Chapter 3

Sleep hadn't come easily, despite the eerie stillness of the castle after dark. I am almost surprised to wake naturally and not by someone forcing their way into the room. With no weapons at my disposal, I am left to rely on my power, something I have no intention of revealing to these people. Had someone tried to attack me overnight, I would have been left without alternatives, but I suppose if they are intent on killing me anyway, hiding my power would be senseless.

I climb out of the too-large bed and reach my good arm above my head, lengthening my spine from the night of restless sleep and wincing at the pain in my other shoulder. My soiled bandage needs to be swapped for a clean one, and I need herbs to fight infection if he still won't allow a healer to mend the wound. A tea tray sits on the small end table by the door, and next to it, a stack of clean clothes. River must have brought them in this morning, and a rush of dread caresses my back at the realization that her entrance didn't wake me. I must have finally fallen asleep early this morning, my mind and body too exhausted to have reacted to the lock clicking over. On the tray is a small breakfast spread of bread, cheese, and nuts, and next to it, a folded note telling me to come downstairs when I am ready.

I test the doorknob—unlocked. Only locking me in during nightfall, Your Grace? I would think you experienced enough to know that violence has never hidden from daylight.

Tossing a handful of the nuts in my mouth, I thumb over the pile of clothes. No pants or tunics—only a stack of neatly folded dresses. It's likely that dresses are the only women's clothing the kingdom has in its reserves given the stature of ladies that would be staying here, but something tells me there may have been consideration that pants and a tunic would be much easier to flee in. I put on a cerulean blue, floor length dress from the stack and secure my hair, the color of dandelion fuzz, into its usual thick braid that runs from my forehead to the center of my back.

I must act with haste and return home before my sister comes looking for me. Cosmina isn't my sister by blood, which is good for her sake so she didn't have to endure the heavy hand of my mother, but I couldn't love her more if she was. It has been two weeks since my capture. She will wait a short while knowing I wouldn't want her coming anywhere near Cathal and his rats, but she is sick with worry, I'm sure. I have no doubt she is driving the others we share our home with to insanity talking about it, knowing it was Legion who took me. They've been after me for years, and her patience won't last forever. She will come looking.

I pat the dress smooth along my sides, the clingy fabric bunching a little too much around my hips. With a final glance in the mirror to ensure I am decent, I leave my room.

The hallway continues to my left with an assortment of parallel doors on both sides. I head right, back towards the stone staircase that continues climbing to an unknown number of stories above me. I'm not past the first downward spiral when a tall man rounds onto the steps in front of me.

My chest tightens as if all the air is sucked from my lungs. I recognize him from the same visit I had seen Singard once, when he visited Aegidale's cities as its new ruler.

Dusaro. Singard's father and previous Black Hand to Ephraim.

Ephraim was the Black Art before Singard. His reign lasted my entire lifetime, only ending when Legion managed to outwit the kingdom in a sneak attack that ended his life. When a Black Art's reign concludes, either due to illness, being overthrown, or death, the Black Rite is held to determine who ascends as the next supreme leader.

The potential ruler presents an offering to Adelphia, the goddess of the arcane, to ask for her blessing. If Adelphia accepts the offer, she binds a fragment of her power to theirs, ensuring their magic is superior to other mages. Black Arts have always been mages, as it would be too simple to take the title from someone mundane.

After Ephraim's death, Dusaro participated in the Rite, expecting the throne to pass to him given his long servitude as Black Hand. Adelphia denied his offering, causing the Rite to continue to the Black Hand's only son. Singard participated in the ceremony and was blessed by the goddess, and as such, crowned.

The law prevents the Black Art from selecting someone of kin to serve as their Black Hand, the emissary to the throne, forcing Dusaro to resign from his position—and prompting Singard to select a new trusted adviser. I have not heard if he has chosen yet.

Dusaro climbs to the step I am on and peers down at me with dark brown eyes as if studying something that disgusts him. His hair, the color of a crow's wing, hangs long and straight down his back, even longer than his son's. Twin braids are loosely woven onto either side of his head.

