Between (The Chronicles of Between, #1)

by L.L. Starling

“The Headmistress said that tea was good for the flu.” “Tea drinkers tell such lies. It’s a cult, I tell you.” Lyla helped Sasha to her feet and picked up her library book. “You know what’s also good for the flu? Rum. Lots of lovely rum. We’ll get you some steak and some rum, and you’ll be back to your old self again.” “Sure, if I was originally a pirate.”

“Nothing good comes from dating a bearded guy. If they’re devious enough to hide their chins, they could be hiding anything….”

The apprentice removed Lorn’s boot and began the effortful task of peeling back his leather pants. He paused when he reached the thick, white band of scars around Lorn’s ankle. The apprentice looked up at Lorn, a question in his eyes. “Shackles are heavy,” was all Lorn said. Gahil looked up from the bandages and stared at the old scars. For a brief second, the old healer looked immensely sad.

“But,” his Shadow told him sorrowfully, “there is always a price for power.…” And the price Lorn had paid to Between for this wonderful, terrible power was a small sliver of his soul—now encased in a mirror—which tethered him to the kingdom such that he was unable to leave for more than three days without being called back to Between. And so Lorn—who had lived his childhood as a slave, chained up by day and locked away by night—now found himself in a different type of cage.

The Queen appeared taken aback at his abrupt change of mood. “Hang on—what do you mean? Is it difficult to figure out? Do you need a chart?” “No.” Leave it be, he silently implored her. “Only a birthdate.” The Queen stilled. “Are you saying that you don’t know your birthdate?” Her tone was so careful that it made Lorn’s shoulders stiffen. Just tell her, a part of him thought wearily. After all, everyone in Otherworld knows that the Shadow King is an orphan who spent his childhood enslaved in the Dark, Dark Mountains. Why should she not know?

“Will Her Majesty’s pretty friend Lyla be attending the coronation?” Ash asked, a little too nonchalantly. Lorn’s eyes narrowed. “She is blonde.” Ash inclined his head with a grin. “I had noticed that.” “The woman required to lift your curse must be red-headed. Which means you could only dally with Lyla and no more.” Ash opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again with a sigh. “A pox on my curse,” he said instead and took a long sip of ale.

“Perhaps you should contact the coven,” Maddox said to Lorn. “Alert them to the possibility of a spy in their midst.” “I thought of that,” Lorn said, “but we may also alert the spy. For all we know, the spy could be the coven leader herself. We need more information before we can act. I have an extraction crew and a vowsmith working on two of the kidnappers.”