In my childhood, there were rumors of witches who gave themselves over to nature entirely. They formed a connection to the earth beneath them and let power flow through them and into the earth for centuries, becoming nothing more than a barely sentient power source.
I heard about them as a child and, as naïve as I was, I thought it would be a lovely experience. To be as one with the earth and give it everything I had. But I suppose that’s the Ravenswyrd in me. Growing up in the forest with my family and our coven, we were a neutral zone and never entered into conflicts. Instead, we were known for helping anyone who approached us.
Any being wishing to enter the forest had to be allowed passage by the old gods who slumber there, the sanctuary the trees offered our coven lasting for generations of witches as far back as our histories go. We trusted that protection, and we healed any fae folk who came to us, replenishing them, doing whatever we could to help them, and then sent them on their way with no payment asked. People still left tributes and trinkets, bartered things and gave many gifts, especially to my mother.
She wasn't just my mother, she was the Mother of the coven, and I was the Maiden, readying myself to take over someday and make decisions for us all. I'd grown up wild and free, barefoot and dressed in hand-woven clothing made for me by my grandmother. I never did the things that I saw the younglings in Sol City do, like bathe regularly and be forced to take lessons.
Instead, I spent my days foraging in the forest and learning directly from my mother everything a witch could possibly need to know about how to heal, how to nurture, how to give every piece of myself away to the land itself, because we trusted the earth to give it straight back to us. A fate of giving myself completely to the forest was the only one I could see.
That was before death came for us.
Before the war arrived on our doorstep in the form of witches hungry for blood and power. Before everyone I knew and loved was murdered, my brother and I the only survivors, thanks to our journey to see the Seer.
That journey marked a lot of firsts for me.
My first time leaving the forest, my first time seeing a high fae, my first time taking a life…it was a journey of growing up and leaving behind the witch I’d hoped to be and the beginning of the jaded female I am now, someone who grew colder as my years in the Fate Wars marched on.
I hear the door open at the top of the giant staircase. I don't think anything of it. Not a lot of time has passed since the last plate of slops was thrust through the hatch, but I don’t have it in me to question the goings on.
It's only when I hear the tenor of the footfalls that my eyes open. A female is coming down here.
The delicate sound of heeled shoes against the stone stairs is unsteady and slow, a careful descent. The oppressive air thickens once more, only this time it’s magic and not the ravenous hunger of the earth that I feel. I don't move from my spot, but when a torch flares brighter, I open my eyes only to be faced with yet another heartbreakingly beautiful high fae princess.
Apregnantone.
She's a full-blooded Unseelie high fae with porcelain skin and white-blonde hair, and those icy-blue eyes that seem to pierce right through my flesh and leave poisonous barbs underneath my skin. Her resemblance to the Savage Prince is striking, especially as her cold eyes run over my haggard appearance. I haven't bathed since I left the Seelie Court. I haven't even been able to change my clothes since the morning I left the ship, and I'm sure that no matter how bad I think I look, the reality is worse.
“A witch mate. Part of me still doesn’t believe it. I had to see you with my own eyes, and it's taken me a little while to muster up the restraint to come down here and see you.”
There's no way for me to answer her, thanks to the gag between my lips, so I simply stare back, unflinching and unafraid. I’m sure that my eyes are unnerving, because her temper flares to life, her lip curling and marring the beauty of her perfect face.
Her voice drips with derision, cold and cunning as she chooses her words with care. “What a test my cousin has found himself facing! I suppose you and your filthy friends thought this fate of yours was a great gift, a sign of the Fates being on your side. Whatever you think you're going to achieve here, whatever plan you’ve made to manipulate the high fae once you’re married, I can assure you, it’s not going to work. Sorenwillmarry you, of course, just as the Fates command, but you’ll never gain his trust. You’ll never have his ear or win his favor. He loathes the very idea of looking at you.”
I say nothing and continue to stare back at her, unimpressed. I don't know what it is about this prince that they all think that I would want so desperately, considering the rumors about him and the harsh demeanor I've been subjected to. The cold-hearted prince who hunts witches for fun, relishes torture, and desires blood. The only whisper proven wrong so far is the one about his scarred face.
The scar does nothing to detract from his devastating beauty. It’s the loathing that burns within his Unseelie blue eyes when they meet mine that diminishes it.
The high fae are obsessed with power, no matter which court they come from. They incessantly need to have more, tobemore, to get closer to whoever sits on the throne. I knew an exiled prince from the Dragon Lands, a male who despised the kingdom he could never return to, and yet he still spent his time in the Sol Army climbing his way up the ranks with a single-minded determination that was unhealthy, to say the least. When I questioned him about it, he simply shrugged and told me social advancement was the high-fae way. All of them are drunk on the need to climb the highest pinnacle they can.
Of course they would assume I want that too.
Every fiber of my being aches for the forest. I need to be with the earth once more, to pull off my boots and wiggle my toes in the dirt, to let my blood flow freely into the ground and give it everything I can.
I want anything but a throne.
Exhaustion nips at me, the type of tiredness that no amount of sleep can heal, and the magic in the air sickens me to the point that I want this female to leave and take this evil sensation with her.
“I suppose you're not as hideous as the other witches I've seen. You’re not marked and spitting black bile everywhere. I wonder if Soren’s fate insists on there being children too? I guess your curse doesn't putthatprospect in any danger, does it? A part-blood on the throne of the Southern Lands. The court is going to tear you to pieces.”
Your curse.
Her tone changed when that word left her mouth, her lip curling even further at the very sound of it. One of her hands drifts down to rest over her belly. The magic that fills the space clings to her, clawing at her desperately as it seeks the life within her, and my stomach clenches violently as I realize it’s waiting for the baby, reaching toward her womb and biding its time.
I heard the rumor that Kharl had laid a curse over all the Unseelie high fae, but I dismissed it as exaggeration. How could anyone cast such a curse over an entire people? The amount of magic required is inconceivable, the sacrifice required deadly. Yet the loathing in her eyes tells me it must be true.
The Unseelie high fae cannot bear live full-blooded children.
I spent my formative years learning about magic, the limitations of my power, and the power of my people. My lessons on wielding that power were cut short by the massacre of my people, but I had that foundation to help me master my magic over the following years. When Pemba and I crossed the seas and journeyed to the Seelie Court, I learned about the magic of the high fae and the lower fae in the Northern Lands. There were thousands of refugees from the Southern Lands, all of them fleeing from the War of the Witches. Straight into another conflict, yes, but one they felt they had a chance to survive. As a healer, I met thousands of fae folk, and I came to know them while fighting by their sides and listening to their histories and their experiences with magic.
