When he reached for her, his grasp closed around chains.
He tried to forget her.
Tried to forget the softness of her breath. The way she said his name. Her death.
But then the nights grew longer and colder with the season, and he was plagued by a recurring nightmare of the night shedied. Perhaps because it was the end, he remembered every detail.
The fear. Her scream. The light fading from her eyes as her heart gave out.
The hollowness came afterward.
How unbearable it was.
His brother, with the power to pull her soul from the River of the Dead, refused to help him, and Elyon was deaf to his pleas no matter how much he begged.
Then came a grief poisoned by his ire.
Without his magic to sustain his Shadow Keep, Alora’s body now rotted beneath the rubble. Rune didn’t want to imagine her flesh decaying. So, he let the silence have him. He didn’t move, waiting to wither to stone. Hoping the sun would burn deep enough to render him ash.
Yet even death was a privilege that Elyon denied him.
Morning arrived with the sun shining brightly through the small opening in the cavern. Rune’s bones ached beneath the echo of pain, though he hardly noticed it anymore.
He was lost to the stillness, until he heard the whisper of a melody.
The cadence of a voice carried on the wind.
A familiar voice he knew better than his own—singinghis song.
Rune’s eyes snapped open.
The dust and debris tumbled from his form as he slowly rose onto his haunches, staring up at the opening. The voice grew clearer and the shadows stirred.
Calla!he bellowed down their mental link.
“No need to shout, sire.” She arose from the dark, something glinting in her gaze. “I have been awaiting your summons for when you at last surfaced from your woes to notice where we are.”
He stared at the opening. “You said we are in Argyle.”
“We are.” Her lips curved. “A hundred and fifty years in the past.”
CHAPTER 3
Alora
When Alora was born beneath the light of the Blood Moon, they say she was born dead.
Whether it was true or not, the rumor had clung to her all her life, and there were days Alora wondered if she should have stayed that way.
Her reflection stared back at her from the pond behind her cottage. She sat at its edge, listening to the birds sing. Her green frock was damp at the hem, cinched with an old leather corset. The water lay still, glass-bright, mirroring clouds drifting lazily across a sky so blue it was the color of forget-me-nots.
But the world had long forgotten her.
Wildflowers swayed along the bank, their petals glowing faintly beneath the late afternoon sun. Alora breathed in their sweet scent, relishing one of her few joys before they faded with autumn’s arrival. A forest sprite darted past, stealing a walnut from the small pile on her lap. She laughed as another stole theribbon from her hair, letting her braids fall loose in soft golden waves over her shoulders.
Curious things.
More chirped at her in the branches above. They were shaped like leaves given wings, with moss-green skin and hair fluff like dandelions. Their bodies were already changing color with the season.
