White Star

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY- TWO

  Praise for

  DAGGER-STAR

  “Wow! I can’t believe I somehow missed Vaughan’s previous books, the Chronicles of the Warlands trilogy. That’s something I intend to remedy as soon as possible. Dagger-Star is the perfect blend of fantasy and romance . . . A really enjoyable read.”—Fresh Fiction

  “An excellent romantic fantasy . . . Readers will enjoy Elizabeth Vaughan’s superb, clever return to the desolate Warlands.”—Midwest Book Review

  “A worthy follow-up to the Warprize trilogy and I look forward to reading her next novel.”—Romance Junkies

  “A very good, very sexy book.”—Affaire de Coeur

  “Elizabeth Vaughan pens a story of love and adventure . . . You feel yourself being sucked into the adventure and don’t want to put the book down . . . Dagger-Star earns Vaughan worthy praise!”—Manic Readers

  “In a return to the world of the Warlands trilogy, Elizabeth Vaughan successfully creates a new set of characters and a new story . . . Though Red and Josiah find their happy ending, there are other fascinating characters who must have their stories told, and I hope we see them soon. Dagger-Star is a very satisfying read.”—Romance Reviews Today

  “Elizabeth Vaughan makes a successful return to fantasy romance with a book that’s hard to put down. Dagger-Star will find a permanent home on many a bookshelf.”

  —The Romance Reader

  “Gifted storyteller Vaughan delivers a tale of prophecy and rebellion . . . It’s as inventive and riveting as the rest of Vaughan’s novels!”—Romantic Times

  Praise for Elizabeth Vaughan’s

  Chronicles of the Warlands

  WARLORD

  “A superb climax to an excellent saga . . . Romance and fantasy readers will appreciate this terrific trio as Elizabeth Vaughan provides a fabulous finish to a superior story.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “An outstanding conclusion to an inventive and riveting trilogy with a passionate, powerful love story at its core.”

  —The Romance Reader

  “A top-notch series, well written and enjoyable.”

  —Curled Up With a Good Book

  WARSWORN

  “A moving continuation of the wonderful Warprize. Bravo.”

  —Jo Beverley

  “I loved [this] sequel . . . I can’t wait for number three!”

  —Anne McCaffrey

  “The dramatic tension is riveting and the emotional stakes are high in this excellent novel. Vaughan is an exceptional new talent, and the next chapter in this series will be highly anticipated!”—Romantic Times

  “Readers will be delighted . . . Unusual and thoroughly enjoyable.” —Booklist

  WARPRIZE

  “Possibly the best romantic fantasy I have ever read!”

  —Anne McCaffrey

  “I loved Warprize! Keir is a hero to savor, and Elizabeth Vaughan is an author to watch.”—Claire Delacroix

  “Vaughan’s brawny barbarian romance recreates the delicious feeling of adventure and the thrill of exploring mysterious cultures created by Robert E. Howard in his Conan books and makes for a satisfying escapist read with its enjoyable romance between a plucky . . . heroine and a truly heroic hero.”—Booklist

  “The most entertaining book I’ve read all year.”

  —All About Romance

  “Simply mesmerizing. The story is told flawlessly.”

  —ParaNormal Romance Reviews

  “Wonderful . . . Run to the bookstore and pick up this debut.”—A Romance Review

  Berkley Sensation Books by Elizabeth Vaughan

  DAGGER-STAR

  WHITE STAR

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  WHITE STAR

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORrY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / April 2009

  Copyright © 2009 by Elizabeth Vaughan.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-02904-6

  BERKLEY® SENSATION

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  This book is dedicated to

  Kandace Klumper, friend and muse.

  If only Ohio and Nebraska shared a border . . .

  ONE

  HE was weary.

  Orrin Blackhart strode through the great kitchen, past the cold hearths and scullery boys, past the cooks with their stained aprons, cold kettles
, and wide eyes. Silence followed him as he emerged to march across the small courtyard, scattering the geese and chickens before him. His stride was long, his steps strong and steady, an old habit not to show exhaustion or pain. He was soul-weary, truth to tell, although his lips curled in derision at the thought.

