Prologue
I had not disturbed the graves on purpose .
Truthfully, I’d forgotten they were even there. I rarely visited this corner of the palace grounds, after all. No one did. The shadows cast by the walls around me were long, the pebbled paths beneath my sandaled feet overtaken with weeds and the rotting corpses of long-dead foliage. Most of the headstones were lost to the ravages of time, whatever secrets they held unreadable and unremarkable to the average eye.
At any rate, the graves marked by those headstones had certainly not been my targets.
My aim had been higher. Focused on the withered flowers clinging to the twisting tree branches that formed a canopy over this tucked-away corner of my home. I felt a sickness in those shriveled blooms whenever I stared at them; their fading life force moved as a tingling sensation along my arms, raising little bumps across my skin.
Death took many different forms to me. I was still
learning what forms I could detect, what I could decipher, what I could control…
And what I was better off leaving alone.
But the dying flowers, I’d decided, would be excellent practice targets. A good chance to exercise my powers, which had been growing increasingly restless with all the extra attention being paid to me over the past week.
It should have been an easy task, extracting the decaying energy from them and temporarily bringing them back to something that mimicked the brightness of life. It was a trick I’d managed with relative ease in the past.
Yet, for all my familiarity with this trick, I’d failed.
So there I stood, still surrounded by withered blooms— and now by cracked gravesites, too. Little bits of white danced in the air above the broken ground, drifting and sparkling like snowflakes—the faint auras of the longdeceased. When those cold flakes brushed my skin, the tingling in my arms became more like the sharp prodding of needles...
More like a warning.
The air smelled of freshly turned soil, with a rotten, musty undercurrent. The night seemed eerily quiet, save for the occasional groan of the slow, cold wind.
But at least there were no accidental bodies rising up, this time.
My mother—the queen—still would not be pleased at the messy disturbance I’d caused.
My father, meanwhile, would find it all wonderfully amusing; I could already imagine his laughter, his eyes dancing as he gently teased me about my wayward magic. Thinking of his laugh gave me courage enough to shake off
the needling sensation in my skin and keep going in spite of my mistakes.
Everything is fixable, My Star. You just have to keep trying.
The sound of plodding footfalls made me jump.
I rolled the tension from my shoulders as Phantom—the silky-haired puppy my father had given me a year prior— clambered into view. He took one look at the ghostly specks of energy flitting through the air and clumsily settled onto his haunches with his head cocked in curiosity.
A trio of blackbirds alighted on the nearby wall as well, their feathers glistening like oil in the pale blue moonlight.
I ignored my audience and focused on soothing the bits of lingering energy in the air, guiding each one back into the broken ground with precise movements of my fingers. It helped to imagine the bits attached to my fingertips, I’d learned over the years—to tether myself to such energy by way of invisible chains.
Once the air was clear again, I took a fallen branch covered in blooms, closed my eyes, and tried to refocus on the precise feel of the flowers’ decay.
Nothing had changed in those flowers when I opened my eyes—but the cracks in the dirt had widened in several places. The space again grew hazy, thick with my misguided magic and the uneasy, partially-roused energies of the dead.
I cursed under my breath.
Why couldn’t I do this?
Phantom yipped his disapproval. His keen blue eyes had a human-like awareness to them, I’d always thought, putting his judgmental looks on par with my mother’s.
“No one asked your opinion, now did they?” I muttered, hiking up my skirts and trudging toward the disturbed ground. I dropped down before the first grave and started to
smooth it with my bare hands, raking my fingers through the cold soil to break up the uneven clumps, paying little mind to the grime collecting beneath my freshly painted nails.
Phantom panted and whined loudly behind me. I shot him a disagreeable look, but he didn’t seem bothered by it; I would have sworn the damned dog only smiled in response.
Secretly, however, I was glad he was here, judgment and all. He was fast becoming my constant companion. The only being in the court—aside from my father—who didn’t flinch when they saw me coming.
I crawled from one grave to the next, putting the dirt back in order and pulling a few weeds along the way. The shimmering hem of my silver dress was soon streaked with grass stains and growing heavy from the clinging, damp earth, but I persevered nonetheless.
Soon enough, the job was finished, the dirt smooth, the air crisp and clear.
I gathered up another handful of fallen blossoms. Most would have admitted defeat by this point, I guess, but I was stubborn—determined to follow through with my original goal, however silly it seemed after so many failures.
I glanced over my shoulder, making certain I was alone save for my dog. I took a deep breath.
And, this time, I allowed the shadowy markings along my neck and arms to lift from my skin as I focused on the flowers’ decayed energy.
My shadows were very adept at grabbing hold of dead things. But they also made me feel like I was unraveling whenever they lifted away from my body—which was why I hadn’t called on them at the start.
Thankfully, it was a quick spell. The auras of the flowers were small, weak, easy enough to manipulate and pull out with my shadows. My hands were soon filled with blooms that glowed at the edges—the subtle shine of organisms drained of their morbid energy.
Faint as it was, the glow seemed bright against the deep‐ening night. It cast a thin light over the cracked gravestones, drawing my eyes to their weathered, unreadable names once more.
I tossed the now luminescent blooms over the freshlysmoothed dirt, one after the other. “Whoever you are,” I said softly, “I’m sorry you’ve been forgotten here.”
This was far from the only dilapidated and disregarded area of my family’s estate. We had not lived among the sweeping grounds and ornate buildings of Rose Point for very long, and prior to my parents’ arrival, the place had sat empty for more than half a century. The king and queen had done a great deal to restore the central palace itself, along with the main grounds, but there were still plenty of overgrown corners and dust-coated corridors to explore. Plenty of buried secrets to dig up; a wealth of treasure and trouble to find…which was one of the things I loved most about my home.
One of the many things I would miss after tonight. Because after tonight, everything would change.
I tossed the remaining flowers down with a slow, reverent sort of precision—save for a single, stubborn blossom that stuck to my palm.
I moved to show off its illuminated loveliness to Phantom—who had, by this point, fallen asleep in a pile of damp and rotting leaves—but before I could rouse him, the
dog suddenly lifted his head of his own accord. His pointed ears twitched as he sniffed the air.
A smooth voice parted the quiet a moment later: “Lady Bellanova?”
Just Nova, I corrected—or at least, I did so in my head.
I couldn’t get my mouth to form words, however. I’d frozen in place, newly aware of the dirt staining my dress and hands, and of the shadows still circling lazily around my body. I clamped my hands over those shadows. Pressed them back to my skin, bit by bit, where they settled like swirls of ink tattooed upon it.
Slowly, with as much dignity and poise as I could muster, I turned to meet the man approaching me.
Like the magicked flowers, he stood out with a subtle yet certain brightness against the darkening twilight. His hair fell in short, thick waves around his face, framing his sharp jawline. The strands were a peculiar shade of silvery white, a color that seemed to have been absorbed from the cloud-covered moon itself. The sight would have been ethe‐real enough on its own, but combined with the shade of his eyes…
Let’s just say, he was difficult to look away from.
The first time I’d met his gaze, many years ago, I’d been sure the light was playing tricks on me. I’d never come across anyone with eyes of such deep, arresting gold—eyes the color of a sun-kissed wheat field. I’d soon learned the hue was common among his regal family, but at the time, he’d just been a young boy lost in the same courtyard where I’d been attempting to hide from my lessons; I hadn’t recog‐nized him as royalty.
I recognized him well enough, now, though: Aleksander
Caldor, Crown Prince of Elarith. The soon-to-be-ruler of that neighboring kingdom.
And it was a wonder the light in his eyes had not gone out; in the year since we’d last seen one another, his mother had passed away, the result of a gruesome riding accident. Her husband had followed after months of self-imposed solitude and suffering—taken by his own hand, if rumors were to be believed. Aleksander was an only child—and now the sole remaining ruler of Elarith.
The Elarithian throne had been stewarded over the past months by the Keepers of Light, a council largely made up of the descendants of powerful magic-users who had first settled Aleksander’s kingdom. That council was eager to place their young prince on the throne and return their mourning lands to order and stability. Which was partly why he was here tonight—to shore up their relationship with Eldris before he began his rule.
We should be honored they looked to us first, my mother had reminded me, countless times, over the past days. We need this alliance. Our kingdom needs this alliance.
Phantom got to his feet and trotted over to my side, nuzzling his sharp nose against my leg and letting out a whine. I gave him a reassuring scratch between his ears, just above the burst of white on his forehead—the only splotch of color in his otherwise jet-black fur.
My eyes never left the soon-to-be-crowned-king.
“A little dark for gardening, isn’t it?” Aleksander did a poor job of hiding his amusement as he looked my dirty self over from head-to-toe. His suppressed smile accented his dimples, the only hints of softness in his otherwise sharp features.
