Prince of Time

The White Palace Deseillign Waste Avallyn Le Severn walked the length of the palace corridor alone, her strides smooth and sure, her boots silent on the marble floor the tread of a desert walker. A faint flush warmed her cheeks beneath her vision visor, a damnable inconvenience she needed to remedy before facing the tribune. All other signs of her inner turmoil were hidden beneath a layer of carefully contrived calm that two days of travel over the trackless Waste had not shaken. She had been summoned. She had come. And now it would begin. A sere wind blew through the open windows on each side of the hall, bringing with it the withering heat of the day. Sand moved with every breath of air, drifting over the sills and spilling onto the floor, a fallow flow from the endless Sand Sea. Someday the dunes would engulf the White Palace and there would be nothing but sand from the Dragon's Mouth to the Old Dominion. But for now, the sweepers would come. For now, her concerns lay elsewhere. The color in her cheeks deepened, yet her stride did not falter. He was here, as sworn by the monk from Sonnpur-Dzon. He had been found, in this time, on this world. Her prince. The years of waiting were over. The destiny for which she'd been born would now begin to unfold in all its terror and glory with him by her side, the one for whom she had waited the prince of the Fata Ranc Le, the Red Book of Doom. In another life he had written his fate upon the pages of the scarlet-bound book with the touch of his hand, and so had bound himself to her. Sweet Mother, she had waited. Waited in despair that he would never come, and in fear that he would. She'd scarce believed it when the monk had confessed to letting him walk out of the Sonnpur-Dzon monastery three months ago without so much as a by-your-leave. Ten thousand years he had been in the coming, and the monks had lost him in a matter of minutes. A mendicant, the monk had called him, a wandering brother who had come to the monastery to pray and meditate. He had revealed himself on a new moon night in the Sanctuary of Demons, a golden dragon grasped in his right hand and a blazing sword in his left, a warrior as the Book had foretold. He'd disappeared in a whirl of blue fire, walking off the monastery's great wall into the night sky and the monks had let him. The next morning no body had been found, only the prince's tracks in the snow where he had landed with celestial grace. The powers of a mage, the heart of a warrior, and the courage of a saint. So it had been written of the prince, and so it was. Thank the gods, she thought. They would need all three to survive their fated journey. The Prince of Time. A thrill of excitement edged with fear sliced through her, threatening the thin veneer of her composure. He'd traveled far, a time-rider from a primitive, barbaric age. Would he be a danger, she wondered, this warrior-saint from out of the past? History was littered with destruction wrought in the name of saviors. Would the prince of the Fata be such a peril? And if he was, would her course be changed? No, she vowed. The fiercer and more barbaric, the better. Only the Prince of Doom, as some called him, would have a chance of surviving their destination, and only the mightiest warrior would have even half a chance of bringing her out alive with him. Shadana, she sent up a fervent prayer. Let him be all that is written and more. No matter how fierce, her will would tame him to the deed. The duty they shared would bring him to his destiny, and in their moment of triumph, she would grace him with a kiss. Her blush deepened, the damnable thing, but the prince was hers, and it was right that she should kiss him. The entrance to the Court of the Ilmarryn loomed in front of her, white marble columns rising up out of the shadows oMcReynolds, Glenna is the author of 'Prince of Time' with ISBN 9780553574326 and ISBN 0553574329.