Jordan’s dreams did not subside; on the contrary, they grew more vivid with every night that passed. She stopped mentioning them to Grandma, whose vehement denial of them being anything more than ‘only dreams’ grew with the same intensity as Jordan’s imaginings. Jordan took to keeping a diary instead, recording in excruciating detail everything she remembered when she woke.

And so she sat, in the early hours before dawn almost a week later, a penlight clasped in her teeth and the blanket over her head. With deft fingers, she scrawled words and pictures across a fresh page.

“No, no, that’s not right,” she muttered, frowning.

She redrew the delicate circlet that graced the Queen’s head like a halo, shaded it in. Satisfied, she tucked the penlight against a pillow and sat back to appraise the portrait. The woman she had drawn was graceful, dressed in a long, flowing gown of sky-blue. She stared back with piercing silver eyes, the gossamer frame of her lavender hair gentle against slim cheeks. Her face bespoke royalty, but her gaze was kind, fair... Why anyone would want to murder her was beyond Jordan.

She leafed through the pages, drawing out the images of two more women. One was fiery-haired and glamourous; the other, dark-haired, and haughty. They were the two, in her dreams, who had killed the Queen. She chewed at her pencil, and the vision replayed with startling clarity…

The Queen stood with her back to the flickering fireplace, pearlescent shackles jingling at her wrists as she held up her hands in supplication. The redheaded woman laughed at her futile attempt at diplomacy, while the brunette stood aside, watching in impassive silence with uncanny amber eyes.

“It’s too late, Asbeth,” the redhead smirked. “Tomorrow, Andoherra will have a new Queen. But don’t worry darling, we will bury you – and your little daughter – with proper ceremony. I swear it.”

Asbeth’s face twisted, and she shot forth with a snarl of rage, leaping for the redhead with her bare hands outstretched like claws. But the brunette flashed her fingers, caught her by the throat in mid-air with a sharp barb of magic. The Queen kicked and struggled as she hovered in place, strangled words catching in her teeth.

“If you touch my daughter, Fayne…! I swear – to Malevelyn… please – no! You c-!”

She choked off as the brunette applied heavy pressure to her windpipe. Flame-haired Fayne, smiling, rose to her feet. She pushed her face close, whispered insidiously into her ear.

“I’ve waited two generations for my chance to dethrone the Bal’Talanor bloodline, darling...” She fanned her fingernails, spider-like, along Asbeth’s tear-stained cheek. “I’ll not give a third the chance to thwart me.”

Asbeth tried to turn her head away, clawing at her throat. She fought for breath as silent tears streamed down her distraught face. The brunette, impassive, held her still as Fayne – with great relish – pulled a decorative dagger from the belt at her thigh. She ran the blade between her lips to taste sharp steel and the metallic tang of blood, and winked, gloating. With a swift, theatrical flourish of her bejewelled fingers, she plunged the weapon into Asbeth’s racing heart – before she could even think to scream. The Queen’s face tightened with pain and horror, and she released her throat to claw instead at the hilt. Bloody foam bubbled across her tear-stained lips as she blinked at Fayne. Her legs kicked – once, twice – and then she fell still, hanging lifeless in the magical grasp of the dark-haired woman. Fayne wrenched her dagger free with a chortle of glee, spraying warm silver blood across the room in its wake. Droplets adorned her face as she plunged the blade again, again, until she had carved out the Queen’s heart. She tore it free, lofting it triumphantly in the air.

The brunette graced her a sideways glance, her jaw set with the subtle taint of disapproval. Fayne either didn’t notice, or didn’t care; chortling, she tucked the weeping organ into a pouch and nestled it upon her thigh belt, hidden safely away beneath her dress. Content, she set about wiping the blade clean on the side of the nearest armchair, waving her free hand at the other to get a move on. The brunette, mouth hard, lowered Asbeth’s limp, bloody shell into a chair by the fire. Fayne cast her gaze past the dead Queen and bent to snatch up the iridescent shackles, which had released their hold in the absence of a lifeforce to cling to. Swinging the chains gaily, Fayne turned glittering emerald eyes to her companion.

“Come, Nerys, we must deal with the squab next – I’ll not be pleased if another Bal’Talanor lives to challenge me. You must return me to the prison tower to preserve my innocence, then seek the babe, kill it, and leave it to be found with its mother.”

