Prologue
Theyoungvesselracedover the lands like the rushing of a river; jumping and winding to cut across the ground as quickly as her legs would allow. Before her, the horizon peeked through the trees, with it the deep blue-gray promise of a storm.
The smell of magic lingered sweetly in the wind, her long dark hair whipped wildly, and a sheen of sweat formed on her brow. In trembling hands, she clutched a small glowing stone that shone with milky hues, imprisoning a play of colors—from shimmering amaranth to scales of deep sapphire and emerald. It's light pulsed with raw energy. She held the powerful creation close to her chest, drawing strength from the cool feel of it, and dared a backward glance. Obscured by the dense wood, she could not see the dark, twisted shadows that pursued her, but she could sense their malice like an infection in an open wound. Their terrifying howls—echoing their master’s rage—filled the air and grew louder with each passing moment. Her heart raced at the sound. Above her, a bolt of lightning brightened the twilight sky, striking a tree to her right. The massive wooden oak gave a piercing creak and snapped from its base to smash into the maple beside it, ripping a splay of branches free that cascaded to the ground. As though in slow motion, the oak broke loose and continued its descent, missing her by a hairsbreadth. She leapt, clearing the fallen trunk, but landed sharply in a twist of roots and branches on the other side. A shock of pain jolted from her ankle to the center of her knee. She stifled a cry at the stabbing sensation and deep ache that followed.
Thunder crashed, and cold splats of rain stung her skin. The growing sense of terror in her chest was matched only by an innate pang of grief for the two infant boys she’d left behind at Willow Keep; swaddled, warm, and safe, but not in their mother’s arms where they belonged. Her body hurt everywhere, ragged and spent from the long labor two nights before. She could still feel the blood rushing from her, staining her white gown, and a heaviness within her breasts—filled with unused milk.
‘Run, little Aisleynne, run. There’s no escaping me.’
A haunting voice echoed within her consciousness. She fought the urge to claw at her head, desperate to be free of the eerie sound. The fear it sparked within her chest was enough to drive her back to her feet—injured ankle or not, she couldn’t let herself be caught. Not before she reached Calami Tower and the conservatory within.
‘Stop now and hand over the stone or suffer the same fate as your friends who stood between us.’
The voice taunted her further. Aisleynne gritted her teeth and bolstered her mental wall, picturing the faces of her beloved inner circle. The witches and wizards who’d refused to abandon her, who’d given their lives distracting Atlas so that she could flee to Willow Keep and safely birth her twins. He had tortured them slowly. Mercilessly. She knew their deaths would have all been for nothing if she gave in to him, so instead, she clutched the omnis stone more tightly and pressed forth with all her willpower, though she could feel his curse and the blood loss weakening her.
The towering trees of the Whispering Woods had stretched on for miles between the magical schools—Mistral Hall and Calami Tower, but she was almost out of the massive timberland. Up ahead, she could see that her path led out to an open grassy field and the Tower beyond. Crossing it, she’d be completely exposed to the elements and her pursuers, but at least she’d be able to see her enemies approaching. With every stride, her breath grew more ragged as she reached the soft grasses of the sprawling plain. They felt like feathers on her feet compared to the root-riddled forest floor. She wished more than anything that she could stop if only for a moment, to rest her ankle, but before she could even catch her breath, another howl sounded close behind her. Raw and visceral, it was like nothing she’d ever heard before, and her fear gave her a renewed wave of energy that sent her sprinting forward through the field. She could not falter. She could not fail. Atlas’s curse had begun consuming her already; with every passing second, she felt her magic wane, being pulled into the glowing stone grasped tight in her fingers. Her only hope was to reach the Tower and the conservatory within where the Waters of Meden awaited, flowing from Aeson’s fountain. Water that could cure any sickness and undo any curse.
Blasting through Calami’s magical boundary, Aisleynne loosed a breath of relief and cast a glance over her shoulder as she ran. Billowing around the barrier, the shadow wraiths screamed and seethed in fury. Without their master, they couldn’t break through. But she knew Atlas wasn’t far behind; she’d heard his wrath, his fury. Not daring to stop, she continued until she reached the oaken doors of Calami and threw them open. They slammed against the sides of the stone walls, and thunder shook the building, as though announcing Aisleynne’s entrance. But to whom she didn’t know, for the halls were empty. There wasn’t a single Calami witch in sight. It seemed most had fled in terror, having the foresight of what was to come. She felt the hum of the others gathered below, deep in the stronghold, intending to hide or preparing to fight, she didn’t know, and she couldn’t stop to find out. The conservatory sat stories above her head. The stairs between were seemingly endless.
Aisleynne dragged her weakening frame up flight after flight, clutching the omnis stone and trembling from the cold sensation of magic draining from her body. Her bare feet slapped each step, and the sound echoed out along with her heaving breaths until, finally, she’d reached the eighth story where the conservatory waited. At the sight of the stained wooden door and the golden gleam of its handle, she allowed the first swell of hope.
She’d done it. She could reverse this curse that was slowly transferring her magic to the stone. With her full power restored, she could fight Atlas and repay him thrice over for the pain he’d caused the magical world, and the friends he’d taken from her.
He wouldn’t stand a chance.