  As if he had a soul.

  Men watched as he crossed the yard and angled toward the door to the dungeons beneath. He could have avoided their gaze, for there were other ways into the depths of the Keep of the Black Hills, but those were dark, filthy, and guarded by the odium. They were the undead guardians of this place, and though he appreciated them as a weapon, he could do without the stench. He’d wanted a bit of air before plunging into the depths of the prison, where light and breath were precious and rare.

  A puddle of something foul lay in his way, but he stepped square into it with his black boots, determined to take the straightest route. After all, the Scourge of Palins never wavered in his duty: to protect his Baroness and his people. He took whatever means was necessary, used whatever weapon was at hand, to accomplish that goal.

  Hadn’t he?

  Pah. He was weary of the filth. Weary of stupidity, weary of trying to preserve the lives of his men. Bone-deep weary, that was the worst of it. No amount of sleep brought him rest or ease.

  Orrin set his jaw and kept walking.

  They knew where he went, his men. They knew full well what lay in the depths beneath the courtyard. Word would have flashed through the Keep, from the lowest scullery to the highest tower. He could almost feel their questions on his skin. Why had High Baroness Elanore left with a small force when the men were needed on their borders? What use would this prisoner be for their cause?

  They looked to him, Orrin Blackhart, Lord Marshal of the Black Hills.

  Pity he had no answers.

  He strode to the door, bearing the burden of their regard. He’d served Lady Elanore, Baroness of the Black Hills, for years now, but the weight was heavier with each passing day. Each passing hour. It didn’t help that since her injury, Elanore had grown obsessed with her power and the undead odium that she could create with it.

  Orrin scowled. Of late she’d grown even more focused and secretive. The Baroness had come up with this scheme to take one of the leaders of the rebellion prisoner. Once that had been set into motion, she’d used her magic to make even more of the odium than he’d thought possible. Then she’d left, with men and odium he needed for defense. Left, damn her, against his advice, and no reasoning would convince her otherwise.

  His fist was clenched hard before he even raised it to pound on the door. Three blows, then a swift turn to sweep the yard with a stern glance.

  Men turned quickly back to their tasks, and the normal business of the Keep resumed. Weary he might be, but he was Lord Marshal. None would challenge or question.

  For now.

  READER looked up from his book. “That’s him coming.”

  As Archer lifted his head from his work, he saw Sidian raise one of his bushy white eyebrows, a move Archer always watched with quiet amusement. Sidian was black-skinned, his face, chest, and arms covered with ritual scars, and so dark that his bald head and thick white eyebrows were startling. When one brow moved like that, it was as if a fuzzy bug had crawled over his eye.

  “How so?” Sidian asked in his clipped accent. “You’ve no way of—”

  The pounding at the door cut him off.

  “Why do you doubt, friend?” Archer asked quietly. “He’s always right.”

  Sidian snorted as Reader jumped up, thrusting his book into his pack. The small man wiped his palms on his pants as he darted to the door and jerked it open.

  Blackhart stood framed in the doorway, silhouetted against the day. As he stepped in, his hazel eyes pierced the room.

  Archer was unmoved by Blackhart’s glare. True enough, the darkness of this place was no match for Orrin Blackhart, Lord Marshall to Lady High Baroness Elanore and death incarnate to her enemies. But Archer had known the man and been part of his hearth-band for years, and the impact of that glare had worn a bit around the edges. It had been aimed in his direction a fair number of times over the years. Not that he was used to it. Not that at all.

  “Well?” Blackhart growled.

  “Very well,” Archer replied calmly. “She walked right into our trap. Your information was good.”

  Blackhart grunted. “Should be, considering the source. Anyone hurt?” He looked at the other men.

  “No.” Archer gave the man the reassurance he needed. “Timothy and Thomas are taking care of the horses. There wasn’t even a fight, it was that easy. There was another priest with her, but she pushed him back through the portal before we could grab him, too. It closed before we could blink.”

  Blackhart’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “We’ve got her. That’s all that matters.”

