Chapter 3
Elariya
“Tethered to Darkness”
Iplummeted through an endless void of darkness.
Darkness that swallowed.
Darkness that suffocated.
Darkness that stretched on and on, unending and unyielding.
My limbs flailed uselessly as I tried to gather myself, grasping for something.
Anything to stop me from falling deeper. But there was nothing. No escape. No way out.
Memories crashed over me like black waves. Of how badly the spell had gone. And what I'd done.
I'd summoned a wraith.
The thought of its phantom talons winding around me and that icy touch fracturing my mind, sent terror shooting through my core.
The darkness shifted, and suddenly it was there.
The wraith’s eyes were oblivion. Nothing but swirling voids. A gaping mouth stretched wide like a bottomless chasm, then it spoke as it had before.
"Little thief." Smoky talons reached for me, threading through my body. "You're coming with me now." The voice pierced the darkness, then pierced through me.
"Elariya! Wake up!" Another voice called. A voice I recognized. "Elariya! Wake up! Come on." Emabelle. That was Emabelle. My cousin.
The wraith suddenly slammed into me, then that haunting mouth opened wider and sucked me in.
I screamed from the depths of my core, splintering the darkness, then bolted upright, straight into hands that seized my shoulders so hard fingernails dug into my skin. Air rushed into my lungs as if I'd been drowning, and I looked around wildly.
My bedroom swam into focus, solid and real, with its cream walls, shelves lined with books, and the tapestry Mother made hanging by the window. The faint scent of lavender from my bedsheets anchored me to reality.
Cold sweat clung to my skin, my limbs trembling like withering autumn leaves before the first killing frost. Then I saw Emabelle's terrified face. Her porcelain skin had paled to the color of fresh snow, contrasting with the long waves of raven hair framing her oval face.
But she was truly here. Sitting in front of me. Holding me with warm human hands, a stark contrast to the wraith's icy grasp.
And I was home. Not in the forest. Not in the darkness. Not being devoured by the wraith.
I’d had a dreadful nightmare. But I knew not all of what I saw was inside my head. I still performed the spell. And I still summoned the wraith.
Gods, what happened to it?
What happened to me?
“Elariya, are you okay?” Emabelle searched my eyes, her brows pinched with worry.
“I…” I was breathing so hard I couldn’t speak. It took me a moment to think of the words to say. “How am I home?”
Her features tightened. “You did the spell, didn’t you?”
A lump swelled in my throat. Gods, she knew. She was looking at me as if she already knew the answer to her question but just wanted me to confirm it. I didn’t think I could lie to her, even if I wanted to. “I had to try.”
“Oh gods, Elariya. That was a reckless and dangerous thing to do. Grandmother said—”
“I know what she said, but I had to try. I thought I could find my father and break the curse.”
“And did you?” she snapped back. “Did the spell work?”
“No. I failed.” A rough sigh fell from my lips. “How did I get back here?”
Emabelle stared at me for a few moments before answering. “You portaled into the dining hall.”
The air cut from my lungs. “What? What do you mean?”
“You portaled.”
“I…I can’t portal.”
“Well, you did. I saw it for myself. That night, I was in the dining hall with Grandmother when a big, black hole appeared in the middle of the room. You came out of it, unconscious. You scared us half to death.”
Blessed Mother! I portaled? Me?
I’d ripped through the fabric of reality without meaning to or knowing how.
I recalled the swirling chasm of darkness that had swallowed me when I tried to escape the wraith. Was that the portal? It must have been.
Maybe I'd created it in my terror.
The last time I’d felt such deep-rooted fear was when Father was taken.
“I’ve never portaled before.” My voice came out small. “I didn’t know I could.”
“Apparently, you can.” Emabelle’s lips thinned. “And it was just as Chancellor Blackthorne was leaving.”
All the air whooshed out of my lungs, and I placed a weary hand over my thundering heart. “Oh no. No, no. Did he see me?”
“No, thank the Gods. But he’s very suspicious. You know what that asshole is like.” She swallowed hard, wariness creeping into her eyes. “And he sent Friar Jameson to check on us yesterday morning.”
Shit. That was not good. Not at all. “Did anything happen?”
“No, but he did a full scan of the place. He asked to see you.” She hesitated before adding, “Your mother told him you were sick and managed to get rid of him.”
