Born To Rule

Chapter Three

Time stretched on as I sat in that room, methodically responding to his barrage of questions. Many of my answers were outright lies, others were riddled with embellished or omitted details. I did what I had to do, said what I had to say; always, adamantly, denying the girl possessed any connection to Annorah or mana of any kind, and promised that if anything were to change regarding either, I’d report to him immediately.

Lying to him was easy, always had been, but I never employed so much deceit at once. I could only pray that nine centuries of service had earned me enough trust that he wouldn’t question my motives.

However, once his concern over the girl ebbed, the conversation took a dark turn. We spoke of the advantages he stood to gain by employing an assassin familiar with ‘magical’ cultures of Vylandria. As much as it sickened me, I had to convince him he’d acquire those advantages to ensure the girl’s security. I made the girl valuable and, therefore, safe.

One of Atreus’ many stipulations was that Mira receive combat training from the absolute best Vylandrians had to offer. Eurok Dramagan, the druid army’s newly appointed captain. The request was a test of my loyalty. Druids seldom welcomed outsiders, let alone trained them in their combat techniques. Atreus knew this. Which was why his gaze brightened at the prospect—like a blazing midnight flame.

The girl sat across from me, curled tight in the carriage’s corner, safe on Vylandrian soil. She was free.

My elaborate web of lies won me two years to convince Mira of who she was, then teach her how to access and use her mana before the king came asking questions and learned of my deceit. It wasn’t much, but I’d make it count.

I settled against the plush headrest and closed my eyes. We traveled through the night and I was exhausted. While the girl slept, I spent hours pounding on the walls of my mind, demanding answers from the gods. More specifically, Erezos. What plans did he have for her, and why was I just now learning of her existence? The next two years might prove more successful if I had a clearer understanding of what to prepare her for.

I could push for insight until I collapsed, though. Erezos would only speak to me when ready. Even I didn’t possess the power to make demands of the gods.

I fell asleep at some point and woke to find Mira still curled in the corner. She was so young, and yet she killed Greggor. The man who had more guards surrounding him at any given moment than the king. Such was the way when one dealt in illegal smuggling. His loss was regrettable, but taking him out spoke of the girl’s skill set.

I adjusted myself in my seat and folded my hands in my lap, considering how to go about breaking the silence that dominated the carriage since leaving Bronne. I came close to speaking a few different times but never settled on the right words. Mira made it clear she saw me as nothing more than the king’s traitorous magical pet, and as much as it pained me, I wasn’t yet sure how to convince her otherwise.

It didn’t help that I left the shackles on her wrists and ankles, either. Until I knew she posed no risk to the residents of Raven Ridge, and wouldn’t bolt the first opportunity she got, this seemed the safest route. To transfigure into my wolf form and give chase through the woods would not be conducive to building her trust.

It was difficult to tell if she was still sleeping. She tucked herself tight to the plush cushions with her long raven-black hair hanging like a heavy curtain over her face. Her dark, short-sleeved tunic beneath her leather and lace vest exposed her light, blush-colored skin. Flecks and streaks of silver along her arms conveyed the many wounds she suffered throughout her brief life. Had she acquired the scars before or after she decided to hunt men for a living?

Knowing so little about the young woman who would soon share my home made the situation quite daunting. My mana tugged like an eager canine at the end of a leash, wanting to explore her energy. It was still unclear if the girl could sense such things. Had her core always been empty? Did she feel its presence? Did she know anything? The onslaught of questions raided my mind like a swarm of pestering insects. I batted them away as such. One thing at a time.

My impatience driving, I loudly cleared my throat to see if she’d stir at the sound. Not even a twitch. As I smoothed the wrinkled fabric over my lap in long swipes, I couldn’t help but regret not changing into my riding pants before we left. This dress was as good as being naked.

Outside the large carriage window, I caught a momentary break in the treeline. Soft shades of pumpkin and periwinkle painted the sky as the sun stretched its light from behind the mountains on the horizon. Sunrise. We’d reach Raven Ridge by sundown.

I coughed—again trying to stir her. Nothing. It’s gonna be a long day.

The creak of wheels rolling along the packed dirt road set my teeth on edge. The incessant jostled squeaking and crunching was a steady, maddening roar. I would’ve slept better in the dungeon.

I ignored the witch’s attempts to get my attention and only stirred when the carriage hit a hole, jarring me enough that I bit down on my tongue. Fuck, that hurt.

