Chapter One: Winter’s Kiss Goodnight

Violet fire chased me across the frost-coated grass. Dawn was the worst time of day; it reminded me of that fateful night when he died. The night a witch’s fire destroyed my childhood and imprinted itself on my skin.

Forever the victim.

Never the avenged.

The sunlight coated the waking city, sparkling off the rooftops. The citizens of Celestial City were all early risers. Eager to prepare for a day of selling. There was nothing you couldn’t buy in the markets surrounding the palace; a vast beacon of silver starlight, reminding everyone in our great country who ruled.

I glanced back at my home, golden rays gleaming off the tallest spire of the oldest tower. The palace. The last place this farmgirl ever thought she would live.

But unnatural fire had a way of burning everything and distorting reality.

In my previous life, I would have been readying the autumn seeds with my father. Something I had helped him with since I was old enough to stand on my own. That life—and my father—was gone; replaced with all manner of sparkle and luxury.

Instead of driving my fingers into the dirt, and awaiting the pride that only harvesting food grown with my own hands could bring, I was sneaking off to ride my horse. An activity my mother had vehemently protested until my highborn stepfather assured her that fine noblewomen should learn how to ride.

No part of my blood was noble.

I tugged my riding vest down, sliding the barn door open. There were a few horses stabled here, most belonging to the king’s prestigious staff.

I strode over the hay-dusted floor until I reached her stall. “Good morning, Mahsa.”

My black and white cob neighed her reply, shaking out her mane.

“Ready for a nice run while we still can?”

Winter was going to arrive early this year. Celestial City would be buried under heavy blankets of white snow, severing the smaller towns and villages from resources. Our entire country would feel winter’s wrath. The deep south didn’t suffer as badly as the rest of us, which served to keep those of us further north alive.

I guided Mahsa out of the stable, pleased that the stablehand had her tacked and ready for me. The girl I’d hired was a forced choice after the incident with the man I’d had when I was sixteen. Young, rebellious women and strong, handsome stableboys weren’t a good mix. Not that my mother would ever know the extent of that.

The wind tore through the braid I’d plaited in my hair. Mahsa’s heated breath steamed into the frost-kissed air. Her body moved with power and strength beneath me, despite my girl’s age.

This was the freedom my life of expectations prevented me from. Dropping the reins over the pommel, I raised my hands to the sky, enjoying the bite of the wind against my fingertips.

No one would tell us to stop.

No one would suggest I wore a different dress.

No one would force me into a decision ever again when I was riding Mahsa.

It was my favorite fantasy, one I lived for an hour nearly every morning. Before the schedules and expectations of the day rolled into me, I rode.

The hideous violet dawn burned away into a golden yellow. The frost that had gathered on the grass and fence posts had transformed into wet dew.

Eventually, we slowed to a soft trot. The city was waking up; already, the sounds of clanging pots and the smell of hot porridge hung in the air.

Those who could afford to put off work would attend temple. Our god was not a vicious one, but more pious citizens would attend every sermon, every festival, and every solstice activity.

Citizens with wealth would pay to fly their banners at those events… like the one I was being forced to attend tonight.

Once the sun set, the celebration of Ever Night would begin. The festival marked the last long day of fall before winter enveloped us in dark days and long, bitter nights. People would clog the main street leading from the palace to the temple. Greasy food and overpriced wears would be shoved at each person as they walked or danced down the procession. One last evening of revelry, and then winter would come.

I returned Mahsa to her stall, filling her water bucket and ensuring her oats were crisp and fresh. I tossed her blanket over her, it needed replacing; the summer moths had gotten to this one and it would do her no good over winter.

Today was our weekly day of rest, which meant I had more errands to run than during the week when I was meant to attend tea with gossip-mongers, accounting meetings, and accompany my stepfather should he need an assistant.

My mother would send me on errands for her as well. She claimed that I should make myself useful since I was a jobless, husbandless loaf.

It wasn’t my fault that my ideals and hers were opposite. I wanted to become a soldier. She wanted me to become a rich man’s wife.

So, I languished. Twenty-five and still relying on my mother and stepfather to feed and clothe me. I stomped through the pewter-colored corridors, leaving bits of hay and probably muck on the polished floors. Golden sconces with flickering flames illuminated my path back to my room.

Servers dipped low as I approached, their necks craning down until I passed. When my mother first brought us here, I couldn’t understand why there were so many people who refused to let me help. I wasn’t permitted to plant vegetables to help feed the palace residents. I wasn’t allowed to wear my threadbare pants and wooly sweaters—the few that had survived the fire.

My bed was always made, not that I complained much about that, but I never got to choose which fancy silk pillow went where. My baths were always drawn for me; no longer did I have to go to the well and warm the bathwater over the fire.

When we moved here, I was ten and eager to learn independence. I could cook simple meals, but the chaotic kitchens here were no place for a scrawny girl to be underfoot, and I was swiftly removed back to my stepfather’s apartment.

