War of Broken Hearts

Chapter 1

The gods were notorious for their lack of mercy when it came to death, yet Adara Rhyes had escaped their wrath countless times, and planned to succeed once again. Adara herself was a believer in the gods, but that didn’t mean she’d succumb to their calling for the afterlife.

Death, a dark shadow nipping at her heels, followed her around as she barely kept out of its reach.

Strangely, she found comfort in its constant acquaintance.

At the sight of the verdant island cresting the horizon, she felt it again—the familiar presence of Belor, God of Death, that sent chills down her spine as his cold hands clawed at her, icy and unforgiving.

But the gods seemed to forget they had made her Pherra, gifted with magic. The fire writhing inside her veins was enough to counter even the shadow of death. Belor would have to wait a while longer before dragging her down to Helfarrow, the eternal prison for souls of the damned.

Spyglass in hand, Adara perched atop the crow’s nest of the Valen Wind.

In the distance, a mountain stood gloriously tall, slicing through a layer of puffy white clouds.

A shimmering blue waterfall spilled out from a shadowy cavern.

Her eyes, which mirrored the bright blue sky, glittered in delight at the sight of the enchanted water that rendered its drinkers eternally young.

Lush, green trees towered over the island, casting dark shadows in their wakes.

Thick foliage obscured her view from most of the island, leaving it up to her imagination to decide what dangerous creatures lurked hungrily in the confines of Andreilia.

Despite the gory descriptions from stories told around the world of the horrid creatures—razor-sharp claws and teeth powerful enough to shatter bones, eyes like ice that freeze you with fear when you meet their gaze—Adara was well aware of the real monster she needed to watch out for: the King of Keys. The Thief of Hearts.

A real demon hiding beneath the skin of a nineteen-year-old.

Dominic Nite carved out his own heart and tossed it into the Plagued Sea. If he’s capable of such a monstrous act against himself, who’s to say he won’t do worse to you? And unlike him, you won’t survive. Adara recalled the words whispered between pirates in the harbors with a grimace.

The ship shuddered, emulating her own trepidation, against the rough waves as it sailed toward the island that would become her salvation . . . or prison if Dominic Nite didn’t take her offer.

Apprehension constricted her chest. She’d spent several sleepless nights devising a plan that would convince the King of Keys she was of more use to him alive than dead, settling on a bargain that might be the most ludicrous thing she’d ever done.

Adara was going to propose a game of love to the Thief of Hearts.

Offer her key to the King of Keys on a silver platter.

A temptation she knew he couldn’t resist.

Calandra, Goddess of Love, gifted each mortal with a key to their heart, a way of ensuring that people would find their soulmate. When you thought you found the one, you were supposed to trade keys. If you were soulmates, the keys would morph into permanent rings around your fingers.

No one could have predicted the immense power that came with the keys.

Not until innocent maidens started baring their hearts and giving their keys to the wrong person.

Dominic Nite was clever. He found that the keys were more than just jewelry that tied you to the person you loved. In fact, they were much more powerful.

The key to one’s heart wasn’t merely a token of love, but of life and magic as well.

The source of all the power anyone could wield.

When someone trustfully gave their key over, the key, in turn, trusted that person too.

All it took was an immense amount of willpower, and the key would obey their wishes.

Dominic Nite had a reputation for manipulating girls into falling in love with him, unwittingly giving their key to a monster with no love left to give.

If they were Pherra, he would call on the key to steal their magic, claiming it as his own with nothing more than a thought and the touch of his skin.

If they were human, he’d merely drain their life away, killing them without remorse.

Adara knew it was risky, bargaining with an object of immense power.

The enticing allure of a key, and therefore its magic and life, would surely be enough to earn a life on the island while she sorted out plans of vengeance.

But more importantly, if she beat the Thief of Hearts at his own game, if she actually won, she’d take his magic, his life source.

As insane as it was, she had run out of options. The enchanted water of Andreilia and Dominic Nite’s key were her only hope at escaping death this time. Her only hope at near immortality and of any shot at revenge against the Shadow Empire.

Adara lowered the spyglass, sucking in a deep breath as the island grew closer. The aroma of salt filled her nostrils. A light breeze raked through her long brown hair as the ship coasted over the undulating sea.

