At Dawn's End
an excerpt

Autumn was upon them.

Each year it seemed to bear a heavier weight and a new mass of implications. It had been Autumn many years ago when what was then known as Jorenthail fell in a course of bloody months that had ended with the first Iscaryon seated on the shining throne. It had been her father’s great-grandfather, the first Ellis Iscaryon in their line. Ilaria was to be next Iscaryon on the throne, yet the time continued to pass on, each day ending in a bitter reminder of her place in the world. Her father, King Ellis Fenton Iscaryon III had served on the throne for forty-five years, having earned the privilege when he was eighteen. Rightfully, the throne should have passed to her eighteen as well, yet her father had not relinquished the role. Out of respect no one, not even her, could ask him to do so.

The wind whistled through the tall standing trees, it was at once a high shrill that shifted seamlessly to a low hum. It was like a whisper of forbidden secrets. When she was younger she had believed the wind told stories. That belief was mostly attributed to Old Fredericks. He had a knack for storytelling and frightening the younger children. No one knew how old Fredericks was, but he claimed that he had been a boy during the Golden Reign. As far as Ilaria knew, humans didn’t live to for several centuries. If he had, Ilaria wondered what he thought of the times now, and what people would call her father’s reign a hundred years from now. Despite the fact that Fredericks tales had little affect on her at her age, it was still hard to shake the belief that the wind was talking all around her.

she continued silently save for her thoughts, the leaves rustled impatiently as if they were bitter to have their own private conversations disturbed. In Ilaria’s ears, there was no sound around her but the wind dancing between the trees.

Her horse’s hooves sunk into the wet ground as they marked a path through the forest. The forest, the Reckoned Wood as it was named, was a stretch of dense trees to the north of castle Iscaryon. The trees seemed to reach incredibly high, their branches undoubtedly poking at the sky. The canopy was thick, allowing little light to peer through the outstretched arms of the trees. There were spots of light here and there, illuminating their path which was full of a mess of tangled shrubbery. The riders of the Blue Guard, twelve and all had been travelling through the forest for the better part of the day. Ilaria couldn’t help but feel as if she was trespassing passing through it. The Reckoned Wood was one of the oldest forests still standing in all of Freos. It had seen much and would see more long after her father, and long after her.

“Since you pleaded so desperately, how about keeping up with the rest of the riders,” a gruff voice called out to her.

Ilaria allowed herself a small smile, looking away from the distance of the forest to Benjamin Ralster, her father’s prime council and closest friend. Though his words were sharp his light blue eyes sparkled with amusement. Once again she could not help but remark how similar his appearance was to her own. His thin eyes were set in a chiseled face with a strong jaw, it was a jaw meant for backtalk her father had often joked of both of them. She nudged her horse into a quicker trot, falling in line beside Benjamin, the two of them trailing behind the other riders. The entire group had been picked out from amongst the Blue Guard several days before to investigate reports of raids on several of the villages that lie on the outskirts of the kingdom. The ride had taken them deep into the Reckoned Wood. The villages were nestled within a large mysterious clearing in the middle of the forest.