He was Mom’s age, but they both looked as young as me. I couldn’t say the same about Dad. Witches lived longer than humans, generally speaking, which was evidenced by the silver strands threaded at Dad’s temples in an otherwise dark head of hair.
Brecan jogged down the steps and I met him halfway across the lawn. “Hey!” I greeted, giving him a quick hug.
As he clamped his hands on my shoulders, I prepared for his lecture. What would he tell me that Mom hadn’t already? Avoid making a scene; blend in as much as a prince could; Come to Brecan if I needed anything…I already knew the warnings by heart.
“There’s something I need from you,” he said with a serious tone. His pale purple eyes met mine.
“Sure. Name it.”
Brecan smiled. “Relax and have fun. Forget the crown, the responsibilities, appearances, everything. You’re safe to enjoy yourself here. We have a strict no-camera rule in The Gallows.”
I smiled, feeling the tension ooze from my shoulders. “I can do that.”
He quirked a brow like he wasn’t sure, but let it go and dragged me to his House.
The Solstice in Thirteen was nothing short of amazing. Mom invited the witches to the palace yesterday for my birthday party, so there had been mild hints of magic; simple and fun, but nothing startling or outlandish. This was so much…more.
Just like yesterday, all the witches were dressed in the colors of their Houses. However tonight, their garb was simple. They didn’t wear anything fantastical. They didn’t need to.
The magic was palpable and dense, yet felt as light and natural as breathing. It wasn’t oppressive, but freeing. I felt like a piece of me that had long been askew finally clicked into place.
The Fire witches lit the entire Center with tiny drops of flame that hovered overhead like fiery rain suspended just for us. There was music and blackberry wine, not that I had a drop. Imagine the scandal of an intoxicated prince living it up among the witches during the first celebration he attended solo! I could see the headlines now.
Prince Shirks Responsibilities
Prince Leaves Palace for New Life in Sector Thirteen
Prince River: Raging Disappointment
Prince Proves Purists Right
If I stepped out of line, it would be the last time I’d be ushered back into The Gallows unaccompanied. Even Dad had visited with Knox and one of his Guard friends when he came to the Equinox the night he met Mom.
I blew out a tense breath and reminded myself of Brecan’s mandate, telling myself to relax and enjoy the magic. Just for tonight.
The Earth witches combined their magic to nurture a seed one placed in the soil. In seconds, it grew into an enormous oak with branches that swooped until they brushed the ground. The tree was taller than anything in the forest filled with many branches that made it easy to climb. The children loved it. Some climbed until their parents warned them not to go any higher. Others swung from branch to branch while a few brave souls crawled across the dipping branches, laughing when they lost their balance and tumbling to the soft grass underneath. Giggles and squeals of delight made everyone smile and the atmosphere lighten even further.
Many of those attending the Summer Solstice celebration visited from the Lower Sectors, as the witches referred to the rest of the Kingdom, since the Thirteenth was the last in our lands. The Wilds yawned out beyond our borders, and if the rumors were true, it was a rugged, barren, unforgiving place. A place where the Kingdom banished those who violated our laws.
Mira waved me over from where she stood in the middle of a gaggle of young, female Water witches. “I’d like for you all to meet my nephew.”
The girls’ eyes grew. They knew who I was.
I raised my hand and gave them a polite smile and nod.
“River was named for flowing water. Perhaps you could honor our prince with a demonstration of your magic,” Mira suggested.
Her playful challenge was accepted.
The girls worked together to make a shallow river that flowed around the lawns circling the Center’s pentagram. The water was clear as crystal, and the grass beneath waved in the current like algae in a stream.
I clapped when they were finished, telling them what a magnificent job they’d done. Mira fawned over them for a moment, then sent them on their way.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she said once they were out of earshot. Her coffee skin shimmered in the moon and firelight. Her teal and blue braids were woven into waves at the sides of her head and flowed down her back. Silky robes moved like a fast stream of water tugged on them. At the palace, the Priest and Priestesses’ robes were still, but here, they, too, came alive.
“You didn’t,” I assured her. “I’m impressed with your charges. They’re quite talented to be so young.” I tried to hide the envy in my voice. I often wished my powers were…more active.
She gave me an appraising look. “Are you having fun?”
“First Brecan, now you, Mira?” I teased. “You’ve conspired against me.”
“We worry about you being a little too isolated.”
“I’m around people all the time,” I argued.
She gave a sad smile. “But do you have friends? Your mom says you never leave the palace and don’t travel the Sectors anymore.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “The Purists make doing either difficult.” Knox had to assemble a small army and sprouted double the gray hairs when I asked to venture outside the palace, so I tried to make it easier on everyone by keeping close to the palace grounds.
“Knox wouldn’t mind escorting you, River,” she told me. “But if you did want a change of scenery without involving anyone else, you can come here whenever you want. Knox wouldn’t have to worry about you. Here, we need no guard to keep you safe,” she offered. “Your magic thrums in Thirteen. I can sense it.”
It was. I could feel it inside my muscles, pulsing in my flesh and bones.
