Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) Read Online Free Page A

on the border with the night, you lot are." He nodded.
"The Radians will protect you. They'll protect us all from this
infestation of filthy Elorians."
    Torin
winced. Filthy
Elorians . . . His wife was Elorian. His daughter was half-Elorian. He had fought
and killed to save Elorians from the cruelty of daylight.
    The ale tasted too bitter in his
mouth. He turned away from the men and faced the bar again. His heart
sank.
    Did
I make a mistake? he
wondered, throat tightening. Should
I have truly brought Madori here into the wide world—a world that is
hostile toward her? Part
of him wanted to race outside, barge into the university, grab his
daughter, and drag her home to safety. Madori would shout, claiming
she was old enough to seek her own fortune. Even Koyee would insist
that they could not shelter Madori forever. But how could Torin let
his little girl go alone into this world—a world full of hatred and
ignorance, a world that would hate her simply for her blood?
    A stool creaked as a cloaked,
hooded man sat down beside Torin. After ordering his own mug of ale,
the stranger spoke in a low voice.
    "You're right to ignore
those fools." He turned his head toward Torin, though his face
remained hidden in the shadows of his hood. "You can't fix
stupidity, only hope to avoid it for a while."
    The stranger's voice seemed
familiar, as did his slender, short frame. Torin leaned closer,
squinting, trying to see into the hood's shadows.
    "Bit warm in here for a
hood and cloak," Torin said.
    The man received his mug of ale,
took a sip, then leaned closer to Torin, letting some light fill his
hood. "Warm but safe."
    Torin's eyes widened. He nearly
choked on his drink. "Cam?"
    His friend—Camlin, King of
Arden—smiled thinly and pulled his hood further down, letting new
shadows hide him. "Hullo, Torin old boy. I thought I saw you in
the crowd outside. You stick out like a black sheep with those
ridiculous clothes from home."
    The weight instantly lifted from
Torin's shoulders. The world was dangerous, his daughter was leaving
home, and hatred lurked only several paces behind him—but his friend
was here, and things suddenly seemed a little brighter.
    " I stick out?" Torin said. "Look at your clothes." He
pointed at Cam's shabby old cloak.
    The slender man sipped his ale.
"That's different. I'm in disguise." He dropped his voice
to a whisper. "I can't just walk around without this cloak and
hood. People would mob me. I'm the King of Arden after all."
    "King consort," Torin
corrected him. "Queen Linee is the real monarch."
    Cam groaned. "Will we ever
have a single conversation without you reminding me of that fact?"
    Torin grinned. "Depends.
Will your head ever shrink back to its previous size?" He
grabbed his friend's shoulder and squeezed it. "It's good to see
you, old friend. When's the last time we met? It's been... Merciful
Idar, a year now. Not since last summer when Madori and I visited the
capital. What are you doing here in Mageria?"
    Cam glanced around the tavern,
but it seemed like all the other patrons were busy speaking among
themselves, bragging of their children's prowess and making wagers on
who'd gain admission to Teel. The diminutive king turned back toward
Torin.
    "Tam's here—trying out for
the university."
    Torin's eyes widened. "Your
son? The Prince of Ard—"
    "Shush!" Cam glanced
around, eyes dark. "He's here in disguise too. I begged the boy
to stay in Arden. We have fine schools there as well, but the lad
wanted to study magic. In fact, I blame you." He gave Torin a
stern look and jabbed his chest. "It's your daughter who put
that nonsense into his head. Turns out last summer, when Madori and
Tam were taking all those walks in the garden, they weren't having a
secret romance as we feared. Oh no. It was much worse than that.
Madori was telling my boy all about how she wants to be a mage
someday, and well . . . Tam hasn't stopped talking about magic
since." He gulped down ale and sighed. "It can't have