Chancellor Blackthorne unleashing Friar Jameson upon us was like releasing a bloodhound that had already caught our scent.
Blackthorne—a.k.a Stormfell’s head witch hunter—was the power-hungry bastard who had been tightening his grip on the south ever since my father disappeared. With no one left to challenge him, he was pushing hard for King Varis to name him Warden of the South.
Grandmother told me Blackthorne had been the first to decree that proof wasn’t necessary to burn someone for using magic, only suspicion.
And Friar Jameson?
He was supposed to be a devoted servant of the Faith of the Eternal. Instead, he served the highest bidder, his nose buried so far up Blackthorne’s ass he probably hadn’t seen sunlight in years.
The Faith preached that magic was a corruption of the natural order, an abomination against the Eternal Gods’ sacred design.
Believers worshipped the Eternal in three divine faces who were meant to be the embodiment of purity and love.
But thanks to men like Friar Jameson, their doctrine had become an instrument of persecution.
According to my journals, two years ago, I stood beside my grandmother as Friar Jameson burned a young woman at the stake.
Her only crime had been getting caught making a strange gesture before entering the abbey.
The memory itself was lost to me, swallowed by the curse. But reading my own words had sent chills racing down my spine, an echo of horror I must have witnessed.
I gripped the edge of the bed sheet as if the silky fibers could help me. Now I didn’t just have the wraith I unleashed to worry about.
Magic was forbidden in the mortal lands for reasons carved in blood and suffering.
The Accords between the magical and mortal realms weren't merely laws, they were boundaries drawn from centuries of catastrophe, resulting from the Great War thousands of years ago.
Magic in mortal hands warped and festered.
And it could get out of control, tearing holes into reality that allowed ancient horrors to slip through the Veil—the magical border separating the human realm from the magical.
Every forbidden spell cast was like a beacon in the darkness, drawing creatures of shadow and hunger that had no place in the human realm. Not to mention that it gave magic wielders power the rulers of the mortal lands would never allow.
If Chancellor Blackthorne even suspected the truth of what I'd done, the punishment would be swift and merciless. Death for me and everyone I loved.
Friar Jameson would ensure it; his twisted faith had transformed the protective purpose of the Accords into a crusade, his piety justifying every cruelty inflicted upon those who dared touch magic.
I needed to…
Wait… Emabelle said Friar Jameson came by yesterday morning. “Emabelle, how long have I been down?”
She bit the inside of her lip. “Two days.”
My mouth fell open and a pang of dread coursed through me. “Two days?”
“Yes.”
“How in the hells have I been down for two whole days?”
"Portaling must have taken a toll on you."
Gods, time was already so scarce to me. And I'd just spent two precious days I couldn't afford to lose asleep. As if things weren’t fucked up enough.
But what hope did I have? The determination that pushed me to cast the spell still burned in my chest, but I’d been wrong, so very wrong.
Gods, I needed air.
I slid off the bed. My legs wobbled as my bare feet touched the wooden floorboards but I managed to keep myself steady.
I hobbled over to the window and cracked it open. Resting my hands on the ledge I took a few deep breaths and gazed at the surrounding trees.
What now?
What was I supposed to do now?
I had twenty-six days left until I lost my memories again.
Twenty-six days would slip through my fingers like the sand in an hourglass, each grain carrying away pieces of myself I'd never recover.
Then there was Thayden to consider.
I’d known him all my life, but we had as much in common as a horse and a fish. There was also a cruel, sadistic side to him that I loathed.
Just before my father disappeared, I’d witnessed Thayden whipping a man to near death because he’d stolen bread to feed his starving children. My journals from the last few months contained records of similar instances. And even details of him killing his squire for being late with his armor.
Such cruelty was enough for me to do whatever I could to stop this wedding. People like Thayden didn’t change. They got worse.
As close as our fathers were, I knew my father would never force me to marry Thayden.
Marriage was only being considered because the South had grown restless in Father's absence.
My mother serving as regent was more than many lords could stomach.
They'd been quiet at first, when they thought Father would return. Now their whispers of displeasure grew bolder. They didn’t want a woman in charge let alone a mage.
Our army was gone, so we had no way to defend ourselves if the other houses moved against us. And dare I say it… despite our high societal standing, we were just a bit better than the poor who lived on the streets.