Chapter 1
The first time I Saw my fated mate, I was only one hundred and eleven. Too young for my power to have taken root. Far too young to have my heart shattered into a thousand pieces with the knowledge that if he ever found me, he’d rob me of everything I dared love.
Unlike most Angels, his hair was an iron gray. His brows, so serious, with one jagged scar, were a dark contrast to the glacial hue of the orbs beneath them. I knew not who he was, only that his gaze pierced my defenses and choked me of air.
I’d returned to reality screaming into the darkness.
I never wanted to meet him.
Whoever he was.
Sight was supposed to be the holiest blessing from the Goddess. I thought it was a curse.
And my fated mate?
He’d only finalize the doom that our deity had started upon blessing me with irises in an icy shade of blue—the most powerful color among the Angels.
“Sylaira,” Heraphia hissed, drawing me out of the haze of anger and back to reality.
I started, hand slipping and nearly cutting myself with the sharp scrub brush.
The skillet I’d been cleaning had a deep gouge from the force of my actions.
“Sorry,” I murmured, dropping both into the washbasin.
Water sloshed, frothing the soap bubbles and wafting citrus into the air.
I turned to face my oldest friend, shoulders slumping inward—only to find aquamarine eyes wide with fright and scouring mine.
My heart leaped into my throat. “What’s happened?”
Heraphia swallowed, a hand hovering over her heart. “I think we need to move.”
I took a tentative step forward, the dishes forgotten. “Have you had a vision?”
Like me, Heraphia was blessed with Sight. Her eye color was only a shade weaker than my own, which made her—both of us—a great prize for the rulers of the Angels. For decades, we’d hidden from the crown. The Koron and Korona wanted the Seers to wield like weapons of war.
I wanted no part in their violence. In their bloodshed.
They called the loss of life Goddess-sanctioned, but it was ritualized slaughter.
The mere thought of all the broken bodies I’d Seen brought bile up from my stomach.
I’d spent my life among the Elessarum, and I’d do whatever it took to ensure my hands remained unstained by ruby.
Except See.
Which was why I consumed virelthorn like it was the air I needed to breathe.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice shivering despite the heat of the summer.
Heraphia didn’t take the herb to suppress her visions.
Three times now, a flash of the future had come a day before hunters for the Korona.
Three times now, she’d saved us from being snatched from our beds in the middle of the night.
“When?” I pressed, dread drowning my veins.
We’d only just settled in here. But the bounty for reporting members of our peaceful group had doubled since the Demons invaded the Angel’s sovereign territory the previous winter.
The army had beaten them back, but the current peace was tenuous at best. It was only a matter of time before the two realms, positioned on either side of the Skala Mountains, clashed again.
It had been ten brutal years, to say the least.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It happened so quickly. Maybe it was nothing…” Heraphia trailed off, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she gazed out the window behind me.
I grasped her hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “If you think we should go, then we will go. What did Zuriel say?”
She sighed. “He isn’t back yet. That's why I came straight to you.”
I glanced behind me at the stack of unwashed dishes. “Okay, here’s the plan. Alert the others. I’ll finish up here. We’ll be packed and ready by the time he returns.”
Our group of peace-lovers was scarcely more than twenty these days.
Two years ago, an Elessarum stronghold had been raided, during which my parents had been slain.
After the massive loss of life, we’d kept to smaller numbers, hoping to remain unnoticed among the myriad of merchants coming and going.
Zuriel, having been born to one of the noble houses of the Angel Realm, carried a regal air that was unmistakable. Perhaps he’d been spotted in the village and someone had alerted the local hunters, which had triggered his wife’s latest vision.
Whatever the case, if she sensed it was time to move on, it was time to move on.
“Do you need me to pack your bags?” Heraphia asked, dropping my hands and stepping back.
“If you can.” I offered her a sad half-smile. “There shouldn’t be much to put away. Haven’t had much time to unpack.”
Anguish twisted her lips. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault. You are always protecting us,” I said, yanking her into a warm embrace.
I rubbed my hands over her back, trying to soothe the ache of having to move on so soon.
We relied on her to keep us safe, a fact that made me feel guilty more often than not.
But I couldn’t bring myself to come off the herb and allow myself to fall into the horrors in my head.
“You’re right,” she hiccuped, and I released her. She dashed her cheeks with the backs of her wrists. “Okay, I’ll go now. No time to waste.”
“Go in peace,” I told her.
“Always in peace,” she replied. Then, she disappeared from the kitchen and into the long hall that led to the other rooms in the estate we’d rented.
Tears pricked my eyes the moment her skirt swished out of view. I held my breath for another ten seconds, stomping back toward the washbasin, and tried to stem the flow of salt so I could see what I was doing as I yanked another plate from the dirty pile.
But it was no use.
A sob choked out of me.
