Gade
The foretold witch has finally arrived in my land.
I survey the dark shape lying face down, possibly unconscious, beneath the twisted oak tree, near certain it’s the malevolent being I’ve been waiting for. I sniff the air. Yes, the creature is most definitely female.
An insidious invader. A sorceress.
Of all the infernal days for the prophecy to be fulfilled, why must it be today?
I’m in no fit state to deal with meddlers from lands beyond the veil. I’ve spent the last sennight stumbling through the Lowlands and have somehow managed to lose my horse, Wren, and my golden eagle, Lleu, and am now alone with my mind in tatters.
The timing of the witch’s arrival could not be worse.
Old stories tell of a hostile sorceress, predicted to appear beneath the Crystalline Oak, her mind full of schemes and set upon the downfall of my home, Talamh Cúig.
I’ve not given much weight to these tales because why would a sorceress come to these lands? What could she hope to gain from a city in decline?
Since my parents’ death three years past, the air mage who cursed me has withdrawn from the capital, her absence weakening the Elemental Power of Five that my people rely on for their magic. And now, without a king and queen, the Land of Five slowly decays.
Perhaps the witch beneath the tree is a spy sent by the Merits, the southern Unseelie fae who’ve long been obsessed with building machines, time devices called clocks and steam pumps to move water through their dark city, in the pursuit of evermore power.
Why bother with such laborious distractions when they could employ nature magic as we Elementals do? As all fae creatures are meant to do.
No doubt they’re planning to march on my kingdom while my land and powers are weak. Ruling as prince, the only surviving son of King Bryar and Queen Aisheel, I can’t be crowned king until I marry the fated girl the air mage has chosen for me, the girl who will stop the poison’s deadly flow through my blood.
I must find this girl before it is too late, marry her, and claim the throne. If only I knew where in the Elements I’m meant to find her. But today, with rage and bitterness clouding my mind, instead of searching, I must waste time ending the life of a witch. Once, I shunned violence at every opportunity. Now, the poison makes me long for it.
Damn the curse and its progression.
The wind on top of Waylan’s Tor tears at my cloak while crazed thoughts swirl through my mind, jumbled and chaotic; they make no sense. It’s the poison’s fault, pulsing through my blood like liquid fire, turning me into a monster day by day.
Squinting, I fold my arms over my leather breast plate and run my gaze over the Crystalline Oak—its gnarled roots and branches covered in glittering dark crystals—and then the girl beneath it, lying wretched and unconscious.
The witch I must kill.
Kill her, the curse’s voice snarls inside my mind. Finish this girl at once, or she will be your downfall. The end of your precious Land of Five.
Heaving a sigh, I unsheathe my sword and stalk down the rocky hillside, clouds of orange dust exploding with every thud of my boots. The wind continues to lash without pause, and the sun above is scalding hot.
I check the sky, searching for Lleu—my bonded creature and when it suits him, also my loyal companion. Where in the realms has he gone?
The oak’s branches creak in the wind, but still the witch lying beneath the dust-covered cape, her hair streaming around the hood like ragged sand-colored ribbons, doesn’t move. Perhaps she’s already dead and I won’t need to bother shedding her blood.
Before the curse, in the blink of an eye, I could turn her into a pile of shattered bones and gore, using any one of the elements I control. But these days, I find a manual form of elimination more satisfying and take pleasure in my victims’ accelerating heartbeats, the fear swirling in their eyes, their pleading whimpers—all of it a sensory delight to me.
As a boy, I hunted only for sport and the opportunity to study my prey at close quarters, but it was against my nature to kill without reason. I practiced swordsmanship for fitness and to protect my family in case my magic was ever disabled.
Now dark, twisted thoughts sustain me like air. They are the food that nourishes my body. The earth that cushions my feet. And the water that quenches my thirst.
Should a court member laugh or speak out of turn, I picture all the worst ways to end them. Strangulation. Suffocation. Burning. Drowning. Chopping and rending bone and sinew limb from limb. Fellow fae crushed to dirt.
Yes, my mind is broken, but my body grows harder, more unyielding as each day passes and the poison thickens in my veins. With each moon’s turn, the suffering of others becomes more intoxicating and addictive.
In the beginning, I fought hard against the poison’s insidious pull, but now that it has thoroughly ravaged my mind and body, there’s no point in struggling. It’s over. The curse has won, and I will be its bound slave until I marry my chosen one. Then the poison will lie dormant until my death when it will transfer to my heir. This is the sorrowful song the air mage sings, and since she cannot lie, it must be true.
