A/N: This is the kickoff of a next-generation Throne of Glass fanfic that I'm writing. Set about 16 years (give or take) after the end of Empire of Storms, this is essentially my way of dealing with the fifth book's DEVASTATING ending. I'm posting the prologue and chapter 1 at the same time, and after that, chapters will be posted as soon as I write them. Enjoy, and please review to let me know what you think!

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

PROLOGUE

Leta's fingers trembled as she eased open the door with a quiet, hushed creak.

She froze, her heart thumping in her chest. But Mohana did not stir in her chair by the fireplace, only twitching briefly, the ancient witch's mouth dangling open in a silent snore. Leta crept through the room, slow and quiet. Only three more steps to the door… Two… One…

As her hand closed around the door handle, she paused, turning back. She knew this three-room cabin so well; knew every crack and crevice. She knew its battered rug and weathered table, the sooty fireplace and the bedroll where she slept. She knew Mohana, that old Ironteeth witch, with her rusted iron claws and teeth.

Leta released a breath. She knew it, but she wouldn't miss it. Not ever.

She twisted the knob and pushed the door open, shutting it quickly behind her. The night sky was just beginning to show hints of dawn at the horizon, violet leaching into the expanse of cobalt blue. The stars were beginning to go out, one-by-one, but Leta's eyes found the stag pattern in the stars. She couldn't remember where she'd first learned about him, from a book or from hearsay, but she kissed her fingers and held it up to the constellation, a silent nod of thanks.

She took one last look around her, soaking in the Cambrian Mountains. This deep in the Cambrians, there was no one around for miles; just the hares and the birds and the pine trees, all graced with fragile, white snow.

And then, with a deep breath, Leta took a step forward and ran.

She had been planning this for months, and Leta prayed to the gods that they would not fail her now, not when they had failed her so many times already.

She had been so careful. Mohana noticed everything; catalogued every crumb. Leta had taken a bit of bread here, a bit of salted pork there. A handful of things that she had stashed in her leather pack, biding her time. Waiting.

It had all started when the traveling peddler passed through that spring. Seldom did anyone come through their deserted part of the mountains, and when they did, they usually came to sell trinkets and wares and stories of the outside world. The peddler had been selling books, to Leta's delight. Books and maps.

She had bought a map of Wendlyn, and, closeted away in her room, she had charted a path out of the Cambrians. Mohana's cabin was far from Varese, but not too far—maybe a three weeks' trek. Risky, but worth it.

Leta could not remember a time when she wasn't reading some book, whether fiction or nonfiction, about politics or magic. She knew about the outside world—a little of it, anyway. Mohana kept a trunk of books, and if she was crafty enough, she might be able to sneak one or two before setting it back.

Occasionally, she didn't put it back in time, and the Ironteeth witch would rake her claws over Leta's skin.

Fae demon. You think you can get away with this?

Her lips flattened as she swept through the forest, branches slapping gently at her cheeks. She was a Fae, but she was no demon. She had taken care not to become one—only using her senses in self-defense, only using her little knowledge of magic to heal. Seldom did Leta touch her magic, the insistent beckoning from the water.

Come. Learn. Discover.

Mohana had been exiled by her own kind in Erilea as punishment for killing another witch, and she'd been in hiding in Wendlyn for centuries—centuries in isolation, centuries in which she had honed her anger. Centuries of rage she had unleashed upon Leta.

Orphan bitch. I remember when I found you on the side of the road—abandoned by your own people, no doubt. Your own kind. Fae demon.

No more. Leta would not become a demon, but she would not stand idly by, either.

This, she knew, was only the beginning. No more working as Mohana's slave. No more hiding and groveling on her knees. No more shame over her heritage. In Varese, things would be different. Things had to be different.

The sun rose over the Cambrians, Leta leapt through the air soaring high and bright and bold.

And as she jumped, letting out a reckless whoop of freedom, the hood of her cowl slipped, illuminating her face, her wide smile and her eyes—bright turquoise, ringed with gold.

A/N: I hope you all liked it! Please review!