Prince of Darkness and Deceit (The Shadowbound Fae #1)

Chapter 1

Life dealt me a shitty hand, and the Gods “blessing” me with some mysterious power only makes matters worse. Because in Verdanthia, magic is forbidden—a death sentence.

But as a human living by the mercy of the Shadow Fae, I’ll be damned if I let fear keep me from using the only edge I have to help those in need.

Besides, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve stood toe-to-toe with death.

And it won’t be the last.

My dark thoughts float away as the burn on the young, muscular man in front of me bubbles, the sickly sweet aroma churning my typically strong stomach.

My childhood friend grins as if I won’t notice he’s hiding a grimace.

“I’ve already told you, Elara,” Lev says, his tree-bark-colored eyes warm with affection that makes my heart squeeze. “It’s just a small burn. No need to look so serious.”

I retrieve a fresh cloth from my satchel and dip it into the wooden cup on the table beside me. “And I’ve already told you—infection is the cause of most deaths in town. You need to be more careful.”

It’ll be another week before the tradesmen return and I can buy more sterilizing solutions. I’ll prepare an herbal remedy for Lev later, but mead will have to do for now.

I lean forward, resting one foot on the ground to keep from falling off the rickety stool, and press the cloth along the edges of the burn.

Lev’s chuckle morphs into a hiss. “By the Gods, Elara. Warn me next time.”

I snort. “Silly me; I thought after treating dozens of your injuries over the years, you’d know what to expect.”

He mumbles something about “bossy healer” before wincing when I dab the cloth along his burn, moistening the charred flesh.

Magic flickers at my fingertips, but I coax it back. Lev’s burn isn’t severe enough to risk draining the delicate power or myself—no matter how much I hate seeing him in pain.

“So…” I dip the cloth into the cup again and clean the wound with slow, careful strokes. “What brilliant soldierly task were you accomplishing today for the Gods to give you this injury?”

“Same old,” he grits through clenched teeth. His head falls back to rest on the wooden table he lies on. “Patrolling the mines.”

“Did Giles run into a burning tree?”

Giles is his horse—one of the few majestic, expensive beasts we have in town.

“No. Dian threw a torchlight at me.”

“What?” I draw my hands away from his tender flesh and sit back on the wobbly stool. “Why?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I may have made a lewd remark about his betrothed.”

“Ah, so you deserved this burn.”

His gaze snaps to mine. “I’ll have you know that my remark was absolutely warranted.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“Dian questioned your virtue.” His voice strains. “I had to defend your honor.”

My lips turn down. “By insulting his betrothed?”

“It was all I could think of at the time…”

“Lev…”

“What?” He props himself up on the elbow of his uninjured arm, turning his torso toward me. “Would you rather I not defend your honor?”

I snort. “Everyone in this village knows you’re the one who sullied it in the first place.”

Somewhere between running through the foreboding forest as children and sneaking out past curfew in adolescence, our friendship paved the way to affection. And affection to lust. And lust to…casual partnership?

Lev’s mock outrage morphs into sheepish humor. “Yes, well…that doesn’t mean Dian can make jokes about you.”

“He’s your cousin. Practically your brother.” I scoot forward and resume cleaning his angry wound. “His life’s purpose is to give you a hard time.”

“Even so, he doesn’t get to speak about your beauty to me. Or about how perfectly round your ass is underneath those skir—”

“Lev!” I snap my gaze over my shoulder, confirming we’re still alone in the aged healing quarters attached to the soldiers’ barracks. “Be quiet.”

“What? Are you ashamed of me now?”

Hardly. Lev Ironheart is arguably the most eligible bachelor in town.

And me?

I’m one of the fortunate young women not forced into a match to help replenish our population after the Shadow Wars. But that doesn’t stop me and Lev from practicing whenever the opportunity arises.

Thank the Gods for thistleweed tonics.

“Healer! Healer Stonebloom?” A panicked shout travels through the half-open wooden shutters behind me. “I’m looking for Elara Stonebloom!”

Ah, there it is.

The reason I’m exempt from the deplorable breeding expectation imposed on all womankind.

I jump to my feet, swing my satchel over my shoulder, and rush across the creaky floor.

The thud of Lev’s boots follows.

I grab the weathered bronze handle and throw open the door just as a man covered in ash-gray dirt stumbles, catching himself on the splintered doorframe.

He’s young. Unfamiliar. He must’ve just become eligible to work in the mines—mines that provide us safety from the Fae overlords up north.

“Healer Stonebloom,” he huffs, his slim shoulders rising and falling with rapid breaths.

My foot is already on the dusty ground outside. “What’s happened?”

