Black Sea

Prologue

I had a bad feeling.

It felt like a winding tingle crawling up my spine. The wind was so hot that it drained the oxygen from my lungs with each breath, carrying a suffocating, burning smell. The ashes still swirled in the air, coating the walls of my throat.

But there was also something else.

An obscure sensation descended over me, as thick as the dark clouds that had covered the sky since dawn. A sensation that seemed to whisper in my pointy ear like an eerie sigh.

Like a call.

Crouched down, I drove the fingers of one hand—covered by an iron bracer up to the knuckles—into the charred and, unbelievably, still warm ground, my eyes roaming what had once been the lushest meadows and hills I had ever seen.

Now, this land was a bleak, black desert scattered with the remains of carbonized trees and animals.

And in the middle of that dreadful landscape, more than three miles from our camp, rose a terrifying black onyx fortress. It was made of sharp edges and pointed towers that stretched up to the sky, as if to tear it open and pierce the sun, casting us into perpetual darkness.

Mornon, the greatest enemy the people of the Lands of the East had ever faced, had been living there for more than three thousand years.

Born from the forbidden union of an elf and a witch, Mornon had lived among the elves for many years without problems, although the magic in his veins was so different from our people’s ethereal magic.

Until the day he’d met Calien.

Queen of the Elves and my paternal grandmother, she was the kindest being. She enjoyed walking barefoot through our realm’s villages, blessing harvests, houses, and children, and offering help where she already knew it was needed.

Because Calien had the gift of foresight.

But not only that. The Spirits had granted her another power. With their blessing, Calien was able to breathe life back into the dead.

And when Mornon had seen her resurrect a butterfly that a child from his village had accidentally crushed while lying in a field of daisies, he was struck.

His admiration for the queen had quickly turned into a true obsession, causing Mornon to follow her every move whenever she left her palace in Aegel, the capital of the Kingdom of the Elves.

For he longed for Calien’s powers more than anything.

Over the centuries, Mornon had secretly enhanced his dark magic, becoming so powerful that he single-handedly took the palace. Wiping out anyone in his path and driving back my father and his sister, Tìnuviel, he reached Calien and fought her, aiming to tear the power from her and make it his own.

Realizing she stood no chance against the ancient evil that was pervading Mornon, the queen had decided to sacrifice herself.

With the assistance of the Spirits, who appeared that one time to cast Mornon out of the Kingdom of Elves, Calien used her final energies to transform into a crystal.

She poured her magic into it and entrusted it to her descendants to protect in the ages to come.

My aunt had then become the keeper of Calien’s Crystal, and our skilled blacksmiths crafted it into a pendant she could always wear.

After centuries of absence—likely confined in his hiding spot to gain even more dark power—Mornon had come back, more powerful than before, now accompanied by a small army of monsters summoned through black magic.

Unfortunately, he won that day.

And right before my father’s shocked eyes, Tìnuviel died as Mornon ripped Calien’s Crystal from her neck.

Confident in his victory, Mornon had retreated and destroyed the lands where we now stood to build his terrifying dwelling.

But things hadn’t gone as he hoped. Since then, he had never been able to absorb Calien’s power. His cries of rage and despair had echoed across the Lands of the East for millennia.

And for millennia, my kind had failed to take the Crystal back, struggling to overcome the barriers of demons Mornon unleashed against us while remaining inside his fortress.

But today, we would force him to face us.

And we would defeat him once and for all, as we were no longer alone. After centuries of failed attempts, my father ultimately succeeded in forging an alliance with the current rulers of both men and witches.

And now, our three armies occupied the large camp behind me. The harsh voices of the humans, combined with the deep voices of the witches and the melodic voices of the elves, created a cacophony that made it hard for me to catch the sounds coming from Mornon’s fortress.

“Nauriel?”

I turned to my older brother as he steadily walked over, his white armor—inlaid with copper leaves rather than gilded like mine—standing out against the dark ground.

I peered at the frown on his chiseled face. A muscle twitched on his square, tense jaw.

“What is it, Araton?” I asked as I slowly stood up.

A gust of wind tousled his long, light-brown hair and the ends of the side braids that held a tiara of coppery leaves on his forehead. “Father wants to see you.”

