He had spent his whole life in a cage. As a child, he hadn't questioned it - it was simply the way things were, the way they had always been.
He had learned to crawl, then walk, then run, on the hard, cold stones.
In truth, it wasn't a cage at all, but a large square room made entirely of rough-hewn gray stone except for the door, which was built of wood reinforced with thick iron straps. There were two beds, two chairs, a table, and a shelf filled with scrolls that contained the learning of the village wisemen - scrolls that were changed each year. A single, iron-barred window was set high in the east wall.
The days passed slowly. His mother, Zoe, read to him for hours at a time. She was the center of his world, his life. He had no contact with anyone else save the guards who brought them food and water. The guards never spoke toNavarre , never allowed their eyes to meet his. Only on rare occasions did they speak to his mother.
AsNavarre grew older, Zoe taught him to read and write and cipher.
Once, he heard her mutter something under her breath, something about it being a waste of time to teach him to read and learn his numbers.
"Why, mother?" he had asked. "Why is it a waste of time to teach me these things?"
She had knelt down to face him, her expression filled with kindness. "What do you mean,Navarre ?"
"I heard what you said. Why is it a waste of time for me to learn to read and write?"
"I didn't say that."
"You did!" He had stared at her, wondering why she was lying to him. She had never lied to him before.
"No,Navarre ," she had insisted, not meeting his eyes, "you must have misunderstood me."
He hadn't argued with her, but later that night, when she thought he was asleep, he had seen her standing at the window, the moonlight casting silver highlights in her long blond hair. The sound of her muffled sobs had brought tears to his eyes.
Sometimes she held him up to the window so he could look out. As a child, he had spent hours imagining what it would be like to run through the tall grass, climb the trees, play in the clear blue river. Far in the distance stood a gold-domed building made of sparkling white stone. It was known as the Stone Hall Abbey.
Sometimes men clothed in long gray robes came to the window to stare in atNavarre , their pale blue eyes filled with curiosity and a strange kind of awe that bordered on fear.
"Why do they look at me like that?" he asked one day.
"They stare at you because you're such a handsome boy," Zoe replied. She turned her head, but not before he saw that there were tears in her eyes again.
"Handsome?"
"Oh, yes," Zoe said. "You look just like your father."
"Father?"Navarre knew what a father was, of course, from the scrolls he had read. But he had never realized he had one.
Zoe nodded. "He was a very handsome man, your father. He had blue-black hair, just like yours. And his eyes were the same shade of smoky gray. You'll be tall, just as he was," she said.
"Where is my father? What was his name?"
"Your father is dead," Zoe said. She took a deep breath. "You are named after him."
"I am?"
She nodded, a faraway look in her eyes.
"How did my father die?"
Zoe felt the color drain from her face. She had always known she would have to answer his question one day, but even so, she was not prepared. How did one tell a child that his father had been sacrificed to a heathen god? How could she tell her son that he was destined to meet the same cruel fate?
"Mother?" He looked at her through eyes far older than his years as he waited for her answer.
"Do we have to speak of it now?" Zoe asked. She glanced out the window. "Look, the vixen is outside, playing with her babes."
"How did my father die?"
"He was sacrificed to the goddess Shaylyn."
Navarrefrowned. "Sacrificed? I don't understand."
"Please,Navarre ," she pleaded. "Let us not speak of it now."
"When, then?"
"When you're older."
"How old?"
"When you have seen thirteen summers."
Another year, he thought. Certainly he could wait another year.
In the meantime, there were other questions crowding his mind, questions he had never considered before. It was as if