CHAPTER 1
I wasn't sure what was more daunting, the vast expanse of wilderness or the infuriating wielder at my side. Rixon hadn't spoken more than a handful of words since our departure. They consisted of, "The Wild is a dangerous place, Lady Witch."
I understood the meaning. Arrogant male. I might be the power, but he had the experience. I was green as grass, had spent the last seven years in the safety the Citadel. What did I know of navigating the wild? Of confronting its dangers? I'd done it once, during a dark time in my past, when I'd sought the help of witches to understand my power. Things had changed since then. The world wasn't the same anymore.
Besides his warning, Rixon remained silent. Hours and hours of nothing. Except the steady beat of horses hooves on dirt as we adjusted and readjusted our pace to suit the landscape.
I stole furtive glances in his direction, my jaw clenching every time. He wasn't unpleasant to look at, but he was a good deal older than the rest of my cohort. Perhaps thirty to my twenty one.
He did have a fascinating scar that crossed over his forehead through his eyebrow, stopping at his eyelid. I'd it quite a few times with my eyes. There were others on his face, much smaller, almost indiscernible. The first time I'd ever laid eyes on him, I'd wondered how he'd gotten them. Now they served to irritate me; I might never know.
Aside from the scattered scars, he had a full head of dark hair. He kept it longer than most wielders, just below his shoulders. It was often tied back, but occasionally he wore it in a warrior knot atop his head. There was stubble along his jaw. He probably hadn't shaved for a few days. His nose was slightly crooked, not enough to be ugly, but enough to give him a fierce look. Though, not as fierce as his piercing gaze or his ominous presence. Those traits had the other witches in my cohort whispering insults late into the night, during those final hours when we turned down the lamps and crawled into bed.
I used to think it was because they truly scorned his decision to return to the Citadel. That they thought less of him for showing his face at all. That they despised his failure.
But no, it wasn't that. It was because they feared him. They didn't know what to make of him.
Perhaps I didn't either. Hazarding another glance, I studied the bunch of muscles beneath his tunic, the way it outlined everything from his corded arms to his trim waist. My eyes traced the proud posture of his shoulders, the ease in which he rode, sitting straight, holding loosely to the reins. Cursing the flutter of my stomach, I shifted in my seat. He was half a horse length ahead, so he didn't catch my gaze; I'd have been mortified.
I pushed him from my mind and studied my surroundings. Hours from the Citadel and there was...nothing. Absolutely nothing besides vast rolling hills. Hills as far as the eye could see, covered in high grasses long dried from the hot summer sun. Rocks pushed up from the soil, jutting up like sentinels, the only thing of interest in the otherwise monotonous world around me.
Another small thrill left my heart racing.
My magic felt restless today, dying to burst free as it built and built and built. Years of training and I was finally here! Not that here—specifically—was anything remarkable. I was being sent to the farthest outpost in Raeria. That thought left me gutted, but not as gutted as I'd been two days ago.
I couldn't say what frustrated me more, my assignment to a place on the very edge of the kingdom, or the prospect of an entire month traveling with no one's company but Rixon's. I might as well've been traveling with a slab of granite. A dangerous, weapon-wielding slab, but a slab nonetheless. Gods spare me.
I sighed, narrowing my gaze to see across the distance. Nothing. Still, nothing. I'd familiarized myself with maps of Raeria, but I wouldn't tell him that. "How long until we reach Barefort?" I asked instead.
There was a long silence and then, "Four days."
At the sound of his voice, I ignored the deep chord that vibrated inside me. "So...we'll be spending the first few nights sleeping...where exactly?"
I already knew the answer.
"In the Wild, Lady Witch. And many nights beyond that."
I hid my smile. It was more words than I expected. Taking a risk, I said, "What do you think we'll find at Rockfall? Was the council right? About the demons?"
I waited for his answer.
"Continue at your pace, Lady Witch. I will ride ahead to scout." He trotted off and left me in shocked silence, mouth gaping.
My chest crumbled. More of this, then. I'd thought perhaps...well, never mind. Like every other time, I failed to ignore the painful blow. Blatant dismissal.
Why? Why wouldn't he talk to me? Was I really that...insignificant to him? What had I done to make him dislike me?
He wasn't incapable of speech. On the quieter side, from what I had observed. But I'd seen him talking others. Wielders, specifically. Just...never me. Every attempt I'd ever made at conversation had failed in one way or another.
I fisted the reins in my hand. Did other witches face this challenge? I tried to think on it, but didn't recall. I'd only seen docile submissiveness from their wielders. I grumbled, grinding my teeth, trying to diffuse some of my pent up energy. He was too far ahead to hear me anyway. A breath blew from my lips.
