The Crown of Shadows and Distrust (The Blood Witch #2)

Prologue

The air smells like carnage and blood.

Ever since The Great War began, the world has only known death. Lives lost, the ground is soaked with sorrow as communities grieve for those killed. The war is all consuming and yet—the beings of Neevea, Shifters, Fae, Witches and more, continue to fight for their freedom.

Stomping through the woods, her feet sink into the waterlogged dirt. She inhales, the fresh scent of fallen rain, a welcomed reprieve from Sola. This is only a small gift; one she will take away with a tantrum.

Carefully, she works the cold, black soil, her dark fingers stained. The grass rips under her palms as her nails break. She doesn’t stop though, doesn’t wait to shake her hands out from the chill, just continues to dig.

If she wants this to be successful—if she wants this war to end, if she wants to save everyone, she must hurry. And quickly.

Taking a vial of her people’s water, she holds it against the dimming light. Soon, night will be here and the fractions of magical beings will meet for yet another truce with the Humans. It’s happened before, many times in fact, but no fruition has come to pass from it.

That’s why she must do this. She must end the war on her own.

The water—magical water that only her people can harvest from an underground well—glints and sparkles, like fairy dust within its waves. That’s a childish view—this water is so much more.

She drops the vial into the shallow hole, taking a deep inhale to fortify her resolve. If she does this, it will have lasting consequences. Her people, the Covens, and the other species will feel this spell.

It will alter their minds, their magic, their world. Everything will change.

But that’s the point. She has to do this. For the good of all. Because of her.

The trees shudder, and the ground shakes as she stumbles, clutching the black bark behind her. A large horse—colored blue like the water that feeds it—enters her vision, the rider jumping with the reins still attached in his hands.

Guardian horses, they are only bred within her Coven for war and only a select few can ride their stubborn backs expertly.

“Neith,” the guard greets, but he’s no simple guard. He’s her Heartbond, and has been for nearly three decades. Her God-chosen mate, he leads the army while she gives the orders.

“Marinus.” She sighs, fear and adrenaline causing her hands to shake. “What is it?”

“They’re calling for the Matriarch.” He gestures to the makeshift camp behind them. Her warriors, her guards, people she cares for are waiting to battle on her behalf. Everyone else is safe behind the invisible barrier that keeps the Blackwoods Coven safe, hidden within the forest.

She exhales, exhaustion evident. It’s time to travel for this farce of a treaty.

This war is the Humans’ fault. They were determined to seize the magic that other species had long mastered. And when they found they could not claim the magic that permeates their world, the Humans chose to destroy everyone in vengeance.

Them and her. Under her command, they’ve become a plague, feeding off the world’s suffering, wiping villages from their map.

It’s taken decades, so many years of death and bloodshed, just to get to this point. So many lives lost over greed.

That’s why she must enact this spell. Take away magic from these lands, take away the greed and pray it’s enough to survive.

Marinus comes closer, his pale white hair shorn short, reflecting the sun off his vibrant silver eyes. The water changes its people, giving them the mark of the Blackwoods Coven. He gently lifts her hands, tips frozen, and kisses them as if she’ll break.

“Let me heal you, my love. One last time.”

Nodding sadly, she allows his cool touch to surround her hands, the tingle of magic a soft caress of comfort and love.

Marinus, like most of the men in their Coven, can heal with their touch.

The women tend to be able to infuse the herbs and create powerful potions—for healing, or for warfare.

It’s what has kept them alive this long.

Once she enacts this spell, this curse, all the magic will be gone. They don’t know if it’ll change their water, if it ends their livelihood, if the barrier will still hold, but they must try. In order to save Neevea.

But how will it change him, change their love? Will he still care, be the calm to her storm? Though she must do it, this still terrifies her, no matter how important it might be to the world. Because the unknown, a life without magic that has been their only means of survival, will be gone.

Change is scary. But this is adrenaline-spiking, paralyzing fear that shakes her to the core of her soul. She is changing destiny with this curse.

His magic slips away slowly and she mourns. It’ll be the last time it heals her.

“Are you ready?” he asks, voice deep. His eyes meet her dull grey ones and one finger trails her chin lovingly. “Are you sure this will work?”

Nodding, Neith looks to the dirt quietly. “It’ll strip the world of magic. Take it away, hide it from all those who are connected to it.” It’ll severe the bond like a beating heart cut from a chest.

“And this will end the war?”

“It should. It will take away the one thing the Humans wish to control. It will take away her hold on them. For without magic, there can be no war.” At least, that’s the theory.

Erase magic and erase the minds so it is nothing but a myth. They cannot fight a war for something they cannot remember.

She cannot rage a war for something that is gone.

“You’re hoping, my love,” Marinus states, calmly, like he always is.

He is the balm to her rage, ever since they were young kids running through the forests.

“After what Seti’s High Priest told you, you’re hoping this will end the war.

Bring about the future he was informed of.

” He shifts, balancing his weight to temper his words. “How do you know this will work?”

Carefully, Neith steps back, features hardened. “I have to trust that the man who hears the God of the Dead would be right in this.” She looks up into his kind eyes, him a good head taller than her small form, palms cupping his cheeks. “If not, then my trust is misplaced.”

“And if it is?” His eyes crinkle, searching hers. The anxious energy pouring off of him is thick. “You will strip magic from the world. From us. We are defenseless without it. If the war does not end, then we are as good as dead.”

It’s a giant risk. One she has to make.

“We have to trust that this path is the right choice,” she responds calmly. Gazing into his eyes, she tries to smile. “It won’t last long, Marinus.” She looks skyward, sighing. “It’s not meant to. Only to hold the war off until she can be beaten. Until another is born who can end her rule.”

The High Priest never informed her of who it would be or when. Only that another would be born, who could defeat her. And she, Neith, was needed to enact this curse.

This curse would allow them all to fight another day.

She has to trust that this is the right way. If Marinus cannot, then she will for them both.

“Are you ready?” She takes his hand. Solid, warm, she soaks up his love before everything changes.

He kisses her knuckles but nods, brow furrowed in worry. “I am with you, Neith. Where you go, I follow. Always.”

Smiling gently, Neith exclaims one word before stomping her foot on to the vial. A bright flash of white light erupts, shooting out around them. The forest shakes, leaves fall and their horse rears back on its hind legs with a loud whine as the vibrations ripple outward.

Instantly, she knows it’s worked. A piece of herself that always felt called to the Blackwoods Forest that surrounds her home is dulled and empty.

She runs her hands over the bark, ears ringing as her fingers touch the climbing ivy.

She can’t feel their life force—their essence, the part of them that felt connected to her by way of magic.

A blockage grows and already, the memories of magic, of seeing incredible feats by her friends and foes are slipping away. Soon, no one will remember magic existed.

Marinus feels her pain, looking to his hands. Her heart breaks as she sees his eyes grow distant, his power snapped from him like an invisible limb.

Eventually, with time, magic will resurface and those who can feel the power, will show signs of tapping into it again. But for now, they will be without. She only hopes the High Priest was right—and Neevea would survive until then.