Prologue
Crouchingwithin the heart of eternity, she waits. Claws retracted, fangs withdrawn.
She pumps ire through the veins of her successor, knitting flesh together with despair, filling her successor’s marrow with tendrils of yearning and void.
She is the embodiment of chaos.
A cold persistence. The icy exterior wherein flames dance in the shadows.
With every breath, she waits, a dagger poised for the attack.
Her pulse beats within the chest of her successor, providing kindling for the inevitable.
One day shadowfire will purify the realm, she purrs.Balance will be restored. It will be the dawn of a new day. A new world. Patience.One day, it will all be well. But rest now. For when you wake, the world will burn.
CHAPTER 1
Durvla
Cold dread dancesalong my spine as I shove a tome of fairytales beneath my mattress and sprint across my cottage. My little brother teeters around the house, oblivious to the doom outside our door. I snatch his knitted earflap hat off the armchair and shove it onto his head before hoisting him into my arms. “Sorry, sweet boy. Time to go play in your secret space.”
I rush over to our drying rack where small articles of clothing hang, and I overturn the whole thing. There’s a trapdoor beneath the sheepskin rug, but before I can even get it open, a Forayer barges into my home, sneering, torch ablaze. “Durvla Garrick, you’ve been caught harboring an Undesirable!” he shouts. “You’ll be hanged, along with that monstrosity.”
He points at my brother and marches toward us.
“Please. He’s not a monstrosity. He’s a child.”
The Forayer yanks his sword from his belt and raises it, set to bring it down uponus. He swings and?—
I jolt awake.
Cold sweat trickles down my back, sending a tremor through me. My heart competes with my lungs, and I wheeze as I try to get my breathing under control.
There are no Forayers here.
No torchlights.
The room is dark and I’m in bed. Beside me, my five-year-old brother stirs, his little body tangled in the sheets, his curls spilling over his face.
Thank the goddess Sunlagh, it was just a dream.
I fight to steady my breathing, and my heart rate gradually calms as Taig rolls onto his stomach. I place my hand on his back. If he wakes fully, that will be the end of our night.
For a while longer, I stare at him, at the steady rise and fall of his back as he drifts into deep slumber.
Tomorrow, I need to be awake before the crack of dawn, as always. I need to sleep. I slip under the covers again and curl up close to Taig.
Eventually, sleep takes me again.
This time without any nightmares.
In the morning, Taig hobbles in circles, repeatedly squeezing his little hands together. Our fluffy sheepdog, Finn, licks remnants of breakfast off the floor. I try to finish getting dressed for the fourth time, wrestling my hair into thick braids and pinning the stray curls in place at the back of my head. Loose coils still fall across my forehead and temples, but this process has been interrupted so many times by Taig getting into mischief that I don’t bother to wrangle them. My head ispounding, no doubt from my restless night, but there’s no rest for the weary on this side of the bridge.
I regard Taig for a moment before approaching my desk. Last night, he was eager for my constant attention, and I left my desk completely disorganized. I meant to clean up after I finally managed to get him to sleep, but I’d just been so tired that I left it all in disarray. I’ve already fallen behind on work this week because I’ve been wrapped in the vise grip of my malady. I’m usually able to manage the daily headaches and other nuisances, but every now and then an unyielding episode attacks my body and flays me into submission. I’m still recovering from the mild episode I had a few days ago, and it’s a bleak reminder of who I am. OfwhatI am to the crown.
Undesirable.
Unable to perceive any sounds by now, I’m not sure how much longer I can hide in plain sight.