Unfurling myself from the corner, I stretched my tight muscles, only to have the motion hindered by my restraints. The cold iron clanked, and my wrists howled in pain where the skin wore raw. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth protested, sick of being treated like an animal. In a fit of frustration, I grabbed a large handful of the metal links and shook them. They clattered and clanged, scraping against the carriage floor, until I dropped them in a heap and sat back, casting Sidelle a bleak, frigid stare.

The witch deadpanned, then returned her attention to her window. Bitch.

I peeked outside to see where we were. Dense Vylandrian woodlands took on a bruise-colored haze with the early morning light. I fought the urge to ask, like a whining child, how much longer it would take. I hadn’t spoken since we left. Even though Sidelle secured my freedom, I wasn’t convinced she was an ally. She seemed pretty disinclined to free me from these shackles thus far. My stomach tightened with my unease. Had I traded one prison for another?

Sick of the tense silence, I blurted, “Are these really necessary? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Can’t you take them off?”

“That depends.” Her voice was like thick honey.

“On?”

She waited a few heartbeats before answering. “If you plan on running.”

“If I do, will I be killed?” I raised a single brow.

“Not by me.” She dipped her chin toward the dark trees along the path. “Though I can’t speak for the forest—or the king.”

My shoulders slumped as I slouched lower in my seat. “He set me free.”

“Only because of the promise I made on your behalf.” Her schooled expression of absolute certainty gave nothing away.

My eyes narrowed. “What promise?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” I fired back. The overwhelming urge to punch the witch right in the face itched along my fist. Perhaps it was a good thing she left the shackles. “So I’m still a prisoner.”

“You are not a prisoner, Mira.”

“What the fuck do you call this?” I demanded, flashing my restraints.

She cast them a quick glance before locking her dark doe-like eyes on me. When she shifted in her seat and leaned close, I recoiled just to spite her.

“I need you to understand something,” she said. “It doesn’t matter what I promised King Atreus, because I have no intention of fulfilling that promise. Believe it or not, I hold no loyalty to him.”

The sound that came out of my throat was somewhere between a scoff and a snort. I didn’t buy a word of it.

“In fact,” she continued, “I’ve grown rather tired of answering his every beck and call. He treats me no better than a common whore, a toy for him to summon and gawk at.” Tangible spite sharpened her words. “In my centuries of service, not once has he offered me a position on his council, nor has he made me feel like a true voice for my people. No notable respect of any kind. My mana is a plaything to him. So no, there’s no loyalty there.”

She leaned in closer, placing a gentle hand on mine.

“You are safe with me.”

I didn’t buy a word of it. “Bullshit.” I pulled my hand away. “Why keep the shackles on, then?”

“It’s not bullshit, and I’ll explain what I can in time,” Sidelle said, still resonating calm. Her patience was impressive. “My life isn’t the only one I’m worried about. Your restraints remain because, if you run, retrieving you before you get yourself killed would be no simple task.” She settled back in her seat, giving me a once-over. “There’s also the fact that you took down Greggor Hood—that alone speaks of what you’re capable of. It doesn’t help that you’ve been nothing but aggressive since the moment we met. Bottom line, those shackles ensure you won’t hurt yourself—or anyone else.”

A bitter twinge of guilt sank low in my stomach as I regarded her every word, weighing her sincerity. When reading people, listening to my gut hardly steered me wrong, but this was a gods-knew-how-old druid witch. My instincts were unreliable here.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of me,” I said, with less bite than before.

“I am bringing you back to my village, Mira, opening my home to you. My people’s safety is paramount.”

“So let me go,” I pleaded. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful you got me out of that hellhole, but I have no idea why I was there in the first place. Just—remove these and I’ll be on my way.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I believe that, I do.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Truth of it is, you are in grave danger, more than you realize. Please, let me help you.”

I’d never seen such dark, obsidian eyes. Yet they were soft—softer than I expected. Unsure whether it was magic at work or the genuine look in her features—it was oddly easy to believe her desire to protect me. And though my pride writhed against the idea of needing protection, I sensed Sidelle had good intentions. Still, a burning question sat at the forefront of my thoughts. Why did she want to help?

“Do you plan on giving me a chance, or am I doomed to be shackled forever?” I found it difficult to remove all the acid from my tone. I wanted these fucking things off.

Her wary gaze met mine, and for a brief moment, I questioned whether she would truly keep the irons in place. Yet, her brows furrowed with sincere worry when she noticed the fresh blood seeping from the wounds on my wrists.

She loosed an uneasy breath. “Don’t make me regret this.”