I wasn’t a scrawny girl anymore. The men lingering in these corridors enjoyed reminding me how much I wasn’t a little girl… they always regretted their lewd remarks.

My mother may have forbidden me from joining the troops, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t wasted countless hours watching them train. A firm knee to the groin worked well against a man whose hands drifted to places they were not welcome and who forgot what the word ‘no’ meant.

“Milady, how was your ride?” My maid dipped into a low curtsy when I entered my room.

“Lovely, thank you.”

She had pulled back the floor-to-ceiling curtains, spilling buttery light over the deep navy carpet. My armoire was polished—an unnecessary chore, considering there wasn’t an iota of dust in this place.

“Your mother gave me her suggestions for your attire today, Milady.”

I turned from the plush white and gold stitched sitting chair, where I’d lazily tossed my riding vest, and examined the three dresses my mother told my maid to put out for me.

A semblance of choice. Wear a dress. You get to pick the color.

“And what does she have me doing today?” I pinched the ruffled sleeve of an ugly green summer dress. Perhaps Mother missed a few weeks on the calendar and didn’t realize winter was upon us.

“She asked if you could pick up her order from the dressmaker. I would be honored to complete the task for you, Milady.”

I smiled. I liked my maid, even though she refused to tell me her name for the past three years. Those who worked for the King and his court were meant to serve, not make friends with the highborns.

I wasn’t highborn, though few knew it.

The High Priest of Izar wasn’t my father. He was the man who had pulled us from the ashes. While I was grateful for all he had done, he couldn’t replace my father, a simple farmer.

The biggest mistake a citizen could make was to anger the king. The second biggest mistake was to anger the man who spoke directly to our god. So, when my stepfather brought us here, no one dared mention that we weren’t his.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you. I’ll gladly do any chore that takes me out of these stuffy halls.” I headed for the bathing chamber, plumes of lilac-scented steam coiling around me. It was my favorite scent and the one my maid always used for my baths and perfumes.

“Would you like my help bathing, Milady?”

I turned, arching an eyebrow. “You don’t have to finish or begin every sentence with ‘milady,’ you know.”

She smiled. A lovely young woman in her early thirties. I’d asked before if she was married or had children, but the reply was always the same. “I’m here to serve you, Milady. Not be a nuisance.”

“I know my station, Milady. It is an honor to have such casual conversations with you.” She curtsied again, leaving me to wash. I had never asked her to wash my hair or scrub my ass. We could both maintain our dignity that way.

After a long bath, I shoved aside all of the dress options my mother left me. There was a bite in the air, but the sun was still warm. If I had to walk into the city proper to pick up her dress for tonight, then I would want something I could wear a sweater over and take off if needed.

I threw open my armoire, selecting a long, simple gray dress with sleeves that ended at my elbows. I had a lovely emerald cardigan that would compliment the dress and keep me warm until the midday sun required fewer layers. My eyes brushed over the dazzling gems my maid had laid out for me to adorn my dress with. I was never one for the ridiculous jewelry my stepfather gifted me with, so I rarely wore it, and going into the city meant thieves. I wanted to return home without getting mugged, and so I opted for none.

Dressed, I set out to run my mother’s errands. The palace burst with people now. It was only a day of rest for those with the means to rest. Everyone else worked.

I swept down the corridors, not wishing to see my mother. She would insist I join her and my stepfather in the procession tonight. The same one my stepfather usually attended in the King’s company… and I assumed the prince. Because there was no better husband than a prince—even if he turned out to be ugly.

Prince Albert was a mystery to all. He’d declined even the most distinguished courtiers and refused to marry.

Pampered courtiers would linger around the grand hall in the palace, waiting with bated breath for the recluse prince to make an appearance.

I had more important matters to attend to in my life. Ones that involved blood and a cathartic revenge. Not kissing a prince’s ass.

As the early morning sun splashed over my face coupled with the crisp wind of late autumn, I felt bad for the prince. Did he get to enjoy the simple pleasures of leaving the palace unescorted to pick up clothes?

Probably not.

My mother’s insufferable introductions to various prominent men had me ready to toss myself into a lake. What pressures did the prince receive from his father?

“Good morning, Seren.” Madame Priory waved at me, her white apron clean—for now—from plant debris. “Where are you off to on your day of rest?”

I diverted my course off the smooth stone leading down to the cobbled road outside the palace gates. Madame Priory was the head botanist and my cousin’s favorite instructor when we were in school.

“I’m running some errands in the city for Mother. Why are you working today?”

The stout woman smiled, clasping her hands over her plump belly. “I’m gathering some last-minute herbs for the king’s procession this evening. Ever Night is a special occasion.”

I pressed my lips into a tight smile and nodded. The truth would never leave my lips, but I preferred the ceremonies we used to have in our village.

No grand parades. No silk. No baubles or pushy merchants selling overpriced trinkets.