"You must be the rebellion scum my son is chewing on," he drawls, sweeping his eyes over me from head to toe. He presses his lips into a thin line.

"I beg your pardon," I scoff, taken aback by his immediate hostility. I have heard stories of his father's unbalanced temperament, but the coldness in his stare was not mentioned in village gossip.

"Yes, you do look the type," he mutters more to himself than me. "I trust my son knows what he is doing by allowing you to walk amidst my home. It isn't often we allow a traitor such… amicable… conditions."

"His Grace and I have negotiated terms, my Lord," I say, coating his title with distaste. "Shame on you for arriving at such an outrageous conclusion so quickly."

He chuckles once without humor. "Terms be damned girl, I catch you taking a wrong breath, and it'll be your head on a spike." He pushes past me and continues climbing the stairs, and I waste no time descending them.

Two women dressed in servant linens are washing the towering archways dividing the room. I ask them where I can find River, and head in the direction they point, down the hallway that begins past the base of the stairs. River is preparing breakfast in the oversized kitchen, her scarlet hair a braided rope down her back. She pauses chopping the bunch of fennel in front of her and peers over her shoulder at me.

"Wren dear, good morning. Oh, don't you look lovely. I hope you found the clothes to fit alright."

"They are fine. Thank you."

"Did you sleep alright, dear?"

"Not exactly," I mumble.

"It's hard getting comfortable in a bed you aren't used to. But that's a fine room you're in, you have Sin to thank for that."

Sin? A fitting nickname.

"Don't mention it," Sin says from behind me.

I spin around, startled I didn't hear him approach. He leans with his shoulder hugging the kitchen threshold, dressed in a burgundy leather tunic and brown trousers. In the morning light, I notice just how strongly he resembles Dusaro with his long, black hair and copper skin, but Sin's green eyes are in stark contrast to his father's dark ones.

"I trust Ms. River has taken exceptional care of you thus far." He saunters over to the wide-stretched counter and leans down to kiss her on the forehead.

I wipe the surprise from my face before either of them notices. "Exceptional indeed, Your Grace."

River reaches up to pat the side of his arm. "Breakfast will be ready within the hour," she says in her sing-song voice.

"Miss Wren, would you care to join me for a walk? Since you are to be here for the foreseeable future, I thought you might want to see the grounds."

I would be a fool to believe him. He wants more information from me, unconvinced I am who I say I am. Smart man. I would question me too.

I pull my shoulders back. "Certainly, Your Grace."

A walk means visibility of the keep. Perhaps he wants to see how much I assess his security, baiting me with a walk to study my attentions outside the castle. He offers a polite smile and motions with his chin for me to follow him.

I've never been to Blackreach before, Aegidale's leading city and home to the land's most elite estates. I was born in Innodell, a modest city southeast of Blackreach, across the bridge that separates the capital from the rest of Aegidale. After my parents disowned me and Cosmina found me starving on the quaint city streets, she brought me to Morrinne and her chosen family that homesteaded out in Autumnhelm, the dense woods north of my hometown. Cosmina worked at the local inn and was one of Morrinne's few friends, often setting aside supplies left behind from travelers to give to her when she would make a trip into Innodell for resources.

Morrinne and her family were like me, outcasted by a society too dangerous to live in. They are transcendents, born of magic, but a different kind than mine. Shifters of physical form, they can shed their human skin and manifest again in the shape of something else, something more animal. No two transcendents share identical second skins, but they are all beautiful—and terrifying if you are not privy to the knowledge they maintained their sense of self, despite their altered physical forms.

Ephraim's reign brought more and more prejudices against them, instilling fear in the cities that they were something to be frightened of, abominations of nature. He went as far as to enforce curfews on their kind, ensuring they were not out prowling after dark, and encouraged the execution of any who broke that unforgivable law. Legion claims it is transcendents they fight for, but Cathal's army has as many mundane soldiers as they do shifters, probably more. I never met a person with more disdain for authority than Cathal. He merely exploits his transcendent ancestry as a means to recruit other shifters, to supplement his lack of soldiers with brawn. But I know better—Cathal just really hates anyone that tries to tell him what to do.