I gave a tight nod, and she reached across the carriage, waving a delicate hand over the shackles. One moment, the cold, painful metal rested against my skin, and in the next, the cuffs on my wrists and ankles dissipated into fine metallic dust.

I started, struck by the potency of her power. How could something so limiting for humans hardly be a whisper of effort for her? I was at more of a disadvantage than I thought.

“Thank you,” I said, quiet but honest, rubbing my tender wrists.

“Do you want me to…” She gestured at the small bit of crimson staining my skin.

“No. I’m fine.”

The witch nodded and leaned back again, crossing her legs. The high slit running up her skirt slipped to the side, revealing her long, lean-muscled thigh. Her complexion was an elegant, unmarred violet, the color of summer storm clouds, and I found it hard not to stare. She was beautiful.

She tugged the fabric over herself, almost self-consciously, then opened the leather sack beside her. “Are you hungry?”

I was in no condition to refuse food. My stomach had been nauseatingly empty for hours. I accepted the pastry, apple, and small waterskin filled with sweet drink. The soft bread melted in my mouth like a glazed slice of heaven, and the juice soothed my parched throat.

“So,” I said between bites, “who was the bounty? Why did the king want him?”

“Greggor served as a king’s officer. He was a skilled warrior, but didn’t harbor the same hatred for Vylandrians as many humans do. Eventually, he left the guard and started smuggling refugees into the kingdom. He was a—a mag smuggler.” The witch winced at the words like they tasted foul on her tongue. “He snuck refugees from less fortunate kingdoms into the Vylandrian borders, where they would be safer under druid protection.”

“Druid protection,” I echoed. “And the king wanted him dead?”

“Clearly,” Sidelle said.

Her cool mask fell a fraction as if, for a moment, her emotions were too heavy to bear. Then it was gone.

“And I killed him,” I whispered, not hiding the guilt that gnawed on my conscience.

She gave a fervent shake of her head. “His death is not your fault.”

I nodded, turning the red apple over in my hands. My bitter taste for the man on the throne grew more distinct in the back of my throat. He lied, used me, imprisoned me, then bartered my life as if it was his to give. And according to the witch, I still wasn’t safe from him.

“Why am I in danger? What did I do to piss him off so much?”

Sidelle looked around, as if trying to decide where to begin. Sweeping a stray moonlight-silver hair out of her eyes, she released a slow sigh. “To put it simply, he believed you to be connected to his sister.”

“King Atreus has a sister?” My teeth sank into the apple, its crisp crunch filled the carriage. I never heard of him having any family—aside from the long-dead king legend claimed he was gifted to.

Sidelle nodded. “Her name was Annorah.”

I took a few more bites, waiting for further elaboration. Juices slipped down my chin, and I wiped them with the back of my hand, then tossed the core out the window.

When she offered nothing more, I asked, “Why would he think I was connected to her?”

“Because,” she pressed her lips, seeming almost sad, “you look exactly like her.”

The food in my stomach churned.

“Save for your black hair,” she added. “Annorah’s was auburn. But your face, those burgundy irises—identical.”

I grew quiet, trying to process. My eyes had always been a mystery. Father’d been convinced they were some clue to my mother’s betrayal. But to be mistaken for a princess? It sounded like something from storybooks. Still, if King Atreus threw me in the dungeons simply for looking like his sister, it begged to wonder what Annorah did for him to harbor such hatred.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“Dead.”

“Did he kill her?”

Sidelle’s eyes held secrets under lock and key, but I understood well enough. The king’s sister was dead, just as I would’ve been had the witch not saved me. It was as if I’d been thrust from my reality, catapulted into someone else’s life entirely. So many questions raced through my mind—I could hardly finish a single thought. Only one truly mattered, the same that repeated over and over since we passed through Bronne’s gates.

“Sidelle?” I’d never given voice to her name before. She was no more than a stranger—a stranger who held my fate in her delicate hands. “What is it you want from me when we reach Raven Ridge?”

She offered a small, contrite smile. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

Hours passed, and the witch failed to provide a concrete answer. Under different circumstances, I would’ve fled the first chance I got, regardless of her intentions. I’d stick to my plan of riding out the winter in Breckenridge, then venture off to somewhere nobody knew this face.

But, after some level-headed appraisal of the situation, Raven Ridge didn’t seem that bad. Fleeing meant navigating miles of unfamiliar forests, risking run-ins with any number of strange inhabitants. Seeing these forests for the first time reminded me of a book I owned as a child, The Beasts of Westryelle. In which I learned most creatures resided right here in Vylandria.

