Cursed Evermore (Shadows and Curses #1)

Chapter 1

Elariya

“When the Dead Come Calling”

The Phantom Moon wasn't yet visible in the twilight sky, but I could feel its approach thrumming through my blood.

Its potent power whispered through the darkening forest, hissing with the wind that stirred the ancient oaks and mist surrounding me.

I clutched my satchel closer to my chest and crept along the dusty path, my steps carefully placed between fallen leaves and brittle twigs. Beneath my weathered boots the soil felt alive with the ominous feeling heavy in the air, pulsing in time with my racing heart.

All eyes would be turned toward the sky tonight. It had been six decades since the last Phantom Moon. Everyone would be eager to see it.

For me, though, this rare celestial event promised more than beauty. It promised salvation.

The Phantom Moon was my only hope of finding my father and breaking the curse that had consumed my life for the last five years.

So, I, Elariya Grayson—with my barely-there magical abilities—was setting out into the depths of Gryffyn Forest to cast a blood spell. The most forbidden of all things forbidden in all realms and in the most dangerous of places.

Even in daylight, Gryffyn Forest was treacherous. At night, stepping inside was as good as digging your own grave. A fool’s last journey.

Everyone knew thieves and other unsavory characters who preyed on young women like me lurked in these woods. Not to mention the wolves and other predators that would welcome me as potential quarry.

Tonight was particularly bad because the witch hunters would be out in full force, eager to catch anyone who dared to use the magic from the Phantom Moon.

The use of magic in the mortal lands was one sure route to death. Yet here I was, testing fate. Wrapped in shadows and cloaked in disguise, but still utterly recognizable.

I'd abandoned my silk dresses for a worn pair of pants and a threadbare linen blouse. My tattered hooded cloak should have hidden me in plain sight, but it did little to mask my blood-red hair. One look at that telltale shade and anyone would know I was Lady Grayson's daughter.

People across all seven kingdoms in the mortal realm knew who my mother was. They also distrusted mages, my mother included.

From the instant they searched my bag and found the dead crow inside, they’d know I was out here to cast a spell. Then I’d be well and truly fucked.

They’d kill me. And to make an example out of my family, they’d kill them, too.

They wouldn’t care that my father, despite his disappearance, was still Lord of Stormfell, Warden of the South, and Ambassador of Realms for the King. And they wouldn’t care that my family had tended to their sick and afflicted during the war with the North.

They’d see me as no different from the heretics whom they’d burned at the stake for being in league with the devil.

I couldn’t entirely blame their fears. I was a child of two worlds. Mage mother, human father. A mishmash hodgepodge that made people uneasy.

Even in my own mind I felt the divide. Caught between my mother's magical heritage and my father's mortal blood, I failed to fully belong to either world.

The whisper of my cloak against a thicket of low-hanging branches sounded impossibly loud in the silent forest. I flinched at the sound, cursing my carelessness and quickly drew the fabric tighter against my body with trembling fingers.

At least I’d made it this far unnoticed, and despite all the dangers of being out here, the risk was still worth it to me. I may not be as magically skilled as I needed to be to perform a blood spell, but in my heart, I felt it would work.

Something deep inside urged me to try. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.

After all my family had endured, I would never, ever risk their safety—or venture into the forest after dark—unless I believed with absolute certainty that I could make this spell work.

It had to be performed here, in this damned place, because it was in these very woods that my father had vanished. I was there when it happened.

I was there when that formidable mass of darkness devoured him.

It took him and left me trapped in a memory loop curse that reset every thirty days, on the rise of the new moon.

Five merciless years had crawled by since. Half a decade of emptiness and not knowing where my father went, with my mind condemned to relive his disappearance after witnessing what no other living soul was meant to see.

Every thirty days, all new memories slipped away like water through my fingers and I went back to that moment I lost my father. Then I’d start all over again, my memories wiped clean.

Each reset was like dying and being reborn, losing myself repeatedly with no chance to grieve, to heal, to move forward. While life and time had passed by for others, I was held captive by my mind.

Sometimes, in those moments just before forgetting, I could almost feel the hum of the dark energy that took my father from me.