She spun jauntily on her heel to saunter from the room, delighted with the smooth proceedings, but Nerys hesitated a moment before she followed. Asbeth’s unusual silvery eyes were still open, a mixture of shock and terror etched into her expression. Nerys glanced down at the gaping cavity that should have held her lifeforce and pursed her lips to suppress a tight sigh. Gently, she reached out to shutter that unseeing gaze, offering a wordless prayer to Malevelyn for Asbeth’s spirit. She straightened as Fayne, snorting impatience, stuck her fiery head back around the doorframe.

“Are you coming, Nerys? Taking over the world is a time-sensitive business, darling.”

Nerys growled, deep in her throat, but she levelled her shoulders and answered the summons. Behind her, the room descended into eerie silence.

The vision skipped, then, and a violent burst of the aftermath raced through Jordan’s mind.

The Kingdoms grieved. Asbeth Bal’Talanor, Reigning World Queen of Andoherra, was dead. She had been found brutally murdered in her quarters, her babe sprawled bloodied and lifeless in the limp grasp of her dead arms. The news raced through the Palace like wildfire, burning across the lips of every person in the vicinity, spreading like a fever. Fayne Gri’Svear had ascended the Throne, and at her side stood Nerys, ever her shadowed Guardian.

Jordan blinked back to the present. She pursed her lips around the pencil, pulled it free, and scribbled on each picture. Redhead, Fayne… Brunette, Nerys… The Queen, Asbeth. She closed her eyes, pressed her palms against them to blot out the vivid image of the murder, and heaved a sigh. Only dreams… Grandma was insistent, dismissive. But they were so clear, so detailed – like watching a movie. Not until recently had Jordan dreamed like that, and she’d never heard of anyone else who did, either. When the visions came, it was as if she was there, bearing witness with her own five senses.

How was that possible?

She sighed and glanced at the clock. Luminous digits glinted – almost four in the morning. Deciding some air would do her good, she slipped her sheaves of paper into their binder and tucked them into a little backpack. It wouldn’t do for Grandma to find them whilst she was out.

Silent, she dressed, slid the pack over her shoulder, and slipped from the house. The full moon, almost at its zenith, washed the world pale. The dark woods of the surrounding countryside stood out in sharp relief, and it pleased Jordan to imagine that fantastical creatures might rove through those dark, secretive woods. Her woods – a place she’d roamed all her life. She made for them, following the gravelled drive away from the farmhouse, keeping her step to tufts of grass, her footfalls light. She didn’t want Grandma to hear her and spoil her night-time sojourn – and Grandma had near uncanny hearing.

She mused upon the whimsy of impossible magic as she walked, remembering another from her dreams, a blonde woman as bright as the sunlight, all golden magic and glittering existence…

The roar of battle reverberated, rattling the very walls of the Great Hall. Upturned tables served as shields for magic-folk and humans alike. Arrows, daggers, bolts of magic flashed from one side of the room to the other across pock-marked middle ground. Upon the raised dais at the head of the room stood a blonde woman, surveying the furore with casual interest.

“Calyx!”

A tall, swarthy man grunted her name, his great, bear-like shoulders straining as he thrust up a shield of living stone. Though past his prime, he was powerful still, solidly built and striking. His magic – rich and earthy – stood tall and immovable, as was he.

“Any time you’d like to get involved…” he growled, launching a spear of rock at an adversary across the room.

“Relax, Nalvadian,” Calyx tutted, “I was simply ensuring that the Queen ported away safely first.” She cocked her head at him and grinned, showing small, sharp fangs. “Stand back, while I clean up this mess.”

Her eyes, sapphire as the evening sky, glowed like starfire. She hitched up the skirts of her long dress to saunter down the stairs of the dais, direct to the heart of the fray.

Arrows rained; magic thundered. Unmoved, she stepped high over bodies that hadn’t quite made it behind the tables, twitching her skirts clear of multi-coloured blood. When she reached the centre of the hall, she halted. Her unearthly gaze swept the room.