My interests had always been a stark contrast to other girls. While they liked romantic, heroic adventures, I loved to read about wolves as big as bears with dagger-sharp fur around their necks, and tricky wood spirits called nymphs that confused the minds of travelers, luring them to their deaths.

And night-mares.

Thosewere my favorite—a black horse with a fleshless skull for a head. Protruding from the space between their empty eye-sockets was a spiraled golden horn meant for impaling its enemies. Larger males bore fleshy wings, akin to a wyvern, and were said to be aggressive and extremely territorial.

I always wondered if they were real, or just embellished stories to scare us into staying far away from Vylandria. But if creatures like that truly existed, I wasn’t ready to meet them. Thanks to the king, I never received my lent for the bounty—and the bastards never returned my weapons.

If Vylandria’s beasts weren’t dangerous enough to keep me from fleeing, the extensive trek would be. I’d need to cross the entirety of Calrund before reaching Breckenridge, though the journey itself wasn’t what worried me. If the king found out I fled, he’d likely throw a bounty on my head. Unfortunately, I knew plenty of hunters who would be happy to oblige. Men I crossed, rejected, or out-killed—who still held a pathetic grudge against me. A king’s bounty would be like ringing a dinner bell.

I’d have to be two teeth short of a smile to refuse the witch’s aid. And though I was a lot of things—stubborn, impulsive, hot-tempered—I wasn’t stupid.

I reclined against the carriage wall, observing the land transform outside. The forest dwindled into vast rolling plains. Streams cut along the road, peppered with late summer blooms and thick moss. My only certainty regarding this province was its immense size. I didn’t know how far we had left to travel, but if we kept heading north, I’d need to acquire warmer clothes. The chill was already more than I preferred.

Last winter, I had a good thing going with the innkeeper’s son in New Haven, near Calrund’s eastern border. He ensured I had a bed to sleep in, provided he could warm it from time to time. And warm it, he did.

I never told him so, but I was grateful to him. Rhymes never tried to make us into anything we weren’t. I’d been upfront with what I was, my lifestyle—and he never balked. Not even when I returned in the dead of night with blood staining my shirt, or when I kept my bounties’ heads beneath the bed as he fucked me. He never complained, never asked questions. He was just—Rhymes.

I glanced at the witch, who’d been sitting in silence for hours. Her large, dark eyes darted behind closed lids, as if searching for something. I held my tongue this whole time, but it gave me the creeps.

“What are you doing?” I asked. A fraction of annoyance slipped into my tone.

Her eyes flew open at the sudden loss of quiet. “I’m seeing. Or at least trying to.”

“Seeing?” I let out a small laugh. “Like a fortune teller?”

Sidelle’s lips pursed. “Humans jest about soothsayer gifts as if they’re nothing more than a party trick. We are highly revered among the druids.”

I went silent and chewed my cheek, folding my hands in my lap. “So how much longer ‘til we get to your village?”

The witch, trying to return to her strange meditative state, said, “It’s a two days’ ride from the castle. We should arrive at Raven Ridge by nightfall.”

I nodded, mostly to myself, since her eyes were closed again. “So… what are you seeing?”

Sidelle answered with a frustrated sigh. “Nothing. The lines of communication are irritatingly one-sided.” She dropped her hands onto the cushioned bench with a thump.

“Do the gods talk to you often?”

“Usually it’s Erezos I speak with, but he’s been silent for a couple of decades now.”

My nose scrunched. “Who?”

She shifted, getting comfortable, then crossed her legs as if to settle in for a conversation. “Erezos, the god of mana and darkness.”

“That sounds… ominous.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.” A soft chuckle escaped from Sidelle’s lips, adding a touch of levity to the moment. “Not all darkness is malicious, just as not all light is good. But where light and life can never exist, darkness thrives,” she said, pushing that same troublesome strand of hair out of her face.

I propped my feet up on the bench. “So why do you think your gods aren’t talking to you?”

Her lips formed a tight line, and gave a dejected shrug.

A heavy blanket of shadow fell over the carriage, drawing our attention. We turned to the windows to see the sun’s rays crowded from the sky by dark clouds. I hurried forward and pressed my face against the window, hoping to get a view of the sky above. The cool glass bit at my warm cheek as my eyes widened at the sight.

Overhead, clouds churned like thick, inky swirls bolstered by heavy winds. The immense, slow, thunderous roll that escaped them made the land shudder. A shape in the distance caught my eye. Amidst the overgrown, sun-kissed grass that danced in the wind were gray formations. They strewed about the ground in all directions, varying in shape and size.