Those moments were torture, but they were the only times I felt connected to him. As if our shared devastation bound us together across whatever void separated us.

I was twenty now. I couldn’t imagine living like this for another five years.

“Find your father, break the curse.” Grandmother's words rang through my mind like a death knell. As a high mage from the Ravenwood Realm, she knew exactly what bound me.

Blood.

Blood tethered me to my father. Had it not been blood, my grandmother would have been the first person out here to greet the moon. But even with all her power she couldn’t help.

A mage of her level wielding blood magic under the Phantom Moon would rip the mortal realm apart and tear holes between worlds that could never be mended.

My untrained magic made this quest uncertain but at least it wouldn’t shatter reality.

Everything I knew about magic came from secret hours with Grandmother's grimoire and the few protective spells she'd taught me to keep me safe.

Gods, if Grandmother knew I was out here defying her explicit warning, she’d flay me alive.

She’d warned me repeatedly that amateur practitioners attempting blood magic were like children playing with wildfire.

Without proper training, I had no way of knowing what power I might inadvertently unleash tonight.

But Grandmother knew me better than anyone.

She knew I'd never stand idle when there was even a sliver of hope.

I'd be damned to all six hells if I didn't try to fix this mess.

Besides, I was running out of time. There were twenty-eight days until my next memory reset, and then my practically forced marriage to Thayden would seal my fate.

Once we got married and I crossed the border into Zyvaris, where magic was not just forbidden but actively hunted on a daily basis, any chance of breaking this memory loop curse would vanish forever.

Thayden’s last warning had been clear: no magic, no exceptions.

Pushing aside my fears, I willed myself forward, walking faster with courage I didn’t quite feel. More shadows greeted me like old friends when I reached the thickest part of the forest. Here the branches and vines stretched and twisted into menacing archways that looked like rotting bones.

The musty scent of decaying leaves filled my nose, reminding me of the dying and the dead. No one would hear me scream if anything happened to me this far out.

I doubted anyone would find me either. I’d vanish like my father, leaving my family broken again.

At the thought of them, guilt pulled at my gut, heavier than boulders laden with lead.

Earlier I’d lied to my mother, claiming I was sick.

I told her I wanted to get to bed early and rest so I could be well for Thayden’s visit at the end of the week.

Our engagement celebration was set for the day he arrived, so my mother was keen for me to look and feel my best.

She believed my lie without question. Grandmother, not so much, but she didn’t question me. Apart from my cousin Emabelle, only Grandmother knew I loathed the prospect of this upcoming wedding.

If I were successful tonight, I’d have my father back and there’d be no need for a wedding to secure our lands.

A twig snapped in the distance and I froze. The forest held its breath with me as I searched through the darkness and the host of trees surrounding me.

I waited for a few moments, until the silence settled again.

Maybe it was just a squirrel. Or a hare. Maybe the poor creature sensed the growing power in the air.

Breathe, Elariya. Focus. It’s just some animal. Breathe.

“Blessed Mother, give me strength,” I rasped, beseeching the ancient mage god. I had an athame for the spell, but I wouldn’t hesitate to use it on someone, or something, if they attacked me.

I drew in one unsteady breath, then another and scanned the parameters again. There was nothing there. Whatever had made the sound was gone.

Forcing myself to believe that, and that I didn’t have a witch hunter tracking me, I placed my hand on my galloping heart and proceeded down the path.

I focused on the spell, going over the words one by one in my mind while I dared to hope for the best.

Moments later, I reached the clearing where Father disappeared. A flock of crows flew out of the trees. Against the sky they looked like ink bleeding into parchment.

I surveyed the desolate space and the memory of what happened here struck me fresh, callous and as unrelenting as if it were happening all over again before my eyes.

I'd gone riding to gather some herbs for Grandmother.

When I reached this spot, I saw my father riding toward me on his horse.

The black mass—a vortex of writhing shadow—appeared behind him, out of nowhere.

Before I could even call out to him or dismount my horse, it swallowed him whole, and Father vanished as quickly as morning mist.

If my spell worked, I’d have him back. And maybe …maybe I wouldn’t feel so broken anymore.