Anathema (The Eating Woods, #1)

by Keri Lake

Sablefyre. An ancient element of the gods, forged eons ago in Aethyria’s fiery heart. A single touch could turn a body to ash, and blood to stone.

His appearance was the result of having performed the Emberforge ritual on himself, the same ritual he intended for her son. A rite that only young children were believed to tolerate without any permanent disfigurement, seeing as they hadn’t yet gone through their Ascendency.

And while his resulting deformities weren’t as pronounced as those of Cadavros, they ensured her poor child would never know his true power—because once the black flame entered the body, it destroyed all natural blood magic.

Alas, the gods had never answered, and darkness closed in on her as the moons slipped into the shadows.

He reached for Zevander, running his finger over the marking on his chest, a curious black swirl that’d seemed to anger Cadavros. On closer examination, there seemed to be words written in ancient Primyrian embedded in the swirl in a way that reminded Lady Rydainn of a wax seal across his heart. Branimir’s lips twisted to a snarl as he whispered the words that stabbed her conscience. “Il captris nith reviris.” What is taken will never return.

I was no more than a few days old when I’d been found abandoned before that cursed arch in a wicker basket, a single black rose upon my chest. No one knew who’d left me there, but every villager speculated that, whoever they were, they must have hoped the woods would eat me, as well.

Emotions I was forced to keep hidden for fear of looking possessed by evil, as girls were often perceived when they felt too much.

The emotions remained strangled in my throat, like the many times I’d been forced to swallow them back in the face of ridicule and scorn and rejection.

I’d learned at too early an age that the sound of a girl’s scream drew nothing more than apathy.

A treachery of ravens took to the sky overhead, the swoosh of their flapping wings punctuating their loud caws.

What a terrible burden to watch something die.

The men of our parish believed the birds to be an omen of death. They believed the same of me, too, so maybe I shared a kinship with the foreboding creatures. It was said that, on the day I’d been found near these woods, ravens had flocked around my basket. I liked to think they were guarding me, but some thought it a sign. A terrible sign.

From the ceiling over her head hung small white sachets that were decorated in dried flowers and filled with herbs. Weavers. Aleysia and I made them to keep bad dreams away—an affliction from which both of us suffered.

Summoning magic was as fragile as thin glass, and yet, he’d learned to traipse the finer edges with a sickening ease. His skin held intricate carvings, cicatrices of ancient glyphs that called forth the sablefyre slumbering inside of him.

The Sacred Men believed the end of mankind would arrive in the form of total destruction and complete blackness, and that The Red God would deliver them to the Eternal Light. They also believed the more sinners they thinned from our community, the purer their devotion.

On his hand, just below the metal shackle, I spied a five stars and moon, the symbol of the old gods, inked onto his skin.

How tragic that a woman’s worth equated to the depth of a man’s pockets.

“Go, my Darling, unto that place Where magic still exists Beyond the confines of this cruel world As you will not be missed Instead, I’ll find you in a dream Or a wistful plea on stars Hours of suffering no more redeemed For eternity is ours.”

Pain eaters, her kind were called, as they literally consumed the agony with a particular touch, or kiss.

“It’s your penance. A life for death.”

“You see the dead. You hear them speak to you.”

“I also know that the delicate black rose doesn’t grow well in these parts. Our winters are far too cold for its fragile roots.”

Let your sister be a lesson. Wild and unruly women have no place in this world. You’re meant to be tamed, or put down, if necessary.”

As if carved by a blade, a symbol appeared to have been etched there. A vertical line with multiple intersecting lines that reminded me of a spine, behind which glowed a silvery light.

Dusk had fallen, the dark blue sky lit by the many torches that flickered around the entrance of The Eating Woods.

the writing is quite intriguing

“I wouldn’t consider reading books in solitary the worst scenario.”

“Because I’m very invested in watching you live a long and prosperous life, Maevyth. If you believe nothing else, believe that.” “I don’t even know you, nor do you know me.” “I know more than you think.”

Why I still held my breath at the sight of him was a mystery.

The moment she pushed it open, a familiar masculine scent hit me, and I glanced around a vast room with beautiful stone archways and gorgeous stained glass. Multiple candelabras flickered from the mantle over a stone hearth, the cozy warmth of which sent a shiver across my bones. Across from it was a black, velvet settee cluttered with books. The biggest, most elaborate bed I’d ever seen stood within an alcove of bowed lancet windows that reached the ceiling, offering a gorgeous view of a vast darkness beyond, where faint white spires in the distance hinted at mountains.

“The Lunadei. Moon gods.”

“I find it interesting that any time a girl is unusual, or dare I say, unique, she’s deemed evil, or cursed.”

The ashes of our dead protect us in battle, the goddess, in death.

“Lunasier is our race of people. So mancers are like humans, in some ways, but immortal, and … quite frankly, more interesting. We’re divided into the Lunasier and the Solassions. The Lunasier get their powers from the moons. The Solassions, from the sun.”

“Pro-doh-ja. It’s the protective form of blood magic. A creature that unfailingly manifests in the form of whatever magic a person wields.”

Morsana placed the rose on the baby’s chest, and ravens flocked around the bassinet.

A song he remembered from some distant memory he couldn’t place. An angelic voice that strummed his soul. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“I think the world would be far duller, though.”

The Initios signaled the beginning of the festivities and blessings for the tournament, which gathered formidable contenders from all over Aethyria, who fought for the glory of claiming the princess’s womanhood.

“Celaestrioz. Some believe they harbor the essence of the gods.” He reached out his palm, allowing one to land there.

“How do you know who your mate is?” “You don’t until you kiss them. Or so I’ve been told.”

“I am angry at you.” The deep timber of his voice rumbled in my ear, and he spun me around, keeping in time with the other couples. “For wearing this dress. For looking so painfully exquisite, you’ve managed to draw everyone’s attention. Including mine.”

“Fuck it all, you stubborn bastard. She’s your mate, Zevander!”

“Some women are fire in your veins and hell between your teeth, Brother. Accept that Maevyth will never be safe. And no one will be safe from you because of it. Now, go find her, or by gods, I will make every day of your life a tribulation.”

He pushed a wavy strand of hair behind my ear. “I think you’re the bravest mortal I’ve ever met. And perhaps the most fucking stubborn, as well.” His comment brought a tearful smile to my face. “Regardless, I’ll stay and help you find her.”

Pinching my lips failed to contain the smile tugging at my mouth. Because, as pathetic as I may have been for it, I happened to enjoy the game of push and pull between us. The tension that left me constantly guessing.

The girl with the moon in her eyes and fire in her soul.