Chapter 2
Barlowe stands unmoving from the hit, arms crossed as if he’s been waiting for my arrival. My ears ring from the collision. “I… thought you’d be longer,” I say, breathless.
His brow furrows. “Are you alright?”
Glancing back over my shoulder, I work to catch my breath. “I… I’m…” I trail off, unable to find the words.
“Briar? What is going on?” Barlowe grabs my arm, pulling me closer to the wall. “Are you hurt?”
His strong hold on my arm doesn’t help steady my trembling legs. He notices the letter in my hand, and our eyes meet in an immediate understanding that it’s something bigger than just a piece of paper. “What’s that?” he asks, reaching for it.
“It’s why I’m all over the place right now, Barlowe.”
“You don’t receive many letters, I take it?”
“Not letters that I think are from our dead mother,” I snap and grab his bicep, yanking him into my bedroom.
This doesn’t need to be discussed where unwanted ears lurk.
My bed is unmade, and the dim lighting makes the area look depressing and cold. The fire barely crackles from the sitting area and books are scattered around the room, not helping the already dusty ambiance.
“You need to explain what’s going on right now, Briar.” Barlowe remains standing near the fireplace, his face still unreadable but his voice harsh.
I stalk to the window, needing to give myself a moment to process.
I throw open the heavy curtains, allowing minimal lighting from the gray sky to fill the area.
The gloom of the town spreads sorrow through my bones and doesn’t help settle the tension floating around the room. Gathering my thoughts, I turn to him.
He’s taken a seat on an antique chair near the fireplace, his large body barely fitting into the old piece of furniture. “Briar! What the fuck is going on?”
The sudden shout makes me flinch. “Rose handed me this letter just moments ago in the kitchen. I panicked when I noticed the handwriting.” I join him in the sitting area, extending my arm and holding the letter.
“Why would Rose have this? Doesn’t she know taking letters that aren’t hers could get her in trouble? If she was found with this, who knows what our father would have done. He’s more on edge than normal, it seems.”
Barlowe’s eyes refuse to make contact with the letter as if he can’t bear the thought of this really happening right now.
“She wouldn’t have been caught, so don’t be dramatic. She does things for me like that. She’s about the only person in this castle that helps me these days.”
Barlowe rolls his eyes at me.
“I need you to look at this, Barlowe. You would know her handwriting better than me.” I move the letter closer to him once more.
His eyes slowly lower as if taking as much time as he can to make eye contact. Seconds later, his eyes dart away, and he glances toward the crackling fire, sighing. “That’s her handwriting, Briar.”
I nod, a small sob leaving my throat. “Why would a letter come today? After five years, why is this happening on the same day you arrive home?”
He shrugs as if he’s carrying more weight than he’d ever admit. Barlowe grabs the letter and studies it a bit longer this time, “I’m not sure, to be honest, but it can’t be a coincidence.”
“I’m aware of that,” I snap. “But what aren’t you telling me?”
He doesn’t respond.
I snatch the letter from him, rip open the bond, and read:
Dearest shadow,
I ask for your forgiveness for leaving this realm so early.
If you are reading this, that means I am not around to tell you in person.
As a child, I often told you the stories of the Greats and how our magic came to us.
Long ago, there was a horrific battle between two Great Wiitches who were descendants of the God of Shadows, Raddnoke, and the God of Light, Kantore.
These Great Wiitches were cursed with magic directly from those vengeful Gods.
Carobon was said to be a direct descendent of the God of Lumor.
His magic was made of sheer light so bright it blinded all enemies that crossed his path.
And Kalix, the descendent of the God of Shadows, was pure horror, nothingness, and could bring your worse fears to life.
We changed our names from Wiitches to Wielders, and I fear some Wiitches are bringing back the magic that should have been long forgotten. Things will change now, my princess, and I fear for you and your brother. Look for me where you feel at peace, and I will find you.
All my heart.
I turn to look at Barlowe, his eyes already wide, as both of us remain quiet, unsure of what to say. Exhaling, I break the silence, “Please tell me, Barlowe. Do you have any clue what she’s referring to?”
He closes his eyes momentarily before saying, “About the history lesson? No, I have no clue why she would tell us that story. We’ve heard it countless times before.
” He pauses. “As far as the other piece, yes. There have been talks in other kingdoms of something greater at work. Something bigger is about to happen. The surrounding kingdoms have been sensing a power shift with the magic like it’s building for something or someone.
Many have been concerned and talking lately. ”
“Do you think Father is involved?”
“People seem to think so, yes. I’m not so sure.
He’s a recluse. I think he just wants to be left alone, but like I said, this letter isn’t a coincidence.
Someone was told to send this letter at this exact time.
