CHAPTER 1
Aimee
Iwake up to the frantic rhythm of my heart.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
I flex my fingers around the dagger hidden under my pillow and try to scan the scantily furnished room I’m in.
My bedroom.
Through my blurred, sleep-hazed vision, I can decipher soft hues of yellow and burned copper creeping in, bathing the dull, white walls in an eerily glow.
It’s almost dawn.
I force my eyes to blink through unshed tears, struggling to focus on different objects.
One chair.
Two slippers haphazardly thrown on the wooden floor planks.
Three gilded belly chains hung on the dresser door.
Four books about self-defense techniques on top of the crummy nightstand.
I take one long, shaky breath, willing my lungs to work properly, before exhaling slowly, and repeating the process several times.
Grounded. I feel more grounded in the now.
“It was nothing. Just another nightmare.” I release another breath and relax against the wooden frame of the bed.
You’d think by now I should be used to waking up startled and confused, my brain foggy, riddled with the night terrors that torture me in a loop.
I groan and throw my arm against my eyes, shielding my sight from the emerging gilded rays that stream through the small window.
I should still have a few hours of slumber until I’m needed at The Twinkling Meadow, the place where all Fae, mighty or common alike, convene for pure debauchery and unhindered rapture.
Yet the foreboding whisper of my grandmother still rings in my head. “Beware the argent hue, beware the sable depths.”
Not that godforsaken prophecy again!
Slowly, I get up from the small comfort of the sheets, and drag myself to the tiny en-suite bathroom. The gray stone walls do nothing to appease my gloomy mood, but hopefully a bath will chase the unwanted thoughts away. As if!
I sit on the edge of the partially green copper bathtub, and swirl my hand in the hot water, waiting for the bath to fill.
I really should find the time to scrub the patina away before it swallows the whole tub.
It’s looking more and more as if I’m bathing into a murky swamp.
Not really the soothing experience I need right now.
“Just another shit start to another shitty day.” I sigh to myself as I sink into the scorching water, willing the warmth to relax my muscles and dispel the last remnants of my nightmare.
But I’m too tense, my body rigid and aching, as if I’ve been running all night long around town.
Must be from all the thrashing and turning in bed.
When it’s clear that nothing is going to have the intended effect, I submerge myself completely and start counting.
One.
“Beware the argent hue…”
Two.
“It shall all start anew when blood weeping heavens…”
I clench my teeth until pain explodes in my gums. Get out of my head, Grandma!
Three.
“…And doom endured for all eternity.”
I let myself come up for air, drawing in my breath as evenly as I can muster right now. My grandmother’s words slosh through my brain as vividly as when I was a little child and she would recite the baleful divination every night before sleep.
Other children would get bedtime stories about enchanting forests, beautiful damsels in distress and the brave knights that would prove their worth a thousand times over, just for a chance at true love.
For us, it was the same dreary prophecy, whispered with awe and resigned unease. But I guess that’s what happens when one is presumed to be the Foretold One. And what is worse than being the main subject of such a cursed prophecy is being her magicless sister.
Me.
The night my twin sister and I were born, twenty-three summers ago, an inexplicable natural phenomenon occurred, painting the sky in shades of fiery red and crimson, and even reflecting in the drops of water that fell from the sky just after midnight.
A mind prone to science might find an explanation for such an occurrence. Similar to the Aurora Borealis, but happening in a time and place completely out of odds with the normal sightings of the Northern Lights.
The Fae folk of Ibrok, the capital city of the Ryawarath Kingdom, were not such scholars. A far cry from it.
For them, it was a sign from the Fae Gods. Clear and indisputable evidence that spoke of a prophecy from thousands of years ago.
The words of the Wise Ones, as my grandma used to call them, revealed the birth of a chosen Fae that could lead our world to utter destruction or to unerring redemption… This being of immense power would hold the fates of an entire realm in the grasp of her fingers.
None other than my sister, Aurora, born a few minutes before me. When she exhibited powers right after birth, and I did not, our paths diverged.
She was named after the fiery lights, blessed by the Gods with Silver Shadows, a shimmering gray mist crackling with flaming energy, considered to be the most powerful shadows in existence during our era.
The Silver Shadows are second in strength only to the lost Dark Shadows, obsidian powers so rare and unnerving that they disappeared from our realm eons ago.
Most Faes with shadow-wielding powers have the most common version, the foggy White Shadows.
A select few throughout history have wielded Silver Shadows, but none were born under the bleeding heaven’s omen like my sister.
I was born, in theory, under the same dark omen. However, the crones couldn’t sense any twinge of magic in me. I failed to develop abilities after birth or at any point in time afterwards. I was an unwanted by-product of the prophecy.
Magicless Faes are not unheard of.
It’s not very common.
It happens in the lower classes. Parents with watered-down magic have nothing left to pass on to their progeny.
To happen in a noble Fae family was a transgression our father could never forgive me for, as if it were my fault to begin with.
He had hoped for two strong male heirs. Instead, he had gotten the Foretold One, on whom he focused all his rigid, disciplinarian attention, and the powerless disgrace of the family.
