n>Cover Copy
In the battle for a kingdom, every alliance counts…
Princess Valoria only cares about her music and her destiny: to unite the Kingdom of Ebonvale with the House of Song and succeed where her father has failed. As if that weren’t challenge enough, she must contend with her marriage to a battle hungry brute of a prince…until she falls for his adopted brother, the orphaned son of a blacksmith. But with a horde of undead gathering to attack Ebonvale, Valoria will have to choose between her personal happiness and the safety of the kingdom. Now the fate of Ebonvale rests in her heart.
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Books by Aurbie Dionne
Nebula’s Music
Messenger In the Mist
Chronicles of Ebonvale
Minstrel’s Serenade
Orphan’s Blade
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Orphan’s Blade
A Chronicles of Ebonvale Novel
Aubrie Dionne
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Aubrie Dionne
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First Electronic Edition: November 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-678-0
eISBN-10: 1-61650-678-4
First Print Edition: November 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-679-7
ISBN-10: 1-61650-679-2
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
To Piper, the greatest harpist I’ve ever played with.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank Renee Rocco and Lyrical Press/Kensington for believing in my work. Next comes my agent, Dawn Dowdle, for supporting me through thick and thin. Thank you, Paige, for being such an excellent editor, and to Renee, again, for making my covers so glorious. I’d like to thank my writer friends for cheering me up when things get rough- that’s you Cherie Reich and Christine Rains. I want to thank my flute teacher and life mentor, Peggy Vagts, for supporting me in everything I do. Next comes my parents, Andy and Joanne Dionne, and my sister/best friend, Brianne. Finally, thank you to my husband, Chris.
Chapter 1
Shadows
The carriage rumbled on foreign ground as Valoria touched her finger to the window. Could she ever truly call these lands her home? Ebonvale’s beauty rested in lush pastures and blooming orchards, but nothing could hide the grotesque mountains of the dead country of Sill. Even now, dark clouds clung to the peaks as if evil brewed. Half of Ebonvale’s army had died there defeating the undead.
Ebonvale. Her new home.
“Dreaming about Prince Braxten Thoridian?” Cadence teased from the opposite side of the carriage as she pierced her needle through her delicate embroidery.
Valoria tore her gaze away from the window and glared at her handmaiden. The rocking wheels on the shoddy road had soured her stomach, and talk of her prearranged union churned the milk she’d drunk for breakfast. “No.”
“Wait until the prince of Ebonvale sees your silver eyes.”
Valoria pursed her lips. Her handmaiden should not speak with such openness to the princess, and the sole heir to the House of Song. Yet, she considered Cadence the only friend she could trust. Why silence the one person bold enough to speak?
“And your hair.” Her handmaiden reached across the carriage and ran her fingers along the braid hanging in a loop around Valoria’s ear. “Like silky rays of sunset. I only hope he’s as dashing as you are beautiful.”
Valoria sat back, out of her handmaiden’s reach. “I do not give a wyvern’s breath if he’s dashing.”
“What do you care about?” Cadence stabbed an embroidered petal. The red rose in the center of the circle had unusually large thorns. Had she misread the pattern?
“My music.” That wasn’t entirely true. Her home ranked high in her heart along with pleasing her father. But, her music had always been first.
Valoria glanced at the top of the carriage where she’d strapped her harp with the strongest golden cord in the House of Song. She’d argued with the Chief of Song to bring the instrument aboard, but Echo had insisted she ride as a lady and allow the minstrels’ trumpets and drums to protect them. Even now, the repeating fanfares rattled her teeth. Best to lull the enemy to sleep with a few plucked strings than call them down from the hills of Sill to blare in their ears.
Could the undead hear?
“You
