I take my time passing each tree as I head in the direction of the castle. The shadows twist around the dark pockets of the forest as I keep my wits about me. The soft forest floors change to cobblestone as I make my way back into the outskirts of Daramveer. Giggling children run past me without a second glance, off on their way to create their own adventures to craft their own destinies.
Crossing into the tall iron gates, I continue to move unnoticed. The tall stone structure towers over me. Since abandoning my magic many years ago, I haven’t traveled in the shadows by shifting in years. Why hide when no one cares if youexist? Lights flicker inside the castle windows as I make my way back inside.
Recalling the marking on the crystal, my mind travels back in time to one of my mother’s many lessons on performing rituals. As Wiitches, rituals were a significant part of conjuring our magic. However, over the years, our powers developed to run on their own—like an ever-present current flowing through our bodies. Even though Shadow and Lumor wielders could call on magic at will, large bursts required rituals that raised magic straight from the Gods themselves. Etchings, mainly known as Rigils, were used as portals for the magic to pass through to access a deeper type of magic that was necessary.
The Gods treated us fairly, continually granting us magic when needed for the betterment of this realm. Over the years, some Wielders have learned to access dark magic through Rigils and blood. This magic was said not to come from the Gods but from their corrupted descendants who cursed our lands long ago. The markings on the crystal were unlike any I had seen before, and the feeling I got from touching it screamed bad news.
I arrive at my bedroom. My door’s slightly ajar, and panic washes over me.
I say a silent prayer to the Gods and push against the sturdy wooden frame, the rusty hinges squealing down the long hallway. I step into the room, prepared for the worst. Barlowe sits still in the sitting area, slumped on the antique chair, his hands pressed against his head.
“I didn’t know you could relax, Barlowe,” I say, marching up next to him. “And yes, I accept your apology from earlier. You were an ass, you know that?”
He slowly raises his eyes to meet mine. “I told Father about the letter, Briar, and had I not been interrupted by the asshole himself, I would have told him about Thatcher as well.”
Shock hits me as I’m once again reminded that I don’t know this person sitting before me. Time changes people, even if you can’t admit it to yourself.
“You swore you’d keep the letter between us for a few days until we figured something out,” I snap. “And Father wouldn’t have believed you about Thatcher anyway. He would chalk it up to be a dramatic fight between the two of us.”
“Thatcher’s actions will catch up to him one day. I’ll make sure of that, Briar.”
I storm closer. “Please stop saying his name. I don’t give a fuck about him. Why would you tell Father about the letter? Does your word mean nothing to you?”
“What did you expect me to do, Briar? He had to be looped in. Does the safety of this kingdom mean nothing to you?”
I turn my back to him, blinking away the tears in my eyes. “I care about our mother, and since you’ve been gone, it’s clear you care little about her—or me—anymore. I know these letters mean something, and I’m going to find out what.”
“Father didn’t deny when I confronted him about a change coming to Daramveer. He agreed. He told me that an announcement was coming and we were both to meet him in the throne room tomorrow night. Thatcher seemed to already know what was going on. Something dark has changed our father, so why wouldn’t you write to me and tell me about this? About Thatcher’s actions?”
“You are right. Something is going on in Daramveer, Barlowe,” I say. “I didn’t want to worry you. And to be honest, I’m having a hard time deciding if I want to share anything with you again—I don’t know that I can trust you again.”
Barlowe slowly stands, moving with a warrior’s grace as he steps in my direction. The abruptness catches me off guard as I flinch at his growing presence. He grabs my shoulders. He stares at me with a fierce intensity. “Briar, I never moved on fromMother dying or leaving you.” His grip tightens. “You can trust me. I’m doing this for your safety, and you’ll understand one day.”
I nod, and he continues, “Father is preparing to do something, and I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you from what’s to come. In the meantime, I need you to trust me. I know you abandoned your magic long ago, but now is the time for you to access it again. You are going to need it.”
My eyebrows shoot up in response. I’m not willing to entertain the idea of unlocking my magic, not now, and he has no idea why.
“What?!”
“You will understand soon. Just know that I love you very much, Briar.” Barlowe moves toward the door, letting the silence linger between us for a moment longer. “Those weapons you keep on the roof aren’t going to cut it for what’s coming. I think you’ve felt the change coming for a while.”
He shifts into the shadows, a mist the only thing left behind.
My magic has been desperate to leave my body for years now—the overwhelming sense of pain I feel hiding my true self rocks my body with an unwavering shock each day. But in the days following my mother’s death, I vowed to never use my magic again. The powers given to us are a curse, and the Gods we all so blindly worship took her from me. Beautiful things can come from our magic, but I also saw when my mother died that many curses can come from Wielding. It helped make my decision easier to never use my magic again, and maybe I could protect people around me by doing so. Unlocking my magic won’t save this kingdom. It will destroy this kingdom and all those around it. I’ve seen it playing out in my dreams for years and the darkness that lives inside me should never see the light of day.
The feeling of being in control of my life slowly slips away as I collapse into the chair by the roaring fire in my bedroom. Ididn’t ask for these events to happen, but I always knew in the back of my mind that something would test me. From the chair, I watch the pink sky gradually turn into its typical shade of black, wondering what the days ahead will bring.
A chill runs up my spine as I breathe in the crisp night air and mentally prepare for battle. As I drift off to sleep, I’m once again confronted by the recurring nightmares that haunt me.
Chapter 6
The world around me is lit by a black flame—the structures are in ruin, and a shadowy smoke rises from the fallen brick. As a prisoner myself, I turn to look with unfamiliar eyes toward the figures I know are standing there—they always are. Bloody and beaten, they watch me with such sorrow, knowing I’m the one who’s caused the damage around them. I open my mouth wide enough to scream, but the darkness around me swells, a mist creeping into my mouth, drowning out the sounds desperate to break through. I look down to see my brother once more lying in a pool of blood at my feet. As the mist sets deep in my soul, I no longer see the figures before me, only outlined bodies.
In the distance, a voice screams my name—I’m unable to get to them as always.
Briar!
A firm hand presses against the small of my back as Thatcher steps beside me, a crown atop his head. He looks at me with a smirk, revealing the lack of soul behind his dark eyes. Devastation settles deep in my core as he leans down, parting my lips with his, his vile tongue sweeping into my mouth. I attempt to resist, but the darkness compels me to open for him.
