“Burn it down,” another growled. “Sends a better message.”
“There’s no need—no!” Her mother’s protests were drowned in the rush of flames.
Fire licked across the floors with unnatural speed, devouring everything in sight, curdling books and furniture to molten ash. The heat was growing as Rune backed away in terror as thick black smoke coiled in clouds, crowding the small space, and her eyes dried out as the darkness spread.
The instinct to run was overwhelming, and her hands clawed at the dirt under the house desperately until they reached ice and snow. She kept crawling, then staggering, away from the heat and ash. Only then did she turn to see the flames engulf her home.
There was no sign of the druids and her mother. They were simplygone.
The wood groaned as the cottage collapsed. Her heaving breaths were distant even to her own ears.
There was nobody to run to, no one she knew who could help.
So she turned her back on the flames, her mother’s last words growing in her mind, taking root like a weed, until it was all she could hear.There’s nothing to fear.
But fear was one of the only things Rune had left, except for the darkness seeded beneath it.
Hate.
She would get her mother back. Along with her father and brother.
But first she’d have to survive and kill the fear eviscerating her senses.
So, she ran.
And she never stopped.
Royal Decree
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO,a royal decree was signed by the three immortal kings in response to the mortal uprising. It reads as follows:
Henceforth on this day, the first of Ninth Month, mortals will undergo the Selection each year, a reaping of one hundred souls as penance for their cursed uprising. Each of the nine remaining mortal territories will submit to the Selection process at random, and without defiance, or summon our fury.
Failure to appear at the Selection will result in forfeiture of life and/or property.
These souls will never see the mortal lands again.
Pray for our mercy.
—Signed,
King Altair of the Seraphs,
King Silas of the Druids,
and King Eldarion of the Elves
1The Selection
The Fool represents infinite potentials in the cycle of tarot, beginnings, new paths, and adventures to the unknown. There is great risk, yes, but also the potential for great reward.
MY BOUNTY POSTERstares back at me from the craggy remaining walls of this ruinous city. Rune Ryker, wanted dead or alive. It’s a good bounty, I’m worth a lot—especially if I’m brought in still breathing. All because the Lord of Westfall would like to make the punishment for my defection hurt. Fair enough, since I left him in a pool of his own blood among the burning wreckage of his manor.
He deserved worse.
I push through the crowd of huddled families gathered in the shadow of the monstrous Immortal Wall, ignoring their hushed, last-minute prayers. It’s a day where no one wants to be noticed, let alone draw any attention to themselves. But I’m not just anyone, and this isn’t just any day. If even one scared person in this crowd looks up and recognizes me, I’m fucked.
It’s the Selection, and Ineedto be chosen.
