Chapter 1

T he man staring back at me shouldn't be here. Nobody who dares to cross the barrier lives to speak about it. But there he is, standing between the barrier and the edge of the forest, threatening to cross. Not a trace of fear flickers in his icy blue eyes. The rising sun casts his form in a golden glow like a specter rising from the earth.

"What are you doing here?" I shout to him from my side of the barrier. The inside of the cage.

"Surveying the land." His gruff voice carries in the wind, echoing in the trees around him. Even the leaves seem to rattle in his presence. His bushy black beard hasn't seen a razor in ages, and his tattered clothes hang off of his body like they're two sizes too big. Madness and desperation darken his eyes.

Could he be a transient who wandered too far into the woods? How many wrong turns and wayward miles must he have taken to end up here? Carcera is remote, hidden at the edge of Mendacia's densest forest. No one could wander here by accident.

No matter why or how he arrived, he is here now. And I've seen enough starving men in my life to recognize it – that raw hunger that turns men into animals. And if this man is truly starving, then that hunger, that feral ache might just drive him to attempt a crossing.

I can't let that happen.

"Don't come any closer," I warn. Though I've never seen a crossing through the Carcera barrier with my own two eyes, the bone-chilling stories told to us as children still haunt me. If he were to cross, it would be a gruesome death.

"Why not?" His question sounds like a challenge, a threat. Does he really not know, or is he playing dumb to lure me into conversation?

Why don't I fear him? Who knows what his motives are, or what he's capable of? In my two decades of living in Carcera, I've never seen a living, breathing human on the other side. But there he stands, looking like a predator ready to feast on his prey, and yet there is a jagged curiosity cutting into my bones that keeps my feet planted and my tongue loosened. It's like a tether drawing me in, convincing me to ignore my better instincts.

"See that?" I point to the transparent wall between us. Its power hums a low, eerie tune as its magic pulsates. "It surrounds all of Carcera. Those that cross without permission die a quick but violent death, or so they say."

"Thank you for the warning," he says, his voice like smoke and molasses. He cautiously tiptoes forward to survey the barrier before turning his attention back to me. "What is your name?"

This is beginning to feel like a dangerous invitation.

I swallow my nerves and tell him, "Radya. My name is Radya."

"Radya, that's a beautiful name." His lips twitch into a calm smile. His patience is unnerving, particularly for someone of his circumstance. "I remember a day when this village was merely a stopping point between the two countries, a refuge for weary travelers. Pity they closed it off like they did," he says, almost to himself. There's a softness to him, a longing for days past. Perhaps he is a weary traveler in search of refuge. "You look quite young, though. You probably don't remember such a time."

My spine stiffens, electrified by the chills running along it. "I haven't left Carcera since my parents brought me here twenty years ago. And I was too small to remember much else."

"If my memory serves me right, then I believe this border is twenty years old, as well. You barely made it inside." He ticks his head to the side and gnaws on his lips as if chewing on a thought. "Say, from where did your parents move?"

"Umbra, though I know nothing of the country. This," I motion to the village behind me, "is the only home that I know."

"Umbra is more beautiful than the tales let on. It's a shame that its impressions didn't last on you," he says, and the darkness seems to stir around him.

Beautiful is not the word that most people use when speaking of it, usually in hushed tones. Its king fell into madness and cast the land in darkness and rot two decades ago. That darkness is the reason that my parents fled to Mendacia. The reason that I'm stuck in this cage.

I pull at the edges of my cloak's hood to shelter from the chill sweeping past. It shrouds my face and covers every inch of my golden hair. Somehow, this gift of obscurity removes another layer of inhibition, replacing it with unfettered intrigue. I want to keep talking to him, to hear more about the land of my birth.

Before I can ask him more, his attention catches on my left hand as it falls to my side. He stares intently at it, and I notice a shift that deepens his heavy breaths. Embarrassment bolts through me, and I shove my hand beneath my cloak to hide it. There's a faint birthmark on it – swirling white lines that extend from finger to wrist. It's so light that it nearly blends in with my fair skin. How could he even notice it?

"Say, how old were you when your parents brought you here?" His tone intensifies as that wildness grows behind his eyes. For a moment, I had forgotten that feral animal on the brink of being unleashed. But it is back now, rumbling and rearing.

"Two," I say softly, barely above a whisper.

"You're twenty-two, then?" There's a crisp bite to his question.

I nod my confirmation but offer nothing more. My heart is racing faster now, too fast.

He takes one step closer. Far too close to the border, an arm's length at most.

"My gods," he gasps. "Could it be?"

Without even a moment to process his question, he charges straight toward me. Toward the barrier. Its power swells with glowing blue power, as if readying itself for the offering to come.

"No!" I yell, but I'm too late.

An ear-piercing scream echoes through the forest, shaking the trees from root to leaf. The barrier zaps like a mighty bolt of lightning, emitting a burst so brilliant that it burns my eyes. I fall to the ground, shielding my face beneath the cloak. And when the light fades and I look up, all that is left of the stranger is a pile of ash smoking atop the ground. My heart is beating so fast that the rush of blood floods my ears, drowning out the cruel hum of the unforgiving barrier.

A life reduced to ash before my eyes.

Even the birds lose their song in reverence for the fallen man.