Chapter 1 #2
Neither side would need to prove anyone at Dunhaelic had any hand in these deaths.
The ancient laws still make it a hanging offence to harm an Ever—no questions, no trial, and no reprieve.
I would face the gallows, and I wouldn’t face them alone.
Vengeance, like water, trickles down to those below.
Everyone I’m meant to protect would be as good as dead.
My knees tremble as I take the last steps to the nearest Ever.
I crouch beside him, and a hot flush of magic ripples across my skin.
More than I’ve ever felt at once. But that isn’t the only shock.
Although the ancient tales talk about the beauty of the Everfolk, seeing it in front of me makes my breath catch.
The Ever is handsome in a way that explains the warnings in the ancient stories—the sort of blinding, dangerous beauty that makes humans lose their will and drives them into madness.
His features are too eerily perfect, his black hair has the gleam of raven’s wings, and the blue eyes that look unseeingly into the sky catch the light like layers of stained glass, revealing more colours the deeper I look.
That sightless stare unnerves me, and I brush my fingers over his lids to close them. The skin is still warm. I flinch away from the contact, and my hand grazes a pale-blue crystal set in a ring the Ever wears on his right hand.
A pulse of pure magic jars me as I touch the ring—a hot, bright, and startlingly familiar type of magic. It reaches out towards the ember of power that burns inside me.
I snatch my hand away. The sensation ebbs, but I miss it when it’s gone—my magic misses it.
Careful not to touch it again, I bend closer to examine the crystal set into the ring.
There’s movement within it, gold threads of magic dancing like lightning behind a thin haze of cloud.
The movement is mesmerising, holding my attention even as Ari snorts and stomps his foot.
It takes a moment for the thuds and the jingling of the bridle to register. Ari’s muscles are braced as he uses his back to pull harder against the reins that tie him to the tree.
A twig snaps somewhere close. Behind me? To the left?
I spin around, searching. But there’s nothing. No one.
Well, I refuse to cower and play this game.
“Who’s there? Come out and show yourself instead of hiding like a coward.”
The Wood falls unnaturally still. Then shadows stir beneath an oak tree to my left.
“I know you’re there,” I say, gripping the dagger tighter.
A voice answers me from the shadows. “Careful, little one. Taunt the things you fear, and you might just prove you were right to be afraid.”
The voice is male—slow and resonant, pitched between a growl and a cat’s deep purr. A predator’s voice, claws barely sheathed.
A shiver of awareness ripples down my spine.
I draw on the cool, gritty power of the earth and fuse it with the fire that burns inside me.
Needles of magic rake through bone and tissue as I force it outward, pouring it into the dagger.
The blade groans, lengthening and thickening until it becomes a perfect replica of my father’s sword and rests cold, heavy, and steadying within my grasp.
An Ever steps forward, his figure cloaked in gloom, footsteps whispering over the frost-crusted moss.
He’s larger than the bodies behind me seemed, taller and broader, his features carved in bold strokes beneath gilded hair that’s tied half-up in a warrior’s knot and reveals a widow’s peak.
He looks gaunt, worn down, yet power and command still radiate from him.
And he’s every bit as beautiful as the others in a way that remains entirely male.
He watches me with a faint but dangerous smile. “You can put that illusion away,” he says. “You’re lucky I didn’t mistake it for a threat.”
“The sword is no illusion,” I say through gritted teeth, “and the threat is no mistake.”
His easy dismissal stings more than I’d care to admit. I spent months mastering even this small feat of magic, pouring all my strength and then waiting days—sometimes weeks—for the ember inside me to grow warm enough to try again.
The Ever’s eyes harden, the molten honey colour darkening into something sharper. “You do know what I am, don’t you?”
“An Ever…a Rider,” I say, watching him. Still hoping there’s a different explanation.
His jaw tightens. “We prefer to be called Siorai. Not Evers. Not Everfolk. There’s no need to be impolite.”
“Just leave. Go away. We’ve done nothing to harm you, and we don’t want any trouble.” My voice stays steady, but the sword quivers and gives me away.
The Ever moves towards me, one step, then two. I back an equal distance, giving myself time to think.
The width of his shoulders and the way his muscled thighs and arms strain against his clothes leave no doubt about his strength.
His hand rests on the hilt of his sword in a quiet threat.
Then he steps even closer, emerging from the shadows into a shaft of broken sunlight, and for the first time, I see the blood that slicks his coat and seeps down one leg of the breeches he wears tucked into his leather boots.
His skin is pale and beaded with sweat, and the silver-gold hair that falls to his shoulders is damp along the temples.
He’s wounded. Weak. That gives me a chance.
My blade won’t kill an Ever, but I’d lay odds that his is made of celestial steel. If he’s injured as badly as I suspect, I might be able to take it from him.
His mouth twitches at the corners as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Please don’t try anything foolish,” he says in that deep purr of a voice. “Trust me, if I’d wanted you dead, you would never have seen me coming.”