I did my best to appear completely unaffected by those
dimples. “Some things bloom brighter in the dark,” I coun‐tered, holding up the blossom still clinging so stubbornly to my palm, “so that’s when I tend to them.”
He considered the words, studying the flower with an intensity that made my heart beat faster.
The flower was already fading. Withering at the edges. Not surprising—the glow rarely lasted long. Even though I could sense and occasionally manipulate death’s hold over things, I couldn’t truly, permanently remove its grip.
“That makes sense, I suppose.” As he spoke, Aleksander carefully took the flower from me. His fingertips brushed mine, sending a shiver up my arm and making the shadows on my skin shift slightly. My heart pounded even more furiously.
I kept my eyes on his hand as a soft white glow rose up from the lines of his palm, engulfing the shriveling bloom. As I watched, the edges of that bloom smoothed out and began to shine once more.
The King of Light. That’s what he would be called once he ascended the throne—just like his father and grandfa‐ther before him. He was a descendant of the most powerful line of those magical beings who had settled his kingdom. And unlike my own shadowy powers, his had been cele‐brated and nurtured since birth.
In all five kingdoms of the Valorian Empire, his magic was revered and welcomed.
I couldn’t help but marvel at it myself, if only briefly, as he placed the flower back in my palm and gently closed my hand over it. I could see a gleam through the cracks between my fingers, one much warmer than the glow I’d caused. Where I had drawn out the decaying energy, he had simply forced light—life
—back into the bloom. The end result was similar, and yet...
“Will I see you at the party soon?” he asked. “I believe the queen was looking for you. She seemed a bit frantic.”
Mother always seems a bit frantic, I thought, biting my lip to keep the comment to myself.
I looked to the main house. Even from here, I could feel the buzz of activity within it. Could hear the music and laughter getting louder, could smell the delicious aromas of roasting meat and vegetables, along with the sugary desserts waiting in the wings.
I forced my eyes back to Aleksander’s. “Sorry,” I said, “I must have lost track of time.”
I hadn’t lost track of time at all.
And something told me the future Light King knew this. He said nothing, however, merely waving my tardiness away—as polite as he’d always been.
“I’ll be in shortly,” I assured him. There was no avoiding it. Because it was my party, after all—a celebration of my eighteenth birthday.
And the gossip spreading throughout the Kingdom of Eldris like wildfire all claimed the King of Light was here to bring what they considered a most incredible gift: He was going to ask for my hand in marriage.
I fought the urge to pick at the grime under my nails, trying to maintain my composure.
What did one say to a mere acquaintance who they might have to call husband soon?
How did I say it, when I must have looked positively feral in the moonlight, with my clothing covered in grave dirt and my hair hanging in disheveled waves around my sweat-streaked face?
I really owed my maids an apology for how thoroughly I’d sullied my appearance after all the work they’d put into it.
Luckily, Aleksander seemed to sense my discomfort and diffused the awkward air between us by way of a gentle‐manly bow.
“I’ll be waiting for you inside, then,” he told me, sweeping a kiss across my knuckles before turning and heading back towards the palace.
My heart behaved strangely as I watched him go— simultaneously trying to soar and clench into a tight, protective ball.
It was kind of him to come all this way and make a show of officially proposing. Romantic, even. But any marriage between us would be purely political; I was not foolish enough to believe otherwise. Our kingdoms had once shared a powerful alliance, and it was simply the wise thing to do—focusing on rebuilding the connection.
Aside from this, it was the wisest move for me. My magic would be far less restless in the Elarithian Kingdom. My mother had assured me of this—that being around Alek‐sander and his light-magic-wielding court would help balance and temper my powers. Father seemed less convinced, but he was not one to argue when the Queen of Eldris truly put her foot down about a matter.
I rarely agreed with my mother about anything, but in this case...
Well, there were worse birthday presents, surely. Far fouler things than being married off to a wealthy, handsome king who, by most accounts, was well-liked by his subjects.
The Kingdom of Elarith was said to be breathtakingly beautiful, too. I wouldn’t know; I’d only been there once
when I was younger, and my memories of it remained a blur, no matter how hard I tried to focus on them. The way others spoke of it, though, made it seem as if I was soon to be whisked away into a fairytale.
Of course, most fairytales had a darker story lurking underneath—a fact I’d started to mention several times after overhearing whispers about my supposedly enviable future…
But I held my tongue every time.
I would not complain. For my kingdom’s sake, I could bear any burden. For my family’s sake, I could carry the weight of a foreign crown, endure the pain of being a stranger in a strange land, leaving behind all I knew. It was just another form of death, I’d convinced myself.
And I had never feared death.
I drew myself up to my full height, settled my nerves, and marched inside with Phantom trotting at my heels.
I avoided the party for a little longer, sneaking my way toward my room first. Once there, I changed quickly out of my soiled clothing, opting for a sleeveless, simple gown in my favorite color—a rusted shade of orange—mostly because it was easy to slip on and secure without the help of any servants.
I picked stray flower petals and bits of mud from my long, dark tresses, redid the braids keeping the unruly locks away from my face, and assessed myself in the mirror.
Good enough.
Yet I lingered, noticing how dark the markings on my arms still were. They had not fully settled since Aleksander’s hand had brushed my skin; occasionally they twitched, the darkness rippling like strands of silk ribbons caught in a breeze.
The markings—and my magic—were an ill-kept secret within this palace. Most knew about them at this point, because although I could make them disappear completely if I concentrated hard enough, burying them beneath my skin never lasted long before the restless itch to let them out again overcame me. Death was everywhere in this world, after all, in all its different forms, and my magic called to the different morbid energies.
Oftentimes, it was safer to let the darkness breathe. That’s why I’d been hiding in that corner with the grave‐stones—because I’d desperately needed to breathe. I needed to be under control for this party.
“I am under control,” I told my reflection.
Phantom gave a concerned yip, drawing my attention. I knelt before him, straightening his jeweled collar.
“Are we ready for this, you think?” I asked, running my fingers through his silky fur.
He let out a happier bark before twirling in a circle.
I smiled, wondering if the King of Light was a dog lover—and then promptly decided that I didn’t care; Phantom was coming with me to Elarith, either way.
“Come on, then,” I said, standing and turning for the door. “Let’s get it over with.”
I went to the door and, with stiffened resolve, pulled it open
And found my mother standing on the other side, hand outstretched toward the handle. She’d clearly had no inten‐tion of knocking.
We stared at one another.
The queen spoke first, per usual. “Nova, that isn’t the dress we agreed—”
“The other one is dirty.”
My mother pursed her lips.
“Ah, but this one looks splendid on her, doesn’t it?” my father offered, appearing behind his wife. He quickly stepped between me and her critical gaze—just as he’d been doing for the past eighteen years. “The color brings out her eyes.”
The queen breathed in deeply through her nose several times before managing a smile. “I suppose it does,” she agreed with a soft sigh, her gaze flicking up to mine.
Our bright turquoise eyes were one of the few things we had in common—one of the few things I had in common with either of my parents’ appearances. As she stared into them, maybe she was reminded of this—that I was, in fact, her daughter. Maybe that was why she gave me a quick embrace before hurrying me on down the hall.
Phantom raced ahead, nose lifted into the air, eagerly following the smell of the feast awaiting us.
“We’ve been ready to announce you for the past half hour,” my mother said as we practically jogged down the portrait-lined corridor. “Everyone is eager to see you.”
I doubted this last part, but didn’t say so; I merely nodded along as she launched into yet another recap of the events she had planned for the evening, and how they would now have to shift due to my lateness.
My father rescued me again as we came to the massive double-doors of the banquet hall, insisting he wanted to escort me inside himself. My mother let me go without a fuss, her attention catching on a servant who was sorting silverware in a way that was apparently all wrong!
“She means well,” my father said, wincing a bit as we watched her hurry off and fix her frantic energy on the poor servant.
“I know.”
He veered away from the banquet hall and beckoned me to follow, pulling a small, wrapped box from the inside pocket of his waistcoat once we were out of Mother’s sight.
Inside the gift box, I found a bracelet with beads painted in almost the exact shade of my eyes. A few had symbols painted on them as well, drawn with precise, painstakingly neat brushstrokes.
“I commissioned it from Orin,” he said.
Orin Greenbark was one of my many teachers. Mother was not particularly fond of him and his unorthodox views on magic—among other things.
And there was magic in this piece he’d created, no doubt; I could already feel it coming to life as I slipped the bracelet on.
“You like it, I hope?”
I couldn’t take my eyes off it. “It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
“Good. Happy birthday, My Star.” He planted a kiss on top of my head. “Now, let’s get to this party before your mother disowns us both.”