My brow pulled. Father and I usually didn’t meet before a battle, but right on the field, just moments before the attack. Why did he send for me?

Did he have the same strange feeling I had?

I was about to ask Araton what was happening when the sudden puff of the fortress entrance hinges distinctly reached our ears. The joints produced a long, eerie creak, and the massive double door slowly began to open.

My blue eyes darted toward Araton’s jade-green ones. “We move,” I ordered.

My brother gripped the hilt of the sword hanging at his side and nodded. “I’ll see you at the end, Sister,” he said with a grin, then turned and turned around without waiting for a reply.

I watched his coppery cape flutter behind him as he strode away, disappearing among the tents, then I looked back at the fortress.

The doors were nearly halfway open, and, thanks to my elven eyesight, I could already glimpse the horrifying beasts fidgeting behind the entrance, ready to surge onto the burned plain.

I held my fist in front of me and opened it, watching the ashen dirt disperse in the wind. Then I spun around and marched through the white tents of our army, heading toward Father’s. I passed between the two guards on either side of the veranda and pushed aside one of the tent flaps to go inside.

King Erech stood before the large oak table.

His white armor and cloak enhanced his regal appearance.

In his right hand, he carried his legendary golden-blade spear, renowned for his battle glory.

With the shaft made of walnut wood, inscribed with magical runes by the Spirits, the weapon granted extraordinary strength to the wielder in the fight against evil.

“Father,” I said curtly.

He ceased examining the map with the armies’ positions on the table and lifted his head. The torchlight flickered on the crown of white-gold leaves resting on his straight, brown hair, which was gathered in a braided half-ponytail.

“I want you to stay behind, Nauriel, with the King of Men and the Queen of the Witches,” he announced solemnly.

My heart skipped a beat.

“You expect me to stand by while my people face Mornon’s legion?” I hissed. “My people’s blood will soon soak this cursed land, and I shall not leave them alone.”

Father turned toward me, and his small sapphire eyes darkened with anguish for a moment. Araton inherited our mother’s aristocratic attractiveness, but my stern beauty came from Erech.

“I shall be at your side,” I declared. “As I’ve always been since you taught me how to use a sword.”

He frowned. “Araton will fill your absence. He’s stronger than you.”

A fit of anger hit me, and I took a step forward.

“He is not, and you know it.” For that reason, he’d named us both generals of the elven army.

Our fighting skills were equal. I peered over at my father’s inscrutable face.

“Why are you acting like this? You’ve never kept me away from a battle before. ”

He closed his eyes with a sigh, then brushed my golden blonde hair back over my shoulder with a shy, gentle smile—the same one he always gave me when we were alone.

“My daughter,” he said. “Today, we shall triumph. I’m sure about that. But I don’t know at what cost.”

Upset, I was about to reply but Father raised a hand to command me not to interrupt him.

“If I should fall, I want you to take my place.”

I just blinked at him. “Araton is your heir.”

He gave me an indulgent look. “Araton is not suited for the throne, and he knows that too. But you . . .” He contemplated my tiara of golden leaflets, tucked between my side braids.

“You are so like your grandmother. And, like her, you will know how to guide and protect our people with grace and wisdom. You will keep Calien’s Crystal until you deem it right.

Then you will choose a new and worthy keeper and head toward your Rest”—he traced my jawline with the back of his index finger—“where we will see each other again.”

I stared at him in shock. An unfamiliar pain started spreading in waves from the center of my chest. I couldn’t accept my father’s decision.

I couldn’t.

But when I took a breath to speak, the sound of an elven horn soared above the howl of the wind, followed by the deepest sound of the men’s horn and the sharpest sound of the witches’ horn.

It was time.

“May the Spirits be with you always, fire of my heart,” Erech blessed me, kissing me on the forehead. Then, swift and flowing like water, he passed me and left the tent.

My breath grew heavier as I bit back tears. I took a moment to collect myself, then stepped outside and weaved through the chaos of tents, soldiers, and knights already mounted on their black horses, heading toward the large tents that served as stables.

When I got there, I stopped in my tracks.

My brother and his mate, Serie, with very long red hair and emerald eyes, stood facing each other as they held their horses. His free hand was placed on her heart, and hers was on his. Their foreheads touched, and their eyes were closed.