"He rode off to be rid of me, Jarrow, didn't he?" I combed my fingers through Jarrow's mane, trying not to sound as hurt as I felt. Jarrow snorted, so I said, "He used scouting as an excuse to avoid talking to me."
I wished it didn't sting. After two years of this, it shouldn't have. I tried to disguise my feelings as annoyance. But that didn't change the truth.
"I think the gods have it out for me," I decided, stroking the stallion beneath my haunches.
Jarrow's coat was so black it swallowed the light. He was an Akeron, sired from a fine line. There weren't many of his kind left. He was also one of the only things I had left of my past life. The only thing I'd taken to the Citadel besides my sketch journal.
"What do you say we show him what Akerons are made of? Hmm?" Jarrow understood my meaning. Soon we were racing ahead, gaining on Rixon who'd disappeared over the next hill. A squeal burst from my lips as we crested the hill and plunged down its other side.
When Rixon heard our approach, he looked over his shoulder and I saw the shock forming on his face. It quickly turned thunderous. He wouldn't dare reprimand me for disregarding his instructions. We both knew it. So instead, I raced past him. His bay-colored Naissien picked up her pace. She'd never match us, never reach us now.
"Lady Witch!" he called. I grinned at the frustration in his voice while simultaneously ignoring the way it made me feel each time he said Lady Witch. "Lady Witch, it isn't safe—"
But I lost his words over the crest of the next hill, hearing nothing but the wind whistling in my ears and Jarrow's hooves. A roaring laugh bubbled up from my chest, spilling from my lips as pure, undulated glee ripped through me. I cried out with joy, spreading my arms wide, embracing the emptiness that surrounded me. We crested another hill, then dropped. Now, more than ever, my magic wanted to break free, to rip from my body. But I knew better than to let it out. I wouldn't waste a single, precious drop. Not unless—
A bellow ripped through the air. A bellow that sent chills racing across my skin. Jarrow neighed and deftly changed course, wheeling us around. He was well trained. He knew not to stop abruptly or throw me off. "Good boy!" I breathed, my joy replaced by fear. It blanketed my shoulders, settling in the pit of my stomach. I whispered in Jarrow's ear, stroking him with soothing hands, looking around with wide eyes. It sounded again and I saw the source. Tharns, two of them, racing over the hill beyond. They must have heard me laughing, or scented me on the wind.
"Lady Witch!" Rixon was breathless as he raced towards me. There was anger in his voice—in his expression. Not worry. Not concern. Just anger. And it was directed at me. He'd heard them too. He knew exactly what it meant.
I ignored him and stopped my horse on the crest of the hill. There would be no outrunning a Tharn. Other, slower demons, perhaps. But not these.
Rixon brought his horse to a stop beside mine, dismounting, his eyes glued on the approaching Tharns. I'd seen them in paintings, in sketches, even drawn a few myself. I'd faced them in training, both in controlled sessions and the trials. But nothing quite prepared me for the reality of facing them alone in the wild, away from skilled witches and wielders.
Their black leathery bodies loped over the dried grass, closing the distance, alternating between two legs and four, claws ripping deep furrows into the soil. At full height, Tharns were nearly eight feet, over a foot and a half taller than my wielder.
Rixon spoke, his voice accusing. "What would have happened, Lady Witch, if you'd gotten too far ahead?" He didn't look at me. I knew exactly what would have happened. I also knew what he was implying. It infuriated me. How could I want so badly to break this male's frigid exterior? Especially when he elicited such mixed emotions? Longing, confusion, anger.
He wouldn't chastise me outright, no matter how arrogant. He was still a wielder, still my inferior. That he dared say anything might have resulted in severe punishment from several witches I knew, were he bonded to them instead of me. I was not one of those witches. I never would be. He'd discover it in time. I was determined to make it so.
I cloaked myself in nonchalance and said, "Well then, I doubt you'll need my assistance, Lord Wielder. Not with a couple of Tharns. I'll leave you to handle them, since clearly I'm helpless in such matters." I crossed my arms over my chest and stayed firmly planted in Jarrow's saddle.
He snorted, but didn't argue. Infuriating! He dragged his sword over his shoulder, scraping it against its scabbard. I thrilled at the sight of his muscles flexing. I'd seen him fight in the training hall countless times. I'd also seen what he could do in the arena during trials.
His sword wasn't the only weapon he carried. There were belts across his chest lined with daggers. A bow strapped to his saddle, with a quiver full of arrows. I didn't know for certain, but could guess his boots had tiny blades in their soles. There was a long knife at his waist, and who knew what else.
His dark blade glistened in the late morning sunlight. Nebrine. The only metal capable of killing demons. Rare and valuable, but not as rare as the witches whose magic also worked against them. Except, magic couldn't fell a demon the way a Nebrine weapon could. Magic couldn't remove a demon's head from its body, or pluck its heart from its flesh. But it could do many other things, like incapacitate a demon long enough for a wielder to act.
