Shadows in Bloom (Hallowed Hearts #1)

Prologue

A seed is planted…

“I have come to collect my favor, Alandris.” The creature’s voice was sweet and honeyed, but something else lingered in the reverberations. Something terrifying that reminded him of his fragility in her presence.

“Your favor?” His brow quirked.

“Undoubtedly, you remember the eyes of the being who plucked you from the river when you were a mere sapling, sparing you from the hands of fate that day?”

And he did. He would never erase them from his memory. Green and glowing and freckled with specks of gold. Despite his lungs burning and muscles aching from struggling to keep his head above the raging water, those eyes were a beacon of hope. He was too young then to realize the danger of them. Too young to notice how her deep bronze skin seemed to shimmer unnaturally in the light. To notice the moss and branches that decorated it as if they were a part of her. Her towering height and too-long fingers. Too young and too desperate to live to bother caring that she was not human nor elf, but other.

She had offered him a name as he lay upon the banks of the river heaving. Amorphael, one of the Fae. He’d genuinely viewed her as a divine savior in that moment, but the gift of life she’d granted him had come with a caveat, one that made death the easier path. But he was a child, he hadn’t known, and so he had bargained with her, not knowing the cost. Rightfully, he would have to pay that cost. She had assured him she would one day call upon him, and so she had. Fae never lied, after all.

“It is unwise to owe a Fae creature a favor,” he sighed, breaking the silence between them.

Her eyes shimmered with amusement. “It is, and nevertheless, you do.”

“What would you ask of me?”

“I seek a flower— faylin lusoth .” A smile lifted her lips as if to say, ‘See? There is no reason to be afraid,’ but her eyes swiftly narrowed, and that brief comfort was gone. “I will provide you with the location where you must go to find her, but the journey will not be a simple feat.”

“Is a favor for a Fae ever simple?” Alandris let out a breathy chuckle.

“No, it is not.” Amorphael snaked her long fingers around the map at his hip, resulting in a faint luminescence around the parchment. The glow vanished as rapidly as it had come. “I’ve marked a cave on your map. You will go there.”

Alandris took a step back, keeping a distance between them. He did not fear her, however unwise that was, but nor did he trust her. She had lured him here with a powerful magic that was far beyond his comprehension. One moment, he was outside reading in the gardens, and the next, he was running through the forest, his legs moving of their own accord toward some unknown goal. It was a song, or perhaps a whisper, that had charmed him. It was not the sort of magic he had learned in the Mages Consortium, not something he was versed in. No, not Fae magic. Fae magic was a wilder thing.

He cleared his throat. “What does this flower look like?”

“You will know when you see,” she hummed melodiously. “I have a soft spot for you, child. I will give you a single warning—do not go alone. The path I intend for you to walk is dangerous. Several beasts lie in wait.”

Alandris smirked. “Do you have a soft spot for me, or do you require me to succeed solely for your own plans?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” It didn’t. Alandris knew Amorphael cared little for his life or his success. His death would be an inconvenience at best. He was likely one of many unfortunate souls she had ‘saved’ for the benefit of a future ‘favor’.

“There is a small town to the east of your lands—Fernfallow—where you will find an inn called The Minstrel’s Menagerie. Many travelers and mercenaries stop there on their way south, as it is the last major settlement before the Azog Bog. You should find companions to join you there.”

“A warning and a piece of advice?” Alandris grinned as Amorphael’s face grew taut. “You must care for me, after all.”

“Don’t ever mention it.”

A wiser male may have been more suspicious of the Fae female, wary of her trickery, cautious of the seeming simplicity of the task, but Alandris was more curious than he was wise. He had some remaining wits to cling to, though. Enough to know asking any more questions of Amorphael would be pointless. Fae were known to provide information selectively, offering only what they desired and nothing more. Anything more would only trap him in endless riddles which he would never manage to solve. Alandris was wise enough to understand that he couldn’t simply decline her ‘favor’, not if he valued his life and freedom.

How difficult could it be to find a flower, anyway? Of all the things Amorphael could have asked of him, Alandris considered this task to be delightfully straightforward. It was undoubtedly preferable to some other things he’d cooked up in his imagination. Lifelong servitude in the Fae Realm. Slaying a dragon. Becoming dinner.

Alandris ventured back to the Mages Consortium, which he’d called home for much of his adult life. The isle of Nil’Faerith, just outside of Elven territory, dedicated itself to the realm’s procurement, development, and allocation of individuals possessing magical prowess. A place where magic-wielders from all corners convened for one purpose: knowledge and its accompanying power.

It was there that Alandris learned of his affinity for elemental magic and consequently cultivated that power. It was something that had earned him reverence amongst his people, but disdain from his own family. They had expected him to follow in their footsteps, in service of the Elven king, Zaelthrian. As his ancestors had. As his ancestors’ ancestors had. But Alandris aspired to forge his own path in the world. He did not care for courtly politics. It was the mystery and wonder of magic that ignited his heart.

The Mages Consortium was located atop the cliff side of the island. It was massive, with spiraling towers that reached far into the clouds above. Vines and clumps of moss sprawled across much of the ancient rock face, shrouding the entire structure in a coat of green. While no kingdom could assert ownership over the Consortium, Elven influences were unmistakable in its design, with elegant, intricately detailed twists and curves, and magnificent stained glass windows.

The inside was equally lavish, though it was more traditionally decorated. Gold-framed portraits of former Arch Magi and wooden shelves filled with books covered most of the wall space. Velvet furniture in rich shades of royal blue decorated the common areas. Only the dorms were humble—a simple bed, desk, and dresser were the sole items in the divided room, save for the Mage’s personal effects .

