Dark Waters, the third book in my fantasy romance series under the pen name Meredith Hart, comes out in early 2021.

But you can take a sneak peek now…

“Anette. Wake up!”

I rose slowly through the misty layers of my dreams, drifting toward wakefulness like a swimmer rising languidly to the surface of a pond. I’d been dreaming of my first lover, Piers, the man who’d taught me how to bake bread, among other things. And the dream world was so slow to relinquish its grip on me  that at first I’d thought Piers was the one shaking my shoulder, calling me from the realm of sleep.

But no, Piers had left Lucien’s Vale years ago, gone to seek his fortune in some town that wasn’t slowly dying as the world spun away from it. And he’d taken his betrothed with him, a pretty little thing from a nice, normal family in town. He’d kissed me for the last time the same day I’d heard in the marketplace that he’d asked for her hand in marriage. I couldn’t even blame him. Why choose Anette, who was tethered to the crazy family in Raven’s Wing, when you could have a girl who would leave Lucian’s Vale by your side? Piers hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye before he left. 

And it was that memory, and the accompanying still-sharp pain of that final, small rejection, that truly pulled me from my dreams.

“Anette!”

A sharp voice, male, snapped through the room and a firm hand clenched my shoulder. The icy shock of loss crashed over me, tightening my throat, making my stomach feel as if it had been filled with stones.

“Oh, Henrix!” I sat up and turned to the old man standing over my bed. “Is Hylene gone?”

My aunt had been in the process of dying ever since we’d saved Vethe from mage fever. She hadn’t admitted as much, of course; no one had. But it was clear that her recovery had turned into an extended convalescence, and then into hospice. She’d stopped eating three days ago, and stopped drinking yesterday. Henrix hadn’t left her side in a week.

I sent a flicker of magic through the air and lit the candle on my bedside table. Henrix looked terrible, as was only to be expected. But he was also carrying a rather large bag slung over his shoulders, and he was staring at me with an odd expression on his weathered face.

“It’s not Hylene,” he whispered.

I blinked, staring at him.

“Listen to me now,” he said, using the phrase he’d repeated over and over again when Vethe and I were children. When we’d been doing something naughty.

“There are a dozen Citadel Masters in Lucien’s Vale.”

My body went cold. Citadel Masters poked around Raven’s Wing fairly frequently, usually wearing disguises. Henrix could always sniff them out, and we’d pretend to be an ordinary family for a couple of days. If Mother was having an especially difficult time, I’d fix her the special draught which knocked her unconscious, then sit by her bedside to make sure she kept breathing.

I rather liked those times, to be honest. Holding my mother’s hand, brushing her hair, fussing with the blankets keeping her warm. Pretending to be a nice, normal family.

“But—” I began.

Henrix held up one finger, silencing me. “You’re leaving. Loop through the woods to the north. Stay as far away from Lucien’s Vale as you can.”

My heart skipped, and my body went from cold to hot. “But—”

“Take the horse,” Henrix continued. “And this.”

He heaved the large bag off his shoulders and onto my mattress. The bedframe groaned in protest.

I waved my hand at the bag and voiced the first of the thousand questions to reach my lips. “What is this?”

“Your cover story,” Henrix answered. “If anyone asks, you’re a noble’s daughter who’s run away from your family. You’re following your lover to Mayhaven.”

Shock froze me. “To where?”

I’d never been further than Lucian’s Vale. Vethe was the one who did all the adventuring in this family; Mayhaven might as well be the far side of the moon for me. Henrix shook his head once. He was growing impatient. 

“Act stupid,” Henrix said. “Act spoiled. Act like you’re used to getting your own way.”

I stared at the large leather bag which had just been dumped on my bed. I recognized this bag, actually. It was one of the nicer things we’d discovered in the attic. I wondered what in the gods’ many names Henrix had put inside of it. Henrix bent down and picked up a pair of lady’s riding boots. Their leather was worn and slightly cracked, but they still looked serviceable.

“There are gold coins sewn into the cuffs,” he said, running his fingers along the folded tops of the boots. “And there are more coins sewn into the hem of the cloak in that bag. It’s an old one. Wear it when you ride and you won’t be an easy target for theives.”

Theives. Good gods above. An uneasy fear blossomed in my chest, dispelling the icy grip of shock, replacing it with something even less pleasant.

“There’s a secret pocket sewn into the bag,” Henrix went on. “In the bottom. You’ll feel it. Don’t open it until you’re somewhere safe.”

“Safe,” I repeated. My throat felt tight; the word came out pinched.

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