Chapter 1

M ateo Vela perched atop Spirit Butte. He sat at the edge of the wide plateau and watched as the setting sun cast a sea of red, pink, and orange across the horizon. The colorful glow resembled flames—the kind that soothed, not burned, and made the cold desert nights more comfortable.

"Everything is on fire." He scooped up a handful of pebbly red dirt and tossed it into the gentle breeze. "And so am I."

He visited this spot almost every evening to escape the bustle and noise of Sandhaven Village. On Spirit Butte, he wasn't a lowborn part fae, part human. Here, his bloodline didn't matter. He could be whoever he wanted.

Sometimes he imagined himself coming from a royal family with the power to make Faevenly a better place. Uniting the bloodlines would be his first order of business. He would elevate the Sublands to a place worthy of respect and position, and everyone would know his name. Other times, his restlessness and anger left him wanting to be a villain. He would own the heads of every member of ruling House Stromm—shove them on spikes so everyone would see.

Faevenly would be a better place without them.

A rustle sounded from behind, and he turned to find his best friends, Lirien and Gareth, approaching. Like him, they wore their usual black pants and long-sleeved green tunics with tall brown boots. Lirien's silver hair draped down his back while Gareth's red hair was tied back in a thick, long braid. They were like his brothers, and lowborn too.

"Sandhaven is busy today." Lirien adjusted the dagger at his waist and sat next to Mateo on a sheared-off but unyielding rock. Daggers were Lirien's favorite. When traveling, he kept several sheathed at his waist, one in each boot, and a few tucked in his tunic. But at home in the Sublands he carried little, if any.

"Too busy," Mateo grumbled.

Gareth did not sit. Like a sentry, he stayed upright and crossed his thick arms.

Lirien scooped up a rock and tossed it in Mateo's direction. "You nervous about the hunt?"

Mateo kept his gaze on the horizon. The Summit Range Hunt. High King Sylrik Stromm had established the hunt years ago after eliminating every member of House Strong. It was his way of celebrating his new rule—a demonstration of ultimate control. Since the hunt's inception, the Sublands had been denied participation because of their close ties with the Strongs and their sympathetic views toward lowborns and human blooded. So, to be included this time around was huge. Mateo outsmarted and outlasted the other Sublanders and earned the coveted spot.

He blew out a labored breath. If he finished first, he would receive favor and the coveted rewards. The losing competitors would receive nothing. They would be waiting five years for another hunt.

The internal pressure to perform mounted in Mateo. Anger followed. He would show the treacherous Stromms and everyone else what he and the Sublands were made of. He would come home with the rewards. Gold. Precious stones. Rich fabrics. Healing seeds for his father and little sister, Floriana. The Sublands might even regain a seat on the Faevenly Council when Mateo won the hunt.

The Summit Range Hunt meant…everything.

Frenetic nerves fluttered in his stomach like a swarm of lightning bugs. He scooped up a small pebble and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. "Nervous?" He chuckled. "What a joke. I'm not nervous. I'm ready ."

He had been preparing for the hunt his entire life, somehow knowing it would happen one day. Day and night, he had sprinted the vast canyons and dry riverbeds of the Sublands and neighboring provinces. He built his stamina and planned his hydration and nutrition. Under the velvety night sky and the light of the glowing moon, he tracked, hunted, and killed elk and boar. Now, at eighteen, his desire to compete in the hunt had come true. But could he win against highborns? That would be tougher than it sounded.

"You will show them all." Lirien patted Mateo on the back. "They have no clue about your speed."

Gareth grunted. Born mute, he communicated with the occasional guttural sound, but mostly with his hands. He pointed both index fingers at Mateo, letting Mateo know he agreed with Lirien.

Lirien took out his dagger and poked the dirt. He flashed Mateo a teasing grin. "Think you'll see the ice princess?" All of Faevenly knew that name.

Mateo drew in his chin and balked. "Avalynn Stromm?" The ice princess with a heart so cold she couldn't even bother to look lowborns in the eye. "I certainly hope not."

"Yeah, she'll probably be in a high tower somewhere ordering people around." Lirien laughed. "Counting her piles of silver and gold coins."

Gareth poked Mateo's back, then held out his fingers near his face, touched his thumb to his chin, and swiped his fingers across his face until his hand closed.

"Pfft, pretty?" Mateo threw a pebble at Gareth. "Who cares? She is a Stromm."

Lirien's attention stayed glued on the small hole he was digging. "I bet she looks like a harpy, but everyone has to say she's pretty or they'll be hanged."

Laughter burst out of them. The kind that eased doubts and worries. Mateo's heart warmed, and his nerves cooled. He nodded at his friends, then tossed the rock he'd been holding. "Ugly or not, I will show her and all the Stromms soon enough what we Sublanders are made of."

Mateo, Lirien, and Gareth made their way down the craggy path. They maneuvered the familiar trail with ease, their sharp eyes tweaking and adapting to the darkening sky. Though lowborn, their fae side dominated the three best friends. They were tall and lean with keen senses, athletic prowess, and graceful dexterity.

A large black wolf with a white streak down her back leaped from a prickly brush patch and took her usual place at Mateo's side. The thin, long tail of a field rat hung from her sharp teeth. Stormshroud bucked her head and toyed with her snack. With one swallow, she gulped it down. Even rats were scarce in the Sublands.

The trio entered Mateo's modest home. Usually, it bustled with activity, but tonight Mateo found his home empty. Mateo's father, Manny, wasn't cooking. His older sister, Camilla, wasn't reading to his sickly little sister, Floriana. Gareth's sisters weren't visiting.

