“Corrupted?” Her black mouth stretches into a gruesome smile. “Weakened, I might be. Be there are forces in this world, older and more powerful than the Taint, dear human.” She cackles again. “You, of all, should know that.” She measures me up and down again. “I see you carry precious things. Use them well; these woods are swarming with dark ones.”
So she knew about the artifacts and yet didn’t try to take them from me. A warm, fuzzy feeling spreads in my chest. Maybe the world is not that dark and evil. “How do I use them?” I ask.
She looks at me for a while, and then her bony fingers, connected with membranes, disappear among the algae that cover her body like a robe. A curved dagger lands at my feet, its spotless steel reflecting the light of my spell.
“I hope you put it to better use than its former owner,” she says and disappears in the reed, her mad cackle mixing with the croaking of the frogs.
“Thank you,” I whisper, then pick up the dagger and wipe it off my pants. Well, that was one hell of a confusing encounter.
Weighing the dagger in my hand, I’m pondering over her words. Of course! Elders, this is so obvious! I scrape some dry leaves from the forest floor, take the magical Flint out of the pouch around my neck, and strike it against the steel. It takes me some attempts, but soon, blue sparks land into the pile of leaves I’m using as kindling. Just enough to light the Candle of Azalyah. Time to see if there’s any truth to the rumor that it keeps Shadowfeeders at bay.
It’s burning with an unnaturally bright blueish flame, a flame that does not falter in the night breeze. My weak spell dissipates in a shower of arcane sparkles. Raising the Candle, its blueish light scatters the shadows, revealing a surreal landscape where cold, shimmering colors dance eerily. I tuck the blade in my belt and step on the bridge.
“Beware of the dark ones, Princess. If you need safety, come back to me. My water is protected.” Half of her face peeks out of the black water, her voice reaching me among the bubbles. Her milky, inhuman eyes follow me as I cross the bridge.
Walking deeper into the woods, following her directions, one thought doesn’t leave me alone. She met two others tonight. It’s obvious who the Unseelie was. But there was a Seelie, too? All Seelie died in the war or were mercilessly executed by Aeidas’s family in the aftermath. Are there any survivors in this area? And which side would they be on?
*
My legs are burning when the ruins of the inn the hag has described appear like a tombstone among the briar. The outlines of the main hall, a large oak growing at its heart now, are still recognizable. The stables are reduced to a pile of charred beams. Brushing my fingers over the old stones, still holding the warmth of the day, I try to imagine how the place must have looked before—welcoming light, music and the smell of roast must have tempted the weary passengers. All gone now, all destroyed by the Hex.
The forest has grown unusually quiet. The crickets and night birds are silent, and even the wind has stopped.
This is not good. I strain my eyes, trying to pierce the darkness beyond the light bubble of the Candle, and freeze. There, behind the lonely doorframe—the only still recognizable piece of masonry standing—the shadows deepen and lengthen. Two eyes, glowing with dark iridescence like pinpricks in the fabric of the world, fixated on me.
A Shadowfeeder!
And if there is one, more will follow.
My feet are faster than my brain. I hold the Candle above my head as branches and thorns smack my face, pull my hair, and tear my clothes. Each wound makes me gasp, leaving a trail of blood behind that the Shadowfeeders and their thralls will surely find delicious.
The path is lost among the thick dead trees. There’s only charred soil and branches beneath my boots, no signs of the cobbled road that was supposed to lead me to the temple. I dreaded arriving at the temple but right now, it’s a far better option than what’s behind me, catching up. The temple would be protected by a halo, as the royal family and selected nobles wouldn’t want to miss the grand finale of the Trials.
The sound of running feet behind me grows louder—
By the Elders!
They are a legion. Dozens of Tainted Ones—creatures who used to be human or Fae, now turned by dark blood—are chasing me, trying to cut me off. A mass of darkness follows them, controlling them. It looks as if they’re herding me in a certain direction or just toying with me, like a cat with its prey.
The water hag! She said her water is protected. But how to get back there?
I frantically look around while leaping over a thick branch on the forest floor. This part of the woods is unfamiliar. The dead trees are different, their thorny branches clawing at me.
My lungs burn, each breath turning into agony. Sharp pain stings my calves with every step. How long will I last?
Primal, chilling fear threatens to paralyze me as ragged breathing reverberates behind me, mixed with the uneven steps of heavy boots. It’s the type of breathing you hear from an exhausted horse. I throw a quick look over my shoulder and—
Black, lidless eyes stare back from a rotting face. Uneven, sharp teeth with pieces of flesh between them snap. The Tainted One is so close it just needs to reach out its clawed hand to grab me. And so many behind it—
Then, suddenly, the ground beneath my feet disappears.
So this is how I die.
Falling and breaking my neck. A preferable option to being torn apart by Tainted Ones or joining their ranks as a mindless monster.
A trunk breaks my fall, knocking the air from my lungs. My elbow meets a rock, and I shriek in agony. The worst happens when I reach the bottom of the ravine and roll to a stop. My ankle gets caught in some roots and twists at a bad angle, and my forehead slams into something hard.
My cry of pain is cut short by unconsciousness.
