so, even if they were looking out of the window, they wouldn’t see him. Unless you’ve got something better planned?

      Hanging out sounds good, he said.

      They stopped at the back door to Nicholas’ house. He didn’t want to go back inside. The lights were all off and it seemed as welcoming as a bear pit. Chloe stood with her back to her house. The lights were on and he could hear people talking and laughing and there was funny smelling smoke coming from the back door.

      I’ll see you tomorrow? Chloe said.

      Nicholas nodded. Yeah.

      He turned away and let himself in through the back door. He closed the door behind him and stopped. The house was silent. He walked through the kitchen and up the stairs. He skipped over the one’s that squeaked.

      He made it all the way up to his bedroom without hearing a thing except his mum’s gasping snore. When he was undressed he got back into bed and was asleep before he’d counted to ten.

      Chapter 3

      The sea was navy blue and fringed with a collar of white foam. The boat rocked from side to side, thrown across the water like a child’s toy. The light of it winking on and off as the icy waves crashed across the deck. The sky was a uniform black. A swollen mass of clouds that seemed angry, as if such a thing were possible, hung in the sky The island ahead glowed softly, the orange and red of a fire raging somewhere unseen. All the crew could do was aim for land and hope.

      The man in black stood at the bow with his hands clasped behind his back. He rose and fell with the tide. He carried himself well. With his chin up and chest out he looked regal. Perhaps even royal. The boat crew had been thrown into chaos by the storm but it seemed to have no effect upon him.

      Pull down the ropes and get up the ratline, the captain shouted. His voice was silenced by water crashing over the deck. He and all of his men were soaked to the bone yet the passenger seemed to remain dry.

      Someone shouted back. A voice caught in the wind and water. Most of them couldn’t see further than the length of their arms.

      Rowan looked up as they approached Shadowrock. Dark winged shapes swooped around the high pointed turrets of the castle and around the rocky peaks of the island itself. Their fiery breath momentarily lighting up their diabolical forms before they dove away in search of food.

      The crew became more excitable as they neared the dock, yet Rowan remained still. Instead of the external dangers he focused on his internal anxiety. His audience with the Black King was not something he desired but he had lost the drawing of string and now he had no choice. He knew better than to think that he could control the situation. He could control himself and no more.

      Men shouted to one another and bustled around him. Jets of icy water crashed over the deck and made the floor slippery and dangerous. The crew had already lost a man to the bottomless black depths of the north sea but they were well compensated for the job.

      The boat reached the pier with a clunk and more men fell to the deck. Others rushed towards the dock. Some jumped across, others threw them rope. They hurried to make his route safe but none of them would come any closer to the castle than this.

      A man dressed in yellow wobbled towards him. He wiped salty water from his face with a wet sleeve.

      We’re here sir, the man said.

      Rowan nodded and took a deep breath. It was essential that he remain calm. He had good news for the king, he reminded himself. Any normal man would be pleased to hear what he had to say. But the king was no normal man. Thank you Captain, he said.

      The boat was unstable as he walked towards the pier. Men clutched anything they could to avoid falling overboard but Rowan had no such concerns. He might fall and sink to his death, he thought, which would mean he didn’t have to see the king. He was an invited guest, however, and the magic of the island would allow him safe passage from the mainland.

      His boots thudded on the wooden pier. The men from the boat watched him warily as he passed. More of them might die while they awaited his return but they wouldn’t leave without him unless the island willed it to happen. If they left without him it would not be his concern. If they left without him it would mean he was already dead.

      The air was thick with magic. He could feel it against his skin. The hairs on his arms and neck prickled and his flesh seemed to vibrate. He walked up the stairs at the end of the pier and onto the island. Above him the black scaled dragons swooped low to investigate his arrival.

      There were no insects on Shadowrock. The sound that Rowan heard came from the magical energy that emanated from every carved rock and charred bushel. He followed the well worn path through the village. Previous visits had taught him not to spend too long examining the abandoned buildings and rotting wooden carts. It looked as if the people who had lived here had simply vanished but he knew the more unsettling truth of things.

