For centuries, in the mortal’s eyes, I was the embodiment of lives cut too short—the diseases that killed their children, the arrow that pierced their loved ones’ hearts. I was everything nobody wanted, but I was not the bringer of death. Nyxara wove the tapestries of their lives, carefully creating various paths. Yet, I was admonished.
A flash of anguish steals my next breath when I flick my eyes up and over the waters to the island. I clutch the fabric of my tunic and clamp my eyes shut as the pain surfaces. I count the steady beats of my mortal heart thumping beneath my fist. One, two, three, four, five…. When I reach ten, I open my eyes and inhale sharply.
Being back in my physical form, after all these years of not having to feel anything, is torturous.
An acrid, smoky scent mixed with decaying leaves permeates from the soil, transporting me back to a memory of the Ash War. It was simple then, our goal was to aid the witches against those who persecuted them. While my siblings ruled over Dahryst—each taking glory during the war—their power grew as their subjects worshiped their victories. Meanwhile, I was fated to eternal servitude, forever stuck between life and death, guiding souls from this world into the next until I saved this land and imprisoned them.
Only then was I venerated, and as my powers grew, my siblings weakened. Not that it mattered. However much I was worshiped afterward, it did not fill the emptiness that lingered in my mind, which was likely caused by Nyxara and her memory manipulation.
Waves crash in the distance, groaning with each surge of rising tide. Beneath the turbulent surface, the dead form a barricade against any curious mortals who may try to venture to the island.
My fingers tingle as I sense their exhaustion, how they long to leave this world. To allow them their peace is to destroy the protection, stopping anyone from finding my siblings’ sleeping bodies.
Breathing in the crisp night air, I kneel on the shore and graze my fingers over the surface of the Black Sea.
I summon the souls of those sacrificed in the fourteen previous tournaments and the unfortunate sailors whose ships were drawn into these treacherous waters, doomed to sink into the depths.
Three spirits draw closer, beckoned by my call. Essentria’s magic leaves my fingers in a hue of gold, hovering over the dead in the waters, then drifts like glitter, seeping through a wave.
Slowly, they emerge from the inky sea, drops sliding down their shadowy bodies as they shift into the same creatures that serve me in the Darklands—the Phovi.
Under my hard stare, the humanoid-appearing shifters bow into submission.
“I, Azkiel, God of Death, bring you back to find the prophesied one. She will be amongst those whose names are volunteered. You must guard the church where the ceremony will take place and keep watch on all who enter and leave.” The command leaves my lips in a hiss. “Find her.”
THREECalista
As we slide through the back entrance, we walk into our mother, holding a cup of steaming lavender tea.
Ari gasps, shuffling back, and I scoot over in time so that she doesn’t fall into me. “Mama.”
Mother’s long fingernails tap against the tea bowl as she drags her assessing stare over Arabella, then hovers over the coin purse attached to my sister’s leather belt. “Get to bed,” she orders with a shake of her head, then runs one hand down her long, blonde braid. “We will talk about this in the morning.”
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I wanted to see the market,” Ari says, her voice lightening into submission.
I clear my throat. “That’s not true. It was—”
“Bed,” she shouts, and Ari glances over her shoulder at me, apology infused in her gaze before she turns and hurries past Mama, disappearing into the corridor. Once she’s out of sight, Mother places her cup down on the half-moon table, then presses her hands against her hips, wrinkling the silk of her nightdress.
“Should I go, too?” I ask as she frowns, the wrinkles on her forehead more pronounced despite the powder she uses to attempt to hide them.
“Are you trying to ruin our reputation?” she asks, her voice as frigid as the draft leaking in from the door behind me. “Have you not done enough?”
“Nothing bad happened.” I press my lips tight, to prevent the spill of poison from my tongue as I caress my argument in my mind.
“You best hope no one of importance saw you,” she spits through her teeth. “Your sister will provide a strong union with another family. I am sure you’re aware the other elders and their families are in town.”
All I know is Ari can’t be blamed for tonight. She may be the favorite, but that doesn’t mean Mother won’t punish her still. Not that forcing Ari to meet with suitors twice her age isn’t punishment enough. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry I took her out,” I say, my tone strained, then hug the cloak tighter around me, my heart pounding as I edge closer to the door.
Please let this end quickly. I don’t need another lecture, and Drake is waiting for me.
She lifts her fingers to her temple, the tattoo on her hand, emblazoned with Essentria’s sigil, shimmering in gold under the candlelight flicking from the wall. The back entrance falls silent, save for the occasional clanking from the kitchen in the next room. My mother leans forward, the smell of lead and lavender choking the air around us. With a low whisper, she says, “The sooner I can rid your sisters of your influence, the better.”
I laugh, having heard this a hundred times in private. She’d never dare say it in front of our sisters or my father. I lift my chin, my teeth grinding in my ears. “I know you don’t care about me, but must you always be so obvious about it?”
“Do not be dramatic, Calista.” She shakes her head, sighing. “You were always so emotional, even as a child.”
I take a deep breath, then briefly close my eyes, feeling her baiting me in like she does with every argument. I can’t bite. I won’t. Not this time. I clear my throat, then look at her. “Don’t worry, I plan on being out of this house soon.”
“Yes, and your father’s position will ensure it. A good marriage is all there is left. Without his name, what worthy suitor will overlook your deficiencies?” She proceeds to list off the numerous flaws I apparently possess, ones I have already memorized by now from her constant repetition. “You are twenty-four years of age and unmarried through your perseverance. Then there’s your lack of manners and social graces, your reckless reputation and, of course, your magic—” she pauses, then closes her lips over her venomous tongue briefly. I know what she was going to say. My lack of power. Like the rest of the town, she believes I don’t have any magic. That I was one of the rare few born without magic, deemed unworthy by the gods. If only she knew the truth. She’d hate me even more.
She sighs, dragging my focus back to her. “If you choose to destroy your reputation piece by piece, the least you can do is not to drag your sisters down with you. You took Arabella out tonight, alone! Anything could have happened. She could have been spotted.”
I roll my eyes up. “Even if we were spotted, Ari wasn’t alone. I was with her, and so was Drake.”
She huffs a breath through her nose, then steps back, placing a few feet between us. “The farmer’s son with dream magic?” Her hand slaps against her forehead, her eyes closing for a moment. “You should pray no one saw her with him. He is a nobody.”
“He is not,” I reply, my tone raising an octave. “Drake’s a good man, and we have been friends for years. I care about him and won’t have you say a bad word against him.”
Suspicion crowns her eyes. “So this is what your defiance is truly about. I hope you do not plan on marrying him. He has no status. Unless he’s lucky enough not only to be chosen for the Harvest, but win it and become an elder, there is no world that you two can be together.”
Something inside of me snaps. I close the distance between us, my finger pointed, but a faint voice in my mind reminds me she is still my mother. As much as I wish she wasn’t. “He would not be lucky to be chosen! No one is,” I say breathily.
“It is an honor,” she enunciates.
My brows knit together as I tilt my head. “If it’s such an extraordinary honor to be selected, why is Father keeping us from participating in The Choosing, then? What power does an elder have to prevent a fate determined by the God of Death himself?”
“Enough!” She snaps. “You dare talk back to me like this? Show me some respect. I am your mother,” she barks, as she always does when she can’t answer something. “You will go to bed now, before your father finds out about your shenanigans.”
