Dragonmark by Sherrilyn Kenyon Page A

a murderous are-you-kidding-me glare.
    â€œWe’ll discuss this later.”
    â€œAye, preferably while I’m armed with something sharper to throw at you!” she called after him. Grumbling, she returned to watering the shoots that were just beginning to jut up from the soil. But in all honesty, she wanted to stomp on them until her anger was spent.
    Actually that wasn’t true. She wanted to stomp her brother’s head. They would just make a nice, non-sentient substitution.
    Sighing, Edilyn blinked as her tears returned, and she hated those even more than her anger. Fury sustained her. She could work with that. It was this unrelenting pain, the desolation that came with the knowledge she’d lost her dream and future that hurt so much.
    The hopelessness that there was nothing more for her. She’d had her one chance.
    Now it was gone.
    For such a needless reason. Such a selfish reason.
    Heartbroken, she picked up her empty bucket and headed back to the well at the same time she saw a rider approaching.
    Shouting and screaming, the other workers fearfully rushed to the village walls. Edilyn didn’t bother. She knew from experience that they’d lock her out. They always had. There was no need in giving them the amusement of watching her run for it anymore.
    So she walked casually toward the well while the rider approached her.
    To her surprise, it was a woman on the horse. Normally women didn’t travel alone. For that matter, men didn’t normally travel alone, either. Too many wars had broken out over these last few years, leaving behind enemies who wanted the throats of their rivals, and displaced bandits who would prey on anyone they could find.
    The woman slung one long, graceful leg over her mount and slid to the ground beside Edilyn. Dressed in black ring armor and clothes that said she was a hooded Saxon, she was a woman of exquisite beauty. Surely she had to be a princess or queen, if not a goddess. Her olive skin was flawless and contrasted sharply with vibrant green eyes that were sharp with her intelligence. As she approached Edilyn, she lowered her hood to expose a wealth of flame-red hair she’d intricately braided and coiled around her head. “Is the water fresh?”
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œMay I have some?”
    Edilyn drew it up and offered her a cup, then she took her field bucket to the horse for his refreshment.
    The woman quirked a brow at her actions. “That was kind of you.”
    Disregarding the praise, Edilyn stroked the horse’s black mane as he drank. “He’s beautiful. What’s his name?”
    â€œSamson.”
    She smiled as she admired the great warhorse. “A fitting name for one so handsome.” She gave him a gentle hug, then returned to pull up more water. “Would you like another drink?”
    â€œI’m good, thank you.” When the lady warrior went for her small leather purse, Edilyn stopped her.
    â€œThere’s no payment necessary.” She retrieved the bucket so that she could fill it and return to work.
    The lady cocked her head to watch her while she labored. “You’ve been crying.”
    It was a statement, not a question. Edilyn cleared her throat. “’Tis the sweat rolling into my eyes. Nothing more.”
    â€œSo I see.”
    Edilyn scowled at the way she said that. There was a peculiar note in her voice. “See what?”
    â€œWhy Illarion chose you. You were innocent in the deed, weren’t you?”
    â€œPardon?”
    A gentle smile spread across the woman’s face as she tucked her hair back behind her left ear to show that it was quite pointed. “I’m Xyn. Illarion’s older sister.”
    She sucked her breath in sharply. “He didn’t tell me you were Arcadian.”
    Xyn let out a sinister laugh. “Not Arcadian, love. Something far, far worse. And much older than their breed.”
    Suddenly frightened, Edilyn stepped back