      He passed beneath an ornately carved bridge which no one would have crossed for decades. He climbed the stairs on the other side. The loose steps wobbled where they had cracked and the lanterns ahead blinked into life. The rocks to his left were thick with green mould. Ahead of him the castle of Shadowrock came into view like an apparition from another world.

      The castle sat atop a rocky outgrowth. It was cloaked in mist and the sky above it swirled black and grey. There was a single long bridge across jagged rocks that led to the castle entrance.

      Rowan pushed aside blackened branches which would never bloom again. The closer he got to the castle the more violent the buzz of unfriendly magic became. He could hear the bubble and flow of melted rock which filled the cavern on the other side.

      The bridge was cracked and broken but it was kept aloft with more magic. If he was unwelcome, he believed, it would break and he would tumble to his death, but The Black King had requested his presence and he would not be allowed to die until he had given his message.

      He stopped at the closed castle gate and waited. The king would have followed his journey from the north shore of Picts and would know that he had arrived. If he was being kept waiting it was because he wanted him to wait.

      A small dark figure appeared on the other side of the gate. It was the size of a child and might easily have been mistaken for one. Rowan guessed that there hadn’t been a child on the island for many years.

      The figure stopped and removed its hood to reveal an aged face and long pointed features. It had wide eyes and a thin neck. It spoke with the voice of an old woman. Rowan Canouville? it said.

      It is I, he said.

      The small woman nodded and the gate began to rise. There was no noise as it climbed into the sky before his eyes. There was no mechanism to propel it. Like so much else on the island the gate relied on magic to fulfil its purpose.

      The gate shuddered and stopped when it was only half way open. Rowan waited for it to continue.

      You may as well come in, said the small woman. She appeared even smaller now that there was no gate between them. She stood no higher than Rowan’s hip.

      He looked up at the gate as he passed beneath it but it didn’t move. The woman led him away into the castle.

      The long dark hallways were made of cold stone. The floor was carpeted but the carpet was worn. Rowan tried to ignore the eerie paintings of long dead monarchs which hung in the shadows and seemed to follow him as he passed.

      They went along corridor after corridor. Up steps and down them. The castle was unimaginably vast. If Rowan ever had to make a quick getaway he could find himself wandering these passages until he succumbed to starvation and laid down dead.

      Finally they reached what looked like an entrance hall, although by his own crude reckoning, Rowan thought they must be somewhere near the middle of the building.

      The old woman led him up the stairs. His wet boots left puddles in the red shag. His legs were too heavy to move quickly and he was in no rush to arrive. Eventually the creature pushed open a door and led him into the throne room.

      The Black King sat at the back of the room in a horned throne. He wore an iron crown and the rest of him was in black. His long dark hair hung over his shoulders.

      It was not The Black King who gave Rowan cause to pause. He had expected and prepared himself for the meeting. It was the other man who stood beside him. The other man was dressed in charred armour and held a sword beside his legs. He had the fur of some black animal lining his collar and two large dogs sitting alert either side of him. His heavy set eyes stared across the room and put Rowan in mind of an executioner. Was that why he had been called here? Was he to be put to death?

      Rowan pulled himself together. He knew why he was there and it was of his own accord. The Black King had not called for him, he had requested the visit himself. He had a message to deliver and even The Black King would not have him killed for that.

      Step forward Rowan, The Black King said. His voice sounded tired and old.

      Rowan nodded and walked across the room.

      The Black King looked decades older than he had when Rowan had last seen him. His face was covered in gritty white stubble and his mouth sagged when it was still.

      You have found her? The Black King said.

      Rowan nodded. It took a moment for him to find the confidence to speak. She is in Merrowshore, he said.

      The Black King nodded as if he had known it all along.

      She is heavily guarded. The monks will not hesitate to kill us if we attempt to breach the compound.

      The man with the two dogs did not react. The Black King nodded. You understand how important it is that I get the girl? he said.

      I understand sire, Rowan said. Despite the coldness of the castle and his own wet clothes, he felt himself growing warm and beginning to sweat. I understand sire. If we had attempted to take her we would all have been killed. If we had been killed there would be no one to tell you where she was being held.

      Rowan could only hope that the information he had freely given would appease the king. His own life was inconsequential compared to the location of the girl.

      What do you need from me? The Black King

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1