Though he did escort me through the doors as planned, after my appearance was officially announced, the king was swallowed up by his own admirers, everyone clamoring for a chance to speak face-to-face with him.
The King of Light was having a similar effect on the partygoers on the other side of the room.
Because of this, I found it easy to disappear into the shadows, even though I was the guest of honor.
The hall was even more impressive than usual. Dozens of tables spanned the space, draped in layers of silk and lace, glittering with silver and gold cutlery, overflowing with
platters of exotic fruits and delicacies. The scent of spices mingled with perfumes worn by guests, wrapping me in a rich, heady embrace. The music of string ensembles and flutes filled the hall—a soothing backdrop to the conversa‐tions growing more raucous by the minute, thanks to the countless wines flowing freely from stations in every corner.
I found Phantom hiding under a table, devouring scraps of some slab of meat he’d managed to pilfer. At the sight of me, he gulped down the remaining bits and scurried to my side.
Heads turned my way as I continued my walk through the dazzling room. Most offered a polite bow or a generic well-wish for my birthday. Few made prolonged eye contact or conversation.
I was not revered the way my parents, or my alleged husband-to-be, were—but I was not hated, either. I was… tolerated. The odd daughter of a well-liked king and queen. Despite my strange magic, I’d never caused any real trouble for the royal city I called home, and so I was mostly left to my own devices. Overlooked, save for the rare occasions when my mother insisted on celebrating me.
I doubted any of the people here would care if I left this kingdom.
Most probably wouldn’t even realize I’d gone.
Some days, I wondered if it would have been easier if they all hated me. If that would have been better than being overlooked—better than being able to blend perfectly into a party but rarely asked to dance.
It was unsettling to feel so alone in a room full of hundreds of people who knew my name.
“Maybe a change won’t be so bad,” I mumbled to Phantom as I slipped him a slice of roasted beef.
Maybe things would be different in Elarith.
For the next several hours, I drifted through the glittering spaces, sipping my favorite red wine and slipping in and out of daydreams about what awaited me in the weeks to come.
The night pressed on. The crowd grew more inebriated. The full moon rose higher, the skylights allowing its beams to press in and strike chandeliers, sequined dresses, and dangling jewelry, turning the room into a shimmering kalei‐doscope of color and movement.
It was easy to get swept up in the magic of the event, however detached I might have felt from the people around me. Easy to enjoy the moment. To appreciate all the work that had gone into it—and it soon occurred to me that I should find my mother and thank her for that work.
After a bit of searching, I found her standing by my father on the largest of several verandas attached to the banquet hall. Speaking with the future Elarithian King.
Of course.
Aleksander was accompanied by an impeccably-dressed servant who held a beautiful weapon—a blade secured in a sheath of white and gold—which the future king was busy presenting and describing to my parents. A gift for them, I assumed.
He was the first to notice my approach. He tilted his head toward me, pausing his speech long enough to offer a small smile. My heart reacted just as it had in the garden— with an odd combination of desire and uncertainty.
The music around me slowed.
The world seemed to slow with it.
I could sense my parents’ eyes shifting my direction, the weight of their expectations growing heavier with each
passing second. My chest tightened. It felt as if I was approaching the crux of this night—the moment that would divide my life and legacy into before and after.
Aleksander went back to addressing my parents. My pulse skipped several beats, wondering what other gifts he planned to lavish on my family and kingdom before the night was through. I wanted to hurry closer, to hear the ideas he had for his rule, for our alliance…
And yet, something slowed my steps—a feeling I couldn’t name.
So I didn’t reach the veranda before…something struck the ground between Aleksander and my parents with a vicious crack!
Smoke exploded from where it hit, throwing up a thick curtain that billowed into the banquet hall.
The riotous laughter and chatter of the hall faded into confused silence. The music screeched to a halt. The clat‐tering and clanging of dishes echoed in the stillness for a moment before ceasing along with everything else.
The sound of boots hitting stone came next—dozens of bodies dropping onto the veranda from somewhere above. The smoke made it difficult to see, but I could tell my parents were being surrounded.
Shouts rang out.
Palace guards surged through the panicking crowd, shoving partygoers aside and barreling toward the king and queen.
I hiked up my dress and sprinted after them.
Phantom darted after them as well, his large body further clearing a path for me to follow. I kept my eyes narrowed on my dog, trusting him to find the quickest route
—I was so focused on him, I didn’t see a man crossing into my path until it was too late.
We collided. Hard. As I fell, a strong hand caught my arm, jerking me back upright, and I found myself staring into a pair of warm brown eyes.
I didn’t know his name, but I’d seen this man at Alek‐sander’s side throughout much of the night. He looked like a muted version of the Elarithian king—more earthy than ethereal, but with glints of gold in his eyes and hair. His rolled-up sleeves allowed a glimpse of tattoos that appeared to cover most of his right arm.
After a few seconds, his eyes widened in recognition, and his hold on me tightened. “Princess, it isn’t safe—”
I ripped free and sprinted onward. The bracelet my father had given me was trembling, clenching painfully around my wrist. Like someone taking a merciless hold on me, jerking me onward through the panicked crowd, continuing to pull even when my steps grew clumsy.
By the time I hurtled onto the terrace, the smoke had cleared enough for me to see Aleksander standing tall and clear in the moonlight. His hand was wrapped around the hilt of the blade he’d been presenting to my parents.
The blade that was now buried in my father’s chest. He yanked it out and turned to my mother next.
I moved faster. Without pausing to think, I threw myself in front of my mother, knocking her to the ground. Palace guards swarmed over her, gathering her up and carrying her to safety.
I spun to face Aleksander. The tip of his sword came within an inch of my throat, where it collided with an explosion of shadows that lifted from my skin without any effort or control from me.
Little fissures appeared in the sword as it was struck by the shadows. Light leaked from the cracks, radiance rising up to meet my darkness.
Our competing energies swirled faster and faster, engulfing us. The tangled power raked like claws over my skin, whipping my clothing and hair wildly about, leaving me breathless and shaking.
Our eyes met through a hazy cloud of light and dark, his golden irises burning like twin suns ready to implode and devour the world.
I heard the thump of knees hitting the ground, followed by the rest of a body. My father’s body. I glimpsed it crum‐pling down into a motionless heap behind Aleksander.
Rage blinded me. My shadows swelled, and I would have sworn they turned solid for a moment, shifting into monstrous limbs that knocked everything and everyone— ally and foe, alike—to the ground.
When they faded to mere haze once more, Aleksander was gone.
The sword he’d used to stab my father was now embedded in the stone floor of the veranda. It had cleaved straight through the marble tiles as if cutting through dirt.
My father’s blood dripped down the blade.
Another rush of rage overtook me. My shadows became solid extensions of my body once more, talons that dug into the world around me, grappling for control.
The veranda cracked apart, a chasm opening in the middle and swallowing up the sword.
The cracks swept outward, forcing me to jump back to avoid being swallowed up myself. A renewed chorus of screams filled the air, followed by the thunder of footsteps
as people scrambled to put more space between them and the breaking terrace.
Phantom grabbed a mouthful of my dress and tried to pull me toward safety. I stumbled a few steps backward until my gaze fell upon my father again, on his body that was rolling precariously close to the opening chasm.
A dozen feet separated us, yet I reached out my hands as though to catch him. My shadows swept forward with the movement, spiraling, wrapping around his lifeless figure. But, try as I might, I couldn’t get my magic to turn solid enough to secure him—to stop him from meeting the same fate as the sword.
The ground shook, rolling him forward, swallowing him up.
Gone.
Just like that, he was gone, leaving only a trail of blood and bits of broken shadows in his wake.
The few people who hadn’t fled were staring at me, horrified. Everything was spinning. Unraveling. I felt out of control, out of options, out of ideas. I turned away from the widening chasm…
And I ran.
Shadows followed. Destruction followed. Wherever I went, darkness flailed alongside me, occasionally catching on living things and draining them, felling bodies, cutting swaths of grey through what had once been lush courtyards.
I ran faster. Faster, faster, faster, until, finally, I stood alone atop the highest hill overlooking Rose Point. Gasping for breath, I gazed back at my home, trying to make sense of what had happened.
I willed myself not to be afraid.
Death, after all, took many forms to me.
But the day I watched the future King of Light murder my father was the first day Death’s shadows took my form, wrapping me in a merciless embrace, turning me into a vessel of lethal darkness.
And it would not be the last time my shadows raged out of control, seeking both solace and vengeance, but finding neither.
Chapter One
Seven Years Later
A fter months of searching, I’ d finally found it: A crimsonlith tree. One in full bloom, heavy with the fruits that contained the last ingredient our spell needed. Now, all I had to do was steal one of these fruits, carry it back, and let Orin work his magic with the seeds inside.
