The Lost Queen (Book 1 of The Lost Queen Series)

Chapter One

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Snow crunched beneath Seraiah's boots as she raced through the streets. Her breath puffed out in little clouds in front of her. One hand clutched her cloak close, her exposed fingers stiff with cold, while the other was buried in the folds of her skirts. In her rush to leave the house, she'd forgotten to grab her gloves.

If she hurried, she might still make it on time.

She wouldn't have had to worry about being late if she hadn't overslept. Sterling should have woken her, but her sister had thought she was doing Seraiah a kindness by letting her sleep. She wouldn't feel that way when Seraiah lost her job, and they could no longer afford to eat.

The threat of starvation spurred her onward.

The castle walls loomed ahead, but she was still so far away. Seraiah bit her lip as she came to an intersection. If she took a shortcut down Cedar street and cut between the houses to reach Aspen, she could save herself a few minutes and not have to run.

Normally, she avoided Aspen because it was a direct shot to the castle and therefore the busiest street. However, at this time of morning, most of the city of Ratha still slept. If she was lucky, she might get ahead of the crowds.

She hesitated one more moment, before making up her mind and turning down Cedar, praying to the gods she wasn't making a mistake.

When she emerged from between the houses, she was pleased to find her prayers had been answered, and the street was empty.

Seraiah slowed to a walk to catch her breath and switched her frozen hand with the one beneath her cloak. A quick check of the sun confirmed she now had plenty of time to make it to the castle, and could keep her much slower pace.

A short distance down the street, however, she realized why it had appeared so empty. It wasn't that there were no people, but rather they had gathered in front of the Grumbling Bear Inn. Many in the crowd were dressed as though they had been off to work, and some even held the reins of mules with carts attached.

Seraiah eyed the building that was less inn these days and more tavern. The front doors were shut tight against the cold, and no one stood on the raised stoop.

What could have made them stop?

As Seraiah drew closer, snatches of conversation resolved from a gentle hum into words she could understand. The whispers all had one thing in common: strangers.

Unconsciously, her steps slowed.

Strangers were a rarity in Ratha since snow had blocked the mountain pass. Anyone wishing to reach the city would have to do so via the dense woods that bordered the western side.

Curiosity pricked at her. Likely, it was a trader who'd come for the market and that's why so many were interested.

But what if it's not, a voice that sounded suspiciously like her sister's whispered in her head.

Seraiah checked the position of the sun. The shortcut had bought her enough time that she could wait and see. It wasn't the smart thing to do, but she knew Sterling would want her to look. Her sister lived for a good story, and this had the potential to be the best kind.

A few moments and then I'm off, Seraiah told herself. I can't risk any more than that.

She squeezed in next to a man holding a particularly pungent cart—something pickled must be in the barrels—and stood on her toes, trying to get a peek over the heads in front of her.