Arrows lost their nerve in the air around her, dropping short of her proud form; bolts of magic hesitated, ricocheting away. Calyx seemed hardly to notice. Her magic sang through her veins with a delicious urgency. Her lips parted with the fever inside and she flicked her hands out, palms upward, igniting her magic. All around the room, the wooden tables leapt to her command, launching themselves high into the air. Abruptly coverless, fighters from both camps scurried back and forth, seeking shelter, flinging terrified glances at the glittering woman. Unhurried, Calyx kept one palm upturned, holding the tables aloft, and with the other began to conjure crackling lines of lightning. The powerful bolts of electricity arced in all directions, cascading downward to create a dome of bright, sizzling death that oscillated around Calyx as its pivotal point. Panic threatened as the combatants found themselves caged in with the hungry Sorceress. Even her allies lost their breath in fear.

Every soul in the room froze, staring at the Sorceress who blazed with golden light. Her sun-bright hair wavered in a non-existent breeze, fanning around her haughty face, framing her glowing eyes. No one moved a muscle; barely did they dare to breathe. Every person present, both human and magical, knew that to so much as twitch her presence when she had released her magic was to invite certain death. She would not differentiate; anything that moved would become her prey. It was one of the traits that made her so formidable – in the throes of her magic, she was pure predator. The guilt or innocence of her quarry was a trivial matter, she simply lusted after blood.

Calyx swept her gaze from side to side, scanning the nervous crowd. She cocked her head, listening to their heartbeats, hearing the delicious purr of fear thrum through the room. A deathly silence held the moment in thrall. Above, the furniture turned leisurely on the spot as it levitated, and, stretching to the extremities of the hall, the bars of lightning fizzed and popped into the ominous quiet. At last, Calyx swivelled to face Nalvadian. He stood motionless, schooled his primal fear, forced himself to meet the intensity of her gaze.

She regarded him for a long moment, hand raised as if to strike, but a distant thrum of magic distracted her. She cocked her head, her interest in the room abruptly lost, and evaporated in a bright billow of smoke. Flying tables crashed down, people leapt out of the way with startled cries. The cage of lightning vanished with her, along with the willingness of those present to resume their fighting. All were leery in case the Sorceress returned. Nalvadian shook away the thrall, set his face to grim lines, and began to pick up the pieces left in her wake.

Jordan realised with a start that she had reached the edge of the woods. She shook herself, inhaled sharply the warm, rich scents of the forest, clearing her mind of the dreams that danced there. She swept her gaze forward, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips as she drank in the play of light and shadow beneath the trees. Limber, she stepped out, heading for her favourite place. She hadn’t been there in a while, and her steps grew eager as she neared the narrow meadow. It was still rich with the last of the spring flowers, bobbing in the gentle breeze. At its centre stood a weathered granite tor, rising out of the ground like a majestic beast, statuesque and mysterious. Circling it, she headed for the side that played host to a gnarled old cedar tree, which had rooted between the stones sometime in the far distant past. Pausing as she rounded the last boulder, she stared up at it. Twisted, wind-sculpted, it looked like it had once been snapped in half, and yet had continued to grow. She cocked her head, noting its upside-down vee shape with the same wonder she always did.

She resettled her pack and began to climb, heading for the shallow cave behind the tree. She’d almost reached it, but the snap of a twig made her pause. She held her breath, ears straining to catch the faintest sound as she swept her gaze across the meadow. Clouds scudded across the sky, deepening the shadows as she tried to make out shapes in the darkness around her. She pressed against the boulder at her back, every sinew coiled, nerves vibrating in warning.

Something was out there, but she couldn’t see it.

Inch by inch, she slid along the granite, reached for the tree. She tucked herself into the shadow thrown by one massive leg of its split trunk, breathing soft and shallow, and tried to quiet her heart. She couldn’t hear over the thunder in her ears.

At last, the clouds blew clear, and the meadow flooded once more with moonlight. Not far away, a fox threw up its head, barked a warning cry, and fled into the depths of the wood. Weak with relief, Jordan collapsed against the rough bark of the tree with a hand pressed to her racing heart.

She breathed a sigh, but then realised the creature hadn’t been looking in her direction. Across the clearing, something moved beneath the dark trees.

Jordan stiffened, found herself holding her breath once more. She strained her vision against the night, brow beading with trepidation. She swallowed – it was the first time in her woods she’d felt afraid, and she suddenly wished Grandma were near.