And then I would finally be ready to die.
I’d been told, over and over, that these trees no longer existed in the southern region of the Valorian Empire. Yet, here one was, standing tall right in the middle of Lord Roderic’s home, kept in a glass-covered atrium flooded with light and all manner of other rare plants, just mere feet away from my spirit-self.
If only my spirit-self could have collected them right then and there...this mission could have been over in minutes.
Still, this was a start.
Having successfully located my target, I released the
tethering spell I’d been using to guide my ghostly shade, sending it snapping back toward my physical self. It was a useful trick for spying and seeking—though not so much for stealing; one needed a corporeal body capable of holding objects for that.
Minor details, you know.
Absently, my fingers closed around one of the four bracelets I constantly wore. As my thumb traced black, rose-shaped beads, I bowed my head and closed my eyes, waiting for my dizziness to subside. I’d grown quite skilled at projecting shades of myself around, but putting my pieces back together would likely always be a jarring experience.
A chill brushed over my hand—Phantom, rubbing his nose against my fingers and letting me know he still stood by my dazed body, watching over me.
Spirit-walking could be dangerous magic to wield— leaving the wielder in varying states of inebriation or outright oblivion—but I always took care to hide my body, and I never feared as long as Phantom stayed close to that body.
He kept most stray passersby away by his frightening appearance, alone, and he’d done this enough times to become something of a legend around here; the haunting, spectral beast of the once-royal city of Luscerna. When appearances alone didn’t work, he could also exert a terri‐fying energy that left his targets feeling ghastly ill—a rather useful power he’d gained after dying.
Or mostly dying.
I say mostly because, thanks to my magic, he wasn’t as dead as he should have been.
Three years ago, Phantom had fallen ill and passed
away. But I hadn’t been ready to let him go. He was the only family I had left, and so, without thinking, I’d unleashed my shadows and given them free rein in a way I never had before, hoping they might pull him back to me… a desperate attempt that had actually worked.
Sort of.
To this day, I still didn’t fully know how I’d kept him with me—or how long the spell would last.
Limboed was the term my mentor, Orin, used. The constraints of Phantom’s physical body had been broken, his spirit had risen to dominance and headed for the Underworld…but that spirit had been stopped in its tracks by my frantic spell. Stopped, and imbued with enough of my strange magic that he was now anchored to me and, in turn, to the world I inhabited.
The same magic had also tied us together in other ways, allowing us to communicate with perfect clarity. For better or worse.
(You weren’t gone very long,) came his voice, echoing softly through my mind. (Are you sure you have a clear vision of your next step?)
“Clear enough.”
He sneezed. (Hasty. Impetuous. As per usual.)
Occasionally, I missed the silence between us.
I flashed him a crooked grin. “If you think I’ve been impetuous thus far, you really aren’t going to like the next part of my plan,” I warned, patting him on the head. My hand went through him, coming away covered in a viscous, shadowy substance. It was a matter of habit, petting him; even after three years, I still missed running my fingers through his solid fur.
He bared his teeth—his displeasure obvious—but
settled back on his haunches, expectantly. (Well? What is your plan?)
“I’m going to walk straight through the front door.”
(Brilliant,) came the reply, dripping with obvious sarcasm despite the way his thought-speech tended to soften and blur his tone.
I was used to such sarcasm from him, so I continued without commenting on it: “Luckily for us, Lord Roderic lives alone, save for his servants. We only need to get them to open the door. Then, you’ll make yourself as horrifying as possible to create a diversion and chase them away, and once they’ve fled, I’ll slip in and take care of the rest. I have the route to the atrium memorized. It’s an easy path. I can be quick.”
(Your optimism is exhausting.)
“Some might argue that optimism is a virtuous trait in a person.”
(Some might argue that pessimists live longer.)
“Why are you so worried? You’re already practically dead.”
(Yes, but you’re not.)
“This is going to work,” I insisted.
Phantom snorted, unconvinced.
“Also? Lord Roderic is a monster, if it helps you focus on becoming a distracting monster yourself. He’s King Aleksander’s puppet, responsible for plenty of unjust arrests and disappearances.”
I bristled as Aleksander’s name left my lips, fighting off a wave of nausea along with a rush of white-hot fury. Even with no audience save for my dog, I refused to let my hatred for the Light King show. He wouldn’t control my emotions; to allow such a thing felt too much like bowing to him.
Something I would never fucking do, regardless of how many admirers and supporters he collected.
When I was finished carrying out my full plans, he would be the one bowing to me. Or groveling, more like, while begging for mercy I wouldn’t give.
I leaned against the wall of the run-down, unused shed we’d taken refuge in, forcing myself to inhale several calming breaths. To hang on to my exhausting optimism like I always did, even when I felt like I was cracking apart from the inside out.
(You should rest for now,) Phantom urged, rising to his feet with an uncertain wag of his feathered tail. (You still look dizzy.)
I didn’t argue. But there were too many people passing too close to the shed for comfort, so first, we moved to a less conspicuous location, tucking ourselves away in the small forest behind Lord Roderic’s estate.
I dozed against a thick oak tree while Phantom kept watch. We waited until well after sundown—until most of the lights in the manor had flickered out—before we put our plan into motion.
I donned my hood and pulled my scarf up to cover most of my face; I didn’t plan on being seen, but one could never be too careful. The bounty on my head was impres‐sive at this point—between the lies the Light King had told about me and my family, and the occasional…ah, question‐able missions I’d taken on to obtain the things Orin and I needed to get by. I didn’t have time to deal with an arrest, or to pull off yet another elaborate escape from the city prison.
Not when I was this close to achieving the goal I’d been working toward for years.
I quietly scaled the front gates—while Phantom simply shifted into shadows and passed through the narrow bars— and then I tiptoed to the massive double-doors and gave several swift knocks, lingering there until I caught the sound of what might have been footsteps.
(They’re coming,) Phantom confirmed, ears twitching.
I darted out of sight, hiding in the nearby hedge to watch my companion work.
After his death and near-resurrection, he’d gained the ability to shift his not-quite-solid body into different shapes. At first, they were mostly his same lanky, canine form—only larger or smaller, depending on his mood. He’d grown more talented at it as the years passed, though, and now he was constantly surprising me with the different forms he managed to twist himself into.
He was brilliant tonight, as usual. First, he shifted into a vaguely-human shape—that of a hunched-over old man, convincingly pitiful enough that Lord Roderic’s servants heaved one of the doors open after only a brief glance through the curtains.
Then, as soon as the door opened fully, shadows engulfed the porch and everything around it.
When the darkness fell away, Phantom was transformed again, his shape now that of a hulking wolf with its fur bristling, its mouth open and breathing out cold, sparkling fog.
While the servants scrambled away from him in panic, I slipped inside and crept quickly in the opposite direction.
More servants soon arrived to aid the others; the sounds of their clashing with Phantom echoed loudly through the house, and I had to fight through the sudden surge of fear that tried to grip me and slow me down.
I wasn’t sure what I would do if anything happened to him. Over and over, the grim, sobering fact played through my mind: He’s the only family I have left.
I couldn’t stop thinking of it, even once I shook off the fear and pressed deeper into the manor.
I’d never recovered my father’s body, no matter how many times I’d risked sending my spirit-self back into Rose Point to search for it. My mother still lived, but in the same way that most who had been at our home on that horrible night seven years ago ‘lived’—that is, she stood like a cursed statue. Still breathing, but otherwise unmoving, her pulse a barely-there fluttering beneath her pallid skin. Her eyes remained wide-open, too, as if the darkest depths of hell were the last thing she’d glimpsed before the curse settled… and even after all these years, she still couldn’t pry her gaze away from those depths.
The halls and grounds of my old home were full of bodies in similar poses—bodies of both my family and our court, as well as most of the guests who’d come to celebrate my birthday.
Phantom and I were the only two members of our kingdom who I knew had escaped this fate; I’d spent years searching for others with no success. They existed, I believed, but nobody wanted to admit they’d been at Rose Point that night. To admit they’d been exposed to the cursed shadows that still twisted throughout the grounds to this very day.
I gave my head a shake and carried on. Tonight, I just had to steal this last ingredient. Then I would be able to go where I needed to go. To fix what I needed to fix.
I continued toward the center courtyard as quickly as I dared, pausing only to occasionally run my fingers over the
rose-shaped beads of the bracelet that helped channel my projection spell, sending the spectral version of myself ahead to check my route.
As long as that projection of my essence stayed within a few dozen yards of my body, the side-effects of separation were minimal; I could move while simultaneously seeing the path ahead through my specter self’s eyes—eliminating any chance of being ambushed by stray servants or, worse, by Lord Roderic himself.
Within minutes, I was pushing open the glass door to the atrium, bracing myself as a whoosh of hot air rushed over me.