Throwing the door open, Aisleynne raced over the cool stone floors, past sprawling plants that bloomed with shimmering flowers of gold, jade, and ivory. Thick green vines wound their way up the walls to drape down from the high glass ceiling. But the usually warm and welcoming atmosphere of the room rang absent, replaced by a strange cold that tainted the air. Though she should have, she didn’t stop to wonder at the change. Mercurial eyes fixed on the fountain ahead, she plowed forward with what was left of her strength and fell to her knees before it.
Plunging her hand within the basin, she expected the cool relief of water to rush through her skin. Instead, her hand met with nothing but the solid stone bottom, dry as bone. Aisleynne choked at the sensation, gripping the edges until her fingers turned white to peer into the empty that awaited. Nothing, not so much as a droplet of the Waters of Menden, remained.
It had to be a dream—a nightmare of the worst kind. In her shock, the omnis stone slipped from her hand and clattered across the floor just as the door burst open behind her.
When she turned to meet her inevitable end, a jolt of surprise rattled her frame, followed close by a pulse of disgust. Standing near the entrance was a wizard, to be sure, but not the one she had been expecting. Hair golden as sunlight and eyes bluer than the Great Sea, Gwydion Desai stared back at her, jaw set tight and fists clenched. She was surprised he had the backbone to face her after everything he’d done. After betraying the mother of his children. The love for him that had once felt so fresh and alive turned to ash in her veins.
“Where is your master, dog?” she spat, her tone as frigid as the air around them. Using the remainder of her will, she scooped the omnis stone out from under the basin and clambered to her sore feet. If she was to die, it would be standing up, staring the coward in the face.
Gwydion didn’t answer. Instead, he slowly craned his neck to glance over his shoulder out the gaping doorway behind him. Shivers rose and coated Aisleynne’s skin as the deep-shadowed wraiths slithered into her beloved conservatory. Moving as a joined force, they swelled around Gwydion, blotting him from sight like spilled ink clouding over words on parchment. The wraiths pressed further into the room, a hissing erupted from the places where their black misting tendrils met with the flowers and vines. Aisleynne watched in horror as the gardens that had thrived under her loving hand slowly wilted, browning and then blackening before they crumpled to dust and shriveled leaves along the floor.
“What is this?” she managed, swallowing against a dry spot on her tongue.
As she spoke the words, the wraiths parted, and from them stepped Atlas Darkmore, striking as the moment she’d first met him. With hair that curled dark as midnight and irises like molten amber, set aglow by the burst of orange around his pupil, he was a wonder—even in a world of magic. A radiant smile, almost too white, painted his lips as the dark wraiths gathered to him like a second skin. Handsome as he was cruel, he stepped past Gwydion, who sputtered and choked on the dark smoke without so much as a sideways glance.
“Never could tolerate a blood traitor.” The callous words echoed out just before Gwydion’s lifeless body hit the floor. “I wasn’t sure he’d do it, you know. Poison you with my curse, I mean. Those godsdamned witches made it so difficult to get to you, hoarding you past their season. But a Darkmore always gets his way in the end.”
A twist of emotion stabbed at her as she watched the father of her babes lay cold in death, but she wouldn’t mourn him. She could never truly love a coward, especially one who had betrayed her.
Flashing another cruel smile, Atlas drew closer. The shadows moved with him, some pooled down around the conservatory floor like a black ocean, creeping toward her.
A stifled whimper tried to crawl from her throat; she had no choice but to scale the empty fountain, knocking the top tier free in her haste to escape the poisonous mist. “H-how did you do it? How did you stop the water?”
That raw swirling amber widened in surprise as Atlas slithered his gaze down to the empty fountain as though he just then realized its forsaken state. “Oh, little dove, you don’t really think that I had anything to do with this, do you? No wizard in all Lynoria is that powerful.” Though he spoke with conviction, his eyes mocked her.
Despite the pain wracking her body, and the magic draining from her very bones, frustration boiled to the surface. “Liar!” she spat. “If you are going to kill me, at least have the decency to tell me the truth.”
Around them, the shadows continued to pool along the floor, surrounding the fountain like a vast and bottomless well. Aisleynne trembled as she realized how absolutely trapped she was. A low laugh radiated out from his chest as he moved deeper into the shriveling gardens, close enough that the front of his legs met with the fountain’s base so he could peer up at her.
“I have never in my life claimed to be decent. Why start now?” smirking, he paced the fountain base like a taunted panther whose dinner was just out of reach. “And who said anything about killing you? What a travesty that would be. No, sweetling, for my plan to work, you must live. Your soul, at least, will be kept safely in the omnis stone. I will retrieve the grimoire from my brethren, and the country will fall to its knees at my feet. Eventually, the rest of the world will follow.” His gaze flickered down to the stone clutched within her hand, cradled to her chest. The brilliant hues took on a brighter quality as it absorbed more and more of her magic.
With a start, she fit his words together, realizing it wasn’t only her magic it was sucking in, but her very soul. At the sight of her horror, her realization, Atlas nodded. That wicked gleam shone brightly in his eyes, rivaling the light from the omnis stone. “That is right, little dove. You will not be dying today. Your soul will be kept within, and your mortal form will turn to stone. A fair trade for immortality, I would say.”