“The Center is now sacred and pure and has become a conduit, amplifying our magic, especially when we are gathered together,” Mira explained with a starry look in her eyes.
It was only pure now because my grandmother, Cyril was no longer trapped in the soil beneath it, poisoning and corrupting from her earthen grave. My great-grandmother had been Priestess of the House of Earth, and to stop her own daughter, she bound her in the soil. Cyril remained trapped in the Center until my great-grandmother died, and with it, the power holding Cyril inside the dirt.
Mom and Fate defeated Cyril after she attempted to take over not only Thirteen, but the Kingdom itself. She tried to have my dad killed. If it wasn’t for Mom, she might have succeeded.
It was funny how small decisions could influence so much in the future. If Mom had refused Dad’s invitation to the palace to help him figure out who wanted him dead; if she’d told him she didn’t want to read his fate and had never learned of the plan to take his life…I wouldn’t be here. A simple no instead of a yes, and everything changed. And a simple yes instead of a no, set you on a completely different path.
Across the lawn, Brecan let out a hearty laugh at something Arron said. As Guardian of the House of Fate, Arron was the only member because Fate had no Priest or Priestess. He could hand-fast if he wished, but Mira could not.
Everyone knew how they felt about one another. Their anguish was palpable. Though he wasn’t supposed to be blatant about the fact that he wanted her, the molten look he gave Mira from where he stood across the yard could melt steel. I wondered if in his mind, he wore Mira’s ribbon all the time, like Mom and Dad.
I wondered if Mira felt the same, though she was forbidden to.
Arron’s dark clouds billowed in response to Brecan’s continued teasing, but Brecan blew them away easily with wind that seemed to come from his palm. The wind was strong, nearly extinguishing the burning droplets gifted by the Fire witches. It soared through the branches of th
e Earth witches’ tree and rippled the areas of still water in the Water witches’ miniature river. Then it spread beyond the Center, through the Houses and into the forest, where the bones dangled in the trees, knocking against one another like a macabre wind chime.
An eerie, hollow sound blew through The Gallows. A sound I’d heard a thousand times, but no one else ever noticed. The tips of my fingers began to tingle and the hair on the back of my neck and on my arms rose. I looked for the spirit, but couldn’t see anyone who wasn’t drawing breath.
Still, I could feel her. She was near.
I searched every face, every shaded place, trying to spot the dead among the living.
Arron joined us. He wrapped his arms around Mira from behind and kissed her temple. She glowed from the attention, but deftly spun out of his grasp.
I walked around the House of Water, through the rows of vegetables and herbs planted out back and into the woods, following the hollow whistle’s eerie path. Brecan’s wind wasn’t responsible for the sound anymore, having long since dissipated.
She was the source of the unnerving hiss.
I found her lingering among the shadows.
She was older than me, but not by many years at the time of her death. Her hair was long and dark, but not black. It hung wet, slithering over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the plain white dress she wore. Her eyes were pale. I didn’t know what color exactly. She was every shade of gray, devoid of all color.
She mouthed the word: Help.
It was what they all said at first. It was what all the dead craved.
“Help you with what?”
She mouthed something else, but I didn’t understand. She tried again and again, but I couldn’t tell what she was saying.
“Can you speak? I know this is new for you and it takes great effort, but I need you to try.”
Her white dress was stained with something dark at the hem and down one sleeve. Blood, more than likely. When she turned to point in the direction behind her, I could see right through her as she faded and then slowly reappeared.
She pointed further into the forest, more insistently. “Come,” she finally said. Her words were as hollow as the bones that echoed through the wood, settling into my spine in the form of a shiver.
The festivities were still taking place, and while I hated to miss them, something was pulling me to the woman’s spirit. I was the only one who might be able to help her, and if my purpose was to guide lost souls to peace, then maybe it was Fate who wanted me to go with her and assist as only I could.
I took a step toward her. Then another. And let her lead me into the dark wood.
The forest at night frightened many, but it calmed me. I liked the cool air, the insect songs, and the way the wind gently whispered through the trees. However, unease settled into my stomach the farther I walked behind the spirit. It wasn’t because I was unfamiliar with The Gallows and didn’t know where she was leading me, or how far she might ask me to go. I wouldn’t leave the safety of the sector’s magical barrier.
It was something about her.
Part of me wanted to go anywhere she wanted, and part of me wanted to send her away.
The woman’s pale dress did not drag on the leaves. No briar caught its fibers. But I could see the frayed ends and watched as every few steps, she’d turn to make sure I was behind her.
She slowly weakened, fading with each step, threatening to vanish altogether before she could show me what she so urgently needed.
Please, don’t be bones.
I didn’t want to know how she died. I didn’t want to smell her sweat as she fled from something or someone, or feel the tremble of her lips. I didn’t want my ribs to seize with terror, trying to protect everything vital within.
We walked until we came to the border wall. It shimmered with magic as if glitter rained from the sky, subtly caught and preserved between panes of glass. The spirit stepped through the wall as if she didn’t sense it at all. I hesitated.
She paused on the other side and gave me a confused look. Then she waved for me to go with her.