The stifling air reeked of ripe and borderline-rotten fruit. The tree I sought was said to be especially pungent, its smell similar to that of burned flesh. This proved accurate; once inside the glass-walled room, I could have found the way to my target with my eyes closed.
The ground turned uneven and spongy beneath my boots as I approached the tree. With a slightly trembling hand, I reached up and plucked one of the lowest-hanging fruits. They were bright red with appendages that seemed to be alive, moving like scrambling spider legs.
The seeds in the center of these legs were the edible parts, but only when properly prepared. Without proper preparation, they were poisonous—which was likely the main reason behind this tree’s near-extinction. Well, that and their known association with the world of the dead; they supposedly bloomed only in soil where bodies were buried and carried the essence of the underworld in their crimson blooms.
Which was, of course, why I needed them.
Lord Roderic loved to boast about his chef being able
to prepare edible dishes from the potentially fatal seeds; the fool’s careless bragging was what had led to the rumors that ultimately brought me to his doorstep.
I plucked a few more of the spidery, waxy-skinned fruits for good measure. Carefully, I placed them in the special container Orin had provided, then secured that container in the canvas bag slung across my body.
The vastness of the central courtyard was more apparent now that I truly, physically stood within it. I couldn’t help pausing for a moment to take it all in. My gaze swept over the abundance of colorful, rare plants— most of which I couldn’t identify. Insects, equally colorful and unusual, buzzed loudly around my ears. The air no longer smelled purely ripe and sickeningly sweet; now, there was an undercurrent of salt and a tinge of smoke. A scent that felt familiar, though I couldn’t say what it was.
My eyes kept returning to the crimsonlith tree. To its pale roots that rose above the ground, crisscrossing the dark soil, intertwining like skeletal fingers. To its silver leaves and the blooms I’d plucked…
Blooms that had already been replaced by new ones, several of which were starting to unfold, their flashes of crimson burning in the moonlight that filtered in through the glass roof.
My pulse skipped at the incredible, impossible sight. The air above the tree’s roots flickered. The soil between the pale fingers seemed to shift, veins of sparkling, bluish black popping up through it.
I blinked, and the sparkling colors disappeared.
My skin crawled as I thought again of the legends surrounding this tree—the claims that its supernatural flourishing came from soil filled with decomposing dead.
Even knowing the legend, something about witnessing that flourishing in real time was unnerving.
I breathed in deep and exhaled slowly. Calmed my racing pulse. Settled the magic that had begun stirring in my blood and smoothed the chill bumps from my skin.
I would not allow myself to be unnerved by anything concerned with death.
In a matter of days, I planned to greet the world of the dead with a confident smile, knives in hand, steps unflinch‐ing. All my life was now centered on this one goal.
And I would not be turned away from it now.
Chapter Two
T he sun was rising, painting the sky with streaks of gold and red, as I scurried my way across the bridge that led to the home I shared with Orin.
For decades, he’d lived alone in this small cottage near the banks of Echoing Creek. My father and I had visited it occasionally when I was a child. Its cozy, chaotic interior was a place of wonder and laughter, alongside lectures and lessons in magic and a myriad of other topics. After I lost my parents, it had become a place of refuge, too—though it had taken months before I agreed to stay and consider it home.
I scaled the ladder propped against the right side of the house, making my way to the flat stretch of roof and the trio of skylights spaced across it. The middle window opened like the hatch on a ship, and we’d hooked another ladder to the rim of it, allowing for an easy descent into the cottage.
We had a door, of course. But the bits and pieces of Orin’s latest experiments had stretched their way all around
the perimeter of the living room, as they so often did, and a table had been dragged in front of the door to accommo‐date them. When I’d left that morning—by crawling through the kitchen window—said table had been covered in books, scraps of parchment, and countless gadgets in various stages of completion…all of it so precariously balanced that I didn’t want to risk flinging open a door and creating an even bigger mess.
It was simply easier to drop in through the roof.
Phantom followed my lead, falling soundlessly to the dinged and scratched-up plank floor. His shadowy body sent chills rippling through me as he passed.
He threw a disapproving glance at the mess in front of the door before plodding to his typical spot underneath the stairs. He didn’t really need sleep, considering he wasn’t truly alive, but he tended to become grumpy when he didn’t get his time alone—so I made a point of keeping a comfort‐able bed for him.
My mentor stood by the kitchen sink, humming a jovial tune as he washed a teetering stack of ceramic mugs. Smudges of ink stained his brown skin despite the soapy water sloshing all the way up to his elbows. His long waves of grey hair were tied back by a strip of leather at the nape of his neck, and he wore his favorite coat, even though a healthy fire blazed in the hearth. I’d mended that coat countless times over the years—a different scrap of fabric for every ill-fated experiment that ended in flames, or sharp edges, or some seepage of cloth-eating liquid.
At this point, I wasn’t even sure what it had originally been made of.
“Morning, Orin,” I said, cheerful in spite of my exhaustion.
“Nova, my beauty!” He spun around, throwing soapy water in all directions. “What a relief to see you in one piece.”
I arched a brow. “You doubted I’d return this way?”
“Never,” he proclaimed, waving a dismissive hand, flinging even more suds onto the crooked cabinets. “And even if I had, I’m a senile old man. You can’t take my doubts seriously.” With a properly stern look, he added, “Or my certainties, for that matter.”
I grinned.
Old was an understatement, really. He’d never revealed his true age to me, but he’d served my grandfather, and his grandfather before that. Orin was one of the Aetherkin beings with a connection to the old magic in our world that, among other things, tended to grant a longevity not seen in most humans.
He couldn’t wield any magic directly—there were few who could, even among the Aethers—but he could sense it and, with the tools he expertly crafted, he could channel some of it. It’s why my father had introduced me to him in the first place; Orin was the main reason I had any sort of control over my powers.
I still wore the bracelet my father had given me on my eighteenth birthday, and I’d been gifted several more like it in the seven years since. Each one was crafted by Orin. Each one helped me channel a different strand of my power, allowing me to access specific spells—such as the projecting spell the rose-bead bracelet helped me call upon. They’d helped calm the restless shadows inside of me, too; those dark ribbons hadn’t emerged upon my skin in years.
I was up to four main bracelets now, and I was some‐what proficient at—or at least knowledgeable about—each
of the spells they channeled. Spells that all centered around matters of death and souls, exits and endings—necromancy was the overarching term Orin, and other magic scholars, used to describe my innate powers. Powers that needed to be tamed, by way of enchanted jewelry or otherwise. For everyone’s sake.
It was a crude system, but these bracelets were the best we could do; there simply weren’t any true necromancers left to teach me how to properly wield my powers.
Once, it was said that the five kingdoms of Valor had been home to hundreds more like me. But not anymore. I was the only one Orin had encountered in a century, despite his extensive searching for others. Which I’d always thought was part of the reason he’d agreed to take me in: He did love collecting his oddities.
Even my parents had shown no signs of possessing the Shadow magic I did…though, I did have a twin brother— Bastian—who had carried markers of emerging magic. He’d died when we were just shy of a year old.
I had no real memories of him. But apparently, they’d found him dead in his crib, a dark scar running the length of his abdomen, with more scars splitting through the centers of his arms. As if something had tried to peel apart his skin and escape…
Ripped apart by his own magic, it was decided.
My parents almost never spoke of him, except to remind me of why I needed to keep my magic under control. Shortly after our first conversation about the matter, I’d found myself under Orin’s tutelage. Given the alternative of losing another child, my mother had begrudgingly allowed me to continue honing my powers with him, even as I grew, despite her misgivings about his
methods…and despite the fact that the old codger refused to swear loyalty to anyone but himself.
“Have some tea to warm yourself,” Orin said, motioning to a steaming cup by the stove as he returned to washing dishes. “I’m sure it’s been a long night.”
I picked up the drink but didn’t sip from it right away; every concoction in this house warranted caution. And a quick sniff told me I was right to be suspicious—whatever was in this cup smelled like poison and the wrong end of a horse.
“This is…I’m fairly certain this isn’t tea, Orin.”
He shot me an indignant look before stalking over and taking the mug from my grasp, inhaling the steam for himself.
“…Ah. So, that’s where I put the foxglove elixir.” His disgruntled expression turned sheepish. “Yes, right, no— don’t drink that. It might lead to a mild case of…erm… death, I’m afraid. And not at all the kind we’ve been plan‐ning for.”
I gave him a wry smile as I searched through the cabi‐nets and grabbed a clean mug. “I’ll just make something for myself, thank you,” I said, moving to the sink to wash the mug a few more times…just to be safe.
