CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kyra stood at the window of her chamber watching dawn break over the countryside with a sense of anticipation and dread. She had spent a long night plagued by nightmares, tossing and turning after overhearing her father’s conversation. She could still hear the words ringing in her head:
Does she not have a right to know who she is?
All night long she had dreamt of a woman with an obscured face, wearing a veil, a woman she felt certain was her mother. She reached for her, again and again, only to wake grasping at the bed, at nothing.
Kyra no longer knew what was real and what was a dream, what was a truth and what was a lie. How many secrets had they been keeping from her? What couldn’t they tell her?
Kyra finally woke at dawn, clutching her cheek, still stinging from