What was I so afraid of? I could easily spirit myself back to Mira and Brecan, or back home, in a second.
So, I stepped through the wall of magic, letting the warmth of it settle over me, and continued to follow the woman.
I never should have stepped foot out of Thirteen.
The blow came from out of nowhere.
Stars danced, swirling through my vision as I tried to figure out what was happening. I remembered following a spirit and then leaving The Gallows. I crossed through the barrier and followed the spirit into The Wilds because I thought I was safe, and that the twisting knot in my stomach was nonsense.
Blood flowed freely down my face, splattering the dry leaves at my feet. Splat. Splat. Splat. Splat. I swayed, unable to keep my balance. I put the heel of my hand on the gash at my temple.
I had foolishly ignored my senses.
Ignored Fate’s warning.
It was funny how you only recognized those warnings after it was too late to heed them.
A man bound my wrists with a length of rope, but he wasn’t alone. There were two men, both behemoths, grizzled and scarred. I tried to spirit away, but the rope flared with magic.
“Don’t bother, witch,” one of them said gruffly. “The cord is infused with a binding spell.”
The one who had tied me up blew a crystalline, shimmering powder into my face and everything went black.
8
Omen
I didn’t fear the river. Not in daylight and especially not now in the darkness.
I didn’t fear it when the waters rose and swelled its banks, and the normally crystal clear stream clouded over with mud. Not when debris rushed along with the sediment. I didn’t even fear it when it overflowed its banks. A flood could be damaging, but the village was far from the river. An occasional flood replenished the soil. Good soil begat healthy crops, and healthy crops were vital.
River…
The stones began to whisper, then speak, then shout.
I raced toward the river down the paths I’d worn into fields, and through the stone arches I made to adorn them. The rocks continued to scream.
River.
Something was wrong. I’d never heard them so upset.
Of course, I knew rocks didn’t speak. Fate spoke to me through them. As one of the Fate-Kissed, he guided me. Sometimes, he told me things about the villagers. He told me the butcher’s wife was pregnant before she even realized it. And he told me what would befall the baker’s boy at the age of seven when he fell from the hay loft of their barn, broke his neck, and died.
I tried to reach him in time.
I ran then, too. But I was too late.
I pushed harder. Something was happening at the river and the stones were upset.
What if one of the children had wandered away from home and gotten too close?
River! they screamed, trembling in the riverbed.
I felt the vibration every time my soles hit the earth.
I scuttled down the bank and sloshed into the water, the current dragging my skirt downstream.
Upstream, there was a commotion. Coughing. Sputtering.
And the sound of two gruff voices I would never forget.
Three men had waded into the swollen water, but lingered at the edge. One was tall and thin, and one was as short as he was thick. The meatier, smaller one held a young man’s face close to the water’s surface. Despite the splashing noise I’d made, they hadn’t noticed me.
“They say a witch won’t drown, but you seem perfectly capable of embarrassing your kind. You’re pathetic. We were trying to worm our way through the border wall when you just sauntered out of it like a fool. They say your mother is the strongest witch ever to be born, but you? You must have taken
after your weak father.”
The broad man thrust the boy’s head under the water and held it beneath the surface. The young man thrashed and strained against the man drowning him, but his wrists were bound behind his back and there was nothing he could do to get his head above the water.
The stones screamed. River!
Fire caught and spread through my veins. “Let him go!” I shouted, walking over larger rocks, drawn to the drowning boy. The stones shifted under my weight, gathering me up and propelling me toward them as if I rode atop a rocky wave.
The man let the boy up for air. He coughed and hacked, desperately sucking in air only to have his lungs protest. Water sluiced off his dark hair and ran down his nose.
Despite the grave danger he was in, he looked at me and yelled, “Run!”
I would not run. Not when he needed my help.
Protect him, Fate said, his voice true and clear. I wasn’t sure if it came from the stones or from within, but his tone was pure and unflinching. My body thrummed with power, electric and wild. I had no choice but to obey, but even if he hadn’t demanded it, I would’ve walked over hot coals to protect this boy.
I couldn’t explain why. I just knew I had to keep him safe. Keep him alive.
No matter what else happened.
“I said let him go,” I demanded, looking away from him to the men trying to drown him.
The tall, slender one drew a sleek, curved blade as he trudged toward me. He stumbled over boulders, slogging through deeper and then shallower pockets in the riverbed.
The young man screamed for me to run again.
“Please, run!” he begged. “Get away from her!” He strained against the rope at his wrists, gritting his teeth and letting out a guttural roar.
The man’s knife glinted in the moonlight. He was close, so close I could smell the mingling scents of wood smoke, charred meat, and the sour stench of sweat. He swiped the blade through the air, striking first, but he did not touch me.
I struck back with a whisper, commanding the stones. “Bury him.”
The man’s brows drew together in confusion, but fear shone in his expression when thousands of river stones erupted from the water all around him. They hovered in the air, water dripping off them until I commanded them to move, then they struck him at once and pounded him into the water, burying him beneath it.
The Omen of Stones Page 7
