The Crown of Oaths and Curses (The Mortal Fates #1)

by J. Bree

Whatever secrets the Ravenswyrd is whispering to Tyton, they’re a message from the trees to him alone, but the song welcoming my return rings in my own ears as though I never left.

An invisible string that connects us, pulling at me to bring me home to the trees, and my chest aches with longing to stand amongst them once more. The Fates have dealt me a cruel hand, to lead me so close and yet deny me that single hope I have left within my heart.

Tears prick my eyes, longing and relief mixing to choke me as I listen to the trees call out for us. Once, long ago, I thought the forest had forsaken us. I thought we’d done something to wrong the forest that had sheltered and provided for the Ravenswyrd Coven for generations, and that ...

We learned what Kharl had done, that it was his treachery that cost us our family and our coven. We know that the trees were betrayed.

He knows they’re hiding something.

No healers. Possibly the saddest words to come out of any of their mouths so far, and my gut churns. There’s no one left to help those in need, entire generations destroyed by this pointless and blood-soaked war.

clearly there’s another lesson I must learn. Whether that lesson is how to take a throne without being married first—because there’s absolutely no way in this realm or any other that I will ever touch a witch, let alone marry one and seat her on my mother's throne—that’s another question.

I’d rather kill this witch myself than entertain such a fate.

She's too calm.

It's not going to work. I don't care what I have to do. I’ll take my throne without her.

There’s still an unbalanced look to his eyes and a frenetic movement to his limbs that speaks to how hard the magic of the forest is riding him. I don't like how closely the witch watches him as well.

Every word passed between us has been weighed and measured by her now, I’m sure, every piece of information she collects going straight to Kharl’s ear. I know almost nothing about the magic of witches, but anything could be possible.

I finally glance over to see what the trip through the door has done to this ill-fated mate of mine, but she only stares back at me with those haunting, icy eyes. I turn away before my fury blinds me.

I think those eyes of hers will plague my nightmares until my last breath.

A witch brought here to burn. They all assume I’ll be disposed of on the funeral pyres, the way all my kind have been in such times. None of them are aware of the connection that I have with their prince. I suppose it's for the best.

Part of me knows the persecution of witches regardless of their stance in the war is wrong and evil, but I returned here for my fate, not to protest or join another war.

Everything about the space is beautiful, regal, and a reflection of the prince the Fates have sold me off to. My chest tightening at the sight of the castle is the same reaction as the one I’d had when I first laid eyes on him too.

He might be every bit the gorgeous high fae, but a cold heart beats in his chest, one that has no room for warmth in it toward me.

“I was hoping the fae door would solve our problems, but I suppose the Fates really have cursed me.”

without so much as a backwards glance in my direction. The ice around my heart holds, the numbness filling my limbs, and I stare at the high fae as a hollow shell of my former self.

They're all the epitome of perfection, the same carving in slightly differing stones, the ice of their Unseelie blue eyes as cold as the steel their prince had pressed against my throat. Every last one of them is the perfect shade of moonlight as their bloodlines never deviate. I feel nothing as they stare back at me.

This is what the Fates had waiting for me—a fae prince destined to be my husband who cannot stand the sight of me.

He's the heir to the throne of the Southern Lands; what's to stop him from marrying me and leaving me in the dungeon to die? All he needs to take the throne is a signed contract. He doesn't actually need a wife sitting beside him.

It’s made worse because the land around us has been drained, and I’m experiencing all the desperate pulling and longing it feels at the presence of a witch. Finally, you’re here, save us, pour into us, sacrifice and give us what we need, it seems to whisper, and I grow unsteady as the pleas assault my senses.

Tauron tugs at my chains. He's less rough than the Savage Prince was, his pull more of a reminder to keep moving than an attempt to harm me, and when he finally leads me to a cell, I step into it without a word of complaint. He waits until the iron bars of the door have slid into place, locking firmly with a loud thunk, before he unchains my wrists through the bars. I'm surprised he does.

I was prepared not to have full access to my hands ever again. I’ll admit it’s a relief, one les...

The heavy earth crushing the air around me is more than enough to keep my mind occupied. It’s distracting enough that I can’t ignore the whisper in my mind, a scar from horrors I faced in the Northern Lands, telling me I deserve this and tha...

Seelie steel blades might be a luxury to some, but they’re a necessity to me. I’m better at hiding them than most, a trick I picked up from a friend now left behind.

Walking behind the horses for two days has taken a toll on me, and I long for the bucket of water he demanded, my throat dry and itching. The high fae assume that I’ll feel shame for drinking out of it, but they don’t know the life I’ve lived.

I'm sure that's what they're hoping for—to shame me in every way possible—but I was raised in the forest as a wild little witchling then trained as a healer in the Fate Wars, called to take up a sword as the world ended around me.

I've experienced far worse things than a dungeon in the b...

“Whatever you’re hoping to get out of my prince, you are not going to succeed. He’ll do what he must do to become king, and then we’ll kill you, just like we'll kill every last witch in the Southern Lands. Whatever we have to do to break the curse will be done. Enjoy your stay.” He turns...

I'm stuck in this hellish cell until the Savage Prince deems it appropriate to let me out. I have my doubts that he’ll ever do so, and I might truly be here forever.

During my time in the Sol Army, I was trained to withstand such torture techniques. Even though we were battling the Ureen, sightless and mindless monsters that killed indiscriminately without having the capacity to take prisoners, we trained as though we were facing the most intelligent of enemies.

With every new wave of attacks, I learned more about what it means to be a good

soldier and a valuable asset within the ranks. I worked my way up until I was in a position where learning how to withstand torture and survive myriad adverse situations was necessary.

The answer to both is a strong and sound mind. I'm not sure that I have one of those anymore—surviving the Fate Wars didn’t come without cost, and while I paid a stee...

Sitting here in the dungeon feels like a paltry penan...

It might hurt like a Fates-cursed bitch, but being in contact with the metal is possible for a witch as strong as myself.

I could heal the burns on my wrists and the charred skin on my throat, but I won’t risk using magic right now. Healing magic is bright and conspicuous, even to those ignorant to the art of casting.

How far will the Fates protect me against my mate? The man is beautiful and deadly and cruel in all the ways that...

I’ve spent centuries in the company of high fae, both Seelie and Unseelie, from this land and many others, and yet it took only one look into his cold eyes to know that he was chosen...

My body reacted to him the second I laid eyes on him, and no matter how long I’d prepared myself to be unmoved by our meeting, a longing for...

I have no choice but to surrender myself to the Fates and offer them my obedience.

I expected to return to a broken and scarred land, but I was unprepared for how sorrowful it would feel, the way that the earth and nature call to me. I'd forgotten what it meant to be a witch, a provider to the land, someone who protects and nurtures it.

I'd forgotten what it felt like to be home and responsible for more than just...

You’re home, Rookesbane. You’re home finally to protect us all.

Magic that isn’t my own sings underneath the scarred skin on my stomach and back, my connection to the Fates like the Seer’s own, though it was never my intention to form one.

It didn't occur to me that I’d become a conductor for such things as a result of my near-death experience. A calmness flows into my veins, easing away the last clutches of panic, and the song of the forest d...

I could give it every last drop of my blood and I still wouldn’t die, because it sustains me as I sustain it.