I squeeze Wren’s shoulder. “I’m fine, Birdie.”
A little tired, but no more than I would be after a long day. Now, more than ever, I am aware of the value of every moment. This world has a finite amount of time, and it seems to be moving faster and faster.
Wren studies me for a long moment before she dips her head. “All right.” She leans forward, placing her hand on my knee while looking at the seer. “Please, go ahead. We’re listening.”
Warmth kindles inside me at Wren’s casual use ofwe, and I can’t help but smile as Evelyn settles back in her chair, trailing her index finger down the worn spine.
“Wonderful. In order for you to fully understand what’s happening, it’s imperative we return to the beginning. Back to before Myreth was formed, when life had yet to take root in this land.” Evelyn arches a brow. “You may think you’re familiar with the story, but I promise you’re not. Thousands of years ago, when the skies were still dark...”
The seer continues speaking. At first, her tale is familiar, comforting, almost, in the way that childhood tales tend to be. Before the suns existed, there was no life. Nothing at all. The gods came together and surveyed everything, seeing it for what it could be.
Deciding it would be good, they conferred with Esyn, the Mother Goddess. The celestial beings decided to bless the land that would become Myreth twice over.
First, with life.
Second, with magic.
From the darkness, the gods drew light. They molded the suns with their hands, setting them in the skies to shine.
The gods formed the land, and Esyn blessed it with life. Plants, animals, and eventually, people. Because of this, we honor the Mother and pray to her since she is the reason we are all here.
The gods saw the life they had created, and they decided it was good.
I’ve heard this story a thousand times. My father is a fervent believer in the gods, and I have attended more temple ceremonies than I can count.
But Evelyn isn’t done, and as she continues, her story takes a turn I’ve never heard before. Normally, this is the part where the priests and priestesses remind us that the number of Marked Ones dwindled over time. As the gods-blessed became fewer in number, they became more revered. It’s why they’re Given to the gods in their twentieth year, as an act of thanks to the Mother.
Evelyn does not say any of that.
“As time went on, people began using their magic differently from how the gods had originally intended. It was meant for good and to be used in a manner that would benefit others.” Evelyn looks up, her eyes sharp. “Magic, at its very core, was always meant to help life flourish.”
The seer opens her hand, palm facing up. Her fingers twist, and her Mark radiates light. A long moment passes, and then purple mist hovers above Evelyn’s outstretched fingers. It morphs into a tree, complete with a trunk, gnarled bark, and branches laden in violet leaves.
“When it is good, magic helps. It is a tool that can improve life for us all.” Evelyn wiggles her fingers, and the tree is replaced by a bouquet of flowers in full bloom. Some are a dark purple, others are so light they’re nearly white.
“But the problem is, humans are never happy. There were some who wanted more. They saw what their magic could do, and they yearned for what wasn’t theirs to take.”
Evelyn frowns, and the flowers wilt. Petals drift towards the floor, vanishing when they hit the carpet.
“What happened?” Wren asks, her voice so quiet I can barely hear it.
A rose, complete with thorns, sprouts from the seer’s hand as though grown from her flesh.
“There were some who had darkness in their hearts.” The rose wilts, and mist flows from the seer’s palm. It twists and turns, darkening until it’s more black than purple. “They were discontent with the world as it was.” Petals as dark as a starless night descend one by one, floating towards the floor where they remain. “They wanted more power. More wealth. More, more, more, even at the expense of others.”
“Who did this?” I ask.
Evelyn sighs. “People who believed they were better than others. They saw those who were born without magic, and theyhatedthem.” The purple mist swells, a dark, inky mass swirling around our feet. “They allowed their darkness to bleed into every part of their beings. Their hearts, bodies, and even their souls.”
A long pause as the seer lifts her gaze to mine. Her eyes are heavier now as though she carries a burden on her shoulders. “You are very familiar with that darkness, Hunter.”
And with those words, she confirms what I’d already suspected—she knows who my father is, what he’s done. Did she see him in my memories? Witness the way his eyes seem to absorb light?
I cannot remember a single moment when King Andreas Bloodthorn was anything but cruel. My back aches with phantom pains as memories of hundreds of lashings run through my mind, bleeding together.
I should be worried that the seer will reveal my secret before I’m ready, but something about the way she’s looking at me tells me she won’t. Still, this is a reminder I must tell Wren soon. This isn’t something I can hide forever, not if I hope to keep the trust growing between us.
“Yes, I am very familiar with it.” I tuck Wren closer against my side, needing to feel her. “We both are.”