I was tired. So fucking tired. Of running. Of never having a place to call home. Of always looking over my shoulder. Of fearing a missed dose of virelthorn. Of the encroaching darkness that came with a vision.
Bitterness bloomed on my tongue. I stuck it in the side of my cheek and tried to ground myself.
Movement out the window caught my eye. A horse galloped toward the house, dirt flying beneath its hooves. The lake that curved against the road glittered in the midmorning sun, a gilding over the panic in the rider’s expression.
The plate I’d been holding shattered, the crack ripping my gaze away from my best friend’s husband and snapping it back to what my hands were doing. In my bones, I knew there was no time.
“Heraphia!” I yelled, backing away from the window. My fingers flew to the pockets of my skirts, searching for those precious bottles of virelthorn. I yanked one free, finding it half empty.
Fuck. We hadn’t been here long enough for me to harvest more. But I had a few spares in my bag…
Spinning on my heel, I raced into the hall, nearly colliding with my friend.
“What is it?” Hair had come loose from her long, pearlescent braid in the minutes we’d been separated, a testament to the terror she’d masked before.
“They’re coming,” I gasped out, spotting my pack in her grip. I snatched it without apology. We’d done this often enough that niceties were not expected, not when every second mattered in escaping a fate worse than death.
She shouldered past me as I dug into my belongings. My hand closed around the cool glass vials, only offering me a modicum of relief. Without care for propriety, I ripped my skirt off and shoved it inside. The tights beneath were far more conducive to sprinting.
Chaos crescendoed in the halls as Heraphia shouted a warning and pleaded with everyone to hurry. I ducked and dodged members of the Elessarum as I wove toward the front door. Flinging it open, I found Zuriel a breath from busting it down.
“The hunters are coming,” he gasped out, chest heaving. “Where is Heraphia?”
“Here!” she called out, emerging into the sun. She tossed Zuriel’s pack to him. He caught it with a loud smack and slung it over his shoulders in one smooth motion.
“We can’t wait for the others. We have to go. Now.” His normally measured, calm voice was anything but. “Korona Iaoth sent her best forces after us.”
“You don’t mean…” I trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
“That her brother is among them?” Zuriel gritted out, grabbing our arms and tugging us along toward the nearest copse of trees. “The Issaraeth is here, and if he uses his Command power, we’ll all be his hostages before high sun.”
Heraphia gasped, clutching her forehead like she could prevent him from breaking her mind and bending it to his will with a single, forceful word.
The Issaraeth was the most feared of all the Elessarum hunters. He was responsible for the death of my parents during the stronghold’s raid. Or so I’d been told. I’d never so much as glimpsed him, which counted me among the lucky ones.
His presence dug a chill into the marrow of my bones.
“We have to warn the others!” I protested, digging my heels in.
Zuriel dragged me a few paces, churning up soft earth, before he halted and gave my arm a vicious jerk. “Do you want to be forced to See until you die, Sylaira? If they capture you and Heraphia, you’ll never escape.”
“But they’ll suffer too!” I ground out, yanking my arm out of his hold. Most of them had irises in weaker shades of blue, and the lone Illusionist couldn’t conceal them on her own.
“They have to take their chances,” he shot back, a muscle jumping in his jaw like it too was impatient to flee. “Both of your visions are too powerful. Too frequent. I won’t let that happen to my wife. Or you.”
Heraphia bolted, her feet a frantic beat against the grass. Her pack bounced against her back, overfull. Just like me, her skirts were gone, aiding her escape. “Come on!”
Guilt gnawed at my gut. Zuriel was right. If I wanted to maintain my freedom—what little I had—we needed to go. Now.
Black horses surged through the thick trunks of the forest. White frothed against their bits, their riders leaning low in the saddles. Bridles gleamed with polished gems and silver adornments.
Tingles spread from my scalp to the tips of my toes.
Zuriel hadn’t been lying. The royal hunters were here.
A fleeing couple cried out, light magic exploding from them in an attempt to shield themselves against the oncoming group.
One horse reared, his scream echoing through the clearing. His rider gripped his long, black mane, mouth set into a firm, furious line.
My hand flew to my throat. My vision tunneled into a single pinprick, focused solely on the male I’d seen far too many times—but only ever in the torturous throes of my power.
Iron-gray hair. Scarred brow. Eyes colder than a glacier.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t coerce my feet into unsticking from the ground. Horror had pierced my toes to the soft grass beneath my feet.
No. No. No. Please no. It can’t be him…
The lake shimmered beside him. But to me, it was a mirror shattering. A thousand shards of my fate. Glittering. Falling. Too late to catch.
After all this time, I finally knew who my mate was.
The male who haunted countless visions. Who drove me to drug my mind into silence.
The male the Goddess cursed to be mine.
The Issaraeth.
And so the breaking began.