A flash of lightning streaked the sky, illuminating the fields below, and I narrowed my eyes to make out what they were. Broken stone men. There were so many of them.

“What is this place?”

“The stone forest.” A hint of sorrow dusted her words. She leaned forward to get her own view of the massive stones.

“Who carved them?”

“They weren’t carved. They, at one time, lived.”

My ears perked, and my gaze snapped to hers. “What happened to them?”

Instead of answering, Sidelle pulled a long wooden staff from behind the drapery, then used it to knock on the far wall, alerting the coachman. The staff bore beautiful intricate carvings all along the sand-colored wood. However, what really caught my attention was the decorative rough-hewn stone affixed to the top. Iridescent even in the muted light, and larger than my fist.

A moonstone—one that would fetch a small fortune in the dark markets. Aside from its beauty, there was something strange about it. This allure—a dull tugging within my chest that I couldn’t explain. An invisible tether pulled taut.

Sidelle noticed my lingering gaze, and I forced my eyes away, doing my best to seem unphased.

“Let’s take a walk to stretch our legs.”

“Now?” I asked. “It’s gonna storm.”

She laughed. “The sky’s been this way for centuries.”

When I emerged from the carriage, wind slammed against my body with the weight of crashing waves. It stopped, only to gust again, catching me off guard. A sudden throbbing ache pounded in my skull, and I pressed my palms to my forehead. It had to be all this magic, mana—whatever. The air was utterly saturated with it. Like the thick yellow pollen of springtime, it bombarded my sinuses, building pressure behind my eyes.

The dwarven coachman cleared his throat, his bushy features conveying his irritation. “It’ll be dark soon, m’lady,” his gruff voice warned.

Sidelle paid him no mind and led me up a small hill east of the carriage. The wind blew in furious gusts, rousing the grasses into rippling waves that nipped and stung my bare arms like tiny snake bites. I trudged behind her to the crest, where she stared out over the plains.

It was worse than I could’ve imagined—a necropolis of stone bodies.

I moved to one of the nearby statues and ran my fingers over its rough, grainy surface. The sculpture was on his side, but where the face should’ve been was a blank space of crumbled, deteriorating rock. Further out, I spotted a stone face half-buried and twisted into an agonizing display of gritted teeth with eyes squeezed shut. I’d seen the same expression on many men’s faces as I drove a blade between their ribs. When I turned my gaze toward the statue beneath my palm, it was evident the two pieces were once whole.

The witch appeared at my side. “It’s awful, isn’t it?” she said with solemn sincerity. I could only nod. “Annorah created them.”

I frowned. “She had magic?” I spoke so low I worried the wind carried my words away unheard.

But she gave a slow nod. “You know the story of Atreus, how the god of man and light gifted him to the former king.”

I nodded, though it wasn’t a question. All humans knew this tale. King Atreus, bequeathed by the light god, Aethier, to be the one true king of Westryelle.

“A king promised to rule forever.” Sidelle gave a soft scoff at her own words and shook her head. “What humans don’t remember is that there was another child presented that day.”

“Annorah, I presume?”

“She was gifted to King Carlisle first, actually, from Erezos.”

I was still processing the fact that I looked like a long-dead princess. Now I’m to find that she was a gift from mana and darkness? My stomach churned with the sky overhead. Sidelle sighed and shifted her staff to the hand closest to me. That strange tugging sensation returned, accompanied by the growing discomfort in my head.

“The same day Erezos blessed King Carlisle with Annorah, Aethier granted him Atreus. King Carlisle raised them with the intention that the two would rule together. ‘A symbol of equality of the races,’ he said.” Her shoulders pulled back with indignation. “But human life is so fleeting, and Atreus took advantage of that. He betrayed Annorah, cast her and all Vylandrians from the royal city, and was set on killing her to protect what he claimed as his alone.” A pained expression painted Sidelle’s beautiful features.

“Did you know Annorah well?” I asked.

She nodded. “She was like a sister to me. I was heartbroken when she died.”

My gaze settled on the horizon as lightning streaked the sky. “I’ve felt loss like that, too. That kind of pain sticks with you forever.” And when you live forever… I met Sidelle’s soft eyes, then quickly looked away, clearing my throat. “So what happened then, after Annorah died?”

“Atreus scrubbed the city clean of Annorah’s image, then the record books of her accomplishments.” Something burned in her words, as if her anger still thrived after all these years. “It only took a few generations for humans to forget all about her, and how our races were meant to be equals—not enemies.”