"Where is everyone?" Lirien asked.

Mateo glanced around. "Maybe at the market for more seeds. Floriana's cough has been getting worse by the day."

Lirien turned away. His voice trailed off. "We are low too."

Gareth grunted with a nod. They were low on seeds as well. But nobody's bowl was lower than Mateo's and his family's. Their dismal supply of healing seeds dwindled faster than anyone else's.

Dim light from the sun's last remnants filtered through a row of tiny windows set deep within the thick beige stone walls. Blue and purple woven rugs covered the rocky floors. They provided warmth on cool nights and soft padding for bare feet.

With nightfall a blink away, Mateo made his way to the fireplace. He struck a long match from the wooden mantle and used the flickering flame to start a fire. Then, he lit the oil lamps hanging from the walls.

When Mateo finished the last lamp, the back door opened and then closed. Camilla rushed in with little Floriana at her heels. Their small-framed father, Manny, followed. Puffy eyes. Red noses. They had been crying.

Mateo's gut clenched. "What is it?" His heart pounded like a blind man's cane. "What happened?"

Little Floriana ran for Mateo and clutched his leg. Tears burst from Camilla's soft brown eyes. "Oh, Mateo." She held out a crumpled parchment paper. "It's awful." Her hands shook as he snatched the note.

He cleared his throat and read it to himself. The words chilled him to the bone. "No, no, no—this cannot be."

"What does it say?" Lirien moved closer. With his hand on Mateo's shoulder, he inspected the note.

Body trembling, Mateo swallowed a huge gulp of stale air and read aloud. "The High King of Faevenly does hereby proclaim by royal decree that the last place finisher in the Summit Range Hunt will earn the penalty of death. There will be no exceptions or excuses. Let it be known far and wide throughout the realm. Signed, High King Sylrik Stromm."

Silence fell on the room as if everyone had been instantly suffocated. For years, the Sublands' elders had petitioned for a spot on the hunt. Not only so they could be seen, but in hopes of winning the much-needed rewards as well. Now that the Sublands had joined the hunt, of course the Stromms imposed a death penalty decree. Honor, fairness, and dignity knew no home with the Stromm family.

Camilla gripped Mateo's arm. "You are not hunting."

"You are not doing it," little Floriana cried.

"I agree, Mijo ," his father added and grasped his shoulder. "It is way too dangerous."

Lirien and Gareth nodded while Stormshroud whimpered at Mateo's heels.

Mateo stepped away, searching for the right words. He would never back down to highborns or a Stromm. Not now. Not after such an unfair edict from the High King. He turned to face them. "We need those rewards. All of us. So, I am in. No matter what."

His older sister's eyes widened. A rigid furrow formed on her smooth forehead. "No! "

"Yes, Camilla. I am competing. I can win. I know it." He shook the note in front of her. "They will not get the satisfaction of taking me out of the hunt. I am sick of being controlled!" He crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the flickering flames of the fireplace. "Aren't you?"

His father shuffled closer. "Of course, she is. We all are. But Mijo , this is different." His shoulders slumped as his voice lowered to a whisper. "This is your life. "

"Life?" He almost laughed. "It is always about life here in the Sublands. You know that. Mother's life and—" Floriana grasped his leg harder, and he held his tongue. He didn't want her to know how desperately he worried about her health.

His father waved him off. "Enough, enough."

A full-blooded human, Mateo's father came to Faevenly during the Strong era after he and his best friend Julio found a portal. He liked the realm so much he decided to stay. Without the potion he sipped daily from the mysterious healer Lady Sonia, Manny would've departed this life for the Passing Place decades ago.

Still, the potion did not have the same effect as before. Like the healing seeds, it was running low and almost empty.

Deep lines etched his father's dark tan face. His almost fully gray hair hung past his shoulders. He often complained about back pain. But most concerning was his developing cough. It sounded like the beginnings of the dreaded Dragon's Bellow—the same as Floriana's cough. The disease had claimed Faeryn, Mateo's fae mother, ten years earlier. Mateo wasn't about to lose Manny or Floriana. Not after what happened to his mother.

"Father, please." He needed and wanted his father's support but was ready to go forward without it. "Winning would do so much for us and the people of the Sublands."

His father sighed. "The Stromms only know hate." He held his back and eased into his favorite plush chair. "Hate for humans." He rubbed his stubbled face. "Hate for the Strongs who sought refuge here so many years ago." He gripped the chair and gritted his teeth. "Hate for everyone in the Sublands. We are the lowest of the low to them." His hacking cough returned with a vengeance. Camilla rushed to his side, but he shooed her away. With a swallow, he managed a few final words. "Who we are will never change."

Mateo kissed the top of Floriana's head. He pulled her away from his leg but kept her close as he bent a knee and took his father's hand. "Yes, Father. But we must try. Doing nothing is not an option."

"You will risk death for the chance to compete?" His father's sad eyes pleaded for a different response. "Is that what you're saying, Mijo ?"

"Yes, Father. That's what I am saying."

"My boy." Tears slid from Manny's eyes. He wiped them with dark, weathered hands. "Then I will stand by you no matter what."

Camilla put her hand on Mateo's shoulder. "Me too."

"If that is what you want," Floriana whispered, wrapping her small arms around Mateo's neck.

His friends joined in. "Count us in," Lirien said.

Together they had weathered more storms than Spirit Butte. With their support, a surge of hope sprouted inside Mateo. A tidal wave of expectation and desire that nothing could stop him. He prayed to the Sun, Moon, and Stars that he was right.