Page 7 of The Reaping Rose

“I’ll get more—” Callum starts, but he’s cut off by a scream cutting through the village.

It travels the breeze, raking a chill up my spine.

“It came from the forest,” Callum says, his Fae hearing homing in on their location as he looks down the road where the gates to the village are open in daytime. “Dorn and Isra were going to gather berries right outside the gate. Maybe they traveled deeper?”

The forest is dangerous for Callum and Greer—full Fae who might not have access to their magic but at least have strength. But with the weather and state of the island becoming more deadly by the day, the battered forests are lethal to unguarded humans.

Greer’s eyes narrow, her stare vacant as she focuses on whatever she’s hearing. “They’re in trouble.”

I’m on my feet before I can question myself, tucking my dagger into one of the holsters on my thigh.

“What are you doing?” Callum steps into my path.

“We can’t just leave them out there.”

“We can’t risk you dying over it either.”

“You can join me, or you can get out of my way.” I shove around him to gather my weapons.

Wind gusts down the street. It echoes like air funneling through a hollow tunnel.

I glance down at my mother’s sword, freshly sharpened, even though I haven’t used it since I defended the village months ago. Something strange and unsettling lingers within the blade. I strap it to my back but snatch up an extra set of daggers as well.

“Elorie—”

“I’ve got this.” Greer cuts off Callum.

“You can’t convince me to stay put either,” I tell her. “These are my people. The last of them. If someone’s out there, I’m going to help.”

Especially when I’m the one who doomed them all.

Greer pauses, considering it for only a moment before nodding. “Then I’m going with you.”

“Same.” Callum grits his teeth.

I shake my head, tipping my chin to the humans gathering in the street. “Greer and I can handle this. I need you to get the villagers inside. Letia went around the corner to her mother’s grieving pillar. Find her for me, please.”

His jaw tightens, and I can tell he wants to argue. His stiff nod is his only response as he watches me head toward the gate. Before I reach it, I spin on my heels, facing him as I walk backward.

“Oh, and pour me a drink for when I get back.” I force a smile, but he doesn’t return it.

He simply shakes his head. “Stay alive and I will.”

Chapter 3

Greer

The moment I follow Elorie into the forest, the trees gulp down any light. The thick canopy rustles overhead, and an icy chill whispers against my neck. With every step, branches snag my leathers.

Growing up in Echme, at the heart of Lyrichia’s lightning fields, I thought I understood the power of a storm. My home was on the northern beach, between the forest and the stretch of sand where spires towered, beckoning the gods to strike them. A gray overcast sky hung on even the warmest days. Static was a constant buzzing in the air. Sometimes when I close my eyes, the murmur lingers as if I’m not a sea away. The stench of metal and burning ash lingers in my senses.

But while those storms were brutal, they were nothing like these on Alyssium.

Those storms were welcome. We would dance beneath the lightning rain and cheer the blessings from the gods. For with the aether, magic would wake, and our realm would thrive.

Here on Alyssium, lightning is not followed by the blooming of magic. Rain pours so heavily the ground can’t drink it fast enough. Hail batters the village while the squall slowly tears the island apart. Soon the only safe place will be inside the walls of the prison, and Callum and I can’t enter with the hope of ever getting out.

“Do you hear anything?” Elorie asks when I pause.