Did I plan to offer such assistance? To Rixon? Of course not. I was...helpless, apparently. Unable to be off on my own for any length of time in the wilderness without suffering his simmering anger and gritted teeth.
So no. No help from me today.
Another bellow split the silence. They were plunging down the hill ahead of us. Our position gave Rixon the advantage. I knew exactly how he'd take them, using speed from the slope to meet them. Just as they started to climb, one second passed, then two, then three. He took off at a sprint.
I couldn't help my heart as it tumbled, despite knowing his capabilities. I couldn't help as my lips parted when he dropped low and slid, bringing his sword around, slicing a leg clean off the nearest Tharn. It was a move even I could admire. A sharpened Nebrine blade could cut through rock. The Tharn screamed and tumbled, but its companion was on Rixon in moments. He rolled, brought his blade up, swiping at its abdomen. I watched in fascination, just as I'd done during the trials. He grappled with it, swiping and dodging. They kicked up dust as they fought.
Each angry roar from its mouth had me itching to jump from my skin, itching to use my magic, itching to restrict the beasts movement, to subdue it, to immobilize it. It was instinctual. But I restrained myself.
I was helpless, apparently.
Another blink and a clean swipe of Rixon's blade removed its head. The other, he quickly dispensed. A minute later, they were nothing more than a pile of bloodied carcasses.
It hadn't taken more than a few minutes. Soon, the smell of Tharn blood would seep through the air and attract other creatures from farther away, other demons we might not be as fortunate with. Where there was one, there were often many, and if these two were this close to the Citadel, there'd be more.
Blowing out a breath, I swung from Jarrow's saddle. I proceeded down the hill. Rixon wasn't even breathing hard. I'd seen him take down four of these in the trials. He'd also taken down an Olum and those weren't exactly commonplace. Not to mention the others. He'd felled the largest number any wielder had ever managed single-handedly.
When I got to the pile of limbs and parts, my eyes slid over the heads. Rows and rows of razor sharp teeth and empty black eyes. A shiver raced down my spine. Demons were the most lethal creatures in this kingdom. And yet, they didn't scare me as much as they should have. Perhaps because I'd seen how awful humans could be, too.
"Are you all right?" Rixon's low voice made my breath catch, pulling me from my trance. My gaze darted to his face. He studied me with concern, brows furrowed, eyes roving over me, like I was the one who'd just done all the work. Like I was the one who'd just put my life in danger. It was entirely out of character.
It took effort on my part, but I clenched my jaw and didn't bother answering, for all the times he'd done the same to me, perhaps he could see what it felt like. His expression wiped clean, returning to the blank slate I was used to. I did take a moment to catalogue his body, to ensure there were no lethal wounds. Purely for the sake of his safety, I assured myself. No other reason.
I found one along his forearm. A deep gash that wept and dripped to the ground. I'd heal it later—if he'd let me.
Closing my eyes, I felt for my magic, the force of might sparking in my soul. I wouldn't need much, and I couldn't afford to use much. But taking just a little would release some of the tension pent up between my shoulders. Without a word for Rixon, for anyone, or anything, I let a trickle of it free, focusing my intentions. I kept the flames small and hot. Enough to incinerate everything into ash in a matter of seconds, but not enough to allow smoke to drift up, and what little did was quickly scattered by the gust of wind I created. Then I pushed what was left beneath the earth and buried it, hiding all scent, all evidence that we were here.
When I looked up, I caught Rixon's gaze. He was focused on me, his expression still unreadable. Something flashed in his eyes, but he quickly turned away, retreating back up the hill. I ground my teeth together and stared after him, then blew out a breath.
I felt...better. But only slightly. If I used too much, the opposite would happen. Witches died from overspending. From burnout. I'd even seen it happen.
Picking up my feet, I trudged up the hill. When I reached Jarrow, I brushed my hand along his sleek coat, whispering in his ear, telling him again what a good boy he'd been. I always told him how much I loved him. I didn't say it in the common tongue. I said it in Aavix, a language foreign to this kingdom.
Before I turned to mount him, I caught Rixon staring down at me, lips parted. This time he looked...perplexed? A small crease had formed between his eyebrows and his eyes were almost...soft. "Well, at least you're not angry anymore," I snapped before I realized I'd said it out loud.
His expression smoothed and he turned away, facing forward. "Perhaps this time, Lady Witch, we stick together."
I sighed, but didn't answer. Instead, I swung up into Jarrow's saddle. Clicking my tongue, I led him down the hill. Rixon appeared at my side, close enough to annoy me, but perhaps not close enough. I kept my head forward, determined to look anywhere but him. Somehow, it was only our first day away from the Citadel, and yet, already it felt like we'd traveled a lifetime.
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