Since the convent was located on the Isle of Moon, there were several beaches close by. Early one morn, the girls had accompanied a few nuns to the nearest beach, where they had dug for clams. And while they had worked, the nuns had talked about the latest prophecy from the Seer. He had predicted more wars on the mainland. More death and destruction.
Not surprising, Luciana had thought. In her eight years of life, she had never heard of peace on the mainland. Fortunately, the four mainland kingdoms were so busy fighting one another that the island kingdom was mostly forgotten. And the two islands, Moon and Mist, never fought each other. What would be the point? There was only one inhabitant on the small Isle of Mist—the Seer.
And that was when the idea had struck. Why not invent a game where she and her younger sisters could pretend to be Seers? After collecting forty pebbles, they had decorated them with colors or numbers. Since most of the nuns spent their days in the workroom translating and illustrating books, there was always a supply of colored paints on hand.
The nuns had given them an old wooden bowl from the kitchen. After the paint had dried, the girls deposited the pebbles in the bowl, then draped a cloth on top. To play the game, each girl would reach into the bowl, grab a few Telling Stones, and then her future would be told.
And now, eleven years later, Luciana clutched three of the stones in her hand as a chill shuddered down her spine. Why would three harmless pebbles unnerve her? Prophecy was not her gift. Or curse, as she was more apt to put it.
“Hurry,” Sorcha told her. “I want to have my turn afore the dinner bell rings.”
“O Great Seer”—Brigitta repeated the line they spoke before each prediction—“reveal to us the secrets of the Telling Stones.”
Luciana opened her hand to show the pebbles. Two of her companions frowned. The other two winced.
Like the others, Maeve quickly adopted a hopeful expression. “Perhaps the black stone refers to yer lovely black hair.”
“I think ’tis sadly obvious what the stones foretell,” Luciana began, her words causing apprehension to steal over her sisters’ faces. She affected a bright, cheery smile. “The number two means that in two weeks I will meet a tall and handsome stranger.”
“Of course!” Brigitta clapped her hands.
Luciana pointed at the red stone. Not blood. “He will have red…”
“Freckles?” Sorcha wrinkled her nose. “Like me self?”
“Hair. Beautiful hair like yers.” Luciana motioned to the black stone. “And he will have a black…” Heart? She shoved that thought aside as she set the stones on the floor. “A black horse.”
“Excellent!” Gwennore nodded. “Whose turn is next?”
“Mine.” Sorcha slipped her hand under the cloth. The pebbles clattered against one another as she rummaged through them. When she withdrew her hand, fisted tightly around some stones, the wind picked up outside.
Maeve closed her eyes briefly. “A storm is brewing over the Great Western Ocean and headed our way.”
This was one prediction that Luciana felt sure would come to pass, for Maeve was somehow connected to the sea. “We should close the shutters.”
“But first ye must tell my fortune,” Sorcha insisted, opening her hand to reveal four pebbles. “O Great Seer, reveal to us the secrets of the Telling Stones.”
Yellow, green, one, and three.
“In one year ye will meet a tall and handsome stranger,” Luciana began.
Maeve groaned. “Why do ye always have us meet tall and handsome strangers?”
“Would ye prefer a short and ugly one?” Gwennore asked.
Maeve huffed. “Why must we meet a man at all?”
“Because I’m not keen on marrying a squirrel,” Sorcha muttered.
“We’re not marrying,” Maeve argued. “We’re staying here forever as sisters.”
“I know,” Luciana admitted. “I just like to pretend we’ll experience exciting adventures and true love.”
Sorcha lifted her hand with the four pebbles. “And?”
“He’ll have blond hair and green eyes,” Luciana said.
Sorcha nodded. “Very good. And the number three?”
Luciana bit her lip, considering. “He’ll have three…”
“Teeth,” Gwennore said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Sorcha glared at her, while everyone else grinned.
“He’ll give yerself a necklace of three precious stones to demonstrate his love and devotion,” Luciana finished.
Sorcha smiled. “Ye always give the best predict—” A blast of wind shot through the windows, whisking the cloth off the bowl of Telling Stones. Drops of rain blew in and splattered onto the wooden floor.
“I’ll get the shutters.” Luciana scrambled to her feet.
“I’ll help ye.” Sorcha dropped her pebbles back into the bowl as she stood.
When Luciana unlatched the door, a gust of wind whisked it open. Sorcha helped her pull it shut as they stepped onto the covered portico that bordered the eastern side of the courtyard. The wind whipped at their braided hair and tangled their long skirts about their legs.
Luciana stepped into the courtyard to peer up at the thick gray clouds. Even though there should be a few hours of sunlight left, the sky was rapidly growing dark. A fat drop of rain plopped onto her cheek, then suddenly the clouds released a deluge.
“Hurry!” She jumped back beneath the portico while Sorcha ran to the window on the right side of the door.