I roll my shoulders, then crack my neck. No more delaying; it’s time to deal with the witch.
Stalking forward, excitement spikes through my veins, the curse baying like a wolf deep in my chest. If this girl—this trespassing witch—hopes to meddle in my land, then she will be the unfortunate recipient of all my pent-up rage.
My steps grow longer, harder, each thud of my boots a small earthquake that vibrates the ground. Strangely, even as I move closer, the witch doesn’t move.
Boom. Boom.
No response.
Boom. Boom.
Still nothing.
A distant bird screeches, and then it happens—the brown cape ripples like a wave as the witch’s head rises. I stand five short paces from her billowing gray skirts and watch her body tremble and her hands make fists. A frown creases her forehead, and fear forms wet pools in her light-colored eyes.
For a witch, she doesn’t look very powerful. Perhaps the journey through the portal to our lands depleted her strength.
Now three paces away, I halt, my sword tip pointing toward the ground.
“Don’t come any closer,” she says, scrambling to her feet.
I blink at the melodious tone of her voice, the sound far from malevolent.
The bones in my spine crunch as my shoulder blades draw together. I grunt, preparing to speak through burning throat muscles and a dry tongue, which haven’t formed words in days.
“Distance won’t save you. I could kill you with a single thought while standing on top of that tor. My sword is an amusement. I favor the feel of it, the weight, and admire its brutal efficiency.”
She takes a slow, shuddering breath. “Killing is sport to you, is it?” Her pointed chin lifts, the hood falling to her shoulders and exposing broad cheekbones, yellow eyes, and a mouth too wide and decorous for her solemn features. She has the hair of a sorceress—the golden color changing, shifting shades from light to dark as she moves. “Then you must be the devil himself and this land the hell you rule over.”
A laugh rattles my chest as I sweep my sword in a broad arc around the plains, heat blazing over my shoulders. Anger never fails to bring the power of fire crackling over my skin. “You think this land is the hell realm?”
Yellow eyes stare back, unblinking and defiant.
I grip my blade’s hilt tighter. “This part of my land certainly resembles that place, and I may appear similar to the dark guardian who rules over it, but you’re mistaken. You have ported into the Land of Five, witch. We’ve been expecting you. So do not bother feigning ignorance. I know who you are.”
I take two steps forward. She takes one back, and her spine hits the crystalline bark of the tree trunk, her hands thrusting out in a futile effort to protect herself. I summon a shield of wind and brace for a blast of the sorceress’s power.
None comes.
I flip my palm up, and a trickle of blue light spins into two strands that twist around each other, becoming a vortex. Before the curse weakened me, I could summon a storm of lightning, a raging flood, or a wildfire large enough to destroy an entire forest with ease. But that was before, when I was much more than I am now.
Expelling a harsh breath, my confidence wavers. Perhaps in my current weakened state, I cannot beat this witch.
No.
I am the prince of Talamh Cúig, heir to the ancient Throne of Five—of course I can crush the stranger. Let her do her worst.
My teeth grind together as I step forward and fist her hair with one hand, the other pressing my sword’s edge to her white throat.
“Please,” she says, gripping my forearms, the contact flaring the star glyph on my hand. “My mother…”
“What?”
“Don’t kill me. My mother is ill. I’m needed at home to care for her. I’m all she has. Have mercy. Please.”
“Why should I grant mercy to a demon who wants to stop me from healing the sickness of this land?”
Her eyes, the color of light amber crystal flecked with gold, widen. Her lips part, but she says nothing as I stare into her dilated pupils.
“That’s right, little sorceress. I know exactly why you’re here.”
“How could you possibly know why I’m here when I have no idea where I am or how I arrived at a place where strange and unnatural men such as you exist?” Her skin reddens as my sword scrapes it and my gaze fixes on the dancing pulse at her throat.
“Please.” Her weak fingers rise to grip my bicep. “Wait. Think rationally. Look at me.”
Grimacing, I relax the pressure of my blade.
“First, consider our differences,” she says. “Although it seems impossible, I can think of no other explanation… you are the magical creature, not I. You’re the strongest man I have ever laid eyes on. Your clothes seem fashioned from fantastical dreams, and power and madness burn equally in your gaze.”
I snarl, and she flinches, then licks her lips and continues. “The ears that part your hair are pointed, not rounded like human ears are, like mine. And a moment ago, I witnessed magic forming on your palm.”
She tugs my wrist, but my sword arm doesn’t yield.