  “Sidian probably scared her,” Reader piped up, “what with them scars and all.”

  Sidian raised that eyebrow again, but didn’t rise to the bait.

  “Where is she?” Blackhart moved farther into the room.

  “Below. Mage is keeping an eye on her.” Archer nodded toward the door that led below.

  Blackhart frowned again. “The spell chains are—”

  “Working fine,” Archer assured him. “But she’s prayin’, and that’s got Mage nervous.”

  Blackhart grunted, and grabbed a torch. “For all the good praying will do. . . .” He opened the door that led to the cells, and headed down the stairs. Archer settled back, and returned to work on the arrow in his hands. The dungeon was a mite close for his taste. Besides, Blackhart could handle one small priestess by himself, now couldn’t he?

  TORCHLIGHT danced on the walls as Orrin stomped down the narrow staircase. The heels of his boots clicked on the stones, echoing in the spiral that descended into the depths. The stench filled his nose, leaving an acrid taste in the back of his throat. The men posted to duty in these tunnels claimed that the damp cut clear to the bone.

  They were right.

  The guard at the bottom nodded him toward the right passage. The dungeon was a warren filled with tunnels and cells. One could wander lost if one wasn’t careful. Done by design at some point, Orrin was sure. Hard to rescue someone when you can’t find yourself, much less their cell.

  One of the guards led him to the very end of one of the corridors, and there, in a niche in the wall, sat Mage, wrapped in his cloak against the cold and damp. Mage jumped to his feet with a youthful vigor Orrin envied.

  “Sir,” Mage said softly.

  “Which cell?”

  Mage gestured, and Orrin moved to look through the tiny barred window. The cell held a small candle, and in the center of the pool of light knelt a woman dressed all in white, her head bowed, her white hair glowing in the light.

  Orrin stepped back, and kept his voice down. “The spell chains working?”

  Mage nodded. “I used fresh ones, just to be sure. She can’t use any magic. Been praying since we put her in there. Thought maybe I’d keep watch, her being a high priestess and all. I mean, so far she’s not trying to cast magic. But the praying . . .” The youngster shrugged. “Not sure what I’d do if her gods appeared, but I thought—”

  Orrin rested a hand on his shoulder. “A good thought.”

  Mage lifted his head and straightened his shoulders. Orrin suppressed a chuckle, then turned to the guard. “Open it.”

  The guard moved quickly, fumbling with his keys. Orrin eased back to give the man room, and waited patiently. Once the door was opened, Orin handed the torch to Mage, and bent down to enter the cell.

  The woman looked up as he entered, regarding him calmly. Her hands were folded before her. The manacles were tight on her wrists, and the chains that linked them dangled before her robes. Orrin noted the chain that ran along the floor and secured her ankle to the wall.

  He’d heard the tales, of course, but it was a surprise to find her hair thick and white, and her eyes the
barest blue. She was younger than he’d expected, maybe a few years younger than himself.

  She seemed to magnify the glow of the candle, but he was sure that was a contrast to the darkness about her and not her innate goodness. Not that it mattered, either way. Innocence would be no protection here.

  She endured his scrutiny, studying him at the same time. He knew full well there was a contrast, with him dressed all in black and towering over her.

  “Lady High Priestess Evelyn.” Orrin’s voice grated as he broke the silence. “The Baroness will dance when she learns of your capture.”

  “No doubt.” Her voice was soft, yet stronger than he expected.

  He was caught off guard by the blue of her eyes and the life that sparked there. No despair or fear. Just calm, light blue eyes like a clear sky. Uneasy, he continued. “She will return to the Keep, and then your fate will be determined. Do you know what to expect?”

  The Lady High Priestess lowered her eyes, and Orrin noted that the clasped hands were trembling ever so slightly.

  “Rape, torture.” She paused for the barest moment. “Death.”

  “Yet you do not fear,” Orrin said.

  “I fear.” Her voice was quiet. “I fear the pain and rape. As all do.” Orrin caught a glimpse of her blue eyes and a flash of humor in them. “I do not fear death. I suspect I will welcome it.”