“Very good, very good,” Orin mumbled, offhandedly, having already carelessly placed the foxglove elixir down and moved on to the next object that grabbed his attention. A book, in this case—one with multiple, colorful slips of paper marking almost all of its pages.
“Judging by your mood, your mission was a success, I take it?” he asked without looking up from the book.
“Of course it was,” I replied, retrieving the container of
crimsonlith fruits from my bag and plopping it onto the kitchen table.
He glanced up. His flicker of interest became a fixed stare, his eyes widening, mouth falling open. Clearly aston‐ished—and now it was my turn to fix him with an indignant look.
“You really didn’t think I was going to manage this heist, did you?” I pouted. “You should know better than to doubt my skills by now.”
“I plead senility, once again.” He chuckled, tossing the book aside and moving to the table. “But Nova...this is well done. Well done, indeed!”
I gave a little bow before returning to my cup.
While he inspected the fruits of my labor, I mixed up my usual comfort drink of piping hot black tea with sprin‐klings of cinnamon, sugar, nutmeg, and a dash of vanilla. The same drink my mother used to make me most morn‐ings—though I rarely managed the perfect balance of bitter and sweet she always had.
This morning, in my exhausted state, I accidentally dumped enough sugar in it to render the damn thing nearly undrinkable.
I swallowed it down, all the same. The warmth felt good sinking into my bones, even if the sugar made my stomach twinge.
Orin had placed the crimsonlith blooms carefully in a row on the kitchen counter—after shoving away the mess that had already occupied said counter—and now he was sweeping around the room, plucking different containers from the shelves along the walls; mumbling to himself as he measured this and that; nodding as he lined up more ingredients.
I watched him, silently sipping my tea. After a few minutes, his collecting ceased. His soft lavender eyes fixed again on the blooms I’d gathered. He let out a low sigh, like a man who had traveled around the world and finally laid eyes on his destination. “The last piece. Finally.”
A weight settled over the room, but neither of us acknowledged it with more than a meaningful look at the other; that was all we needed. We’d both already made peace with what came next.
Or as much peace as we were going to make with it, anyway.
“I’ll prepare it all from here,” he said, quieter, his eyes still on the blooms. “Then it will need a few hours to prop‐erly settle into a usable spell, and a few more after that to infuse it into a new piece of jewelry for you. What say you get some sleep in the meantime?”
I agreed, draining the rest of my drink before climbing to the loft where my bed awaited me in the same cozy, hastily half-made state I’d left it in.
I kicked off my boots and flopped onto the lumpy mattress without bothering to change, or to fully disarm myself, or to even pull the privacy curtains closed.
I’d planned to at least attempt rest, but I ended up sitting cross-legged on the mattress, instead, staring at the shelf directly in front of me. It held the few objects I’d dared to collect from Rose Point over the years: a violin that had belonged to my mother; a journal of my father’s; an assort‐ment of Phantom’s toys, which had gone untouched since his death and the loss of his solid body.
From the shelf, my gaze lifted to the spiraling swaths of gold-flecked paint across the low ceiling. The paint had been added to cover the deep grooves crisscrossing that ceil‐
ing; gashes left behind by my magic after a particularly bad nightmare summoned it and sent it lashing violently out of control.
Six years had passed since that incident—the last time my shadows had clearly appeared on my skin.
Orin hadn’t flinched when I’d woken him in the middle of the night, sobbing over the destruction those shadows had caused. And he hadn’t immediately kicked me out, or threatened to lock me away in some ‘safer’ prison, or done any of the other awful things I’d feared he would.
He’d simply made a new bed for me on the couch, left me there with a cup of chamomile tea, and set to work purifying the magic-wrecked space with various herbs and enchantments. The following morning, I’d woken up to the sound of him humming as he covered the deepest grooves with paint.
The shimmering spirals had faded only slightly after all these years. They still reminded me of the Zephyra—the lights sometimes seen dancing in the southern parts of the Valorian sky on cold winter nights.
I crawled to the edge of my bed, peering sleepily down through the loft’s floorboards. There was a decent-sized notch in the board just to the right of the bed, which I sometimes used to spy on Orin and the occasional inter‐esting company he invited into our chaos.
He remained alone today, however. The door stayed barricaded, and he’d even closed the blinds, something that he—a lover of natural light—rarely did.
He was moving recklessly fast, now, fully caught up in the fervor of spell-making. I winced as he upended a bowl of what appeared to be beef stew; likely his dinner from last night, entirely forgotten about. He simply let it be, oblivious
to the thick broth oozing across the table as all his focus zeroed in on some sort of smoking powder he was leveling off in a teaspoon.
I blinked, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes as I swept my gaze around the rest of the space, studying it.
I’d been gone much of the past week while working on planning my theft from Lord Roderic’s manor, and the house had grown even messier than usual in my absence. If I disappeared for good, there was a very real chance Orin might lose himself entirely within the waves of clutter surrounding him.
How was he going to manage without me?
There were security concerns, as well; this house had no shortage of priceless artifacts, ancient tomes, and other specimens that would likely fetch a good price—assuming someone could pick their prize from among the mess.
Various wards surrounded the property, but it was typi‐cally me who chased away any threats.
I’d maimed an impressive number of would-be thieves, by this point.
And that was merely my work with a knife—to say nothing of the shapeshifting, spectral dog often seen hunting at my side; or my strange magic; or the outlaw reputation I’d carried since the night I fled from my old home.
Then again, Orin had managed to survive without me for years before taking me in. He’d be fine.
Wouldn’t he?
He was back to singing his tune from earlier, much louder than before, and likely so caught up in taking notes about his spell-making that he would never hear me leaving.
Even if he did, I doubted he would interfere; for better or worse, he’d always let me come and go as I pleased.
I just needed to breathe some fresh air. To clear my head. To return to the place where this all started so I could remind myself of where I was going next.
Where I had to go next.
Without making a sound, I pulled my boots back on, double-checked the knives still secured to my belt, and then crept to the other side of the loft. There, a narrow staircase led down into a nook that I often cozied up in to read. A window took up most of the back wall—one I could pass silently through, as it was already unlatched and partially open to allow the soothing sounds of the babbling creek to filter in.
Once outside, I followed the familiar path along Echoing Creek, jogging through the early-morning mists with only birdsong and the occasional bounding deer for company.
It was only twenty minutes or so to the edge of my family’s fallen estate, and a few minutes more before the shadows came into view.
For seven years, these shadows—the same kind that had chased me from my home on the night of my eighteenth birthday—had been colliding with a barrier of protective Light magic wrapped around the grounds of Rose Point. As a result, the air here had a beaten and battered, ragged and thin quality to it. Like it would never truly fill up my lungs, no matter how many deep breaths I took.
There were signs posted all around at the points of the colliding powers, all declaring essentially the same thing:
Off-limits, by order of His Majesty, Aleksander Caldor, King of Light and Fair Elarith; Elected Steward of the Eldrisan Throne.
That King of Light had erected the barrier of his magic to keep the curses in, and to prevent anyone from crossing over to get a better look at what lay on the other side. Protecting Eldris’s people, he claimed, from the rot their own royal family had unleashed upon them—which was how he’d ended up with the title of steward to the Eldrisan throne.
It was all a lie.
A giant, fucking lie.
He was the one who had unleashed the very rot he claimed to be saving my kingdom from.
The night of my birthday celebration had been pure chaos, but in the seven years since, I’d untangled some events. Uncovered some truths. I’d ventured into the rotting lands multiple times, too, typically using my spirit-walking abilities to return to Rose Point.
So I’d seen for myself where the darkness flowed from: From the spot where Aleksander’s sword had stuck into the stone—a deep, supernatural wound cleaved open by his blade after he stained it with my father’s blood. A wound that still had not healed.
Luminor was the blade’s name, I’d learned—the infa‐mous, magical Sword of Light that had been passed down through the Elarithian royal family for generations. He’d never planned on gifting it to my parents, as I’d mistakenly believed; he’d always planned to wield it against them.
That sword had been swallowed up by the ground, along with my father, but dark energy still wept from the wound it created. Energy from the dead world below, Orin
theorized. A world reserved for the deceased, but one that, centuries ago, was much more intimately connected—and accessible—to our living realm.
We’d studied the power enough to conclude it was sepa‐rate from the magic that came from my own body. But for years, I hadn’t been able to tell—or believe in—the differ‐ence. I’d assumed I caused the destruction and draining power. Because the shadows had chased me that night, driving me from my home and everything I’d ever known.
But now I understood they hadn’t truly been summoned by me; the blade and the breaking world had let them in, and I had only channeled the darkness from underneath, briefly and inadvertently giving the dead energy a foothold. Orin had tried to convince me that I’d likely saved lives that night, by drawing the shadows toward me and running away from the manor.
