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Legend claimed that the trees were soldiers from the fallen kingdom of Lorwynfell fleeing the Curse, turned at the very gates of Penryth.
Tonight was a Devouring, the magick-laden mist that descended over the countryside. It came randomly, with no rhyme or reason, no pattern that she could tell. Some said the Curse had to feed on mortal souls to grow stronger. Others said it was slowly stripping the land of its magick.
The songs also told of the Lord of the Netherworld nearby. As master of all dark creatures, myth said it was he who followed them into the woods at night.
Only the Halvorshyrd Rune was missing—the rarest runestone of them all. In fact, as long as she’d hunted runestones in the crumbling cities of the Bane, no one had ever produced a true Halvorshyrd Rune.
Loyalty to Bell is more important than freedom. Remember that.
Countless nights she’d talked herself out of leaving, the oath she swore to Bell like a chain wrapped around her neck.
Ravens were harbingers of powerful magick and evil.
he was the most beautiful and the most terrifying man Haven had ever seen. And second, he wasn’t a man at all. He was something else.
“And not just any royal Shade Lord. The Lord of the Netherworld. Of all the beasts in the land.”
Runes, she’d stabbed a Shade Lord! Not a Shadowling. Not a common Noctis. But a Shade Lord, the most dangerous and powerful kind of Noctis. Unfortunately for her, this particular Shade Lord was also the dark ruler of the Netherworld, and husband of the Shade Queen’s daughter—if the myths and Bell’s tomes were to be believed.
Clenching the blade between her teeth, she scaled the pale stones,
No. Unease twisted her gut, and she held up the dagger, bile burning her throat. Thick black blood coated the edge of her blade. The blood of the Shade Lord imbued with dark magick.
She could almost feel the world shift slightly, as if her actions had changed the future somehow.
The few Royal mortals that could access the Nihl had to rely upon runes, and even then, their attempts to harness the Nihl were clumsy and uninspired at best.
For the entirety of his enslavement to this realm, while the mortals chased their silly dreams in their beds, the garden after sundown had been his alone. Still, as much as he resented the intrusion, he also found himself hoping she made it back from her nightly hunts.
Perhaps that’s why Archeron no longer bristled quite so much at the girl’s presence. Why he whispered a small thanks to the Goddess every time she came back alive. She was a passing distraction in his immortal existence, a reminder of the fierce warrior Sun Queens of his homeland. That was all.
“The last Boteler who displayed lightcasting abilities on their Runeday was my great-grandfather. The rest were barren. I think I’m safe.
Unable to bear children as mortals do, they used their vast magick and the bones of every animal, including mortals, to create two separate races.
The Noctis took after their father, with wings full of inky-black feathers, claws like raptors, and broad onyx horns. A full-grown male Noctis could reach seven-feet tall, their muscular bodies large and menacing,
The Solis were tall and golden like the setting sun, with eyes like jewels and hair like spun gold, same as their mother. They most resembled the mortals,
Odin had been furious when the Goddess gifted the Mortal Houses with the Nine Runes, and the love they shared turned to bitter hatred. Odin gathered his Noctis children and waged a war against the Solis and his estranged lover, Freya, invoking ancient dark magick and awakening something evil.
“Even monsters have souls. Like that creature you’re drawing there.” His gaze flicked to her sketch. “There’s a sadness behind those handsome eyes.”
Still, when Haven held the runestones, she could feel something. A connection, an emotion, as if an invisible thread ran from the stone connecting her to the Nihl—which was, for her, impossible.
the runestone in Bell’s pocket wasn’t from the Nine Mortal Houses. It was a powerrune, forbidden for mortals. Which in her experience made it all the more powerful . . . and deadly, if caught with it.
Haven was the only one in Damius’s crew who could spot the rare, forbidden runes that were off limits to mortals. On the black market, the stones were worth a small fortune; if she were ever caught with them, they were worthy of death.
“Yes, My Lord.” His voice was like honey, smooth and sweet, but an undercurrent of resentment tainted every eloquent word. “Have you met my Sun Lord?” the King asked Lord Thendryft, his eyes gleaming with pride, as if the Solis was a prize hound to show off.
Haven had never spoken to the Sun Lord Archeron, but she had noticed him around court, always slipping through the shadows next to the king. She once heard a lady of the court whisper that Archeron Halfbane was bound to King Horace, a slave.
