Prologue

If you asked me my name, I would tell you I have none. The man who raised me called me Nathaniel. I have no knowledge of who I was before he came, before he made me forget.

I could not say that he mistreated me, and indeed, much could be said of the fact that he allowed me to call him “Father,” though I did not share his blood. But he held himself with a cold solemnity that I did not dare brush against. In truth, I saw him little.

When I cast my mind to the murky past, I see only snatches of color and vague forms that swirl about, never fully taking shape. I find no trace of the mother who disappeared before I was old enough to hold her image in my memory.

Rather, what I see is a boy crowned with brown hair that curls gently to his shoulders and eyes that conceal a softness his father lacks, a boy who took me by the hand and shielded me from harsh whispers that rose about me until his was the voice I heard above all others.

Like threads of a tapestry, time wove a gossamer web between us, coloring it anew with each passing year until it layered each string into cords of steel and vibrant color, faded words into nothingness, for thoughts passed in silence between us, and I could tease apart the knots about his heart and read it plain by a simple tilt of his head.

A friend he was to me, before I knew the meaning of the word, and more than a friend: a brother.

“Nothing will change, Nathaniel,” he said the day he was to leave.

I had not answered then, only pulled at the reins and led my steed back towards the woods that hemmed the dwelling I had learned to call my home.

He said nothing would change, and yet we both knew it to be a lie.