Alandris’ room, in particular, was noticeably empty. He had few things he cared to display, and even fewer letters. Time didn’t permit sentimentality or friendships for him. Regardless of any interest he had in it, the Consortium hadn’t assigned a roommate to him this year, so he couldn’t make an easy connection. He had a single goal in mind—to become an Arch Magus—and that goal required his full and undivided attention. Attention which was now, unfortunately, being pulled away for the sake of his survival. He couldn’t achieve the title of Arch Magus if he were a Fae’s thrall.

He would need to request a leave from the Grand Arch Magus, Lyandril, to deal with his business with Amorphael. He hoped Lyandril would not question the reasoning behind the request, or he would surely chastise him for getting involved with a Fae—regardless of how long ago or under what pretenses he had done so. Lyandril would argue that drowning would have been the responsible thing to do. A kinder fate.

Alandris’ fingers stretched for the door, retreated toward his palm, back toward the door, inward once more, until he eventually summoned the courage to turn the knob. The aromatic scent of wormwood, and another herb he couldn’t entirely pinpoint, assaulted him the moment he stepped through the doorway. He could hear glasses clinking, a pestle rubbing into a mortar, and an absentminded hum, but he couldn’t see Lyandril through the smoke filling the room .

“Whatever could you be doing that smells so awful?” Alandris coughed into the sleeve of his robe, pointlessly waving his hand through the air, hoping it would help scatter the scent.

“Ah, Alandris. Only you would dare burst into my workshop without an appointment, nor a modicum of respect.” A snap sounded, and the air cleared so quickly it was jarring. Lyandril stood in front of him with a humored grin, his long, silvery blond hair tucked meticulously behind his pointed ears. “I’ve spoiled you, so it seems.”

Lyandril, though decades older than Alandris, felt like family to him. From the moment he’d arrived at the Consortium, stumbling around like a bumbling fool, Lyandril had taken him under his wing. He’d consistently told him it was because he’d sensed potential in him, but Alandris believed it was because he was the sole Mage who would treat him as a friend, rather than a title. The fact that he’d cursed at him multiple times and survived spoke volumes. Nonetheless, Alandris was nervous to ask the male for official leave. He would be asking the Grand Arch Magus, not the mentor.

“What is it, Alandris? You look like you’ve seen a ghoul.” Lyandril crossed his arms in front of himself.

Alandris frowned. “I must leave Nil’Faerith for a while. A few months, perhaps.”

Lyandril cocked his head to the side. “Should I ask?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“The selections will happen at the beginning of the new year. Now is the time to show off the extent of your skill.” Pacing leisurely around the room now, he brought a finger to his jaw. “My opinion carries minimal weight in the grand scheme of things. You have to impress more than just myself to be considered for the title of Arch Magus. Are you not concerned with the effects your absence will have on the other Arch Magis’ opinions?”

“I’ve never been much concerned with the opinions of others.” Alandris smirked.

“You’re deflecting.” Lyandril narrowed his eyes at the male. “Are you running from responsibility again?”

Again. Like running from his family to come to Nil’Faerith and train as a Mage. Lyandril knew his history—he had trusted him with it—the fact that he came from a noble family with strong ties to Elven royalty. Unlike most who learned of his past, Lyandril had understood his need to escape. He claimed to know the feeling of drowning in undesired expectations. The experience of longing for a simpler life.

“I wish it were that straightforward,” Alandris groaned.

“Well enough. Then you have made your choice and I will not stop you. I presume you will write to me to keep me informed.” Lyandril waved him away. “Now go on, before I change my mind about granting you this leniency.”

“Ah, one last thing—”

“Yes?”

“It will be difficult to communicate with you where I’m going. I don’t imagine there will be somewhere I can send a letter from. At least, not frequently. ”

Lyandril let out a lengthy sigh. “You are so very needy, Alandris.” He sifted through the shelves against the back wall, pulling out a peculiar-looking journal. It was bound in black leather, decorated with silver stitching that depicted a tree, its roots sprawling across the entire cover. “Take this.”

“Expect me to write a journal for you to read when I return, do you?”

Lyandril shot him a glare. “It is part of an enchanted set. If you need to reach me, write in the journal like normal and the words will appear in my copy.” He pulled forth another book from the shelf, this one almost identical, save for the stitching, which was done in gold. “Likewise, if I wish to leave you a message, it will appear in your book.”

“I will write to you every day, then.” Alandris snickered, running his fingers along the stitching.

Lyandril groaned. “It was an expensive item. I’d rather you didn’t.”

Alandris headed for the door, turning back to Lyandril for a final smart remark. “Don’t miss me too much. You’re getting up there in age. I’d hate to come back and hear you’d died of loneliness.”

“Go, you insolent brat.” Lyandril’s tone was crisp, but Alandris caught the faintest curve of his lips as he hurried away.

With his leave granted, he only had to pack for the journey and set sail for the main continent. There, outside of the Elven capital of Val’Naeris, he would meet with his first recruit—his oldest friend, Zorinna. Though she was unaware of his upcoming visit, he was certain she would agree to join him. Much like himself, she was eager for escape. She just hadn’t taken the dive. Yet. Alandris considered himself to be highly convincing.

The rest of his recruits he would find in Fernfallow, as Amorphael had suggested. Then, he just had to make the trek toward the Azog Bog, where, according to his recently charmed map, he would find the supposed cave where the flower was located. Once there, he’d pluck the flower from the ground. Return to Nil’Faerith. Be free of his debts. Simple.