1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Natasya

Year 26 of the Third Era

I know what everyone thinks of me, and it quite simply isn't true.

They all think I'm the merchant's daughter with more money than I have sense and that I'm devoted to my fiancé. They say that I swept in like a summer storm and wrapped every young man in town around my finger, none more so than Brom the Bones, the descendant of Sunder Hollow's founder.

However, under the guise of the charming damsel, I'm hiding a far darker secret.

My father may have once been a merchant, but he can hardly be classified as just a merchant anymore—not when he runs a criminal empire. I am wealthy, but I also have a lot of sense. And I'm not devoted in the least to my fiancé. I just need what he can give me, an ancient spellbook that has been passed through his family.

I certainly didn't come in like a summer storm; I crept in like the darkness of an autumn night, wrapping my fingers around what isn't mine like the dark steals the light too early in the evening.

But I know my own story well enough, and I'm fine with misleading everyone. What I truly want to know is what his story is.

I watch almost spellbound as the hooded gentleman makes his way down the middle of the road, straight into the heart of town. Sunder Hollow does not get visitors, that is a well-known fact. It's why my coming here caused such a stir. The town is situated so far south that it can barely be considered a part of Ruskhazar and sits right at the foot of two impassable mountains.

Anyone with anywhere to be circumvents Sunder Hollow.

If our geographical isolation weren't enough, there's also the fact that the town is built only a stone's throw from a mass grave of sorcerers.

Many people in Ruskhazar are superstitious and fearful. Since there are those who can raise the dead, burial grounds are kept a good distance away from any towns for fear of the shambling undead striking against the living.

If there is one thing, they fear more than the possibility of the dead coming back, it's the sorcerers that can raise the dead.

So, it stands to reason that dead sorcerers are the most fearsome creatures in existence. And there are a hundred of them buried just past that hill and a short trek through the woods.

I fold my arms as the stranger draws to a stop. As if summoned by his presence, the whole town begins spilling into the streets. The smith stops working at his craft and old lady Margery stops hanging up her wash. Everyone watches the stranger as a hush fills the town.

It's quite a different response than what I received when I first arrived here a few months ago. At that time, I had been swarmed by a dozen would-be suitors wanting to make a good first impression, but I'd only had eyes for one man.

Brom the Bones, the unofficial leader of this town.

My eyes flick to him now as he strides forward, the gravel of the town road crunching under his boots. His thick dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a striking jawline. Indeed, his features are all so strong and straight, looking almost as if they had been carved from stone like the statues in my father's lair hidden deep within the mountains. The only imperfection in his appearance is a nose that is just a little crooked from a time it was broken in the past.

He is truly quite a striking figure, and as a Lower Elf, he is also extremely tall and brawny. I could do worse for a fiancé, that much I know for sure. I know that my father was concerned about me marrying Brom all to get that spellbook. He married for love, and still adores my mother even today. I have to be careful when I walk in on them together, or I might just see something I don't want to.

He always told me and my sisters to marry for love, that the power would come later, but I'll admit that I don't have quite the same romantic notions as he does.

After all, I'm a necromancer. I would be hated by nearly anyone who learned about my unholy hobby of knitting together bones and sinew to make servants of the deceased. Repulsed more like.

My father may have found someone morally scrupulous enough to overlook his deeds, but I do not kid myself to believe that I will find the same.

For someone to love me, I must lie to them about an essential part of myself. And how could it truly be love if that is the case?

No, I will not be finding love, but I could do worse than Brom, and at least with him, I get a spellbook out of the deal. I also admit that I somewhat relish the irony of marrying into one of the most renowned magical bloodlines, that of a Magicker so powerful that he helped found the Academy of Magickers.

They say that since then no one has ever mastered magic quite like him and his fellow founders.

And I'm marrying his descendant. Me, a sorceress. Ah how Boris the Conjurer would roll in his grave if he knew… and I wouldn't even have to command his bones to cause him to do so.

"Ho, stranger," Brom calls raising his hand. "What is your name and business in this town?"

The stranger turns his head taking in the townsfolk gathered on either side of the street around him. Then he raises his gaze, he seems to pause when he sees me. Eyes hidden by his hood linger on me, and I shiver slightly before he finally turns to Brom. He reaches up, sweeping off his hood to reveal a head of chin length hair the color of tarnished gold.

A white streak running through his hair and slightly pointed ears reveal him to be of Higher Elf descent and the blue of his tunic peeking out from under his robe show that he is knowledgeable in the magical arts.

Or else a sorcerer like me who only wears the colors of magic to hide his true intentions.

His eyes, however, are what truly draw my attention. A strange and eerily pale blue, they seem to pierce straight to the soul as he turns that gaze back to me.

"You may call me Evengi," he says. "Evengi Ichabod, and my business here is my own."