Sometimes I’ve pondered if he hadn’t hoped that the Gods would bestow upon him the grace and honor to restore the Dark Shadows to our lands. Why? I could not fathom it. He was a powerful fire Elemental Fae himself, but not powerful enough to beget such offspring.
I imagine that his grandiose beliefs, and the utter disappointment when they didn’t come to fruition, were the catalyst for his lack of parental care.
I know little about the bygone Dark Shadows of my kind.
Legends say the last Dark Shadow-bringers roamed the lands of Imiryion long before our realm was divided into the three kingdoms that rule it now.
Nobody remembers with certainty the tales of the past, of how and why those Dark Fae wielders perished.
Rumors abound, whispered like secrets in the dead of night.
They speak of great battles, of Faes and vampires scorching the realm in their quest for power.
Our first ruler, King Finvarra the Great, defeated the bloodthirsty menace, and united our lands into the thriving kingdom it is today.
Ryawarath, the Kingdom of the Fae, occupies the central and lower half of the continent, bordered by the Kingdom of Wrahta in the North, the terror-riddled dominion of the vampires.
Far in the South, across the Vrokdiff Sea, lies the Reweroth Kingdom, a massive island inhabited by the humans that fled the continent in search of haven from the ruthless bloodshed of the vampires.
The prophecy that seems to revolve around my sister foretells her purpose of defeating, or joining the Crimson One.
He is the ruthless Vampire King, a malevolent creature that wields Crimson Shadows forged from the souls of every being he has fed on and killed during his cursed existence. The only one of his doomed kind to possess such powers, unnervingly similar, yet different from Fae magic.
According to the Wise Ones, the Foretold One shall face a realm-altering decision. She will either clash with the Vampire King, bringing to an end his terror-stricken rule, or she will bond with him in an unholy matrimony, dooming all of us to eternal damnation.
For all our lives, the Faes have believed Aurora will make the right decision, vanquishing the bloodthirsty king from Imiryion.
I have seen and felt firsthand the diabolical cunning of my twin. I’m not sure about that outcome.
“Aimee, get your pretty ass out of bed; our shift starts soon!” My roommate’s voice booms from the other side of the bedroom door. Damn! I must have dozed off in the bathtub, led astray by my memories. I lost all sense of time again.
“Coming, Sariah!” I say with a drawl and rise from the now lukewarm waters of the tub. I wrap a muted gray towel around my body and proceed to my bedroom, opening the door for the quirky Light Fae to enter.
“Uhm, you look like you either didn’t close one eye all night due to enrapturing passion, or you got lost in your murky thoughts again. And since I don’t see any hunky piece of ass doing the walk of shame right now, I’ll bet it was the latter.”
The bubbly blond beauty cocks a hip against the doorframe, throwing me an accusing look.
Her slender figure is dressed in a pale blue light wool dress that complements perfectly her fair complexion and brings out the azure in her big, doe eyes.
She has such a cherubic face, and such a foul mouth.
As much as she looks like an angel straight from heaven, with her straw blonde waves, her cute dimples and rosy cheeks, her heart-shaped mouth spews more filth than an old sailor. And I absolutely love her for it!
I met Sariah shortly after I moved here, almost five years ago.
We were both taking the same basic self-defense training class for females that an old, retired mercenary dame taught that spring.
She was high-spirited and relentless in befriending me.
It took months for her to crack my shields, and I will never forget how she did not give up on my reclusive self, showing kindness and determination.
She introduced me to The Twinkling Meadow, encouraged me to explore my passions, and reluctantly broke me out of my shell.
“Just one of my nightmares again,” I say.
I sigh as I grab a silken dark blue dress, throwing the towel on the bed before I let the piece of clothing slide down my body.
It’s one of my better dresses, and I revel in the sweet caress of silk on skin, even though it’s one of the cheaper versions of the material, and not entirely appropriate for the chilly weather.
But I’m a sucker for feeling pretty, especially when I was forced for such a long time to be the ugly duckling to my sister’s delight.
I grab my simple dagger from under the pillow and proceed to sheath it in the leather strap I tied on my thigh.
Other girls feel naked without makeup or jewelry. I can’t go anywhere without my dagger. It’s my good luck charm, my number one crutch, and the only thing capable of hindering my sister if she ever comes looking for me.
“How many times have I told you? A warm, thrusting body does wonders for the soul!” Sariah chirps happily before grabbing my hand and dragging me through the crammed living area we share. “Let’s go! We need plenty of time to get ready before tonight’s spectacle. We are the entertainment after all!”
I crack a slight smile as we bypass a worn-out sofa, and grab myself a shawl from the wooden hanger by the door, before exiting our modest abode.
The swanky cabaret where we work is one of the major attractions of Annerough.
Every night, we dance our hearts away in front of all sorts of males that would throw themselves on their Godsdamned knees in front of us, begging for a chance to worship the ground we walk upon. It’s a powerful, intoxicating feeling.
The pay is not at all spectacular, hence our living conditions, but it gives me purpose and it gives me freedom.
“That we are indeed!” I say, as we lose ourselves in the hustle and bustle of Annerough.