He had grown sick of lying abed with nothing to do but think while he breathed into a cup made by his hands and tried to keep down the water and gruel that made up his meal.

Sorel was his only company, and though it was better than nothing, it was tiring and frustrating and brought out his worst sides.

“Everything’s moving, Lord,” the little man told him one evening while petting his fevered brow with a damp cloth.

“But why so slowly?”

“Surely, Lord, it’s better to have things move slowly than not at all.”

“Get out, Sorel.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“And send for Soldana.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Sorel had not been gone long when the door was opened, and a young woman entered his bed-chamber. He admired her figure as she walked; lithe and buxom; every movement causing the blue of her gown to ripple and shift around her legs while her hair, red and gold like cliff grass, fell down her back in a wave to brush the floor.

Her eyes, a cloudy grey, narrowed, and her lips, pale as the dawn, tilted up in a strained smile.

“My Lord.” She bobbed her head and glided to the other side of the room where, for once, he had allowed the curtains to be opened, letting the sunset stain the carpet red.

“You do not kneel, still, upon greeting your Lord and master?”

She threw him a glance out of the corner of her eye and tucked her hands into her sleeves.

“If I did, I would be just like everyone else, would I not, Lord?”

“This is true. Come here.” He motioned her closer with a finger, and she sat down beside him, letting him trail a hand down her shoulder.

“Why do you stiffen?” he asked and was answered with silence. “I have a gift for you.” He began to slide a glittering bracelet onto her wrist, only to stop as he lifted her draping sleeve to reveal several others, equally beautiful, already resting on her pale skin.

“What is this?” he asked quietly as she hurried to drop her sleeve.

“They are nothing, my lord. Gifts.”

“As is mine.”

“I serve only you, my Lord. My gifts are at your disposal, and yours only. I speak the truth.”

“Then show me. Tell me something.”

“The scent does not work on command, Lord.”

“Are you a charlatan?”

She pulled away from him, lips open in wordless alarm.

“No, my lord.”

“I know. And you know it was my decision to have all of your filthy breed eradicated.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“And yet I spared you.”

“You are a benevolent, merciful Lord.”

He slid a hand through her hair, relishing the feel of the long strands tangling in his fingers.

“What did you promise in return for my mercy?”

Her head was bowed, her hands white against the midnight sheets. “I promised to serve you, my Lord,” she whispered.

“Soldana,” he said her name softly. “The eyes of a Crow see much. The nose of a Hound smells all. Tell me, what do you see? What do you smell?”

“It is yet too far for me to see,” she said. “And the scent has grown distant.”

He hit her, the sharp sound echoing throughout the room, and she cupped her cheek; blood dripping from between her fingers. “Wait!” she cried out as he pulled back his hand to strike again. “Wait, my Lord! This is not all, there is more.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

“The scent,” she said weakly. “The scent, though it has grown distant, it is stronger. Everything is moving; faster now than before.”

“But you haven’t felt the Shift?”

“No, my Lord, but it is coming. She’s coming. You won’t have to wait much longer.”

“How much longer? How much time?”

“I cannot say, Lord.”

“More than a hundred years?”

“No! No, two years, Lord. Three years at the most, I’m sure. The Shift is nearing Lord. I assure you.”

“Good.” He relaxed back against his pillows and laced his hands together over his stomach. “Now, stroke my brow, won’t you, my sweet Soldana?”

“Ingrith.”

“Hmmm?”

“My birth name is Ingrith, my Lord.”

“Oh, no.” He laughed. “It was your name. Wouldn’t you rather be named after the goddess of the moon, and my Queen, than a common crow?”