“Cavern collapse.” The young man turns and runs through the well-worn training yard, heading toward the market square. “Come quick.”

Shit.

I lift my skirts and hurry to catch up. Lev’s steady footfalls remain close behind, keeping pace with me.

“How many are injured?” I call out between shallow breaths, cursing the fact that my profession rarely demands physical endurance.

“Just one,” he shouts over his shoulder, skirting around a cart of delicate, hand-painted seashells. “Rolf. We got him out, but he’s hurt. Bad.”

I dodge a woman carrying a pile of faded celebratory banners. “Where is he?”

“We carried him to his parents’ home.”

Damn it.

Obviously the man needed to be freed from the rubble, but carrying him a distance without properly setting any injuries would be excruciating and likely worsen his prognosis.

Unless the Gods allow my magic to have a say.

I crack open the seemingly endless tomb of knowledge my predecessor imparted to me while I was her apprentice. Bandages, splints, needles… I catalog all items I could need and what I have in my satchel. My pain medication is limited, but there’s nothing to be done about that now.

Energy buzzes through the muggy air as we weave through the unusually crowded streets.

That’s right… The Late King’s Festival begins in two days’ time.

No doubt, the Elders want our town to shine—as much as a town covered in dirt and surrounded by untamed forest can shine—when other humans from neighboring villages arrive.

Rocks stab my feet through my thin-soled flats, but I press on, my lungs aching from exertion.

Not a moment too soon, we arrive at a home with a slanted thatched roof that looks one heavy rainstorm away from collapsing. Wails of pain travel out of the open door, gripping my chest.

Our escort throws an arm toward the heart-wrenching sound. “He’s in there.”

I fold forward, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Lev stops beside me, saying nothing.

I give myself a minute to calm my racing heart. Then I straighten and approach the home, unwilling to let the poor man suffer a moment longer without my help.

Fumes of hay, body odor, and the metallic tang of blood greet me as soon as I cross the threshold. A disheveled woman hovers over a small body lying on the threadbare sofa centered in the main room.

My breathing gradually steadies as healer instincts take over. I step to the other side of the weeping woman’s shoulder, only to find a boy lying on the sofa.

Not a man.

A boy.

The grip around my chest tightens into a suffocating vise.

The boy, Rolf, must be fourteen, though his cherub cheeks make him look years younger.

By the laws of men, he’s a man—old enough to swing a pickaxe in those smothering, unstable mines. Old enough to risk his life every day to earn coin for his family.

But he shouldn’t have to.

A throat clears behind me.

Lev meets my infuriated gaze, his eyes dim and haunted.

With a slow shake of his head and a pointed look at the writhing boy, he snaps me out of my fury-induced stupor.

I take a deep breath.

Rage won’t save Rolf. My grief won’t stop his pain. Bitching about fate and fairness? That won’t stitch him back together.

So I swallow it. All of it.

I roll my shoulders back and find the inner strength I wear like a second skin and say, “Excuse me?”

The weeping woman doesn’t react. She just keeps crying—soft, desperate sobs—her tears soaking into the grime on Rolf’s tunic.

Numbness slithers over my body. I step forward and lightly place my hand on her shoulder.

She stiffens, then whips her head towards me.

“I’m Healer Stonebloom,” I say gently. “I’m here to help Rolf.”

Her eyes widen. “Stonebloom?”

I dip my chin. I may not know every town citizen intimately, but my healing record has made my name a familiar one.

Her chin quivers. Fresh tears gather in her eyes. “Please…help my son.”

My heart clenches. “I will do everything I can.”

She nods, bites her bottom lip, and stands. I take her place, swiftly cataloging Rolf’s injuries.

The sleeve of a frayed sweater wraps around his thigh. The makeshift tourniquet slows the blood seeping from his lower leg. Dozens of cuts and scrapes pepper his arms and face. His wrist bends at an awkward angle.

I focus on his leg, marking it as the most significant injury. Though only the Gods know what’s going on inside the poor boy’s body.

Lev moves so he stands near the boy’s head and gives me an encouraging nod.

I lift my satchel over my head and set it on the ground. I retrieve a vial of rootshearth and wave it under Rolf’s nose. The herb, poisonous when ingested, but harmless when inhaled, works fast. His agonized squirming slows within seconds, and his eyes flutter open.

“Hello.” I soften my expression and smile. “My name is Elara. I’m here to help.”

He blinks slowly. His pupils are dilated. I add concussion to the possible list of injuries.

His dry, cracked lips part, but I rest a hand on his chest. “There’s no need to speak.”

His heartbeat thrums against my fingertips. I need to get that under control before his heart pumps all the blood out of his wound.