We need to be careful, and you need to stay out of trouble until I can find out what’s going on. ”
I rub my temples since my head is pounding like an animal locked in a cage. The exhaustion from not sleeping weighs heavily on me. I toss the letter on the table before us.
Barlowe squeezes my shoulder. “I’m going to have to tell Father about this.”
I snap my head in his direction. “There is no way I’m letting you involve him. He doesn’t deserve to know a thing about what’s happened today.”
“We aren’t children anymore, Briar. As commander of this army, it is my duty to keep our kingdom safe and inform the king. Not telling him vital news is treason. If he found out we withheld this information, we would be next in line for a public punishment.”
I sigh. “I understand. But promise me you will keep this between us for a little while until I can find out what’s going on.”
I grab the letter and move toward the end of my bed. Lifting the mattress, I shove it under the corner.
I turn and meet Barlowe’s gaze. The brother I was once closer to than anyone sits before me, but a stranger is the one who stares back.
“How have things been, Briar? I’m sorry I haven’t written much lately. The training has become more grueling, and those men up there really depend on me, you know?
“I understand,” I lie. “Things have been pretty normal around here. I spend most of my days in the kitchen helping Rose and Lang and the other half of the day avoiding our father. I’m a professional at this point.”
Barlowe laughs, “What an exciting life you live, sister. So… how is Maines?”
“Why do you ask?” I smile, angling my head.
“Just curious.”
Before I can open my mouth, there’s another knock on the door. “What is the deal with people coming to my door today?”
The door swings open with force as Thatcher enters before I can reach the knob. “Hi, sweetheart.” He breezes past me with an arrogance that makes me cringe. “Oh, look, Barlowe is here too. What a fun family reunion.”
Thatcher Madden is third-in-command of my father’s army—below Barlowe and his own father, Elrod Madden.
Unfortunately, Thatcher didn’t travel with my brother to the training camps, and he has been competing with him for years.
I, however, have been here suffering from his hatred by mere association.
“What in the Gods do you want, Thatcher?” I demand.
“I heard Barlowe the Magnificent returned from up north. Word is he has been beating everyone’s ass at training camp. I heard they were so sick of him that they kicked him out. I thought I’d come to pay my favorite Blackbyrne siblings a warm visit and see if the rumors were true.”
I fight the urge to gag at Thatcher Madden being in my bedroom.
That’s one thing I never want to experience again.
Thatcher is two years older, and even though he is one of the most handsome men in Daramveer, his personality makes him uglier than the hags in the sewers.
He stands heads taller than our largest soldiers and often uses that as a weapon of intimidation.
His hair resembles the shade of a ripe blackberry, cut close to his head, and his ice-blue eyes are sharp and stunning but show no soul.
Elrod Madden—my father’s right-hand man for everything—also possesses the same looks and intimidation tactics.
I can never understand how his sister, Maines, ended up being so lovely.
Maines is what you might call a best friend.
She is better than I am in every possible way.
She is warm and inviting, and I’ll never know why she chooses to be my friend.
“Thatcher, no one has time for your shit. Please leave and never enter my bedroom again,” I hiss.
I catch sight of Barlowe standing in the corner, moving closer, noticing the energy shift in the room.
“Oh, what I would do to be in this bedroom for other reasons, Briar. Unfortunately, I’m here on business, sweetheart.”
Barlowe is at Thatcher’s throat in an instant, a dagger pressing in at the base. “Say something like that again, you disgusting pig, and I’ll cut your tongue out.”
Thatcher leans into my brother, his lips inches from his face. “There would be a lot of upset people in Daramveer if you got rid of my tongue, Barlowe.” He laughs, unfazed by the blood trickling down his neck.
Barlowe lowers his blade, stepping between me and Thatcher.
“Briar, I thought I’d let you know that our dear Maines will be returning from Eddris tomorrow morning.
She’s requested you meet her no later than nine in the morning.
” He rakes his gaze over me, making me gag.
“I must be off. Barlowe, see you soon; I’m excited to hear about your adventures.
Briar, dream of you often.” He shifts out of my bedroom, only an invisible trail of shadows left behind.
Barlowe turns to me with flaring nostrils and dark eyes. “If he ever speaks to you that way again, say the word, and he’s dead. I mean it.”
I nod, but unfortunately, Thatcher has been a pain in my ass since my brother left.
The overwhelming feeling of exhaustion hits me hard as the headache continues to pulse in my mind.
All I want to do is rest, but dread hits me, knowing when I close my eyes, it won’t be sleep I’m met with; it will be destruction caused by my own hands.
“Get some rest, Briar. I’m going to check on a few things, but let’s meet up in a few hours to talk more.”
I move to stop him from leaving but he shifts faster than I have time to react. I move toward the sitting area as a weight falls over my eyes—the warmth of the fire calming me. My eyes flutter closed as I feel myself drifting away—my shadows waiting for me in my dreams.