Even so, I wasn’t sure I could consider myself a savior of any kind. Not yet, anyway.
And the rumors perpetuated by the King of Light and his followers, of course, called me the exact opposite. They reminded my former subjects at every chance they could that I was the odd princess they had never fully trusted or embraced—the Shadow-marked woman who had allegedly cursed her entire home and everyone she loved.
Now, it was only a matter of time before Aleksander moved to officially annex my small but prosperous kingdom —a move that would likely be met with little resistance, unless I could stop the cursed shadows bleeding out from Rose Point and find a way to reveal the truth about the Light King’s treacherous actions.
To do that, I needed to close the wound and recover the
sword that had caused it—a plot Orin and I had been working on for years.
And now, the most pivotal part of this plot was finally upon us.
My eyes fell on the main gates in the distance. After seven years, they should have been overgrown with weeds, overtaken by the elm trees flanking either side of them. Instead, they were perfectly intact.
Nothing had grown around them, though the color of it all had faded in an unnatural way; it was like looking at a painting in need of restoration.
I’d physically pushed through the Light King’s barrier a few times in the past, but it was always a draining, difficult experience—which was why I typically opted to send only my spirit, instead.
I traced my thumb along the rose-shaped beads around my wrist, thinking of projecting now. It was risky to do while I was alone. But the chance of anyone stumbling upon my incapacitated body so close to this cursed place was slim; too many strange things had happened here over the years—enough that even the bravest of thieves and tres‐passers had long ago abandoned Rose Point in favor of easier targets.
And I couldn’t help the longing in my chest. I needed to go inside.
Chapter Three
I whispered the word O rin had taught me SOMNIS and I tapped on the largest bead of the rose bracelet.
My soul separated from my body with a feeling akin to sinking into a snowbank—brutal cold, sudden darkness, and a muffling of all the noise around me.
But then I was emerging, digging myself back into brightness and sound and striding up to the manor, which looked as unnaturally faded as its gates.
I went immediately to the final destination I’d envi‐sioned; another advantage of this projection spell—or disad‐vantage, in some instances—was the way time and distance could so easily blur while I moved as a ghost, allowing me to reach my target without too many thoughts or doubts getting in my way.
In the span of what felt like heartbeats, I was summiting the steps outside the banquet hall as if carried up by a favorable wind.
I walked the short, empty corridor to the massive
double doors that remained open, as though the guests on the other side were still waiting for me.
If I’d been in my physical body, sweat would have been beading my skin, just as it had on that last, fateful night.
I could still hear the sounds. I could still smell the food. As I passed through the doors, the memories swirled around me like elegant dancers, bright and mesmerizing— yet always fleeting in the end, skipping off the stage before I could look too closely at any of them.
They always got away, because there was no true life in this place. There hadn’t been for seven years. I was the only conscious being here, as far as I knew.
There were the bodies, though.
In a small room off the main hall, dozens of those cursed, frozen bodies waited for me—breathing faintly, but otherwise unmoving.
This was the room I always ended up in, despite the ache it caused in my chest.
The queen stood closest to the door, a sword in her hand. She’d been guarding the ones behind her, I’d surmised.
Or trying to, at least.
But though her eyes remained wide open—eerily aware, even now—her head was bowed, as if she’d ultimately accepted whatever curse had come to take her. And, if the terrified expressions of those at her back were any indica‐tion, that curse had arrived baring teeth and horrors beyond anything this kingdom had ever known.
I could only guess at what had really happened. At what might have gone differently, if I was different. If I didn’t have my own horrifying powers that frightened so many in my kingdom—including me.
If I’d stayed to fight instead of fleeing.
I reached to cup my mother’s face, as if I could lift her eyes to meet mine.
But, of course, my hand went through her. Because I didn’t belong here. I’d scarcely belonged here when it was a living, breathing place. I’d felt like a ghost in the crowd then, and now…
The far too-familiar feeling of being an outsider in my own life gripped me, making me lose focus on my spell.
I tucked my head toward my chest and willed myself back into my physical body, slamming into it with far less than my usual amount of control. It took my breath away, leaving me feeling like a specter for several more seconds, even as I became more aware of the world around me.
Finally, the floating sensations subsided. I rubbed the last of the memories from my eyes and gazed around at my current reality. My stomach clenched, again, at the sight of the shadows lashing against the Light King’s barrier.
Not my darkness, I reminded myself. I did not summon this curse.
And yet.
And yet.
Darkness was darkness, according to so many in this kingdom.
I carried more darkness than most. I’d never wanted my death-related powers. I’d embraced them out of necessity, trying to negate the damage they could do. But here in the quiet morning—alone, and still haunted by the memories of all I’d lost—I openly loathed them. I wanted to reach inside of myself and rip them out, or just twist them into new shapes…
I just wanted to be different.
A sudden gust of cold energy lifted the waves of my hair, making me jump. Once my heart stopped racing, I searched the bushes behind me and quickly found exactly who I expected to.
“Phantom.” I sighed. “Announce yourself next time, would you? You frightened me.”
He might have been mistaken for a wayward scrap of shadow, if not for the way his bright blue eyes caught the sunlight when he blinked.
(Paranoid, are we?)
“Yes—likely from no sleep, and from staring down my own impending death.”
(Death is a bit of an exaggeration. You won’t truly be dying, not if Orin does things properly.)
I laughed to hide my nervousness. “You would know about not truly dying, wouldn’t you?”
He bared his teeth at the reminder of his condition.
But, as usual, he was right.
I—much like my spectral companion—was not descending into our world’s afterlife with permanence in mind. I was merely going to locate the magical sword that had passed into it, and then take care of the wound it had caused, whether by destroying that weapon or otherwise.
And then, with any luck, I would return to the living realm.
It wasn’t as implausible as it might have seemed. There was once a time when living beings could visit their loved ones who had passed on, if only for a short period of time. The Kingdom of Eldris was well-known for this, in fact; legend stated that the most-traveled route between the living and the dead—the infamous Nocturnus Road—came about because an ancient ruler of Eldris,
King Argoth, couldn’t bear to be entirely separated from his wife when she died.
It was a story I’d heard often while growing up, given how thoroughly it permeated our society. Parts of the elegy he’d written for his queen were often recited in wedding vows and toasts to long-lasting loves across the empire.
…And if death should take you I will meet you there; look for me where the light gives way to shadow
Seek me where pain and sorrow yield where time no longer flows; I’ll find you in the stillness before any heartache grows…
It used to be much more than a romantic story; people had traveled to Eldris from all reaches of the empire to pay homage to its first queen in hopes that her spirit would grant them passage to visit their lost loved ones.
It had been well over a century since the last known visit. Such travel was now forbidden—even talking of it was considered taboo, and a punishable offense in some places.
But that didn’t mean it was impossible.
The barrier between the worlds was not impenetrable. There were plenty of hauntings and odd phenomenon serving as proof of this—not to mention the fact that the Sword of Light had been swallowed by the ground, and the energy radiating from the wound was clearly from the Underworld.
And, most importantly, there were spells that could still
open Nocturnus, that long-abandoned road between the living and dead worlds. It had taken Orin a lot of time and research to find one with true potential to work, but he’d managed it.
Of course, no one ever returned from such descents these days. Even with the proper preparation, to walk this road was the equivalent of signing off on your own death. But I was prepared to die if that was what it took to make things right—so long as I took care of the sword and its distorting power, first.
If I couldn’t make it back, my only regret would be that I wouldn’t personally be able to deliver justice to Aleksander. But Orin and I had an agreement, in the event that I didn’t return. I’d written a series of letters for him to deliver to the queen. So when the wound was healed—and the curse over her and the others ended—she would know what to do next.
I pictured her frozen body. The sword in her hand. The fearless, stoic pose she’d held for seven years.
When she woke, my mother would see vengeance carried out, I was certain.
And the King of Light would pay for all he had done, one way or another.
Chapter Four
A fter leaving R ose P oint, I ended up wandering through the surrounding wilderness for several hours, still unable to stomach the idea of trying to sleep.
Orin was waiting on the front porch when I finally returned. His eyes darted between the trees as I approached, narrowing at every odd sound as if expecting to see some dangerous fiend following me.
He didn’t ask where I’d been.
I suspected he already knew, given how sensitive he was to the various magical energies of the world; I likely reeked of the magic bleeding from that wound the Light King’s sword had left behind.
It was an energy specific to Rose Point—although, in recent months, weaker shades of this rottenness had started to spread beyond the borders of my old home, despite Alek‐sander’s magical barrier. Truthfully, it felt like the rot was stretching farther outward with each visit…which was partly why my step was more hurried than ever, my tired‐ness forgotten as I met Orin’s gaze, hoping for good news.
