Labyrinth of Broken Vows

Prologue

T he smoke swirls in the obsidian crystal, a dance of shadows and whispers. It curls like a serpent around in the black glass, seeking, searching—until it finds her.

There she is.

Her.

She sits at the table, the warmth of the candlelight making her glow like some forgotten goddess, her eyes tracing every word in her book with that look of longing. She reads as though the pages could save her, as though the world inside could lift her from her reality. I watch her lips part, her fingers drifting over the words as if they are sacred. How I wish she would look at me like that—her eyes filled with wonder, her heart open.

But I am a shadow in her world, nothing more than a flicker she cannot see.

A soft caw echoes beside me, and I feel the presence in my mind before her voice touches me. The crow perches on my shoulder, it’s black feathers like midnight against my cloak.

She will never know unless you make her.

I don’t respond, but the weight of the words settles deep in my chest. My crow knows me too well, sees through the layers of my silence. It always has. She has been my closest companion in this world —my friend, my mind's other half. Her thoughts weave into mine, no need for words, no need for anything but that invisible thread that ties us together. I feel her affection, her loyalty, and I return it, silently, always.

But then, the vision changes. The air in her little kitchen shifts, darkening, thickening with dread. I know what’s coming before it happens, and already my grip tightens on the staff. The door crashes open, a sound I’ve come to hate, and there he is—her husband, the knight who calls her his own. His footsteps are heavy, filled with anger, and she flinches before he even speaks

My heart twists as I see her, the way her shoulders hunch, the way she quickly hides her book behind the dishes, as if he could rip that small piece of joy from her hands, too. Her body betrays her fear, and I feel it echo through the crystal, through the bond I have with her though she doesn’t know it exists. She shrinks under his gaze, his presence consuming the room, just as I have watched him consume her spirit piece by piece. I cannot bear it any longer.

The crow presses closer to me, her mind touching mine, urging me to act. Her thoughts are quiet, but they burn with the same rage I feel. He will bleed, I think, knowing the crow hears it as clearly as if I had spoken aloud.

Her wings shift, and I feel her satisfaction, her approval. She knows me, understands the need that grows within me, the fury that coils tighter each time I see her like this—broken, fearful, trapped.

I will spill his blood, I will carve her freedom from her husband’s flesh, one scream at a time.