“Look closely,” she begs. “I’m a powerless human, and you are something else entirely.” She shakes her head. “Or perhaps I’m asleep and dreaming. Yes, hopefully, that is true.”
She’s human? No. It cannot be. She lies. Sorceresses have been known to bend truth; fae cannot.
“You’re not human. Your arrival in this land has been foretold. You are a sorceress.”
“I’m not. My name is Holly O’Bannon. I swear it on my life. I live in the village of Donore. It’s a simple place by the sea. My people fish, and I forage in the forest for food and herbs to help sustain my family. I promise you I’m no threat to any person or place.”
She lives by the water as do my people. I wonder if her ocean is as wild and untamed as the Emerald Sea and as full of deadly creatures.
“My mother lies dying in pain, helpless, while she waits for my return. This morning, I was in the forest picking herbs to ease her sleep when two women accosted me—otherworldly, both bright and shining—one gold, one silver.”
The air mage and her sister, Ether. It can be no others.
Pain lances my chest as I step backward. Why would Ether bring the witch here? I refuse to believe that the High Mage of Talamh Cúig is a traitor to our court. It’s impossible. But if it is true, then the witch’s arrival heralds my downfall and the ultimate destruction of my kingdom.
“You lie,” I say. “You are not human. It is said mortals are goblin-like creatures covered in hair who emit a scent of rotten bog marshes. You smell like herbs—just as a witch does.”
“I promise I speak the truth.” She attempts a small smile. “What is your name?” She lifts her chin while I glare at her, my fingers flexing on the hilt of my sword, readying to finish this. “Please. Which city do you call your home? Take me there. Someone will understand. They’ll know I’m not a witch. No doubt your people will want to help me return home. Whatever breed you are, you’re not monsters devoid of empathy, are you?”
My eyes roll back into my skull as I call on the power at the center of the six-pointed star—spirit—and transform, instantly dissolving to mist. A moment later, I reform in a solid state, amazed at my sudden boost of power, chest to chest with the witch, and my fingers wrapping around her slender neck.
Breathing hard, I consider my options. I could let her go. I could leave her here, a tasty meal for the draygonets. Or take her prisoner and haul her home to the Black Castle. But I know I won’t do either of those things—the cursed blood will not let me. It speaks to me as it pumps through my veins and vital organs, rushing through the chambers of my heart, the ratio of poison to blood growing every day.
Flames burst from the star on the back of my hand, wrapping around our bodies as a word sounds on repeat in my mind—firm and urgent.
Wait.
Wait, dark prince.
Wait.
My muscles freeze, and I strain to hear more, to understand. This is not the voice of the poison, nor Aer’s voice, or my own madness speaking. It is her sister, Ether—the High Mage. This is a voice of reason. A voice I trust.
I loosen my grip around the witch’s neck—but only a little.
She hisses like an animal pierced by an arrow.
A sudden wind howls, tangling our hair together, my black strands with her wheat-colored locks. Our gazes clash and hold—blue with yellow, then an ear-piercing shriek sounds above. I look to the sky, knowing what, or rather who, is coming. A rasping laugh escapes my lips.
The girl screams once—short and sharp, then falls silent, staring agog as the golden eagle lands, his broad talons braced upon my shoulders so his head looms over mine.
“About time, Lleu. Where in the Elements have you been hiding?” I say.
He spreads his immense wings, claws digging into my leather spaulders to reprimand me for scolding him.
The girl’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly. “What… what is that?”
“Now you pretend you don’t know an eagle when you see one. Your lies are not only astonishing, but foolish.”
Sweet breath pants over my face. Step back, I tell myself. Instead, I press closer.
Kill the witch—the curse-maker’s voice rasps inside my skull. Kill her.
Lleu’s beak is rough against my ear as he chirps loudly. I don’t happen to speak eagle, but his meaning is obvious. He agrees with Ether and tells me to stay my hand.
To wait and restrain my violent impulses. Control them.
But then the madness of the poison whispers through my blood.
Remember, it says. Always remember, Black Blood Prince.
You are mine.
As she is yours.
Kill her.
I cannot let this girl walk away.
I cannot let her live.
“Please…” she says, her body shaking. “Won’t you at least tell me your name?”
I can’t disclose that I am a prince of the land she seeks to destroy, but there is a name I can give that isn’t a lie—the name those closest to me, my sister and cousins, use.
My eyes narrow as I draw a long breath.
“Some call me Gade,” I say, and squeeze her throat tighter.