Legion's harsh strategies include recruiting others by force, coercing children into their ranks, and an ends-justify-the-means mentality. Morrinne and her family—my family—wouldn't dream of joining such a malicious group. They instead keep to themselves, venturing into Innodell for work and resources but always returning to the cabin in Autumnhelm at night, away from those that would try to provoke them. It is not uncommon for the prejudiced to try and bait them into shifting, to give them a reason to report them to kingdom guards and light their pyres.

Sometimes I wish I was a transcendent so I could shed this skin, even for just a few minutes. The transcendents are at least tolerated so long as they follow their rules, but I am something worse, more feared, and irrevocably forbidden to live by kingdom law.

Sin guides us to the large courtyard spanning the front side of the castle. He walks next to me as we stroll past the neatly groomed hedges and manicured bushes, offering details every few steps about the general layout of the surrounding sides of the castle not visible from the path we walk. Budding flowers of pink, purple, and pearl poke through the greenery, preparing for spring's renewal. The potent colors of the grounds are sharp against the stone gray of the castle's exterior.

"What are your impressions of Castle Scarwood?" he asks.

I choke down a laugh. "Do you want my honest answer to that?"

Sin motions with both his hands for me to proceed.

"I think the castle is beautiful. The grounds are clearly well cared for," I say, waving to a freshly clipped hedge near us. "Your handmaid is arguably one of the nicest people I've ever met. But you must forgive me if my impressions are a bit clouded. I didn't exactly plan on being captured and now being held so far from my home."

"Fair enough," he says with a shrug of his wide-set shoulders. "But you should know River isn't a handmaid. She's the housekeeper, and this place would fall apart without her running it, doing everything at once, delegating the chores to the servants." The admiration in his tone suggests he views her as more than just head servant too.

"Fair enough," I echo his response.

"So, tell me, how did Legion manage to get their thieving hands on you anyway?"

There it is, the subtle questioning I expected. It is why I rehearsed my story several times before falling asleep, and again while getting dressed this morning.

"I was running an errand for my father. He had a delivery that needed to get to Baregrove and also business to attend to in Innodell, so I offered to transport the goods for him. I should have stopped to camp when the sun was setting, but I wasn't far and wanted to get there in one day, so I kept riding. They rode up on me so fast, I didn't really understand what was happening until they were pulling me off my horse and onto one of theirs."

Sin nods, but his face remains expressionless, giving no indication of whether he believes me or not. I don't dare slip into his collective right now and risk that same rush of pain I felt last night, if that strange, intense emotion still lingers in his body. Not when there aren't others to distract from my reaction in case I slip up and reveal it on my face. I can only blame it on my shoulder for so long.

"I will need my shoulder tended to today. The bandage is beginning to soak through, and I will need something to ward off infection. Unless you would allow a healer to see me."

He glances over to me and at the stained bandage peeking out from the boxy neckline of my dress. His jaw tics once, and he quickly averts his eyes. "I'll let River know you need herbs."

I laugh once without humor. "I suppose I don't blame you for not trusting me."

We approach the gate separating the castle from Blackreach, and two armored soldiers bow to Sin as they call to the guardroom above to raise the portcullis. We head through the small tunnel opening where a second portcullis is raised for us, and we step into Aegidale's wealthiest city. I take note of the two flanking towers positioned high above the gate and lower my eyes quickly, not wanting to be caught staring at any given post too thoroughly. Leaving through this entrance unscathed will be near impossible. I have to keep looking.

"Do you keep work in Innodell? Aside from helping your father," he asks.

I nod. "I help run an inn."

Cosmina's parents owned the inn, and as a partial owner herself, she allowed me to work there to earn my keep, but I also know she wanted to keep a watchful eye on me during the day. Returning to the cabin in the woods with me every night wasn't necessary, but she always did. Cosmina uprooted her life for me, and when asked about it, she dismisses it as she simply felt that she should. She is only a handful of years older than me, but she was like a mother to me. And as I got older, our relationship blossomed into a sisterly bond stronger than any iron chains.