Leaping from the crow’s nest, she grasped onto the rigging.

Black leather gloves protected her palms from the burn as she slid down the ropes.

Her matching boots thudded against the deck when she landed.

Then she strode toward the quarterdeck, steps unfaltering despite the rocking ship, an ease that came with months spent at sea.

Captain Damon Lunard stood at the helm, features a cold mask, eyes fixated on the island ahead.

Silver rings glinted in the beaming sunlight on his ivory fingers wrapped around the spokes of the wheel.

A dark coat hung nearly to the bottoms of his onyx boots, billowing behind him like a mast filled with wind.

Adara sidled up to the man who had become like an older brother to her in these past months. Though in the face of such peril, she couldn’t muster a smile. Neither could Damon, it seemed.

His jaw tensed, lips pressing into a tight line, brows furrowing beneath strands of inky black hair. Gray eyes shot a sideways glance at her. “Sure you want to do this?”

She could practically hear his teeth grinding with the inquiry.

Adara rolled her shoulders back, standing up straighter at his side, chin held high.

“Of course,” she replied, grateful he couldn’t see the pounding of her heart beneath the white blouse and red corset she wore.

Her fingers absentmindedly ran over the ribs of the corset, where knives were sheathed in pockets sewn in, a gentle reassurance that she was never defenseless.

Ring-clad fingers dipped into his coat pocket, fishing out a piece of parchment.

Damon’s silence ate away at her, making her insides churn with fear as he held it out to her.

If the famed Captain Lunard, Master of the Seas, dreaded sailing to this island, whatever Andreilia held in store for her could not be good.

Damon and his crew were the only ones successful in crossing the Plagued Sea, in reaching this enchanted island in the midst of monster-infested waters.

Well, Damon’s crew and those like Dominic Nite, who lived on Andreilia. But the Andreilians never returned to the mainland to tell the tale. To the rest of the world, they were nothing but ghosts, more creatures to haunt these waters.

Adara plucked the parchment from the captain’s fingertips, carefully unfolding it with a scrutinizing gaze. “What’s this?”

“A map of the island,” he said, his harsh gaze still cast forward.

Adara let out a snort. “Is this a joke?” she asked, shooting him a quizzical glance before returning her eyes to the paper, scanning it as if she missed something. “Half of it’s blank.”

“I’ve never ventured to that half,” he said tightly.

“Some help you are,” Adara muttered, folding the map and placing it in the pocket of her black pants.

The captain side-eyed her, gray eyes defensive. “I’ve risked my life crossing this cursed sea for you. I could have dumped your body in the middle of the ocean and left you as lykren food. So, yes, I’d say I’m an immense help.”

She suppressed a shudder at the thought of being bait for the foul beasts that lurked in the Plagued Sea, creatures responsible for the gruesome deaths of many sailors. Adara still pondered how Damon had been so lucky to escape a lykren . . . and to escape Dominic Nite.

The captain had never told her the extent of the dangers he faced on Andreilia, having been the only one to ever leave the island.

Only that there was a boy more perilous than any of the vile creatures in the depths of the Plagued Sea.

That constant reminder did nothing to quell the trepidation roiling within her.

The island grew nearer. Adara swallowed the lump in her throat. “Is there anything else that can help me?”

Damon gave a slow nod, knuckles white on the spokes as he held the wheel steady. Then he pulled another parchment from the shadows of his coat.

“I hope this is the other half of the map,” she half-joked.

He glared at her. “This isn’t a game, Adara.”

Oh, but it will be soon, she thought. A game against the King of Keys. A winner that would steal a heart and a key. And a loser that would end up powerless, heartbroken, and ultimately dead.

But Damon didn’t need to know of her demented plans. It would only worry him more.

Adara unfurled the parchment, eyes eagerly scanning the words scrawled across the page in unfamiliar handwriting.

Where life ends in ruin

There is a way to reverse the clock

But as time flies, a storm is brewing

In scattered ashes, you will find them locked

Whispers float through cobbled streets

Carried far until they echo a loud chorus

But with sharing rumors, you must be discreet

Because it is the eyes that see for us

In different worlds, you’ll find answers you seek

But beware of the shadows and flames