Prologue

 

The skeletal fingers of intertwining cedar and hemlock branches blocked the midday sun. In the gloomy twilight near their exposed roots, Ren’wyn tucked her legs beneath her skirt. Eerie and untamed, the Dark Forest always beckoned her; its dim silhouettes were etched into her earliest memories. A shivering breeze rustled old oak leaves in the quiet. The scent of decay deepened as her pupils dilated fully, blotting out her gray irises with black. Breathing deeply, she leaned into a hemlock trunk and relaxed.

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Unearthly darkness swirled at the bases of the trees. Bending to her indrawn breath, shadows crept up the surrounding trunks, black tendrils grazing rough bark. They whispered an indecipherable language, calling her toward the Void, the realm of the dead. Misty shadow-wisps touched her bare feet like fingers of ice, encouraging her to retreat into her woolen cloak. The grip of death lightened into a caress across her cheekbones, its touch like the blackened fingers of a corpse. The shadows brushed her cheeks and dark blonde hair, slipping silently over her shoulders to embrace her.

Today, she needed the comfort of the power dwelling in her veins and of this place where she had first grasped the depths of her magic.

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Echoes of memory reverberated through the haze of the Void, the voices of those lost in death. It had been eleven years since she first heard the dead on her tenth birthday—eleven years drawn to the quiet finality of life’s end, the darkness beneath her bedframe, and the claim of winter’s chill in every fiber of her being. Perhaps her grandfather’s voice danced with the others, whispering within the rasp of dried fern boughs behind her. Perhaps her mother felt the magic shared in their blood as Ren’wyn drew shades from the hollows of tree roots to keep her company in her misery.

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Slowly, she twined smoky shadow through her fingers, feeling its cold, dark hum. Frost bloomed on her nails. Shades of the dead lurked and shifted behind tree trunks. Ren’wyn could talk to them, call them forward if she wished. These were the remnants of those who had died with their dreams and desires unfulfilled. In the past, she had helped some settle debts or accomplish tasks, laying their wandering shadows to rest. Where they went then, she didn’t know—and didn’t think anyone did.

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Only the Dark Forest offered a safe retreat for magic anymore. Her father’s ancestors had spent their lives reminding tenants to stay away from the reaches of the ancient branches. Dark magic was all the reason Lord Vair ever gave, and people made the sign against evil and asked no questions. The houses at the skirts of the estate had wards painted on the walls facing the forest—walls without windows or doors so as not to witness the darkness—but Ren’wyn loved every inch of heavy shade and cool breeze. Even the wards, visible from the cavity within her favorite hemlock, made her feel safe, not scared. She could relax and breathe and reach out toward death, and even her magic seemed to enjoy this place of peace and isolation.

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Beyond the shadows lay true fear. Out in the bright sunshine, hate and ignorance curdled people’s perception of those born with power. Ren’wyn knew too well the poisonous influence of her father’s prejudice bleeding into his tenants, the long arm of the imperial regiments that hunted and murdered anyone with magic, and the ageless terror of those capable of interacting with death and the dying. Even though she knew no magical group escaped the Ashkren empire’s persecution—not druids, wights, oracles, berserkers, empaths, or dark mages—her kind had always borne the brunt of the distrust. No one saw the beauty of darkness and final ends.

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So she kept to herself. Alone in the woods, Ren’wyn smiled. The Void could wreak havoc on the living, but it also rose up to settle the lost. When Ren’wyn touched the power offered to her, it caressed back, gifting her, grounding her, and leading her to right wrongs and heal hurts. As she wove shadows and death in her fingers, she was finally fully alive.

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Three familiar shades waited in the distance, their presence like the quiet strain of a melancholy lullaby. Remembering her training, she closed her eyes and visualized them in her mind, reaching out with her spirit—arms stretching forward along with her will. Their answering approach was electrifying, the Void humming with satisfying energy.