"How are you liking your position? I understand it was assumed your father would be next to serve," I ask him, wanting to switch the topic off of me.

"Do you want my honest answer to that?" He throws my earlier question back at me.

I mimic the hand gesture he had given in return, and a tight smile pulls at his mouth.

"It's bloody tiring."

"I am sure Legion has been keeping you busy," I say in an attempt to sound understanding, but he snickers at my response.

"Those pissants are annoying at best, but they're certainly not difficult to squash."

If there is one thing the Black Art and I agree on, it is that Cathal and his followers are a bunch of pissants.

"I agree they need to be stopped, even if I can understand some of their motives."

Sin shoots me a sideways glare as we step through the first trees of the Spiritwood forest, the woods that run along the east border of Blackreach. I only know of its name because once the forest meets the Malachite River, it becomes the Autumnhelm woods on the other side of the bridge. The nestling of trees I noticed inside the castle's borders must have once been connected to Spiritwood before the kingdom built part of its keep through it.

"I don't agree with the transcendent laws. I think it's ludicrous to impose restrictions on them," I continue.

"The restrictions are there to protect the people of Aegidale."

"Protect them from what?"

He exhales sharply. "From those that would rather see this isle crumble and fall before they bowed to a Black Art."

I shake my head. "You're describing Legion soldiers, not transcendents. You cannot judge an entire race by the actions of a few radicals."

"They are all abominations."

"Abominations? You can throw magic from your hands, but because they were blessed with another skin, they are abominations?"

"They are thieves," he spits.

I plant my feet and turn to look at him. He mirrors so that we stand chest to chest.

"Have you considered they have resorted to thievery because no one will allow them to earn an honest living? Because everyone is too frightened of them, because of the prejudices Ephraim and your father modeled, and that you seem content to continue."

He leans forward so his head towers over me, the tips of his long hair almost touching my shoulders. "They are unfit for society. Animals that cannot control their own impulses."

"That is not true," I whisper. I don't need to brush his collective to feel the explosive energy rolling off him, and to know I have crossed a line with him.

"Bold of you to question my authority to my face." The venom dripping from his words tells me he is not impressed by it.

I feel the arrow before I see it.

It is laced with magic—stirring my own as it whirls towards us. Towards him.

Closer.

I throw out my hand, and the arrow halts in its path, hovering in the air about three feet from plunging into the back of the Black Art's heart. He whirls around and slinks into a defensive crouch as I flick my wrist to the right and send the magic-dipped arrow hurtling into the brush.

Sin conjures a destructive wake and thrusts it away from him—magic that will send a crippling wave towards anyone in his power radius. A symphony of cries unleashes as his magic finds the assailants hidden in the trees. I detect at least a few different screams—a small group of them, then. I look over to him, and when his eyes find mine, I know there is no going back. How could I have been so stupid to reveal to him I am a mage? I didn't think—it happened so fast, and I couldn't risk assuming he'd stop the arrow on his own quickly enough. Not when he was so distracted.

Distracted by me. And nearly killed by Legion because of it.

I run. I run like hell.

Surely I will be executed for treason. I know how this must look to him. Baiting the Black Art into a vulnerable position while Legion uses the distraction to attack. He already had his suspicions about me, and I just confirmed them.

"Stop!" he orders from behind me. I feel the magic racing towards me, and I dive to the right, causing his blow to spiral into a tree instead. I push my legs faster, willing them to carry me quicker and farther into the woods, farther from him.

"Stop!" he calls out again, and I dodge another blast of his magic, this one shearing the bark off a tree to my left.

I won't be able to put enough distance between us quickly enough, not before his magic can chase me down. It is now or never. Digging my heels into the dirt, I skid to a stop and whirl around, the magic flying from my palms before I'm even turned completely. My collective rams into him before he can react, sweeping his feet from the ground and launching him back and out of view. I hear his body collide with the grass and dirt, and I mutter a prayer to an unnamed goddess that it buys me enough time to get the lead I need. I take off in a sprint again, wishing I had transcendent legs to carry me faster.