A shadow detached itself from a tree bole, stepped into view. Jordan’s breath exploded in reprieve; it was a woman, looking decidedly worse for wear. She approached, her steps halting, gaze roving, keeping a wary eye for possible dangers in the night.

“What the hell…?” Jordan whispered, too surprised to move from her hiding place.

The stranger crossed the glade, drawing closer. The moonlight illuminated her well enough – smartly dressed, she might have been imposing… But twigs tangled in her pale hair as it half-fell from its stern bun, her grey pantsuit hung dishevelled, dirt smudged her crisp white blouse. She carried a pair of stilettos and walked with the slightest limp.

Jordan considered. The highway wasn’t too far away. Perhaps this woman had broken down on her travels, and left the road to look for help…? Whoever she was, she was lost – and afraid, to judge by her furtive movements.

When she had almost reached the base of the tor, Jordan politely cleared her throat. The woman started like a deer, holding out one trembling stiletto like a weapon. Jordan pushed away from the tree, carefully placing herself in easy view. The stranger baulked, staring up at her.

“Hello,” Jordan offered, with an awkward wave of one hand.

The woman’s breath left her in a rush, but she managed a tremulous smile.

“Hello,” she returned. Her voice was soft, melodious, an odd counterpoint to her stern appearance. “Can you help me?”

“Uh, sure,” Jordan said. “Hold up, I’ll come down to you.”

“No, wait!” the woman said quickly, “Let me come up there – I’d feel safer with a view.”

Jordan shrugged, nodded, watched as the other picked her way over the boulders. She took a far more direct route than Jordan had, heaving herself upward in her eagerness to reach high ground, and was panting by the time she made it. She tossed down her ruined stilettos, collapsed onto the nearest rock, and Jordan waited for her to catch her breath.

At length, she straightened her slim spectacles and tucked a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her dark-blue eyes caught the moonlight as she appraised Jordan.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

A nervous giggle escaped Jordan at the unexpected question. “Me? I live around here – what are you doing out here?”

The woman sighed. “It’s a long story-”

She broke off, lifted her head, tilting it as if to catch a sound only she could hear. Jordan shrank back as she boosted to her feet, her previous anxiety conspicuously absent as she turned towards the towering cedar. As she stared at the shallow cave beyond the natural arch, her lips curved into a strange, feral smile. A wave of unfounded fear froze Jordan to the spot.

Hesitant, she cleared her throat, but the stranger seemed oblivious. She continued to approach the gnarled cedar as though mesmerised by it, and Jordan swallowed a rising sense of panic. The hair on the back of her neck prickled; moonlight seemed to burn at her skin. On some strange instinct, she leapt forward to grab the woman’s shoulder.

But she was half a step out of reach.

Before Jordan knew what had happened, the woman had stepped under the arch and into the shadowy cave beyond. A quiet pop, a flicker of light, and then an uncanny silence descended.

Jordan hitched a breath, feeling like she’d been slapped by a silent sonic boom. She stood frozen, staring at the empty space where, an instant before, there had been a person. Gathering her courage, she sidled forward.

“H-hello?”

She hesitated in front of the archway, assessing the cave from where she stood. It was a shallow dent, really – hardly a real cave. And the floor beyond the tree was flat, sandy, and even. There was nothing extraordinary about it. And there was absolutely nowhere for a grown woman to disappear into. Jordan bit at her nails, wondering what to do.

In a small voice, she called again, “Hello…?”

There was no answer, and Jordan felt fear sink its claws into the base of her spine. She hesitated for a moment more, but then shook herself as the ridiculousness hit her. It was impossible for someone to disappear into thin air – she knew that. And there were a million ways for someone well-practised to achieve the illusion of doing so.

“That’s not funny,” she growled, latching onto that more reasonable explanation. She glowered at the archway, wondering what the hell her strange visitor was playing at.

She wasn’t sure how the woman had done it, but she was confident that it was only the pale light and the darkness, the brooding forest, that was fuelling her overactive imagination. Resolute, Jordan squared her shoulders.

“Party trick,” she reassured herself.

Taking a deep breath, she cleared the remaining distance between her and the tree with rapid strides, ducking under the archway before she could change her mind.

Across the meadow, approaching at frightening speed, a pair of crimson eyes watched her plunge under the formidable vee of the cedar tree. Too late to intervene, they watched her disappear.

And with a stricken roar, they raced to follow.