Just our community and the night sky. Everyone would bring something to share; food, blankets, ale or wine, toys for the children, and those who couldn’t afford anything more offered us their company and stories.

The stars shone brighter back then. Every home extinguished its hearths and candles, and we would all stretch out over the field among the sheep and watch the glittering sparks poke through the barrier of night.

That was the Ever Night celebration I longed for. Our village’s festivals celebrated the stars, the sky, and our community.

In Celestial City, the festival celebrated economy.

“I won’t keep you. Have a happy Ever Night, Madame Priory.”

She tilted her chin, her smile rolling deeper into her cheeks. “And you, Seren.”

I meandered back to my path, in no hurry to do anything. My mother would get her dress before tonight, and I would slip away in the darkness. Perhaps there was a quiet field Mahsa and I could watch the stars in. I’d drag my cousin along, too… assuming she wasn’t still buried beneath plants in the botanical house.

***

“Milady,” the shopkeeper said when I walked through the door, “Your mother’s order is ready as she asked.”

“Thank you.”

The woman hurried off into some back room while I wandered around the shimmering fabrics hung around the shop. There were no dull browns or thick tweeds. All silk, cashmere, fine wool, and glittery colors I had no name for.

I stifled a laugh, fingering the fabric that was the same ugly green as the dress my mother had selected.

“Would you like to try the fit, Milady?”

“Me?” I spun, finding the shop owner fanning a long, navy dress embroidered with silver stars over her forearm.

Hot air huffed from my nostrils. “My mother commissioned this for me for tonight, didn’t she?”

The woman glanced from the dress to me as though it were obvious. “Yes.”

“Because… ?”

“I cannot comment on the motives of a fine noblewoman such as your mother, but I assume it’s because you are to accompany your father with the king and the prince and she wants you to look your most beautiful.” She sucked in a breath, her eyes wide. “Not that you aren’t beautiful, Milady.”

The woman’s cheeks flushed, bleeding a crimson tone into her graying hair. Sweat began to dot her face. It was not polite etiquette to speak casually to someone above your station. This poor woman was worried I would report her to the Royal Guard. I wasn’t a petty courtier, and there was no reason to report the dressmaker.

I didn’t take her comment as an insult. Since I was sixteen I’d had a woman’s body, and the men I crossed paths with told me enough that I was attractive. Their comments usually focused on my full breasts, wide hips, or lips—which too many men felt the need to comment about.

Perverts.

“Thank you for the compliment,” I said, wanting to calm this woman’s heart, which thundered the pulse in her throat. “I’m sure my mother gave you precise measurements, and your talents are unmatched. I won’t need to try it.”

Or wear it.

The dress was striking, but if my mother was intending to make a match between me and the prince… Well, that wasn’t going to happen.

The shop owner carefully wrapped the dress, handing it to me. I gave her the payment, plus extra for a job well done, and because it was my mother’s coin, and went on my way.

It was past midday and the streets surrounding the palace were congested with people. Merchants shouted their sales. Buyers called out for better deals. And then there were the problematic shit starters…

“The Enaro will suck the marrow from your bones!” a man wearing two planks of wood lashed together with old shoestrings shouted at no one in particular. Painted in crude letters were the words: Night Cometh.

The monsters that terrified the waking moments of life and lurked in the darkest shadows weren’t news to anyone. They were the nightmares that we were taught about as children. The immortal creatures of night controlled by witches. The creatures they sent to destroy lives.

The man continued his warning cries, “They will snatch your children and sell their blood.”

I sighed, hugging the dress box closer to my ribs. If I kept my head low and avoided eye contact, then I could—

“Lady, pretty lady, do you want your children eaten?”

I groaned, caught in the tide of this man’s insanity. I tossed him a coin, hoping he would take my money and leave me be, but alas, no.

“The Enaro will break into your home and steal your children,” his voice pitched.

“I’ll be sure to lock the door. Thank you,” I said, trying to make my way through the throng of people now caught in the curiosity of a crazy man yelling at a noblewoman.

“They’ll consume your soul and you will never meet the stars!” His arms raised above his head, releasing the powerful odor of an unwashed body.

I recoiled. “I understand.”

Too well, did I know the truth behind his words. The obsidian monsters, commanded by witches, had left their mark on me when I was a child.

The man’s arms came down, his grime-laden fingernails curling around my arm causing a gasp to roll through the onlookers. His milky brown eyes locked onto mine with unerring clarity.

“The violet fire ate you. And it’s not through with you.”

A sawing breath tore through my throat. My skin burned under his glare and the knowledge he had. How could he know? The churn in my stomach threatened to upheave my breakfast at the remembered taste of ash coating my tongue. My throat closed around the phantom stench of cooking flesh—my burning flesh.

I tore my arm from his grasp. Tears peppered my eyes. I should have turned him into the guard. Should have reported him.

Instead, I ran home because what he had said… was true.