In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) by Sarah Zettel Read Free Book Online Page A

taking shelter in the old Roman garrison, of finding the sorcerer there, and of making his bargain. Risa’s life in exchange for Jocosa’s.
    “No,” whispered mother, her voice trembling as badly as Risa’s hands at these impossible, terrible words. “Say this is not true. Say it is the drink, some madness. Anything but that you sold our daughter away to a black sorcerer.”
    “I did it for you, Jocosa. You were going to die!”
    “Better I had died!” shouted mother in return. “Better Risa had never been born than you should do so impious a deed!”
    “You will not so speak to me!” bellowed father. “Ungrateful woman!”
    “No!” screamed Risa, unable to contain herself a moment longer. She shoved the tapestry aside to see what she had suddenly feared; father towered over mother, his strong hand raised to strike her pale face.
    “Risa,” he breathed. He truly was very drunk, the effects of the ale causing his emotions to ebb and flow without warning. In a heartbeat, he had gone from rage to guilty pleading. “Daughter, you should not be here. This is not for your ears.”
    “Then for whose is it?” Risa was too afraid, too infuriated to be placated. She interposed herself between her parents and squarely faced her father, turning her face up so he could strike it if he so chose. “Can you at least tell me what I have done that I should be sold off in this manner? Have I ever been unfilial or impious? What crime could I have possibly committed that you would thus condemn me out of hand?”
    “This is no fault of yours, Risa.” His breath smelled of the excess of ale he had drunk but he was struggling to rise above it. It was a terrible sight, as if she were watching him drown. “I acted as I thought best. Look at your mother. It was her life I sought to save.”
    Risa did look at her mother, the gaunt, lined woman who had spent years trying to understand why her husband held himself at such a distance from her.
    Now she had her answer, and her gentle brown eyes were full of the horror of it.
    “We must seek this man out,” said mother, twisting her hands together as if attempting to rip a solution out of thin air. “We must offer him some other bargain. Any other …”
    Father shook his head. “I cannot find him. I have searched the countryside for him, thinking to trade my life to break the bargain.”
    “Then go to the High King,” urged Risa. “Tell him what has happened. Surely, he will not hold you to so evil a contract.”
    But father just turned away. “This is not a matter for the laws of men, not even for kings. The sorceries here are too deep for that.”
    Risa thought of her vision in the forest and shuddered.
    “Return to your room, daughter,” said father without looking at her. “The bargain is made and may not be undone. Ask no more after marriage and commend yourself to God. Only He can help you now.”
    Stunned and sickened to her core, Risa found words died in her throat. She looked helplessly to her mother.
    “We cannot leave it at this,” mother said.
    “We will, because we must.” With those words father departed from the room, the tread of his boots echoing off the stone walls.
    “No!” cried mother. “No, Husband …” Gathering her skirts, Jocosa ran from the room, following her husband, to cry, plead or threaten.
    For a long moment, Risa found herself unable to move, and when she did, it was as if her body had undertaken the decision of its own accord. She walked down the cold, stone hall, past the stairs and into her own chamber. There, Aeldra stood among so many familiar things; her spindles and threads, her sewing and embroidery, her paints, the small inlaid table that held her jewelry box, the carved bed she had slept in since she was a child. It all seemed hollow, drained of substance, as her life had suddenly become.
    “Mistress?” said Aeldra, tentatively. “Are you well? Shall I fetch you wine? Or a cloth for your head?”
    “No.” Risa managed