He offered that news immediately, holding up a small drawstring bag. “Your ticket to death, my lady.”
I mirrored the grim smile he gave me as I took the bag and carefully pulled it open, dumping its contents into my palm.
A bracelet fell out. One far, far heavier than any of my others, yet still delicate in its appearance, with leather segments braided like twisting vines and holding pale amethysts between them. The two largest jewels were evenly spaced, so that when I slipped the piece on, one sat on top of my wrist while the other pressed underneath. One radiated warmth. The other pulsed with occasional bursts of cold. It made me think of the world above and below, with my racing pulse caught in between.
I stepped off the porch and into the daylight, holding the bracelet up to better inspect it. The sun’s rays pierced through the pale purple jewels, revealing a swirling cortex of different energies within them. In one of the larger crys‐tals, I thought I caught a glimpse of blooming red—the essence of the crimsonlith flowers, maybe? There one instant, gone the next.
The same unnerving sensation that had overtaken me in Lord Roderic’s manor tried to sink its claws into me again, but I quickly shook it off.
“Stunning, as always,” I told Orin.
He waved the words away, the way he always did when he was pleased with himself but didn’t want to admit it. “More importantly,” he said, “it’s infused with all the substances necessary to guide its wearer into the Under‐world. Though I caution: It will work differently than anything I’ve made for you before.”
“How so?”
“Well, all your other accessories channel your own innate power. The crystals on this bracelet, however, were forged and spelled so they would draw in magic from outside of you—but only a specific type of magic, of course.”
“The type flooding the road that once connected the living and dead worlds, I presume.”
“Exactly.” He beamed, as though this was just another routine lesson—one I was actually paying attention to, for once. “Now, according to all the research I’ve done, there is a lot more chaos on that route than there used to be. But this bracelet should help you navigate through it, drawing you to the right energies that will lead you fully to the other side.”
“…How much chaos should I be expecting on this road, just out of curiosity?”
He propped a hand under his chin, considering for a moment. “You may have to dissolve some of it with your own power—absorb the excess to help you see things more clearly. Your siphoning bracelet should serve you well, regarding that.”
I reached for that bracelet, absently squeezing the red beads making up the bulk of it. Soundlessly, I counted them, feeling my way toward the triangular golden charm hanging from the center.
It was one of the four bracelets I always wore. I had other accessories spelled with minor powers that I some‐times experimented with, but these four—well, five, now— were made of something stronger, both physically and magically speaking.
The original four were all intimately tied to my innate magic. The power the red bracelet helped me channel more effectively had been one of the earliest kinds to
naturally manifest: The ability to drain energy from things.
It was the same ability I’d been practicing in the garden the night of my last conversation with Aleksander, before everything had gone to shit. I couldn’t forget any of the details of that night, no matter how hard I tried— and maybe because I associated this power with that moment in time, I’d struggled to practice it every day since.
So of course it would be the one I needed to use.
I spoke none of my concerns out loud, but Orin picked up on them anyway.
“You are more capable with siphoning magic than you give yourself credit for,” he insisted.
I ignored the praise and promptly changed the subject. I could handle my fears better when I didn’t dwell on them —which was why I’d made myself a master at burying them so I could remain, as Phantom put it, exhaustingly optimistic.
“And what about Phantom?” I asked Orin. “Will he be able to follow me through this chaos?”
He looked to the trees again, to where the creature in question was a blur of darkness weaving in between the trunks, likely chasing a squirrel. Some doglike habits persisted, however much he’d changed after his near-death experience.
“I’m afraid I can’t say. It will be an interesting experi‐ment,” said Orin. “He exists just fine within this world that he doesn’t fully belong to, though, so hopefully, he’ll manage in the netherworld, too.”
I watched Phantom for another moment, fighting off a frown. Part of me didn’t want to risk bringing him. But I
knew he would never let me go without him; he hadn’t even let me go as far as Rose Point on my own.
“Tomorrow, more will become clear,” Orin said, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze before nodding toward the house. “Now, this time I’m ordering you: Get some rest. I’ll finish packing your things. We leave for the Nocturnus Door at first light.”
H OW DOES one pack their things for a trip to the afterlife?
It was the question I’d fallen asleep pondering, and the first one that came to mind as I blinked my eyes open to dreary sunlight.
The scent of spiced tea wafted up from below. The tip tap of rain on the thatched roof fell from above. Most of the windows were open in spite of that rain, allowing the sound of the creek to rush in—not with its typical babbling, comforting trickle, but with a roar of swelled-up and swiftly-moving water; I’d slept through what must have been a heavy storm.
I imagined myself caught in that creek’s rushing current, letting it pull me toward my destination. It yanked me around, tumbled me out from under the covers and through the motions of dressing, before it tossed me—offbalance, but doggedly onwards—toward the stairs.
I descended with as much steadiness as I could muster, greeting Orin the same cheerful way I did most mornings.
Breakfast was a quiet, resolved affair. I tried not to think about how this might be the last time I sat at our table, with
all the scratches and dents and burn marks I’d come to know and love over the years.
After breakfast, I went through my bag one last time, took a few quiet moments to mentally bury the fears trying to wrap their fingers around me…
And then it was time to leave.
We took a carriage out of Luscerna, driven by one of the few acquaintances Orin trusted in this city—Alistair Finch.
Finch had always seemed a bit…off to me, with his heavily-scarred skin and a penchant for bursting into strange songs without warning. But he also never ques‐tioned Orin whenever we needed a favor from him. And we needed his indifference this morning; anybody else would have surely wanted to know what the hell we were doing— why we were asking him to take us to such an odd location.
While Orin made small-talk with Finch—and occasion‐ally hummed along with his songs—I stayed curled up in the back corner, watching the countryside blur by.
I’d left my newest bracelet on my left wrist, separate from the others. Keeping it alone on one arm helped me feel more balanced, given how heavy it was.
I absently plucked and pinched at the beads and bands of my original four as we bumped along. The black-rose bracelet—probably my most-used and trusted piece. The red-beaded bracelet I’d apparently have to rely on once I was on the Nocturnus Road. A wide bracelet made of colorful string, woven tightly into a pattern featuring multiple diamonds, which helped bolster my innate ability to speak with the dead; I suspected it was also a force that kept the communication between Phantom and I consis‐tently smooth.
And finally, there was the bracelet my father had given me on my eighteenth birthday—one that still occasionally vibrated with the same, unmistakable power I’d felt when I first slipped it on…though it was a power I remained clue‐less about.
Orin proved evasive every time I tried to press him for details about it. He was the one who had made it, but it seemed my father had pressured him into the task; without my father mandating the lessons, Orin seemed content to let me figure out this particular power on my own.
The most I’d ever pried from him was a cryptic reply that the magic it channeled would reveal itself on its own… if it was meant to be.
As our ride stretched on, I found I couldn’t take my eyes off the turquoise beads of my father’s gift. Couldn’t bring myself to stop studying the strange symbols carved and painted on some of the larger orbs—letters, I’d decided, but ones I’d failed to decipher, despite many hours spent flip‐ping through Orin’s books full of ancient languages and long-forgotten history.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Phantom—who had shifted himself into a small, shad‐owy, mouse-like creature and curled up in the pocket of my cloak—poked his head out and swiveled it around. He sneezed. He was not a fan of storms. His spectral body trembled, and my chest tickled with the nervous energy rolling off him.
I curled a finger under his mousy chin, giving it a reas‐suring rub even though my touch went right through him. “It’s fine, Phantom. We’re heading away from it, I think.”
(And likely into something much worse.)
“Must you always be so pessimistic?” I said under my breath.
(I like to think I balance out your ridiculous optimism.)
“You can always stay here in the land of the living, you know.”
(You’d be lost without me.)
“True enough,” I muttered, grinning slightly as I sank deeper into my seat.
Finch dropped us off, as requested, at the head of an overgrown trail, right at the edge of a forest known as Ashenveil. He helped me down from the carriage, his eyes and his touch both lingering a little too long. A frown twitched at the edges of his thin lips as I pulled away from him.
His expression unsettled me. It felt like the lingering look of a person watching a knight heading off to war, knowing their return was unlikely—but how would he know? And why would he care? Finch and I had rarely spared each other more than a glance. He knew little about me. He certainly knew nothing of the war I had ahead; no one did, except Orin and me. We’d made certain of that.
Convinced I was imagining his concern, I offered a brisk thank you and then quickly turned to the path we still had left to travel on foot.
Once well-used, the trail before me now appeared ominous at best. Weeds and fallen tree limbs claimed much of the walking space. Bits of broken, rusted lanterns gleamed in the sunlight—the remnants of ornate, bright sentinels that had once stood along the entire route.
Our real destination was a few miles south along this ruined path.
We started down it without a word. The silence—an