Haven opened her mouth to protest—she loved him like that—but then she swallowed her words and slumped into her saddle. She cared for Bell as much as anyone could love a person, a brother, and she was fine without the other kind. But she would never be enough for Bell. Neither would princess Eleeza, or any of the princesses his father mentioned over the years. A prince, on the other hand . . .
Nine years was a long time to spend in one place, but Penryth still wasn’t her home. In the back of her brain, a small voice whispered the promise she’d made years ago: to find her way back to the family she was taken from. Scraps of memory told her she was from across the sea in the realm of Solissia, but that was all she knew.
flowers poisonous to mortals were thrice as deadly to Shadowlings.
Everyone possessed magick to some degree, but most mortal’s magick was so weak, even with a strong runestone they could barely cast a spell or lift an object.
Unable to vent her anger, she poured her fury into her stare, burning him with it, wishing she could set him on fire the way Bell had his beast and watch him burst into flames. . . A shock zipped through the air, and Stolas’s eyes widened, just slightly. He cocked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. What was that? It was so subtle she could’ve imagined it, but he’d definitely felt something. Hadn’t he?
By the Goddess’s Law, every curse had a Curseprice.
“no one seems to remember how to break the Curse. Only the wishes granted afterward. One wish for each Curse breaker—if you believe the tales.
“Was it Stolas?” he continued in his honeyed voice, though his eyes darkened at the mention of the Shade Lord. “Why didn’t he kill you, I wonder? It’s not like him to show mercy.”
More common than powerrunes, runemarks could be wielded by those with little magick in their veins . . . even mortals like her, if they took the intense training to learn the art.
“You’re right on both counts,” the Sun Lord said. “They are treating you like a child. And you will not survive if you try to fight us.” The bow wavered in Haven’s hands. She’d heard of Solis who could read minds, but they were supposed to ask for permission.
“Say it’s a deal!” she snarled as something heavy landed close by in the sand. “I prove useful and you get me across the Bane to the Ruinlands.” Cracking his neck, the pretty Sun Lord flashed his eyes at her. “Deal. Now let’s see what all those nights behind the wall taught you.” Haven didn’t even have time to register her surprise as a dark shape shot from the woods at her.
In her mad panic, a whisper rose from the darkness. Use me, it begged. Show them how powerful you are. How useful.
Apparently, he’d never heard a mortal speak his language, because a flicker of surprise flashed inside his jeweled eyes, making her giddy from head to toe. Grinning darkly, he murmured back, “It’s a wonder that arrow didn’t find my heart instead, mortal.” Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Give it time.”
But the most important detail so far was the discovery that, right before one of the Solis peeked into her mind, she felt a light tingle at the base of her skull.
The silvery flicker of runes incandesced over his flesh, sunlight running down the intricate web of interlocking ley lines that mapped every inch of his body besides his face—or, at least, everything Haven could see. Those were the runes the Solis were born with. The ones that formed the complex pattern sharpening the Solis’s raw, natural energy into specific powers. Every Solis’s rune pattern was unique, like a fingerprint.
Yet even as she ran through a list of reasons why what happened couldn’t have happened, the truth was scattered around her feet, impossible to ignore. Somehow, Haven had performed magick. Powerful magick.
The kingdom of Lorwynfell. Tales of its fall were ingrained into Haven’s memory. Next to Penryth, it had been the most powerful mortal kingdom, ruled by a half-mortal, half-Noctis Queen.
Aside from Bell, fighting was the only thing she loved. The only thing she was good at.
“Magick is not free, Mortal. It always takes something of equal value in return. But it is an ancient master, with a mind of its own and desires we can only begin to fathom. And that makes its price unpredictable, sometimes ruinous—particularly for mortal flesh. Be glad mortals cannot harness dark magick. That price you cannot pay.”
For a heart-stopping moment, she was inside his mind, watching herself sleep. Even though this was a nightmare, and she was fully cognizant of that fact, somewhere deep down she knew it was really happening. That was her right now, lying there. Unprotected. At his mercy.
Her magick. Magick that can’t be accessed because of the runetowers. Yet she still felt something.
And then someone was coming at her. A voice demanding she stop. Archeron. But she hardly heard him. Her power roaring for release . . . for its promise of blood. With an explosive crack, magick spewed from her fingers into the djinn.
You opened a door to the Netherworld and conjured dark magick.”
