The Beginning of Everything Read online Kristen Ashley (The Rising #1)

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Rising Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
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A simple, but shining gold disk on which was printed a white oak leaf that sat in the middle of my forehead and lead to smaller gold disks that fed all around. I tied it at the back.

Not all sisters wore the headband on a regular basis.

Only three wore them.

My mother.

And the two Princesses of the Nadirii.

To finish, I yanked the suede armshields up my forearms and headed back down the steps.

Dora was at the pitcher and basin.

Excellent.

“I just adore you,” I told her, still winding down.

“And you’re just a big ninny,” she returned.

I pursed my lips and blew her a kiss. She rolled her eyes. And I carried on winding down the steps until I hit the wide first level that held our tidy kitchen, our big living area, and our ritual space.

I didn’t carry on down the steps.

I moved to the hole in the floor, grabbed the rope above it that dangled from a branch that grew through the room, and I slid down, landing soft on my feet on the forest floor.

I did this thinking, magic, joy, serenity, fulfillment, change.

The change I could understand.

Change was everlasting.

But with the sickness eating away at my mother that she refused to discuss, the unexplained tremors that shook the earth every fortnight, the disturbing vibrations I felt in the veil of magic, and the very presence of my sweet (and ornery) Dora in my treehome, I could not imagine I would ever feel joy and definitely not serenity.

I made my way through the trees, lifting my chin, or a hand, or calling hello to sisters I passed, pushing these thoughts into the back of my head.

I was not surprised to see Lucinda and Agnes, two of my mother’s lieutenants, standing at the base of the grandly carved, wide wooden steps that wound around the trunk of the stately, tall oak tree where my mother’s palace was built high amongst the leaves.

“My princess,” Lucinda greeted when I stopped before them.

“My honored sister,” I greeted back, not liking such a formal greeting from a woman who I regarded as an aunt to me, that me being a woman she regarded as mostly a daughter.

“My princess,” Agnes said, and I felt the same about Agnes, and she me.

By the goddess.

What was happening?

“My honored sister,” I repeated and looked up to the leaves. “She awaits me?”

“Rise,” Lucinda answered.

I did just that, walking between them and rising to the palace on the grand steps.

I found her not in her personal chambers higher, but in the receiving chambers on the first floor.

This did not bode well either.

What made matters worse was that my sister was there.

Serena didn’t look happy, but unless she was going for blood, or carousing, she rarely did.

We each had much of our unknown fathers in us, but you could tell our mother had a certain kind of male she enjoyed.

Our mother was petite, not frail, but not tall. When her hair was not white, as it was now, it had been an ash blonde. Her eyes were still a sharp blue.

My sister was tall, as was I. She had curves, as did I. Her frame had a willowy feel, even with her strong, toned, trim, fit muscles. As did I.

Her skin, however, held some freckles.

And her long, full hair was the color of shined copper, her eyes a deep, dark brown.

My hair was the color of honey, as was my skin.

My eyes were an unusual shade of violet.

We looked like sisters, even with the mismatched coloring.

And our polar opposite dispositions.

“Mum’s finally in the mood to share her secrets,” Serena drawled after I’d fully entered through the beaded door curtain to my mother’s receiving chamber.

I took my gaze from my sister.

“Good morning, Mum,” I said to my mother.

“My daughter,” she murmured from her place on her cushion in her hanging basket.

I didn’t look too closely at her. She got cross when I tried to read her state, this being the state of her health, something she flatly refused to discuss.

Instead, I again looked to Serena. “Hello, sister.”

“’Lo,” she muttered.

“I don’t suppose you’d sit with me,” Ophelia asked, mostly to her eldest daughter considering I’d absolutely sit with her.

I hesitated, not wanting to get whatever comment would come from my sibling if I did as asked without demur. I’d learned it wasn’t worth it, and regardless, who wouldn’t want to sit a morning with their mother?

Serena sneered at me.

She knew I wished to sit with my mother.

I sighed and moved to the deep-seated sofa basket that was much larger and sat on the ground but was of the same fashion as my mother’s basket, the grand swoop of the top coming over the seat, the inside at the back fit with many comfortable pillows.

I climbed in and sat cross-legged, facing my mother.

Serena moved to the side farthest away from me and crossed her arms on her chest.


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