Each One’s Wayward Niece

Book Two of Everyone’s Child

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One companion may stab her in the back
But another will be just as happy to stab her from the front…

Elayith walks the path of prophecy, but she does so almost entirely against her will. The only reason she agreed to undertake the task her mother left for her was to get the church’s priests off her back. As soon as she proves their expectations wrong, she can start living for herself.

Or so she thought before she and her companion inadvertently awakened three spirits from the long forgotten past who derailed her introspective journey with a series of demanding tests. Now Elayith questions every step, praying her path will lead to freedom but dreading it may instead lead to more responsibilities.

Meanwhile, Seri, the Watcher who invisibly mirrors the half-goddesses steps, fears she may have missed her chance to leave a deep impression upon the world. Everywhere she looks, history has been made without her. Now she’s desperate to find a place where her glory can shine.

Torn between the half-truths presented by her order and the change that flourishes in her charge’s wake, Seri balances on the knife-edge of betrayal. But who will earn her ultimate loyalty – the Watchers who hope to drive the world toward a higher purpose, or the goddess who has no idea she exists?

And what of Jaolyn? The mage has already made one pact with the shadow that lives within him. Can he find a way to fulfill his oath and free himself from the creature attempting to corrupt his will? Or is he doomed to suffer a fate worse than death?

A living legend…
As soon as she caught the outline of the hut through the glimmering shimmer of the spirit haze, Elayith took three quick steps forward to get a better look. In the Graveborn, it was always easier to see things that were close, even with mage sight helping distinguish the features in the fog.

The hut was not what she would have considered typical. Most of the folk near the Red Channel built their houses on stilts in case of floods. But the foundation of this hut never touched the ground. It perched against the branches of a thick, high tree.

In fact, several of that tree’s branches curled around the construction, supporting the walls and roof as well as the floor, making it seem like the gnarled growth embraced the structure.

The tree was odd in other ways. Aside from the great thickness of its trunk and branches, its root system spread as much above the ground as it did below. A few of the roots even wriggled when Elayith’s boots halted a few inches from where they rested.

Neither the structure nor its supporting tree glowed with magic, but the small shimmer of illumination in the hut’s singular window sparkled with powerful magical influence.

With a blink, Elayith dispelled her mage sight and observed the hut with naked vision. It was made from a dark wood, stained darker by time and water, barely distinguishable from the tree that held it aside from its precise angles. The construction was in no way shoddy; there were no exposed gaps between the boards that made up the walls, and no hint the mortar which sealed them had ever cracked.

A small porch sat in front of the hut’s single door, shading the entry with its sloping roof. A thin rope ladder draped from the platform’s edge, practically inviting entry.

No shadows moved within the light that filled the window, but smoke did billow from a small chimney set far back along the hut’s arched roof.

“Well well,” Elayith murmured as she grinned and shook her head. “This place is full of surprises today.”

“You know who lives here?” Jaolyn demanded. He’d been jumpy as a frog since they stepped across the threshold to the forest, and the revelation about what surrounded them seemed to have worsened his fears instead of relaxing them.

“I know who the stories say it should be,” Elayith replied with a shrug. “The Graveborn Hag.”