Prologue
CURSE
Tanyn
Three Days after the Midnight Masque in Night’s Fall…
King Tanyn alighted from the craft.
He heard the hiss of the door closing behind him, but he paid no mind to it.
His mind was on the ice steps in front of him.
He allowed those steps to lead his gaze and his attention up to the castle that rose high above him, a riot of snowy turrets with golden warmth flooding from lit windows.
The whole thing was a fancy, a folly, a magician’s trick.
And a not-so-inside joke.
But underneath, it was a witch’s curse.
Berg Castle, the royal residence of the monarchs of Sky’s Edge for the last six hundred years, was coated in snow.
This, while the inhabitants of that realm, if lore could be believed (and Tanyn knew it could), were delivered direct from the pits of the fiery levels of the hells.
It had not been built to resemble the fairytale castle it appeared to be now.
It had been built to convey power. To intimidate.
Pain, betrayal and loss were what caused it to be packed with snow.
Tanyn ascended steps he had not ever taken in his life, for he’d been born to sit on the throne but was banished from that castle when he was barely able to walk.
He stood at the top landing in front of golden doors that shone so brightly, not only from their color, but also from the eternal gilded fire blazing from the large lantern that hung above him.
He turned and stared at the lights spread before him, demarcating the capital city of Sky’s Edge, Abyssinia.
His city.
His realm.
His.
He turned back to the doors.
For this, his first visit since he was a year old, he had dismissed all the staff who worked there.
It was his first visit as king.
Therefore, he had to push through the doors himself.
He did not wander the chambers.
He did not marvel at the centuries-old magic that had created the snow walls and ice marble floors, ice crystal chandeliers and frost-edged windows.
He did what he promised his mother he would do when this day arrived.
He descended three levels under the castle.