The sky growled, low and rumbling, growing louder like a great approaching beast. It hit its apex and sent trembles through the ground beneath our feet, then dissipated over the landscape.

“So, what does all that have to do with this place?” I asked.

“Annorah was young when her mana first surfaced, twelve or so. She practiced her control by creating these stone golems.” She gestured with the staff toward the bust beside us with an appreciative smile riding her lips. “It was impressive mana. Creating life, however simple it was, is something no druid had ever accomplished. And here was this young, human girl with such power.

“For whatever reason, each golem she created migrated here.” She nodded to the rolling hills. “No one, even Annorah, knew why. Eventually, it became known as the stone forest.”

“Who destroyed them?” I asked, rubbing the cold from my arms. My curiosity piqued, but my head pounded in a steady rhythm, and I longed to return to the soft carriage seats.

“They sacrificed themselves the night Annorah died. The mana that resided within them was used in the ritual that took her life.”

My brows pinched. “Hold on—a ritual? I assumed King Atreus killed her.”

“Oh, he absolutely wanted her dead. Make no mistake about that. But, leading up to his betrayal, Erezos came to me with a warning. One we couldn’t ignore.”

A shiver seemed to rock through the witch, making my stomach twist into a ball of knots.

She squared herself on me, a silent request for her undivided attention. “Annorah sacrificed herself. The High Witches of the Vylandrian Covens, myself included, freed her soul from her body while allowing her mana to reside in this variant.”

Variant? “Why though?”

Her eyes burned with the memory seeming to play out behind them. “Erezos had granted Annorah access to his power. She possessed a fraction of the boundless mana of our god, and Atreus sought to destroy it. Erezos, in return, promised to bring destruction to Westryelle if we let that happen. His power was to remain safe.”

I could tell she was expecting some sort of reaction from me, but I wasn’t sure how to respond—or if I even believed any of it.

This heaviness pushed down on me as if someone piled crates on my shoulders. Perhaps I might still find a way to Breckenridge after all. Maybe once I got my wits about me, I could steal a horse, start for the coast, catch a ship. Risks be damned.

My head gave a violent pound of agreement. Whatever this was, whatever part the witch or the king thought I played in this, was a mistake. I didn’t belong here. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I’d been riding high on a fresh bounty to fill my pockets with the outlook of sun and sandy coasts in my future. Now I was trapped in a foreign country with the same face as a dead martyr.

As if she sensed my spiraling thoughts, Sidelle said, “I know this is a lot to take in.” Her voice was soft, gentle. “We don’t have to continue, but I hope, when you’re ready, I can share more with you.”

“Of course there’s more.”

My sarcasm must have been lost on the witch because she came closer, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. It was likely meant to be a comfort, but all I could focus on was the proximity of that moonstone. My skull threatened to burst, and I struggled against the sensation in my chest. Like a winch, it yanked me closer and closer—as if pulling my heart from my body.

Somewhere far off, as if I’d been shoved underwater, Sidelle spoke, her words fading in and out, “I want you… a home in Raven Ridge… hope someday… trust… friend–”

The witch’s mouth moved, and I tried with feverish effort to focus, but the roar in my head drowned everything out. The hiss of grass blades against stone whistled with the howl of the wind in a hollow, ghostly moan. But the stones echoed a voice of their own, a low baritone, a hum. It radiated inside me—I could feel what they wanted.

I tried to shove it away and told myself that it was the magic confusing my senses. It reverberated in the depths of my mind, a rhythmic mantra urging me to—to rebuild them. With the last bit of mental strength I could collect, I thrust the voices from my head, but my efforts were as futile as shoving against a wave of water.

Something must have alerted the witch to my discomfort, because I could faintly hear her honey-sweet voice repeating my name. Then the pain made a final, violent surge.

It was like being torn apart, trapped inside an echoing room with thousands of voices all speaking, shouting, calling to me at once. A blinding, bright light flooded my senses, so strong my eyes clenched shut, and my knees gave out.

Sidelle called my name again, but I couldn’t answer.

Then—as quick as a blink—the pain was gone. Relief sagged my shoulders forward as a heavy sense of fatigue sank into my bones. It took everything in me to remain upright and conscious. When a feather-light essence of cool mist fanned my skin like a dense fog, I tried and failed to open my eyes. I could faintly make out the weightless sensation of being lifted from the ground and carried away.

Then I drifted into a deep, easy sleep.