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She already knew who waited when she opened her eyes. The hooded, cloaked figures of her two brothers and sister stood wreathed in black mist, pale skin visible below shadowed eyes. Her siblings always appeared this way, faces barely visible and hands tucked into long, flowing sleeves.

Her brother Aiden stood in front, Moira on his left, dark blonde curls peeking from her hood, and Daren stood to his right. Aiden spoke most often, his voice a harsh whisper, a summons to those who wielded the Void’s power. Without training and an alert mind, the intense call of the Void could easily overwhelm an inexperienced mage. Ren’wyn still felt it every time she immersed herself in magic: an ache of ice against her bones, a soft encouragement to sleep without fear of waking, an errant tug of a ghostly hand made solid.

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“You are here often these days, sister,” Aiden stated, darkness seeping from his robe like eternal night. “Your heart is troubled. We would share your burden.”

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Troubled indeed. Sorrow stalled Ren’wyn’s breath. Today, her father, Lord Vair, had announced her betrothal to Erst, the young neighboring lord. Erst had dogged her as a child, taking note of which dolls to destroy, which pets to kick, and which talents Ren’wyn took pride in so he could tear her down.

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It had been foolish to hope their reunion as young adults would be better—that he had perhaps outgrown his cruelty. At twenty-two, enough time had passed for him to become more thoughtful and mature; instead, he now enjoyed physical torment. During their first chaperoned walk in the manicured gardens—fragrant roses and humming bees creating a romantic atmosphere—Erst pinched and belittled her. Her embarrassment and shame were only outweighed by the dark, lasting bruises, but no one noticed, and no one asked. Even alone in the damp, eternal twilight of the Dark Forest, Ren’wyn readjusted her sleeves to cover the finger marks on her upper arms.

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Lord Vair and Erst signed paperwork and celebrated the engagement with hard liquor as though they’d sold livestock. Ren’wyn’s dreams and fears meant nothing to them. The injustice rose in her throat like bile, an all-consuming anger burning hot in her chest. All she was boiled down to a trade for land, tax reductions, and familial ties with Erst’s estate. She gritted her teeth as her final year of school stared her down with the bared teeth of a predator. One last season of freedom, then the darkness of forced marriage to a monster.

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I am a payment. A possession. I am nothing more than cattle or a cart full of lumber. I am nothing.

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Ren’wyn threw her arms, hands splayed, toward the ground, releasing the dam around her terror and anger with a burst of magic. Smoke exploded from the forest floor in a wide circle. Birds shrieked and took to the sky. Erst would be glad to own her; mistreatment did not apply to possessions. Her power would be suffocated like her mother’s—drained and dampened until Ren’wyn was a husk of herself, until she died and became nothing more than an empty, wandering shade. How long before she, like Lyr’ren, wore haunted eyes and wasted to skin over bones? Tears froze against her cheeks as rage suffocated her, reducing her to less than human.

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Rising slowly, she stared her brother down, her voice wavering with emotion. “My life is worthless, Aiden. I have nothing to offer and no way to escape.”

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It was true, wasn’t it? In the echoing silence, a timid breeze drew the branchlets overhead together, the music of conifer needles a reminder of loss. No more Dark Forest. No more magic. No more life. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do but marry Erst. Her education hadn’t improved her options. Without a household to shield her, her magic would make her a target for imperial soldiers. If they found her, they would murder her mother as well to eliminate the hereditary threat of dark magic. She could not be that selfish.

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Ren’wyn sucked in a surprised breath when Daren, not Aiden, responded. His voice was almost imperceptible above the breeze, filled with longing and grief. One pale hand reached out, skin stretched across visible bones, and cold icicles raced up Ren’wyn’s arms and neck to touch her cheeks and wipe her tears like fingers. Daren’s magic against her own.

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“I see darkness, then fire. I feel your power, but not alone. I cannot see your path. It twists.” Daren’s voice faded into silence.

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Aiden continued, “We see your strength and loyalty. Bravery and intelligence. We feel your darkness, growing and widening like the sea. This grief is not for you. When opportunity presents, run. Run, sister, and brave the world.”